Part 2 Back to Denise's Story's
Sloanville Police Department
Internal Affairs
Incident and Offense Report
Name: Michael Patrick Epstein
Department: 101st Precinct
Title: Sgt.
Incident: Shooting of fellow officer by suspect then the shooting and killing of suspect.
Description of Incident: We were traveling north on Maple. We didn't notice anything suspicious about the Lincoln that was ahead of us. It held one occupant who did the speed limit. When we approached 34th St., the traffic light turned red. The Lincoln came to a stop then proceeded through the intersection. I was driving, my partner, Officer Peter Caine called in the stop as we attempted to pull the car over after we followed the suspect's car through the intersection. Officer Caine got out and approached the suspect's car after they had pulled over. I was calling in the tag when I heard a shot. I looked up and Officer Caine was lying on the street, the suspect pointing his weapon at me. He shot at me, the bullet hitting the door of the squad car. I returned fire, hitting the suspect in the face. I then called for an ambulance and notified my department.
Slamming down the phone, Chief of Detectives Frank Strenlich turned toward the back of the room, where two glass-enclosed offices were. Furiously, he approached the door marked 'Capt. Paul Blaisdell'. The other detectives watched as Chief Strenlich went to the door, not bothering to knock, just walking on in.
Paul looked up, dangling his glasses by the earpiece. "What's wrong now, Frank."
"There's been a shooting, Paul. One officer down and the suspect dead. It's Peter. He's being taken to County General right now." Frank watched as the rugged tan color of Paul's face turned pale.
"Can you get someone to pick up Annie?" Paul asked, as he headed for the stairs.
Frank noticed the tremor of Paul's hands as Paul pulled on his coat. "I'm driving."
Paul began to argue, but relinquished. "Let's hurry."
Frank pulled up at the ER entrance. Both men saw the deserted ambulance parked at the doorway into the hospital. The doors to the ambulance were still open, allowing them to see the discarded plastic bags, blood-soaked gauze, and assorted papers.
Paul hesitated at the truck, realizing the blood on the once white gauze was his son's.
Frank stopped just behind Paul and followed the Captain's gaze, then nudged Paul forward, "Come on."
The doors to the hospital pulled open and closed with a hydraulic hiss. A waiting room was to the left, a row of cubicles to the right. Paul went to the first cubicle, where a woman dressed in white sat filling out papers.
"May I help you?" the nurse asked, glancing up quickly, then returning back to the form she was intent upon completing.
"My name is Captain Paul Blaisdell. One of my officers was brought in a while ago. Where is he?"
Laying down her pen, the nurse looked up. She saw concern in the man's rugged face. "Trauma Room 2. Does he have any family?"
Paul hesitated. Hospital policy on shootings was police personnel only allowed in the ER. Only after the doctor had examined the patient were family members allowed back in the ER. As Peter's captain, Paul would be allowed in the ER. As a parent of a shooting victim, he'd be relegated to the waiting room. "He has foster parents. His mother will be here soon."
The nurse pushed a button, releasing the sliding doors that separated the ER from the rest of the hospital. Paul walked in; hoping and praying Peter was all right.
The ER had rooms to either side of the hallway, each with a label over the door. Trauma was on one side. On the other side were the larger rooms, where medical emergencies went.
Trauma 2 was full of men and women in blue and green scrubs. A portable x-ray machine sat off to the side, the technician waiting patiently. A cabinet of plastic bags with colorless fluid, various tubes with multicolored tops, and gauze were within easy reach of the medical staff.
Paul saw Peter struggling against the grasp of the paramedics and nurses. An IV line hung from a pole, its end dragging on the floor, a pool of blood surrounding the plastic angiocath. Peter had already pulled out one IV; his wild movements would cause him more harm.
"Who are you?" a man with horn-rimmed glasses asked as Paul came to stand next to Peter's head.
"I'm his captain. I can get him to calm down." Paul's hand had already started caressing Peter's forehead, gently moving down to his temple, and repeating the process.
Dr. Johnson watched as the young patient slowed the erratic movements of his arms and legs. The fear was still evident in Peter's eyes, flashing from the doctor to the older man. "This is against policy, but if he keeps him calm, let the Captain stay," The doctor told a security officer who had entered the room.
"Peter," Paul started in a hushed tone, looking into Peter's eyes, eyes that were wide with fear.
"P-Paul, I've been… shot," Peter gasped, feeling the gentle caress of Paul's hand, along with the burning agony in his left side. He looked into Paul's blue eyes, recognizing the face of the man who had become Peter's second father. His breathing became more rapid as he fought to get up, get out of the room in which he was being held. Every movement brought new pain and fire to his body and threw blood into his mouth from the collapsing lung.
"I know. Peter, listen to me. I want you to take slow deep breaths, OK?" Paul said tenderly amid the shouting going around them. He held Peter's gaze with his, continuing to stroke the young man's forehead.
"Get me a chest tube!" someone shouted.
Peter watched Paul's face, pleading gently to the older man to stop the pain, stop the torture. Paul continued to wipe the beads of perspiration that dotted Peter's face, wiped the blood away from the corners of Peter's mouth, blood that was pink and frothy. The hazel eyes pleaded to Paul to stop the pain.
"Sh-h-h, it's going to be all right. You need to relax, Peter. Slow down your breathing," Paul encouraged, never losing eye contact.
"Hold him still," the earlier voice said, as the doctor probed along the lower rib cage, found the spot he needed, and plunged the sharp end of the chest tube into Peter's flesh, sinking it into the chest cavity to relieve the pressure of the collapsed lung.
Peter jerked away from the new pain, but not far. "Please, Paul? Please, make… them stop." Peter panted. He was now unable to focus on Paul's face.
"We are preparing him for surgery. He'll be all right now without restraint," the doctor explained as he turned from Paul to the x-ray technician. "Bonnie, go ahead and get a chest and upper abdomen. Get it stat and send it to OR."
"Peter, I'm sorry. I'll be here when you wake up, OK?" Paul continued, not wanting to leave his son's side.
Peter's eyes slowly closed. He struggled to open them, but they were too heavy, his mind too fogged. He remembered this feeling when he was younger, after an auto accident. He sank deeper into the fog, but managed to mumble, "I love you, Dad."
Paul watched Peter's mouth move, but his son was already near the door. He didn't hear Peter's words, though he felt the young man's pain.
Family and friends were all ushered to the waiting room near surgery on the next floor. Annie arrived, her dark sunglasses covering her red, puffy eyes, eyes that couldn't see but could still show emotion. Her lips were a thin line as she pressed them together, attempting to keep from breaking down.
Among the friends that gathered were Detective Mary Margaret Skalaney and John Blake, and Chief Strenlich. Peter had graduated from the police academy only a year earlier. His marksmanship awards had earned him a post at the 101st precinct, along with his good grades. He was the youngest officer at the 1-0-1, and his personality had drawn everyone around him to like him. Peter went out of his way to help others in need, giving new definition to the policy "To protect and serve."
Sgt. Patrick William "Eppy" Epstein, Peter's partner and the man who was at the shooting, stood away from the others. Chief Strenlich, an ex-Marine turned police officer, approached Eppy.
"The kid'll pull through," Frank said, hoping he was speaking the truth.
Epstein looked at the Chief, taking in the crew cut hair and broad shoulders. The image reminded him of a football lineman and he grinned for a second. Then the image of his young partner, lying in the street, invaded his memory. Looking around, he saw Paul staring at him, and was unable to hold the gaze. Eppy turned toward the window, not wanting to answer. Frank didn't push him, only stood by him, knowing the pain Eppy was going through.
Paul pulled Annie into his arms, gently resting his chin on her head. They held each other without speaking. Paul felt the tremors running through Annie's body. "Babe, I'm sorry."
She tensed at his words. He continued to try and soothe both their fears with gentle words of comfort. Clutching her handkerchief, she dried her eyes.
Paul knew she was holding in her anger. "Let's go to the chapel," He suggested, knowing she could not keep her feelings under control much longer. "Mary Margaret, we'll be in the chapel."
The chapel was small, converted from a patient room when the hospital underwent renovation. The Board of Directors had wanted a chapel near surgery for those who waited on word about their loved one. A cross stood at the front of the room. Four mahogany pews lined the center. Soft music played from recessed speakers.
Paul had just closed the door when the dam broke. "DAMN YOU, Paul Blaisdell!" Annie shouted. Her hands and arms shook from the pent-up anger rushing out. Paul didn't respond; he was thinking the same thought of himself.
"How could you let this happen? Because of you, we may lose him!" Her words screamed her anguish. She collapsed on the pew; the reality of her fears had come true.
Her harsh words had struck her husband as nothing else had. He placed his hand on her shoulder, only to have her shrug it off. "Leave me alone, Paul. Just… Leave me alone."
Silent tears slipped from his eyes. He made a motion to wipe them away, but a few moist spots remained on his cheek. He checked his watch; Peter had been in surgery for 45 minutes. "I'll be in the waiting room," he said and quietly slipped out of the room, leaving Annie to her thoughts and him to his.
He cursed himself, knowing Annie was right. He should have talked Peter into taking a different career. He knew that Peter was good at his job, but also good cops got shot. He remembered the fear in Peter's eyes, the pain written on the young man's face. He had promised he would take care of Peter and keep him safe when Peter left the orphanage to live with them. Paul had not kept that promise; instead, his son lay in the OR fighting for his life.
Mary Margaret was the first to see her captain and notice his red cheeks, nose and eyes. "Do you want me to talk to her?"
"I don't think she wants to talk."
She patted his arm. "I'll just check. Sometimes it's easier to talk to someone who went through the same thing."
Paul watched Mary Margaret walk the path he had just come from, hoping Annie would talk. He agreed with Annie: he could have stopped Peter from becoming an officer, but hadn't. They had just celebrated their 12th wedding anniversary a month ago. She had accepted him being a police officer and the hazards of the job. When Peter came to live with them, Paul was proud his new son wanted to follow in his footsteps, but Annie wasn't.
**
"No!" Annie shouted when Paul told her of Peter's chosen career. "I won't have him being shot at and maybe killed. I just don't know if I can handle it, Paul." She had met Paul at the front door as usual that day. Greeting him at the end of the day and seeing him home safe had become her habit. She was glad he was the Captain; it meant less chance of him getting shot at.
Paul brought her into his strong embrace. He smelled her hair and the scent of the herbal shampoo she used. He was always happy to see her. His first marriage had ended in tragedy, leaving him to raise two young girls. Meeting Annie had been a godsend. The girls bonded instantly with her, accepting her lifelong blindness as a part of her. Later, they took Peter in as a foster son. Peter had lost his mother when he was a toddler and his father when he was 12. He also bonded with Annie, and called her Mom. It had taken a while for Peter to call Paul Dad, and then only on occasion.
"Annie, he wants to be an officer. He's already been accepted to the academy; he'll start in August after graduation." He felt the anger grow in her, causing her body to tremble. "What did you want me to do?" he asked in exasperation. "Talk him out of it?"
She pulled away from him, walking back into the living room. She thought about the young boy that clung to her when her came to live with them. "I want to be able to sleep at night without worrying about him like I do you! I want to be able to know he isn't lying in a hospital somewhere with holes in him!" Tears streamed down her face and her voice caught, "I, don't want to think, each phone call - each knock on the door - could be the call or knock that says you or he will never come back."
**
Finally, Paul walked over to Sgt. Epstein. "What happened?" he asked simply. Through the mad rush to the hospital and trying to comfort Peter, then Annie, Paul had not thought about what had caused the tragedy.
Epstein continued staring out the window as he answered, shrugging. "I don't know. It started out as a routine traffic stop. Fella had run a red light." Eppy stopped, as the scene again played out before him. "Peter got out. I ran the tag." Eppy drew back his fist and hit the wall, drawing everyone's attention. "It happened so quick. We forgot Eppy's rule number 13: 'If it's too easy, something's wrong.'" A brief smile played on his lips. Peter loved the rules Eppy made, and even made a few of his own. "The car, it was a nice one. The driver wasn't reckless, just ran the light. About the time the tag came back stolen…" he gulped, again saw the picture of Peter lying on the ground. "A shot went off and Officer Peter Caine fell to the ground." Eppy switched to his professional voice. "I drew my revolver as I called for backup and an ambulance. The suspect leaned out of the car and fired at me; the bullet hit the car. I shot back, hitting the target in the face." Eppy was quiet then, blaming himself for the shooting.
Paul looked at his watch again. An hour had gone by. The hiss of the surgery doors brought everyone's eyes to the door. A nurse in blue scrubs came out. "Are you Peter Caine's family?"
Paul nodded, fear gripping his stomach.
"The doctor wanted me to come out and tell you everything is fine. Peter's vital signs are stable. It'll probably be another hour." She smiled and went back into surgery.
Mary Margaret sat beside Annie. She had met Annie last summer at the picnic the city always held. Peter had introduced them to each other. Even then, Mary Margaret had felt the turmoil Mrs. Blaisdell had at her son being a police officer.
The women sat quietly next to each other after Mary Margaret introduced herself.
Finally, Annie broke the quiet, with soft sobs between her words. "I… don't know…if I can be strong. Why did this…have to happen?"
Mary Margaret squeezed Annie's hand, trying to find the words needed to comfort this mother. "You don't have to be strong alone. We all care for and love Peter; we all need to support each other. We can also lean on the Lord. He's the only one with the answer as to why."
"Peter was…so proud…when he graduated from…the academy. So was Paul. I have worried about him since then. Every time the phone rings or the news reports an officer killed in the line of duty, I freeze. Paul comes home and finds me sitting in Peter's room, holding an old teddy bear Kelly got him." Annie smiled. "She gave it to him as a graduation present. It's dressed like a police officer. He left it in his room so I could have something to hug."
"My mother would do the same thing." Mary Margaret responded. "My father was an officer until he retired two years ago. I remember one time she was ironing clothes. We had just watched the 12:00 news when they announced two officers had been killed and another injured. Just then the phone rang. She just stood there with the iron in her hand. Wouldn't answer the phone." Mary Margaret stopped there.
"Was one of the officers your father?"
"No. He was the one calling, saying he was all right. I answered the phone. That night, I heard them yelling. Well, mostly my mom; Dad didn't say anything."
The women continued to remain a while in the chapel. The bond that had started with a thin thread of common womanhood had now grown thicker; it had become a bond of shared lives and emotions.