by Dan Arnold
“As often as we’ve been coming here, if I had known I could have been shooting with Christine, instead of you…” Tony said.
Christine laughed.
“You don’t say? Well, today’s your lucky day.”
Christine shot her .357. She was using .38 ammo, to reduce the recoil and muzzle lift, shooting very well at ten feet, poorly at ten yards, and hit or miss beyond that.
“Most gun fights happen within about twenty feet,” Tony said. “You shoot well enough at that distance here on the shooting range, but in a desperate situation, with your adrenaline pumping, your hands might shake, your breathing might change, the lighting might be bad, etc. You need to practice more, so that shooting feels natural to you and you’re completely comfortable with your weapon.”
“You’re a police officer, Tony. Have you ever had to shoot someone?”
Tony glanced at me.
“Not since I’ve been a detective. I’ve had my weapon drawn several times since then, but I didn’t have to fire it. When I was a rookie patrol officer, my training officer and I had to apprehend a suspect in an apartment. I was the first one in, and the suspect grabbed a handgun as I came through the door. He started firing as he ducked behind a half-wall in the kitchen, and I started firing, as I dived behind the end of his sofa. We were only about ten feet apart. We both emptied our guns at each other, but neither of us was hit. We were both too scared to look at each other, or take the time to aim. When the shooting stopped, my training officer came in and made the arrest.”
“That’s my point. It seems like John and you are always carrying your guns, but never using them. You’re telling me the one time you did have to shoot it, you missed. What’s the point really?”
Tony looked at me again, then back at Christine.
“Christine if I had gone into that apartment without the gun. He would have shot me for sure. I was a rookie; I had barely qualified with my revolver, on the range, and before that incident, I had never had it out of the holster, on the job. I am much more experienced and proficient now. Which underscores my point, training and practice is extremely important.”
“OK, fine, but you’re a cop. You have to be ready to defend yourself. I just like to shoot, I don’t really know if I could actually shoot someone.”
“If you don’t train, and you aren’t capable of actually using it to defend yourself, or someone else, you’re a sportsman with rudimentary skills. That’s fine; it’s a fairly inexpensive hobby.”
Tony shrugged, and looked over at me, raising his eyebrows
“Christine, the world is a dangerous place. Here in America; most people are safe, most of the time. If you feel safe, you probably are safe. Tony and I choose to put ourselves in harm’s way, so the probability of a violent altercation is increased for us. The thing you don’t seem to know is when something really bad happens, typically, the police don’t show up until after the shooting stops. When seconds count, the police are only a few minutes away. The police are seldom able to prevent a violent crime; mostly they clean up after the crime. Tony, correct me if I’m wrong.”
“J.W. is right, Christine. As police officers, we usually respond to the scene of a violent crime, we seldom get to prevent them, and like you mentioned earlier, cops carry guns so we can protect ourselves. We don’t carry them for your protection.”
Christine was thoughtful for a moment, and then Tony spoke up again.
“You know the story of how J.W. saved my life, right? Well, if he hadn’t been carrying his .45, Whitaker would have blown my head off with his twelve-gauge shotgun. I also know Whitaker must have looked J.W. in the eye, and known he wouldn’t hesitate to use his .45. Otherwise, he would have shot J.W. with the shotgun. Would you have shot him, J.W.?”
They both looked at me.
I nodded. “When I thought he had probably killed Tony, I wanted to shoot him. If he had so much as blinked wrong… You’ll also remember Mr. Murphy had a shotgun handy when Orlando forced his way into their home, but Mr. Murphy didn’t know how or when to use it in a dangerous situation. It was less useful to him than a banana would have been.”
She nodded and said, “Orlando could have killed both of them with Mr. Murphy’s own gun.”
Tony looked at Christine.
“You were protecting Lori at that point. What would you have done if Orlando broke into your apartment?”
Christine nodded.
“OK, I need more training.”
Tony and I looked at each other.
“First, and this is essential; Do everything you can to avoid situations where shooting is the only way to stay alive. Run away from trouble, every time, if you can. However, if it comes down to it, there are some fundamental things you need to understand. Let’s start with some basic concepts,” Tony said. “Let’s think about what a gun does. It fires a projectile…
... She had a .357, just like you, and just like you, she figured it was a better choice for firepower. Even though she was a trained police officer, she didn’t want to kill the intruder, so after she threatened to shoot him, and he continued to approach her, she shot him in the right leg, about six inches above the knee. That stopped him, for a second, and then it made him mad. He rushed at her and they wrestled around for control of the gun. She managed to shoot him two more times, flesh wounds, but he punched her in the face, knocking her out, breaking some facial bones. She could have been raped or murdered at that point. Because he was wounded, he fled her home and was arrested about forty minutes later at a hospital. He was eventually convicted on multiple rape charges, from previous assaults.” Tony paused for a moment.
“The point is this, shot placement is far more important than what caliber you shoot. She had five .357 hollow points, and she shot him three times. She didn’t stop him. It barely slowed him down. He was able to attack her. She was seriously injured and he could have killed her,” Tony concluded.
“She had five rounds of .357 hollow points, more than enough to do the job. One would have been enough, if she had put it where it needed to go. Now, some people rely on more bullets, as if having 13, or 15, or 18 bullets is better than one correct shot. It’s all about stopping the antagonist. One bullet in the right place will get the job done. You aim for center mass, because the heart, lungs, all the vital organs and major vascular structures are there. You aim for the heart and shoot till the subject falls. The purpose of deadly force is to stop the attacker. Once he falls, stop shooting. That’s when you get to safety and get help.” I said.
Tony nodded. “You aren’t out to kill someone, Christine, but you can’t hope to shoot the gun out of their hand either. You have to stop them. If they don’t survive the altercation… Dead people don’t shoot you and they don’t sue you,” he added.
Christine looked shocked.
“I don’t know if I could do that. How can you choose to end someone’s life? It makes you the judge, jury and executioner.
“No,” Tony said, “it makes you the survivor. If you’re alive, you can handle the aftermath and the associated legal issues and still be with your family. Dead is dead.”
I nodded my agreement. “Christine, everyone dies. How a person dies is not as important as how a person lives. All people die, and no matter how they die, they go on to face their final judgment. They do have a Judge, but it isn’t you.”
“Why can’t we all just get along? Sometimes, I wish all the guns were gone,” she said.
I shrugged, and said, “Then I’d have to go back to carrying a sword. It’s hard to get in and out of a car or truck, with one of those things hanging off your belt,”
Christine laughed, probably at the mental picture.
The next day, I read in the paper that our old friend, Orlando Cruz was expected to be transferred to the Smith County jail, to await trial in Tyler on the home invasion and associated charges
Twenty-Nine
I love autumn in East Texas. In the fall, the leaves change color, hunting season opens, the holidays
are approaching, and we anticipate a fire in the fireplace.
In the fall, the Rose City, hosts the Tyler Rose Festival which brings people from all over the country to participate in the festival, see our spectacular Rose garden, and enjoy the city. But the thing I love best is the change in the weather. Summer’s heat is finally broken.
Lori had started a new school year, at a new school, with a newish car. She was living the life of a typical American teenager. Because I was tied up with the trial of Evan Whitaker, Christine was handling the whole operation. We had people doing the skip tracing, subject surveillance, and other investigative activities, while Christine managed the office and did research.
I was testifying in Federal Court as a witness in the Whitaker trial.
“So, you’re saying you were able to identify Mr. Whitaker’s car, based on a tip from an anonymous person. Is that correct?
“The person I spoke to indicated on the day Victoria Winslow was abducted, he had seen a man strike a female child and put her into the trunk of a blue, or possibly black, Chevrolet Impala. He said he saw this occur in a parking lot, just down the street from the supermarket where Victoria Winslow was last seen. He wrote down the license number of the vehicle on a scrap of paper, but he was unable to find the scrap of paper for several days.”
“Did you inform the police about this anonymous tip?”
“Yes, I did.”
“Specifically, who did you speak to?”
“I spoke to Detective Sergeant Anthony Escalante, who was working the case at that time.”
“Detective Sergeant Anthony Escalante, now Lieutenant Anthony Escalante, of the Tyler Police Department, is that correct?”
“Yes, it is.”
“What was his response to the information you provided him.”
“He informed me the FBI had identified the suspect vehicle as possibly being a Chevrolet Impala.”
“What did he do about the information you gave him?”
“I don’t know. You’ll have to ask him.”
The defense attorney was thoughtful for a beat.
“Let’s go back to this tip from this ‘anonymous’ person, for a moment. How did this ‘anonymous’ person contact you?” He was emphasizing the word, by indicating quotation marks with his fingers.
“I don’t understand the question. Are you asking me how he knew I had been hired by the Winslows, to try to find their daughter?”
“Uhhhh, yes, how did he know that?”
“I don’t know. I have no reason to think he did.”
“… Objection your honor! What is the point of this questioning? How an anonymous person knew who to contact is irrelevant,” the prosecuting attorney interjected.
“I’ll prove the relevance in just a moment, Your Honor.”
“Very well, I’ll permit this line of questioning to continue for a moment, but get to the point quickly, Counsellor. Objection overruled,” said the judge.
“Now then, Mr. Tucker isn’t it true you actually know the person who provided you with this tip. Isn’t it true you met with him face to face?”
“Which question do you want me to answer first?” I asked the judge.
“When you ask a question, Counselor, ask just one question at a time and one question only. Is that understood?” the judge directed.
“Yes, Your Honor.” The defense attorney replied. He changed the question.
“Mr. Tucker, do you know the person who gave you the tip?”
“At the time he first told me what he had seen…”
“Yes, or no, Mr. Tucker, do you know the person who gave you the tip?”
“Yes, I do. No, I didn’t. This is not a question that can be answered with a simple ‘yes’ or ‘no.”
“… Permission to treat the witness, as a hostile witness, Your Honor?”
“I want to hear what Mr. Tucker has to say. The witness is directed to answer the question, in his own words. Take your time, Mr. Tucker,” the judge ruled.
“Thank you, Your Honor. I had no idea who the man who gave me the initial tip was, at the time he gave it to me. In that sense, he was an anonymous person. I immediately contacted Detective Sergeant Escalante and told him about our conversation. He informed me the man I had spoken to was a person that was known to the police. They had questioned him at the time of the abduction and had ruled him out as a suspect. He is a homeless man with limited mental capacity. The information he gave me has proven to be accurate.”
“So, you do know him, and he is not an ‘anonymous’ person. Isn’t that true?”
“… Objection. Asked and answered, Your Honor!” The prosecutor interjected.
“Objection sustained. Move on, Counselor. Redirect your line of questioning.” The judge ordered.
The defense attorney took it in stride.
“When did you first learn the name of the man who is now accused of these crimes?”
“At the time we found him with the abducted girls.”
“How did you learn his name?”
“Lieutenant Escalante told me.”
“How did Lieutenant Escalante determine my client was a suspect in these crimes?”
“You’ll have to ask him that question.”
“Surely, he told you something.”
“… Objection! Your Honor, this is not a question the witness can answer.” The prosecutor interjected.
“Withdrawn, Your Honor I’ll rephrase my question.”
That was the way my day was going. We had discussed with the prosecutor how we ought to handle the issue with Dustin. He said the defense had little going for them, except to discredit Dustin as a reliable source of information. Of course it wouldn’t ultimately do them any good. Their client was captured with the girls in his trailer. He had confessed to the crimes at the time of his capture, and there was an overwhelming amount of physical and forensic evidence gathered from his car and his trailer in the woods. The evidence alone was enough to get a conviction. The girls had been interviewed on video tape under the supervision of their guardians and mental health professionals. These video interviews would be the only testimony introduced from the victims. They would not be asked to appear in open court. Other professionals would describe the mental, physical and emotional effects on the girls, sustained during their abductions and their treatment by Whitaker.
The prosecutor had met with the defense attorneys to ensure Dustin wouldn’t have to testify. The defense was pretty focused on trying to make Tony and I look bad.
I knew the defense team was doing all they could, but there was no real defense for Whitaker. He had been found mentally competent, and a finding of insanity would have been their only hope.
Their defense was so pointless it looked to me like they were almost trying to do so poorly their client might later win an appeal, based on the incompetency of their defense.
By the time the judge adjourned the trial for the night, I was dead tired. I stumbled out of the courthouse with only one desire, to go in search of a big, thick steak. On my way to the truck, I remembered to turn my cell phone back on. There were several messages. I listened to the one from Christine.
“John, call me as soon as you get this message.”
I did.
“Hey, Christine, what’s going on?”
“You are not going to believe this. Lori has been talking to Walter. They’re even friends on Facebook.”
I thought about all the possible implications of this new wrinkle.
“John, did you hear me?”
“Yes, I did, I was just considering how to respond.”
“… How to respond? For crying out loud, we’ve got to put a stop to this!”
“Right… I understand how you feel, but what exactly do you plan to do?”
“What do I plan to do? What do you plan to do?”
“Christine, can we talk about this tomorrow? I’ve spent the whole day giving testimony in the Whitaker trial, and I don’t know up from down at this point.”
> She was quiet for a moment. I could feel her beginning to calm down.
“I’m sorry. How’s the trial going?”
“Well they’re done with me for now, though I’ll probably be called back later. The defense is trying really hard to discredit everything about the case, the evidence, my involvement, Tony, Dustin, everything.”
“Can they do that? Are they winning?”
“They can try to, they have to try, and no, they aren’t winning. They can’t win; the State has a lock on this.”
“But all they have to do is get the jury to think there is a possibility Whitaker is innocent…” She observed
“There’s no chance of that, Christine, but they have to try everything they possibly can.”
“OK, so we’re winning?”
“Yeah, we’re winning, but it sure is a struggle.”
Thirty
When I finally returned to the office, Christine sent a call through on line one.
“Hello, John Tucker, speaking.”
“Mr. Tucker, my name is Edward Nordstrom. I’ll get straight to the point. I work for WWSA. Does that ring a bell?”
The World Wide Security Agency, yes, it rang a bell alright. Was Edward Nordstrom one of Walter Farley’s goons?
“Yes, Mr. Nordstrom, I’m familiar with the WWSA. A little too familiar for my tastes, what can I do for you.”
“Well, to be brief, I need a job. Now, don’t hang up on me. Please hear me out.”
“I’m listening.”
“I can’t continue to work for WWSA. I can’t work for Farley anymore. The guy is nuts. He’s not paying on time, and he’s obsessed with you, for some reason.”
“I’m aware of those things. You have to be aware me hiring you, would be pretty stupid on my part, considering the fact Walter Farley is apparently out to get me.”
“Yes, sir, I thought you would see it that way. I’d like to sit down with you and explain the situation, as I see it. There is something about the relationship between Walter Farley and Ted Simpson you don’t know. If you won’t hire me, I’ll completely understand.”