Читать книгу An LA Cop - John Bowermaster - Страница 9

The Jungle

Ed Bowes had completed his military service and was a civilian again. During the summer of 1970, the murder trials of Charles Manson and his followers brought national attention.

From their brutal two-night murder spree in early August 1969 when they killed Sharon Tate, Abigail Folger, and three others.

Followed by the brutal stabbing murders of Leno and Rosemary LaBianca during the second home invasion the following night. After his tour in Vietnam, Ed decided he wanted a career working outside.

Something that offered excitement and action. Ed followed the Manson trial on the radio and decided the Los Angeles Police Department offered what he was looking for. In November 1970, he joined the LAPD.

After graduating from the academy, the department assigned Ed Bowes to Wilshire Division.

For many officers, it was the first time they experienced the harsh reality of what people were capable of doing to each other.

Ed grew numb to the blood, death and violence in Vietnam. Carnage at crime scenes didn’t shock him or send him in search of a place to be sick.

During his first three years, he learned police work, the streets of Los Angeles, and the problems criminals caused on them. He found he enjoyed working morning watch. The hours were from 11:45 p.m. to 08:30 a.m. Like Vietnam, most action occurred at night.

There were plenty of criminals and he enjoyed getting them off the streets. They assigned him to 7-X-96 one of two units working the south end of the division, an area called the jungle.

Ed worked X-96 with two partners. When one man was on days off, the other two worked the unit.

May 17, 1974, 12:05 a.m., was a warm spring night in Los Angeles. Ed Bowes and his partner Paul Fitzpatrick along with sixteen other officers assigned to morning watch, gathered in the basement’s roll call room in the old Pico station.

The old station was on Pico Bl. Built around 1925, it had outlived its usefulness and was scheduled for demolition in the coming months. The assigned Wilshire officers would move into their new facility now under completion on Venice Bl. The new station was a fortress, complete with a helipad on the roof.

The design features for future police stations included roll down metal gates. No exterior windows on the building, except the lobby. Brick and concrete protected the station against attacks from rioters or groups like the Black Panthers who were always threatening to kill police officers.

It was time for roll call. Everyone was waiting for Sergeant O’Rourke to begin the morning watch briefing. The men wanted more information on the militant group in the San Francisco area, calling themselves the Symbionese Liberation Army.

The SLA was a group of black militants that were robbing banks in the San Francisco area. The gang’s leader was a lunatic calling himself field marshal Cinque. Patty Hearst was Randolph Hearst’s daughter, a newspaper-publishing tycoon. The SLA kidnapped her from her Berkeley apartment and held her for ransom.

Cinque demanded Randolph Hearst purchase three million dollars of food and distribute it to the poor of San Francisco in exchange for Patty’s release. Randolph Hearst agreed to his demands.

Hearst purchased and distributing the food to the poor, but Cinque never held up his end of the bargain by releasing Patty.

During her captivity, Cinque brainwashed Patty, convincing her to join their cause. She adopted a new name, calling herself Tania. Patty helped the SLA rob banks in San Francisco.

After pulling a bank robbery in the bay area, the FBI believed the SLA and Patty were going to Los Angeles. They described their vehicle as a dark-colored van with no side windows.

The SLA got into a shooting at a sporting goods store after arriving in Los Angeles earlier that day. They transformed Patty from a kidnap victim to a gun carrying member of the SLA, robbing banks and now involved in the shooting at the sporting goods store. The last couple of nights, the morning watch officers stopped every dark-colored van close to the FBI’s description of their vehicle.

Sergeant O’Rourke was approaching his thirty-year anniversary on the job. He only had thirty days left and a wakeup before he pulled the pin and retired. Police work was not a high priority on his list of things of interest.

O’Rourke only wanted to talk about the little farm he bought in Ireland near the village of Kenmare overlooking the bay. He was counting down the days. Telling anyone who’d listen.

“Lads just thirty days and a wakeup, then you can color me gone!”

O’Rourke walked into the roll call room, speaking in his Irish accent. “All right, lads, set yourselves down. You know your assignments—if not, I’ll be posting them on the board in the hall.

“There’s nothing new on the SLA from the feds. They’re telling us what we already know, there in Los Angeles! Cinque and his lads are here in our fair city. As if we didn’t know that! So be keeping your eyes open. Stay sharp out there, lads. It’s another warm one tonight. Expect those tempers to be flaring. So be getting out there and relieve those lads on PM watch.”

In 1974, there was a fad started in California called streaking. A person would run naked in public. During the live broadcast of the Academy Award Ceremony in Hollywood in March, a naked streaker came out from back stage left, running across the stage in front of the entire TV and academy audience.

It became the conversation on TV and radio for weeks. When Sergeant O’Rourke ended his briefing, two officers wearing paper bags covering their heads entered the roll call room from the front hallway running naked, exiting the back door.

They ran to a waiting police car jumping inside and left the parking lot eastbound on Pico Bl, speeding away out of sight.

Sergeant O’Rourke with the rest of roll call laughed at the two men. No one ever admitted who the officers were that ran naked through roll call that night. The incident just became a funny footnote in the last chapter of the old Pico station’s history.

7-A-91 was the second unit assigned with 7-X-96 to patrol the jungle. On a warm night, it didn’t take much for tempers to rise causing somebody to become unhinged and get involved in a shooting.

They crammed the jungle with hundreds of multi-story apartment buildings and dozens of short streets, alleys, and cul-de-sacs. Between Santa Barbara Bl. On the north, the old Baldwin Hills Dam off Stocker Avenue on the south. The Lamert Park area off Crenshaw Avenue on the east and La Brea Avenue on the west.

Thousands of people live in that area. Paul grabbed the microphone from the hook on the front of the Motorola police radio and cleared for patrol. “7-X-96 morning watch clear. Control, 7-X-96 roger, handle a shooting at 6085 Nicolet in the courtyard. 7-X-96 roger.”

A few minutes passed. X-96 pulled up to the curb south of the call’s address, avoiding parking in front of a possible ambush site. Paul lead the way into the courtyard in front of Ed. Through two broken black metal gates, hanging off their hinges, resting in the weeds lining the walkway.

The sidewalk lead to the building’s patio area. Paul looked back at Ed, shaking his head, telling him, “Jesus H. Christ, check this shit out.” Ed looked down the walkway over Paul’s shoulder. There were domino blocks scattered all over the sidewalk lying in two streams of blood coming from the patio area by the pool just ahead of them.

The bodies of two black males were lying on the concrete patio next to an overturned metal table. One of a dozen tables surrounding the pool area where residents gathered at night to escape the heat of their apartments.

The pool water was drained long ago, replaced with dirt-filled level to the concrete patio. Weeds covered the dirt. A large group of residents were standing by the bodies. Witnesses told the officers the men playing dominos were brothers.

After losing the game, one brother got mad. Calling his brother “a dirty motherfucker.”

Both men were armed. The verbal exchanges escalated into a gunfight. With both firing their weapons several times, killing each other.

Paul leaned toward Ed’s ear, whispering, “We’ll be here all night interviewing this crowd. Over a game of dominos.” At 11:30 a.m., the detectives finished their investigation at the crime scene. The coroner removed the bodies from the courtyard. The officers went to their unit to return to Wilshire to go end of watch.

Eight-thirty a.m. was their scheduled end of watch time for morning watch. They worked passed their EOW, tied up on a double homicide all-night. Causing them to be late for their court case at the criminal courts building downtown.

As X-96 pulled away from the crime scene, Paul advised control they were out to the barn for EOW. Control responded, “7-X-96 morning watch, meet 7-L-40 on TAC-2.”

Paul said, “7-X-96 Roger.” 7-L-40 was monitoring the frequency; before Paul could respond, the watch commander came on TAC-2 to contact them. “7-L-40 to 7-X-96. The DA in department 103 called. She needs you guys in court ASAP. Go straight to court, they’re waiting for you.”

“X-96 Roger.”

Paul switched to the control frequency to notify control. “7-X-96 morning watch, show us at 210 Temple St. Department 103. Control, 7-X-96 roger.”

Because X-96 was late for court, they continued the case until later that afternoon.

It was 4:00 p.m. when they called their case. By 5:00 p.m., they’d finished their testimony and returned to their unit to head to the barn for EOW. When they got in their unit, the radio was filled with chatter. Officers requesting help, with shots fired at Fifty-Fourth Street and Compton Avenue.

Officers requested additional units to respond. It sounded like every unit in the city was responding. Ed started the car, telling Paul, “Let’s see if they need additional units.”

7-X-96 responded to the location. Control kept broadcasting “All units responding, there are multiple shots being fired coming from the house on the South side of Fifty-Fourth Street west of Compton Avenue. Approaching units use caution.” When X-96 arrived, it looked like half the city was at the location. Police cars were everywhere. The Highway Patrol and the FBI were at the scene.

Officers took cover behind vehicles and buildings along Fifty-Fourth Street. Several officers had semiautomatic rifles, trying to take a position out of the line of fire erupting from the small house.

7-X-96 learned later there were over four hundred officers at the scene and they fired nine thousand rounds of ammo between the suspects and the police. Many officers ran out of ammunition during the first few minutes of the gunfight with the suspects.

Civilians were hiding behind buildings and parked cars. They blocked Compton Avenue north and south of Fifty-Fourth Street. 7-X-96 pulled their unit onto the sidewalk on Compton Avenue, two blocks north of Fifty-Fourth Street. Ed and Paul ran the rest of the way on Compton to Fifty-Fourth Street.

They learned there were multiple suspects believed to be members of the SLA, barricaded in the house on Fifty-Fourth Street. Nobody knew if Patty Hearst was inside the house. Everyone knew Patty and the SLA were in Los Angeles area somewhere.

Judging by the continuous gunfire coming from the house, the people inside had no plans to surrender or negotiate with the police. The gunfight continued for two hours. On Fifty-Fourth Street on the north side, the buildings received two hours of continuous impacts from rounds fired by the suspects. The police fired nine barrages of tear gas into the house, attempting to force the suspects to surrender. Smoke bellowed out of the broken windows.

At first, everyone thought it was tear gas. But the smoke was from a fire inside the house. The heat from the tear gas canisters started a fire. Gunfire continued for a short time. The smoke got thicker. A woman exited the front of the house unarmed. Officers took her into custody.

Two women came out the back door. The second woman out provided cover fire for the first female; the police shot the first female.

The police shot the second female, providing cover fire; she collapsed in the doorway. A third female inside the house grabbed the wounded woman in the doorway, pulling her back inside the burning house. Flames lapped out the broken windows.

The house became quiet. No one attempted to exit the house or gave any sign of wanting to surrender. It was obvious there was no chance anyone could survive the intense flames, heat, and smoke coming from inside the house.

Nobody would attempt a rescue or try to put the fire out and risk being shot by someone inside or by a round going off in the chamber of a weapon lying inside the house in the fire.

The police found four suspects under the house. In the ashes after the house burned to ground on top of them.

By late that night, the house was a pile of embers. The fire department finished soaking the ashes with water so the homicide detectives and FBI could search for the bodies. The first female lay dead in the rear yard.

In the front yard was a short stone wall. It was the only structure still standing.

It was a long day for 7-X-96. The officers returned to Wilshire and went EOW.

After the morning watch roll call, Ed and Paul drove back to the scene on Fifty-Fourth Street. Hundreds of bullet holes riddled the building across the street from the burned-out residence where the SLA made their last stand against the LAPD.

The FBI had straddled a white wooden sawhorse barricade on top of the stone wall in the front yard with an FBI wanted poster of Patty Hurst stapled on it. Patty was lucky. She wasn’t with Cinque on Fifty-Fourth Street that day.

After the shooting in the sporting goods store two days earlier, Patty left Los Angeles, heading back to San Francisco. They arrested Patty on September 18, 1975, in a San Francisco apartment, sixteen months after the SLA shoot-out in Los Angeles.

Ed Bowes first partner, Paul Fitzpatrick was twenty-six years old. He was a construction framer before joining the department. Building single-family homes and apartment buildings for a developer in the San Fernando Valley.

Paul was a hustler, working construction; he worried about not making enough money to carry him through the lean times. He always searched for side jobs.

Paul’s stature and the way he dressed reminded anyone that saw him of the Paul Bunyan character you read about as a kid. A person bigger than life with his height at 6 foot 4 inches, tipping the scales at 220 pounds.

He always wore work boots, jeans, and flannel long-sleeved shirts with the sleeves rolled up exposing his white long-sleeved T-shirt underneath. All he needed was an ox to make the Paul Bunyan image complete.

The construction business was an occupation affected by the weather. There were days when he wasn’t able to work because of the forecast of bad weather. Paul couldn’t afford the hit of not having a full paycheck every week because some weather reporter made a bogus weather report.

He always told Ed he hated weather reporters. “Those assholes don’t understand how they can screw up the lives of people. With their bullshit weather reports. When their doom and gloom predictions turn out to be a sunny day!”

Paul was always telling Ed he wanted a job like those dumb-ass weathermen, where he could be wrong as often as they were and get paid for it!

Paul married his high school sweetheart, Barbara. She was becoming disenchanted with Paul’s job on the police department.

She didn’t like him working from midnight until eight-thirty in the morning and going to court all the time.

They didn’t have all their weekends or holidays off together. She didn’t like him sleeping during the day and being gone all night. Like several occupations, police officers have a high rate of divorces. Their work hours, overtime, fluctuating days off and the things they see and deal with during their jobs take a toll on their relationships.

Officers become callus to situations. It alters how they think, their sense of humor, and the way they see the world. Some spouses married to their mates prior to joining the department find they can’t adjust to the changes the job causes, causing the marriage to end in divorce.

When Paul wasn’t in court or working a security job, on his days off, he liked to spend time snow or water-skiing with Barbara and his partners. One morning after testifying on a case in court, Paul stopped at a movie location. Where he noticed a movie crew filming on a street in Los Angeles.

Still in his uniform from court, he pulled to the curb, walked over, and asked to speak to someone in charge of the production. During a break between scenes they introduced Paul to the director.

The director and Paul struck up a conversation and friendship. Paul made a deal with the director to provide the film company off-duty police officers for security on movie sets filmed in the city of Los Angeles.

Paul purchased an old Harley-Davidson police motorcycle from an auction. He restored it to its original condition including red lights and siren. Paul used it on movie jobs that required motor cops for traffic control.

The studios paid extra money when they needed a motor officer at a location. Paul told Ed that Barbara was always complaining. She wanted him to quit the department and find another job or return to framing for a living.

Paul liked his job with Los Angeles, returning to a job walking on high structures, risking a fall and breaking his back or worse, was no longer in his game plan. Paul said Barbara gets pissed off when he works the security movie jobs.

“I’m making good money on those jobs. Trying to give her things I couldn’t afford when I was working construction. The studio pays more money when they need a motorcycle cop for traffic control on those jobs!”

Paul worried because he never received a draft notice calling him to active service. Ed told him, “The government would take one look at your hillbilly ass and tell you to get your ass back in the woods where you belong!”

Mike Brown was the third partner assigned to 7-X-96 with Ed and Paul. At twenty-four, he was the youngest and smallest of the three. A little shorter, topping out at five foot ten inches, tipping the scales at one hundred fifty pounds soaking wet.

Mike was blond and supported a tan. Depending what his court schedule was, he spent his time at the Venice beach. Mike found the boardwalk was a good place to meet women. His long-range plan was to save the planet and chase women!

Ed called Mike a tree hugger! In 1968, Mike was in college at USC when he received his draft notice. He got a deferment from the draft for college.

In 1971, Mike joined the police department before the ink was dry on his college degree. After four years of booze and babes, he graduated from college. He lived with his college girlfriend Kathy.

Ed shared the same opinions about Kathy as Paul. Their match wasn’t made in heaven. Kathy referred to Mike’s friends as his pig buddies. She was always protesting or demonstrating against the Vietnam War.

Paul thought, If Kathy had an accident and went over a cliff to a fiery death while driving Mike’s truck, he would have mixed emotions about her death. He would be glad about Kathy, but he would miss Mike’s truck! They used his truck to tow Paul’s boat.

Mike broke up with Kathy when she got arrested at a protest rally for chaining herself to a fence. Mike told his partners “Those protests rallies have made Kathy crazier than a shit house rat!”

Ed harassed Mike, telling him now that he graduated from college, he’d be receiving his draft notice any day now! Mike laughed, telling him choosing between Vietnam or booze and babes was an easy decision. “College, booze, and babes here I come!”

Ed reminded Mike, “It’s not too late. They can still come get your skinny ass!” Richard was a friend of Ed’s from high school. He wasn’t drafted when Ed received his draft notice.

Richard told Ed, “Some of us need to stay home and take care of the girls while you guys go play army.”

In 1971, after Ed returned from Vietnam and joined the LAPD, Richard received his draft notice. He went to Vietnam in 1972 and became a door gunner, operating the mounted machine-gun on the side of a chopper transporting soldiers in and out of landing zones during eagle flights. That’s what the army calls nine UH-1-B Huey helicopters transporting soldiers in and out of landing zones.

The door gunners provide the perimeter of the LZ with cover fire for soldiers getting in or out of their choppers in the LZ. Six months in country, Richard was killed sitting at his machine gun. His eagle flight landed in a hot LZ near the Cambodian border. As they landed, his unit started receiving automatic weapons fire from the jungle at the edge of the rice paddy.

At 12:30 a.m., 7-X-96 left the station’s parking lot, heading to the jungle to handle a shots-fired call at 6055 August St. #407. Ed and Mike turned onto August Street, checking for any signs of an ambush.

Several officers were shot at, while responding to phony calls in Los Angeles over the past few months. The Black Panthers made several threats about placing car bombs under police vehicles.

They wanted to shoot police officers in an ambush. It reached the point, after handling radio calls, officers would check underneath their vehicles for explosive devices before getting in them.

The officers parked one building away from 6055 and walked into the apartment complex. There were several tenants gathered outside the apartment. The officers climbed the stairs to 407. A crowd was gathered in front of the apartment.

“What’s going on, folks?”

A spectator replied, “We heard yelling coming out of 407 all night. We heard a gunshot ten minutes ago—now it’s quiet inside. Nobody answers.”

Ed knocked hard on the door, announcing, “Police officers, open the door!”

The tenant, a black male in his forties, opened the door. “Officers, I need help. I shot my old lady—it was an accident. She’s in the bedroom, she needs an ambulance.” Ed told Mike to watch the suspect while he checked the bedroom.

Ed entered the bedroom; what he saw surprised him. Not the sight of the shooting victim; he’d seen more than his share of dead bodies and people shot every place imaginable. What surprised him was the woman was alive.

There was a naked three-hundred-pound white female in her late thirties on a bed shoved into the corner of the bedroom. The victim was sitting upright leaning against both corner walls. Her skull was missing from above her eyebrows, blown off with the blast from his shotgun.

The shotgun was lying on the foot of the bed. The wadding from the shotgun shell was sticking in the front of her brain. Ed noticed blood dripping on the woman’s shoulders from above; he looked up at the ceiling.

The blast from the shotgun had torn the woman’s skull cap off her head. Her skull was stuck upside down to the ceiling above the victim. Her hair was hanging from the ceiling like a bloody wig.

The woman’s breathing was erratic and labored. Ed checked for a pulse, confirming her breathing wasn’t some kind of involuntary muscle spasm. He returned to the living room, telling Mike to handcuff the suspect.

Scanning the apartment, Ed walked over to a phone sitting on the kitchen counter; he picked up the receiver. There was no dial tone. The suspect watching the officer told him, “It’s not hooked up.” Ed advised Mike he was going back to the car to call for an ambulance and have A-91 transport their suspect to the station. “After you cuff him, look in the bedroom!”

Ed made the notifications and went back to the apartment. Mike was questioning the suspect about the shooting. The suspect was explaining, “Me and my old lady been fighting all night. She pissed me off. I told her to shut the fuck up! She kept talking shit and wouldn’t shut up! I fired over her head, trying to scare her and make her shut up—that’s all I wanted! I aimed too low. It was an accident—I didn’t mean to blow the top of her head off. I just wanted her to shut the fuck up!”

A few minutes passed. Paul and his partner Bill, followed the paramedics into the apartment. “What’s happening, guys?”

Ed directed the RA unit to the bedroom, suggesting to Paul, “Go see what’s happening!” Paul followed the paramedics to the bedroom, stopping at the door.

Ed watched Paul as he gave the paramedics room to work. Paul look around the bedroom. His eyes looked at the ceiling then at Ed, asking, “What happened here?”

“It’s all just a big misunderstanding. It was an accident! He just wanted her to shut the fuck up! But he aimed too low!”

Paul looked at Ed, “Well, I’d say mission accomplished—she’s quiet now! She’s still alive but circling the drain. We’ll follow the RA unit to the hospital until they call it. Maybe she’ll regain consciousness, sit up, and tell us it was all just a misunderstanding!”

“I wouldn’t hold my breath waiting for that happen!”

“You never know! I can’t believe she’s alive! Maybe the doctor can duct tape the top of her head back on and everything will be okay!”

“Do me a favor—take this guy to the station along with his shotgun. We’ll be there when we leave the hospital.”

Paul went into the bedroom and unloaded the shotgun. On the way out, he grabbed the suspect’s arm, telling him, “Let’s go, Buffalo Bill!”

“Who’s Buffalo Bill?”

“My name’s Freddie, Freddie Jackson!”

“Okay, Freddie, let’s go.”

The officers followed the RA unit to the hospital’s emergency room. Ed told Mike he’d seen shit before, but this one was right near the top of the list! They followed the paramedic’s gurney through the double doors into the emergency room. The doctor followed the officers into the room.

“What do you have? We’ve got one circling the drain with a shotgun blast to the front of her head. The wadding from the shell is lodged in the front of her brain.” The doctor looked at Ed to see if he was screwing with him.

He walked over to the victim and stared at her for a moment. He leaned down, inspecting the shotgun wadding sticking out of her brain. Straightening back up, the doctor looked at the officers. “There’s nothing I can do for her except call it when she expires. It won’t be long.”

The officers were waiting for her to die when the double doors of the ER flew open again.

Two other paramedics wheeled their gurney through the doors. A blood-soaked sheet covered the body.

The doctor walked to the gurney and lifted the sheet. Looking at the victim, he asked the paramedics, “Why is this in here? It belongs in the morgue.”

“Yeah, Doc we know. He jumped from an overpass onto the San Diego Freeway. Several cars hit him before anyone stopped. The California Highway Patrol at the scene insisted we take him to the hospital. So a doctor could pronounce him dead. Otherwise they’d have to close the freeway for hours. If we brought him to the emergency room, they could reopen the freeway for traffic.”

“So here we are!” The doctor looked at the clock, telling the nurse. “The time of death is2:07 a.m.” Mike, standing next to their victim, heard an exhale after a final deep breath. “Doc, I think you can call ours too.”

The doctor walked over to the female. He checked her pulse again, looking at the clock. “Nurse this patient expired at 2:08 a.m.” Ed and Mike walked over to inspect the jumper victim. As they approached, they could smell the odor of the blood that saturated the sheet covering the body.

Mike pulled the sheet back. The victim was mangled from the impact of multiple vehicles. The remains were not recognizable as human. His arms, legs, and torso were so mutilated you couldn’t tell front from back.

His head was missing. Presumably still at the scene of the accident or stuck on the grill of one of the vehicles involved. Mike, not use to seeing bodies this mangled, blurted out, “This is just wrong!”

Walking out to the nurse’s station, he asked to use their phone to call communications. Mike dialed communications. “Hi, this is Officer Brown on 7-X-96. I need you to notify the CHP via land line. Ask them to have the unit handling the jumper call on the San Diego Freeway search the scene for the victim’s head. No, it was missing when the RA unit brought the body into the emergency room. Yeah, I’m sure it’s missing—they’re attached to the top of the neck or up their asses. But either way, his is missing! So ask them to look for it.”

“Thanks.”

“No, we’re not handling this caper. We have our own bucket of worms. But our victim still has most of her head attached! I know the victim’s family or friends would like to bury him with his head if possible. It’s somewhere at the scene or on one of the vehicles that hit him. Thanks.” Mike hung the phone up and walked back into the ER. Ed was staring at the victim’s body like it was a puzzle and he was searching for the missing pieces.

The body caused him to flash back to Vietnam. To a ground attack when a wounded NVA shot and killed the RTO. Six men threw grenades into the bomb crater he was in, killing him. His body was blasted into hundreds of pieces.

Ed was looking at the victim, trying to imagine where the pieces fit back together. He was deep in thought when Mike walked up next to him, suggesting, “Let’s get the hell out of here!” They left the hospital, heading to the station. They finished their reports and booked Freddie for murder.