Monday, January 28, 2013

Roast Beef

Posted by: Blue

Sometimes the job requires a heavy hand.  Sometimes it requires delicacy and tact.  Sometimes it requires you to do something you never, ever, ever thought you'd be getting paid to do.

On Thursday, our call was a Sudden Death requiring a notification for the Next of Kin.  Pretty standard.  One of the harder parts of the job.  This one was significantly more complicated though.

The deceased was an octogenarian.  His girlfriend was also well into her eighties and suffering from the first stages of Alzheimer's.  He had died in her bed... ahem... after... uh... or during... well... there were two blister packs of Viagra found in his pockets... one was empty... um... sheesh.

So buddy was getting some in his golden years.  Her daughter didn't approve.  Then again, the old girl didn't approve of her daughter's lesbian relationship and wasn't shy to share that with the police and anyone else within earshot.  She also apparently didn't approve of the idea of a Black police officer (who happened to be the prime unit's reporting officer that night).

To further complicate things, the elderly missus had not eaten that day and was becoming more confused with all of the excitement.  She kept referring to her deceased boyfriend by her previously deceased husband's name.  Her daughter was trying to get her to eat, however the daughter happened to be the most patronizing person I have met recently and her mother was resistant to the idea of being parented by her child (naturally).

We were having difficulty ascertaining the identity and particulars of the deceased's son, so our supervisor came with us to the home of the gentleman visitor.  During our search for medications and NOK information, what should we stumble across, but a huge stockpile of improperly stored firearms.  Shit.

Most of the guns were able to fit into the gun locker which we managed to find a key for.  There was, however, a revolver which was unregistered (as restricted weapons, all handguns and a number of other varieties of firearms are required to be registered in Canada).  As there were no charges that would be laid against the dead guy, we brought the gun back to the station to be processed as a "found gun" and then turned in for testing and subsequent destruction to our firearms section.

We located the info for the son of the deceased.  He lived out of town.  The police in his jurisdiction were advised and requested to make the death notification.

We were an evening unit and the prime unit was days.  They had a little overtime already, typing up the report for the coroner.  We were dealing with the gun.  That left the elderly girlfriend and her family alone in the house to "grieve".  Unfortunately they were not grieving.  They were arguing and bickering.

Dispatch raised us on the radio.  There was now a Family Trouble call at the same address.

We headed back.

There was a neighbour over from down the street.  Per the daughter, the neighbour was known to steal from her mother.  Per the mother and the neighbour, the daughter was the one stealing.  There was apparently $100 missing from the 80 year old woman's wallet now.

No one had known about the $100 except for the woman with Alzheimer's.  Shit.

Side-note: my partner and I had already dealt with the neighbour prior to that night on a bogus theft call.  She and her boyfriend had been reporting a theft by her sister-in-law.  Upon arrival, the money had been recovered (apparently it had fallen under the couch).

There was a lot more reasoning and massaging and coaxing.  In the end, my Sergeant, partner and myself sat in the house and watched the lady eat a roast beef sandwich on rye and drink a cup of Ensure along with her pills.  Then the daughter and her lesbian partner finally satisfied, were escorted back to their car at the mother's request.  The neighbour was also removed, leaving the mother alone to go to sleep.

There were no further problems that night.

Sometimes the job requires a heavy hand.  Sometimes it requires delicacy and tact.  Sometimes it requires you to demand an eighty-something year old widow to muscle-down a dry, tasteless roast beef sandwich with too much mustard for the sake of public peace.


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