A Dream of Death

by Harrison Drake

  What was she now? She was more than my partner, my coworker but still somewhat less than a lover, a mistress, a girlfriend. It may have been semantics but there appeared to be no word for the limbo we found ourselves in.

  We finished our meals and spent ample time enjoying each other’s company in silence and imagined solitude, the other diners invisible, before we left the restaurant.

  Kara saw it first as we walked to the car: an older model black Chevy Blazer with a single occupant who looked a lot like our suspect. She yelled and pointed and we moved. Within seconds we were in the car, Kara driving yet again and me trying to hide the blood that was seeping through my shirt—I had torn my stitches running to the car.

  Damn.

  Kara took off after the vehicle, nearly causing multiple accidents as she crossed traffic and headed south. My radio was in my hand and I was relaying the directions and details to dispatch, who were notifying London Police.

  Kara caught up to the vehicle after it turned right onto Commissioners Road heading west through the city. I could just make out the plate, squinting hard to see it.

  “Bravo-Juliet-Sierra-Tango-three-four-eight,” I stated into the radio. Not the right plate. Dispatch provided me with the registered owner’s details including a nearby address. The plates were registered to the same make, model, colour and year as Saunders’s vehicle. He could have easily stolen the plates, switching his own for someone else’s.

  “Get someone to the registered owner’s address—with lights and sirens—and see if he’s got Saunders’s plates on his car.” Not that we were going to give up the chase. I knew it was Saunders driving and Kara did too.

  And he knew we were behind him. At the last second he veered left across oncoming traffic and ducked into a side street.

  Kara followed him as best she could, but we didn’t have lights or sirens, so traffic was slow to get out of our way. In fact, we were in violation of every policy the service had regarding pursuits—with one key exception. Exigent circumstances. Saunders had to be caught, and that need outweighed the risk to the public caused by a pursuit in an unmarked car.

  The chase took us down various side streets, with Kara slowly gaining on Saunders. We may not have had lights and sirens but Saunders had an SUV—high center of gravity, lousy handling and weak brakes. As we pulled closer he kept taking more and more risks until he spun out on a tight corner and slammed hard into a parked car.

  He was out and running before the collision was over and I was out before Kara came to a stop. I threw her the radio and told her to call it in.

  Saunders was running like a desperate man, but I had desperation on my side, too. The chase took us through front yards, over fences into backyards, through gardens and over more fences. I ran on pure adrenaline, keeping pace with him at every turn but not gaining ground.

  As the pursuit went on I could see Saunders starting to lose steam, slowing down, and I began to gain on him despite the warm, sticky wetness that pressed my shirt against my side.

  Saunders hopped over a low chain-link fence then ran down the side of a house.

  I followed close behind him losing sight of him for just a moment as he rounded the front of the building.

  The corner was right in front of me when I was caught off guard by a garbage can that came flying out from behind the wall, knocking me over and bringing me down hard. My ankle twisted as I fell and the telltale crack of bone breaking filled my ears.

  The pain hadn’t started yet. I saw Saunders running across the street, ready to run between the next row of houses and out of my sight.

  I rolled onto my back, drew my firearm from my holster and held it in both hands, my feet facing toward Saunders, my head up and my gun pointing between my bent knees. As soon as I had my sights lined up I yelled, “Saunders, stop or I’ll shoot.”

  Clichéd, yet true. He did as directed and turned to face me, hands above his head. I saw his eyes between my sights as he stared me down.

  “You won’t,” he said. “I’m unarmed.”

  “Doesn’t matter, you’re a murderer. You need to be stopped.”

  “Then go ahead.” His gaze flickered and I knew he was ready to chance it, to call my bluff.

  “Don’t—”

  But it was too late. Saunders spun and began to run again.

  I squeezed off a shot. Then another. Then I kept firing until he finally fell.

  I stayed on the ground—the pain was starting to radiate up from my ankle, growing worse by the moment—and held my gun in my right hand, ready to fire again if I needed to. With my left hand I removed my cell phone and called it in, connecting with London Police dispatch. I gave them my location, as best as I could guess after the chase.

  “Shots fired, the suspect is down. I need ambulances here now. I’m fine, but my ankle is broken.”

  I had heard sirens as I chased Saunders and now that they knew where we were they were closing in. Kara was first to arrive. She got out of the car and ran toward me.

  I waved her off. “Cover off on him until someone else gets here. I’m not much use here.”

  Kara did as I asked, getting within fifteen feet of Saunders and drawing her gun on him, ready to shoot again if he presented a threat. He hadn’t moved since he went down. He was either dead, unconscious or a very good actor.

  Kara put her gun away within seconds of drawing it. I knew what that meant.

  Saunders was dead. Visibly and obviously.

  My gun went back into my holster and I strained to get up, putting as little weight as possible on my ankle. Even the slightest pressure brought unimaginable pain. I leaned against a tree in the front yard and waited, my left leg in the air, my foot hanging at an unnatural angle.

  The first officer on scene took position at the body, the next came to my assistance. The first ambulance arrived next and was directed to Saunders, but there was nothing they could do.

  With the officer’s help I was able to hobble over to where Kara stood, seeing now what she saw. I counted five bullet holes in Saunders’s back and one in the back of his head. There was no surviving that. Kara slipped her shoulders under my other arm and she and the officer practically carried me back to the car. They set me inside the open door with my feet hanging out. Residents had started coming out of their homes, and the next responding officers positioned their cruisers to block the body, preventing people from seeing what lay on their street. A quiet neighbourhood shattered by death, something Saunders had been responsible for on five separate occasions.

  I had always wondered how I would feel if I had to kill someone. I assumed it would be hard to handle. I had always told Kat to monitor me if I killed someone in case taking the life of another human took its toll on me in ways I didn’t recognize. Even if I was saving my own life or someone else’s, even if the person by all merits deserved to die, I assumed I would feel guilty.

  Now I’d shot an unarmed man in the back, and I felt nothing but relief.

  —24—

  The rest of the day went as expected. I was transported to hospital by an ambulance once the scene was secure and my gun had been taken for the investigation. That was protocol in the event of an officer-involved shooting, and the rest of the protocol was well under way. The province’s Special Investigations Unit, the SIU, was already on their way down. The unit was responsible for investigating any serious injuries or death sustained by civilians as a result of police actions. They were our watchdog and, in cases of criminality, they were the ones who would bring charges against the officer or officers involved.

  I knew I had done nothing wrong but at the same time fear was taking over. Officers were to be interviewed within days as the unit tried to determine if any fault lay in the hands of the police. In this case I was the only subject officer as no one else had even seen the shooting.

  Kara was one of the witness officers, witness to the events preceding, and would have to detail everything from the time we spotted the vehicle until I took off on foot.
Without a radio I had been out of contact from when I left the car until I called dispatch from my cellphone after stopping Saunders. Those minutes would need to be accounted for, and I was the only one who could do that.

  Giving an interview to the SIU was voluntary, but I didn’t even consider refusing. The Criminal Code of Canada protects police officers using force in execution of their duties, as long as it is not excessive. But the only way to invoke that section of the Code was to articulate my actions, give my why to the what they already knew.

  Police in Canada are not allowed to unionize, but we do have associations. The Ontario Provincial Police Association is responsible for hiring lawyers for officers should it be required, and they provide support in numerous ways, including being present at SIU interviews.

  But I would go it alone. There was no reason to have someone present, someone ‘protecting my interests’. I was capable of that on my own.

  I had plenty of time to think about what I would say in the interview while waiting in the hospital; how I could best explain my actions and choices. It was a few hours before I had my X-rays and a doctor had reviewed them. Then I got the bad news. The break was severe, a displaced fracture of both the tibia and fibula, and would require surgery. I never had a chance to ask when.

  Today.

  There was no other option. With pins and plates and screws or some combination of the three I would never again go through an airport security checkpoint on the first try.

  I took out my phone, breaking the cardinal hospital rule of no cell phones, and dialed Kat.

  “Hello?” Her usual answer, she was quite certain it was me but the “private number” showing up on her call display always made her question the caller.

  “Hey, it’s me.”

  “Everything all right?”

  My voice must have given it away.

  “Not exactly. I got him, Kat, it’s over. But I’m back in the hospital.”

  A loud sigh. “What did you do now?” She was worried, I could hear it in her voice, but the fact that I was calling her and talking to her meant it couldn’t be serious.

  “Broken ankle. He threw a garbage can back at me while I was chasing him.”

  “So, a cast and you’ll be home?”

  “It’s a bit more broken than that. Surgery, a cast and I’ll be home, probably tomorrow.”

  “Surgery?”

  I paused. “I did a real number on it, Kat, screwed it up like only I can do.”

  “Don’t worry about it, just come back home. Everything will be all right. I’m coming up now to see you.”

  I smiled to myself at the U-turn we had taken and apparently I smiled to the older woman across the pod, lying alone in her hospital bed. She returned the smile.

  “There’s no point now,” I said. “They’re bringing me in soon, I’ll call you when I’m out of surgery. If it’s not too late, can you bring the kids up?”

  “Of course,” she said, “I’d be glad to. You sure you don’t want me up there now? I’ll get a sitter or bring the kids.”

  “Thanks, babe, but you’ll just be waiting for me. I don’t know, they might have to put me under. I’ll call. I love you.”

  “I know you do. And you know I love you.”

  “I know.” The doctor walked in and stood at the side of my bed, an unhappy glare directed at my phone. “Oops, I’ve got to go Kat, doctor’s here.”

  I didn’t get to hear her response before I shut my phone off at the doctor’s behest. I’m sure it was “good luck” or something to that effect. The time-worn stage adage of break a leg likely wouldn’t have been her first choice of words.

  * * *

  I woke up a few hours later groggy and with little memory of what had happened. The last thing that stayed in my mind was being told to count to ten. I looked down to my feet and saw one looking back up at me, the other shrouded in fibreglass. I felt nothing; the morphine dripping into my IV was having the desired effect. I pressed the call button at the side of the bed and waited for a nurse to come by.

  “What time is it?” I asked.

  “Ten-thirty.”

  A minute later I was breaking the rules again and on the phone with Kat. The kids were sound asleep, and I wouldn’t be getting my visit from them tonight. Tears clouded my eyes as their images appeared before me. I had wanted nothing more than to see them. Kat apologized and even under the influence of painkillers there was logic in the argument against waking two children up and dragging them to a hospital in the middle of the night.

  “I’ll be up as soon as I can get someone over to watch the kids.”

  “Thanks.” I hung up the phone and lay back in my bed, ready to fall asleep again. It seemed like only moments before I was awoken by a hand placed lightly on my leg.

  “Kat?”

  “No, it’s me, Kara.”

  I could feel her hurt as she pulled her hand away.

  “Sorry, I was just talking to Kat.”

  “It’s okay. She is your wife, after all.”

  Neither of us spoke for a moment, an awkward silence filling the curtain-enclosed area we found ourselves in.

  “So what happened today?” I said, the first to break the silence.

  “We searched his car. It was his, stolen plates like we figured. He had notes, photos, and maps for two other women. Looks like he was planning on killing one tonight and the other tomorrow night.”

  “He knew he was running out of time. He was on a spree.”

  “Seems that way. SIU is here, I had my interview already.”

  I wanted to ask her how it went, what they said but I knew she wouldn’t answer. It wasn’t supposed to be discussed with other officers involved in the case, a rule set in place to prevent corroboration of details. Not that everyone obeyed the rule, but I knew Kara would.

  “You okay?” I asked.

  “Yeah, it wasn’t fun. First one I’ve been in. I guess it’ll be yours too.”

  I nodded. “When do they want me in?”

  “As soon as you’re back on your feet.” She stopped for a moment. “Sorry, not the right thing to say. I had Francisco Reales in there with me, he said he’d be your rep as well.”

  “No,” I said. “I shot him on my own, I’ll answer for it on my own.”

  “Are you sure? I mean, I know they want to clear you for this, Link, but why go it alone if you don’t have to?”

  I took her hand in mine and looked deep into her eyes, “I’ll be fine, don’t worry about me.”

  “Am I interrupting something?”

  It was Kat. And the last bricks came tumbling down. Kara and I pulled our hands away from each other quickly, an action that made it obvious that Kat had, in fact, interrupted something. Kara gave me a nod and walked out of the room with Kat’s eyes following her every step.

  “What was that?”

  “Nothing,” I said, lying to my wife yet again. “She just felt bad about my ankle and what happened today and she was stressed out from her SIU interview.”

  Kat didn’t buy it. “I thought things would get better between us, it seemed that way on the phone. You came home, everything was going to go back to normal.”

  I tried to maintain eye contact with her but I lacked the strength.

  “Are you fucking her?”

  She was beyond angry. Kat never swore. Then I realized this wasn’t a swear word. It was just a verb.

  The words knotted in my throat as I tried to speak, I couldn’t lie to her. All I could do was nod.

  She didn’t cry, not even a flinch. She had known it was coming for only a brief moment but she had prepared for it.

  “You’re not the man I married,” she said, her face devoid of emotion. “You’ve forgotten your family, gone back on your vows, and you’ve killed a man.”

  “I had to,” I said.

  “I saw it on the news, Link, shot in the back. You shot an unarmed man in the back, and you try to tell me you had to?”

  “He was going to kill again, I w
as the only one there.” I pointed to my ankle. “I couldn’t chase him anymore.”

  “You murdered someone, whether they were a killer or not. God does not look kindly on killers.”

  “Don’t start spouting that religious bullshit on me again. He had to be stopped one way or another.”

  “Don’t you even feel badly? Don’t you feel guilty? Don’t you wish it had happened differently?”

  “Of course I do. I didn’t get into this job wanting to kill people. If I could have caught him I would have. But do I feel bad or guilty? Not at all. I saved lives today, Kat, something your God should be happy about. And the only guilt I feel is for not killing him sooner, for letting another woman die.”

  “What does your mistress think? Is she happy he’s dead?”

  “What the hell do you think? He almost killed her for Christ’s sake.”

  I never saw the slap coming. She swung fast and hit me hard across the jaw. Her expression never changed, she refused to show how much I was hurting her.

  “I’ll bring the kids by tomorrow,” she said evenly. “After that I’m taking them home with me for a few weeks. You need some time to figure out where we go from here and so do I.”

  “Home? Poland?”

  She nodded.

  “I won’t allow it. You can’t take them out of the country without my permission.”

  “Then I’ll go on my own and leave them with you.” She slapped my cast twice, sending pain up my leg that made the morphine feel like children’s Tylenol. “Think you can take care of them?”

  I hated to concede, but she had a point. If she was going, they were too.

  “Fine. Type up a letter and bring it tomorrow, I’ll sign it. Four weeks, Kat. I want them back in four weeks. And do me a favour; bring me some clothes that will fit over my cast. Please.”

  She left without a goodbye and I cried myself to sleep.

  —25—

  Kat kept her word and brought the kids by as I lay in a hospital bed eating my so-called breakfast. Kasia and Link came running up to me when they saw me, Kasia worried about my cast and Link going on about how cool it was.