Police are reactionary by nature. A lot of the time they arrive just a little too late to really make a difference. There is no foreseeable way to change that fact. More often than not the response to an emergency is much faster than the public can reasonably expect, just not fast enough. There does exist, however, a perfect storm of skill, intuition, divine intervention and just plain luck that shows itself, on occasion in this profession, that lends an officer to be in the right place at the right time. One such confluence of circumstances occurred within the last twenty-four hours.
Yesterday, I met a woman named Claire. She was a twenty-eight year old black woman living alone in an apartment complex in an adjacent city. Claire spoke with a thick, distinctly French accent that my untrained ear somehow placed as French-Canadian. We met on a bridge where US Highway 31 travels about forty feet above Interstate 65 in central Alabama. Claire was trying to kill herself.
I spend a great deal of my time hunting for illegal drugs. Yesterday was no different. As I left a high drug traffic area in my city and turned onto US Highway 31, I was caught in the center turn lane in heavy traffic. I was in a hurry to get to my next spot, an area known as the bottoms, which was the source of quite a bit of crack cocaine. I could see a car a few hundred yards away pulling out of the road leading through the bottoms. I spent a great deal of time in that area and knew most of the vehicles that belong there. That particular car did not. I could smell blood in the water.
I was watching my rearview mirrors, searching for a hole in the endless stream of cars so that I could break through and chase down a sure dope collar. Just before I was about to pull into traffic, I saw a person walking toward me on the North side of the bridge, which was in no way uncommon for that particular bridge. The person was too far away to make out any details. I simply saw a figure, wearing tan, off in the distance walking on the bridge. Something seemed off.
The intuition a cop develops over years of reading body language is hard to explain to someone who has not seen it in action. A mystery writer, Raymond Chandler, once said of those in law enforcement " He has a range of awareness that startles you, but it belongs to him by right, because it belongs to the world he lives in." I can't tell you why I thought something about the figure in the distance wasn't right. I just knew that something wasn't.
I watched the person, who I would later learn was Claire, on the bridge as I waited for a break in Southbound traffic so I could turn around. As the traffic poured down the highway I saw Claire lean out over the rail. An inner voice, the one many veteran cops taught me never to ignore, told me to hurry up. I took my eyes off of the mirror long enough to force my way through traffic and turn around. When I finally got through I looked up and she was gone. My eyes searched up and down the bridge but I could not find her. I accelerated toward the bridge and as I closed the distance I saw that Claire had removed her tan coat to and was wearing a black shirt underneath. The clothing switch had thrown me, but a fraction of a second after the change registered, a startling realization clicked in my head. She was standing outside the rail!
As I looked on, still too far away to make a difference, Claire gripped the rail and leaned out face forward. She leaned out far, the interstate traffic below zipping by at seventy miles an hour. I knew that if she simply let go, I watch her plummet to her death. If the fall didn't kill her, the traffic surely would. I raced my powerful cruiser toward her, but the traffic light between us changed from green to red, halting my progress. Traffic from the interstate began to flow onto Highway 31. I tried to squeeze the Crown Vic through, but traffic would not break. As I tried to get through, I rolled down my window and began to yell at her. I can't remember my exact words, but they were pouring out of my mouth faster than I could think them. I do remember pleading with her to get back over the rail and begging her not to jump. I asked her to talk to me. While I was yelling Claire turned to look at me, so I knew she could hear me. I was close enough to see the tears streaming down her face, yet I was still too far to do anything to stop her. I felt helpless to save her.
I was infuriated with the traffic. Why were they failing to get out of my way? I was inching forward trying to intimidate my way through the red light to no avail. I got on the radio to relay what I saw and request medics. I hoped another unit would be close by that might could get to Claire before she could jump. I didn't want to use the lights or siren because I was afraid they would startle her or make her jump early. Then I caught a break. A large tanker truck pulled between us obscuring my view of her and her view of me. I turned on the lights and pushed through the intersection. Finally, I began to make progress.
As the truck moved I saw a welcome sight. Claire was climbing back over the rail. While that was good, I knew that one wrong move could put her right back on the ledge or worse. I jumped out of my car and ran through traffic to get to her. She looked up at me and began to walk away, back towards the rail. I ran towards her and grabbed her. I pulled her away from the rail and held an arm around her shoulders. She was slightly built and I felt confident that I could prevent her from jumping. As I held on, I tried to get her to talk. When I asked her what she was doing, she told me bluntly that she was trying to kill herself. She said that she had been through too much and she just wanted to die. She had given up.
I could see in her eyes that she meant it. There were tracks across her cheeks where the tears had been running freely. Her eyes were bloodshot and swollen from the all of the crying. She began glancing around in a manner that warned me that she might try to run. In her state of mind I thought that she may try to make a break for the rail, so I handcuffed her to make fighting me off more difficult. Once that was done, I looped one of my arms through hers, grabbed her tightly with the other, and braced my body to pull away from the wall if she tried to go. I was also preparing myself to let go in the event adrenaline gave her the strength to propel herself over the rail. I said a silent prayer that it wouldn't come to that.
Thankfully, my backup and the medics arrived and we were able to put her safely into an ambulance. Before she left, I was able to learn her name, which was not really Claire, but surely you understand why I changed it. After much coaxing, she gave me her mother's phone number. It was the last thing Claire said to me before she was transported to a local hospital. The hospital had a psychiatric ward, where, hopefully, she received the help she needed.
When I got back to the station I called her mother. Claire's mother possessed an even heavier French accent, to the point that it was difficult to understand. I was able to discern that she was at another local police department speaking with officers and trying to convince them to find her daughter. She was totally sure that her daughter was going to commit suicide and was desperate for someone to help. I told her that her daughter was alive and uninjured and related the story of what had occurred. I could feel her relief through the phone. Understandably, Claire's mother rushed off the phone. She had to go to her daughter.
I may never speak to either of them again. I may never knew if Claire worked through her problems or if she ultimately took her own life. But that was not what this story was about. This story, for at least a day, had a happy ending. Yesterday was one of the most rewarding experiences of my career. Yesterday was a good day.
