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thing. A little while later, however, Johnny said that George came into his bedroom and said, “Daddy, you need to call the police to come get me, ‘cause I just killed Freddie.” George then left the house, got in his car, and drove away. When Johnny checked and found his other son with his head gashed open and unconscious on the couch, he called 911.

      With all of the family members at the house, this was a very difficult crime scene to control. Normally, we would just order everyone out and lock it down until CSI had processed it. There were two problems with that here. First of all, it was January so it was cold outside. The second problem, though, was that the two brothers’ mother, Johnny’s wife, was an invalid and was bedridden. She could not be moved and someone had to stay with her. I got rid of as many people as I could but there were still a number of people in the house.

      I still had not seen the axe that had been used in the assault. I mentioned this to Mary. She said, “I know where the axe is.” Without another word, she stepped into a bedroom and came back out with a full size axe. It looked like the blade had been recently wiped off. Mary motioned to the room that she had just come out of and said, “That is George’s room. The axe was on the bed.”

      Normally, the detectives would have secured a Search Warrant to go into George’s room to find the weapon. Mary, however, was not subject to the Search and Seizure Rules that police officers are. With all of the people milling about the house, it would have been very easy for that axe to “disappear.” With Mary’s help, I was able to secure it for the detectives. I took it outside and put it in the trunk of my police car for the time being.

      While still waiting on the investigators to get there, another family member showed up at the house. She was Mary’s mother and the boys’ aunt and lived on the next street over. She said that George had just driven up to her house and had told her, “I killed Freddie and I know the police are going to be looking for me.” He then drove off. At this same time, several of the people in the front yard started yelling that George had just driven by.

      Another officer, Officer Randy, one of my academy mates, had come to the scene to help me try and maintain some order. When it became obvious that George was still in the neighborhood, Randy started to go looking for him. As he was about to get into his police car, George came driving by again. Randy just motioned for him to pull over, which he did. He actually stopped in his own driveway. He was quickly taken into custody and secured in one of the police cars.

      While we were arresting George, Randy and I both observed that he was very, very drunk. Randy went ahead and charged him with Driving Under the Influence and several other traffic charges. He registered .30 grams on the intoximeter. That is a staggering number. It is over three times the legal limit. Randy would transport George to the Headquarters where the detectives could interview him. I would stay at the crime scene until CSI was finished processing it and the investigators that we were on scene had finished interviewing witnesses.

      On the way to the Headquarters, George told Officer Randy, “Freddie was drunk and had been threatening me and Daddy with that gun. When he come at me with the gun, I hit him with the ax.” George was initially booked on Aggravated Battery, as well as the traffic charges.

      Freddie managed to hold on to life for about three weeks before he died. George’s charges were then upgraded to Murder. When his case went to trial a few months later, his lawyer said that he was going to plead that he acted in self defense. All the evidence, however, indicated that Freddie was asleep on the couch when George hit him with the ax. In the end, just before the trial started, George pleaded guilty to Murder. He received a Life Sentence, which is a bit deceiving. George was eligible for Parole after seven years. In reality, he served less than ten years, and as far as I know is back home in Buford, minus his brother.

      7

      A Long Foot Chase

      Sometimes, what you see is not what you get. Looks can be deceiving. I was patrolling the small town of Grayson. They do not have their own police department so the county provides coverage for them. This took place in November of 1984 around 11:15 at night. I saw a gray 1975 Buick Apollo parked on the shoulder of Highway 20. It looked like they were broken down. I could see that the right rear tire was flat and almost off the rim. I advised the dispatcher that I would be out on a stranded motorist. I gave her my location and the tag number of the car and activated my blue light.

      As I approached the Apollo to see what I could do to help, I noticed that the driver was attempting to move the vehicle. I could see sparks coming from the rim of the flat tire but then I saw that the car was hung up on the curb. Before I could get up to the Buick, however, the driver’s door flew open and a white male bailed out or the driver’s seat and started running. It’s been said that police officers are like Labrador Retrievers. We will chase anything that runs. There is some truth to that. The problem was I had told the dispatcher I was out on a stranded motorist, not in a foot chase. We did not have walkie talkies yet. I hesitated for a moment trying to decide what to do: go back to my patrol car, update radio and request backup or purse the fleeing man. I chose to chase the guy that was trying to get away.

      By now, he had about a twenty five yard head start on me. He was running across the parking lot of the First Baptist Church of Grayson. I never have been a great runner but I was only 22 years old at the time and was in pretty good shape. The guy I was chasing was a good sized guy. He was about six foot and weighed at least two hundred pounds. I should have been able to catch him but fear and adrenaline sometimes give people that extra little push. I was yelling at the subject to stop but he just kept running.

      We ran behind a house that was the church parsonage, continued behind the church and then back in the direction that we had come. He was trying to get back to his car. After almost two hundred yards, I was starting to close the distance. I was only about ten yards behind him when he turned around to see where I was. That was his undoing. He lost his balance and fell hard to the ground, face first. Before he could try and get back up I dove on top of him. He was about my age and it was clear he was not going to go without a fight. The problem was the long run had winded us both. We just lay there for a few minutes trying to catch our breath. The guy, who turned out to be twenty two years old as well, then started trying buck me off.

      I could smell the alcohol on the guy and now realized that he had run because he was driving under the influence and had wrecked his car. I needed to get him handcuffed but he was starting to get his wind back. I managed to get his left wrist handcuffed but his right arm was under him and he kept trying to throw his right elbow at me. Every time he did I punched him in the back. At the time, we carried very cheap, very flimsy flashlights. I had left my nightstick in the car. After all, this was only a stranded motorist. After struggling unsuccessfully for several minutes to get his right hand cuffed, I swung my flashlight at the suspect’s head. Instead of stunning the suspect like I had hoped, my cheap flashlight disintegrated into several pieces all over the ground.

      The drunk guy that I was wrestling with said, “Ouch! Is that all you’ve got?”

      Now I did not have a flashlight and I was fighting this guy in the dark. I started punching his back and right shoulder in an effort to make him give me his right hand so I could handcuff him. It was not having any effect. Finally, I reached behind me and grabbed the drunk’s testicles. I started to squeeze. He began to scream and curse me with everything he had.

      “Give me your right hand,” I ordered.

      His level of profanity only increased. I continued to squeeze his testicles until the pain was too much for him, even in his highly intoxicated state. He pulled his right out from underneath him and put it behind his back. I quickly got him handcuffed and searched for weapons.

      As I was trying to get the subject to his feet, (no easy task considering his size, level of intoxication, and handcuffs) a man came running up and said, “Officer, are you okay? I saw your car down there and somebody else driving by had seen you run up here. I wanted to make sure you were alright.”

      I asked him to help me get the drunk to his feet. The helpful citizen did and then helped me walk him the one hundred plus yards back to the cars we had left behind. On the walk back, the drunk continued to resist and try to pull away, using many colorful phrases and

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