As I looked back on the pile of glass and fiberglass wreckage, the smell of radiator fluid pouring across the road, and the distant sounds of sirens coming to the scene, I quickly tried to assess the last five minutes of what happened. My legs were shaking but I felt that I was still in control of my faculties. My senses were still trying catch up though and absorb what had happened.
The call had started routinely enough as a domestic disturbance on a Saturday night. Our dinner was cut a little short as we jumped in our squads, flipped our lights to stage 3, and shot up the interstate at 130 miles per hour shrouded with red and blue lights bouncing into the dark night. Cars whipped by as if they were standing still as a 30 minute drive time was cut down to around 7 minutes.
The boyfriend had caused enough fear in his girlfriend to cause her to lock herself and her children in a bedroom as she heard him throwing items around the house. Alcohol and anger are potent mixes that can nearly take over a person and drive them to do things they never thought they would do. This would be the case tonight as we would soon find out.
Blasting through the dark night as concrete and white stripes passed underneath me in a blur, our dispatch told us that the suspect had left the house in a pickup truck, only to return a few minutes later. The interstate gave way to a county road which gave way to a township road which held the address that I was going to. The house was at the end of a dead end road and as I turned onto the road, our dispatcher told me that the suspect was leaving again in his truck.
I backed into a random driveway, flipped my headlights off and sat still. No more than five seconds later did a set of white headlights pop up over the hill as I saw the truck coming from the house. As it passed me flipped my headlights back on and began following it. The truck accelerated more quickly than it should have through a turn which sent the thought through my mind that he was going to run. I remember seeing gravel spit out from his back tires as he took the turn sharply and not even try to slow down at the stop sign.
The red and blue lights shot into the night again, the siren came to life, and the chase was on. My partner had just shown up and he took over radio communications with dispatch updating our locations, allowing me to concentrate on the movements of the driver and our 12 page pursuit policy. The vehicle completely crossed over into the other lane of traffic twice but the night was late and the traffic was non-existent. Still, it could only take one car coming our way at the wrong time.
Within seconds we were leaving our county and heading into the neighboring one at 95 miles per hour. I knew the road would lead us to a T-intersection quickly and I wondered if that would be this driver’s demise. It nearly was. He took his Chevy 2500 through that intersection quickly enough that the truck’s weight shifted to one side in the turn, nearly bringing both passenger side tires off the ground. I thought about moving in for a PIT but he regained control of his truck quickly and was rocketing north again on a new road.
This had to end quickly or we needed to stop the chase. He was driving north bound in the south bound lane but he was going too fast for me to do a PIT maneuver. For a reason that I’m still not sure of, he began tapping his brakes. I saw an opening. It was not the most precise or prettiest PIT that could be done. It was dirty. My front driver’s side bumper met his rear passenger side bumper as his truck slid across the entire front bumper of my squad car.
I tried putting him in the ditch but his truck was too heavy for my Dodge Charger. He slid out of the PIT and started going south. Within three seconds I had used the PIT unsuccessfully and then watched in my rearview mirror as his truck hit my partner’s squad. Immediately the two vehicles were made useless as wheels snapped off on both.
My partner and I bailed out of our squad cars, depressed our holster retentions, and pointed 9MM Glocks at him as he was still in the driver’s seat. Not knowing his entire wheel was gone, he had the accelerator to the floorboards, trying to drive out of the ditch. Donald Trump had a better chance at winning the Nobel Peace Prize than he did at getting that truck back on the road.
He realized the gig was up and got out of the truck but refused to get on the ground. A few swift kicks to the chest and shoulders helped bring the message home to him and we were then on the ground with him, putting on the handcuffs. My squad siren was still piercing our ears and the blue and red lights were still bouncing.
A neighboring agency showed up to assist us and we stuffed our suspect in his squad car much to his protest. My partner and I assessed our bodies to make sure we didn’t have any injuries that adrenaline would mask the pain on. My partner had a sprained thumb that would later cause his hand to swell up. Besides that, we were in much better shape than our squad cars.
The butcher’s bill would be $5,000 on front end repair for mine and my partner’s squad would be totaled out by the insurance company. The pursuit had lasted four minutes and the rest of the investigation would last six hours. Statements needed to gotten, the domestic crime needed to be investigated, the squads needed to get towed, a crash report needed to get written and a warrant needed to be drafted to obtain blood from our suspect for he was indeed drunk.
Despite it all, it was a good night. We were ok and the bad guy was going to jail.