THE SIEGE
In this short series we return to the Victoria Police in suburban Melbourne. Our narrator is Gail, a Senior Constable who is also a single mother. When she first meets Sarah, it is at a siege and she immediately stands out because she is the only female officer in the elite police squad. It is not the only thing that draws Gail but is it sexual or something else?
Our first meeting was at a hostage situation in Warrandyte, Melbourne. I was one of the officers helping maintain an outer cordon while the Critical Incident Response Team (C.I.R.T) went in to ascertain the situation. Sarah is part of C.I.R.T and it was seeing her kitting up with a sniper rifle that first caught my attention and it was what impacted on me most strongly. She's my height and weight, five foot six and about nine stone but she was surrounded by big strapping men. One of them said something to her and she looked up at him and smiled before heading up the hill to the house. She disappeared over the brow of the hill and I returned to my duties.
We'd been called out to assist two officers from our station who'd been fired upon after trying to serve a summons. Whenever you hear the call go out over the radio it's an automatic reflex, you drop everything and rush to the scene. We'd pulled over a car load of louts speeding on Maroondah Highway and were just waiting for VKC to get back with our request for outstanding warrants when the call came through. We literally told them to fuck off and think themselves lucky and took off for Warrandyte.
Because we were the first unit to respond we came up behind the C.I.R.T van, which had blocked off the road running past the house. The guys were all getting kitted up and then Sarah stepped around from the other side of the van and locked eyes on us. She had a sniper rifle slung across her body and when someone nodded at as and said something she smiled and made her way down the road to our car.
"Hiya," she squinted at my rank, "can you pull back about twenty metres and guide the ambos in? They're coming to look at your colleague, we've got a hostage situation."
"How is he?" I asked.
"Looks like a flesh wound," she replied, "someone fired a shotgun through the door, he's got wood splinters in his hair."
"No worries," I shifted into reverse, "take care in there."
"Tell that to him," she stepped back and smiled.
It was a long vigil, three hours of standing about, making sure that members of the public didn't try to work their way through the surrounding bushland with their phones. We had the media set up just south of our position, the usual assortment of journalists. The worst are these citizen journalists because they have very little sense of self preservation, and a distorted sense of their right to report everything.
The ending was dramatic when the man appeared at the front door, ostensibly to talk face to face with a C.I.R.T officer and was brought down by a bean bag round when the police saw that the hostages were temporarily out of sight. The man was brought out in a C.I.R.T vehicle with his hands in zip ties for transfer to a police car, the wife and three kids were brought out some fifteen minutes later and taken back to the station.
Our paths crossed later that day, towards the end of my shift. Mum actually texted me to say she'd taped it on catch up and told me she was proud of me and then I had to call my daughter, Cassie to tell her I was okay. She was over the road at my friend's house. Fiona is a schoolteacher who moved in five years ago and we clicked straight away. Whenever I'm on a late shift, she either goes across the road for dinner or Fiona invites herself over to my joint for dinner. She's the only person apart from my immediate family who has a key to get in, which shows the degree of trust I have in her.
"Fiona's already taped it for you," Cassie went on, "when will you be home?"
"Soon, sweetie," I looked up then to find Sarah looking at me with undisguised amusement. I hadn't seen her come in. I hadn't registered her presence because she was off duty. Her floral top hung loosely over blue jeans, a brown leather jacket kept the winter chill out. Her red hair had been let down, it fell past her shoulderblades, I felt a little weak just looking at her. Sarah was propped on the counter and one of my colleagues was moving towards her.
"I got to go, see you later," I ended the call, "hey, I didn't recognise you."
"I'm disguised as a civilian," she held up a mobile phone in a plastic bag.
"He dropped his phone in the car, it must have fallen out of a pocket when we put him in the car, we didn't find it until we were cleaning out the car."
"Thanks," I took it from her, "you didn't have to bring all the way from the city though."
"I live in the area," she shrugged, "how's Constable Roberts?"
"They let him out a few hours ago," I replied, "he's off work for the next couple of days, although he'll have to do the debrief dance."
"My favourite dance," she looked around the station, "every eye is trained on you but hey that's cool, just pretend we're not here while you relive your brush with death in minute detail."
My colleague coughed and then smiled. Sarah's mouth twitched in the merest suggestion of a smile and then she focused on me.
"Well I'm outta here, take care out there, thanks for your help today."
"No worries," I managed as she turned on her heel.
It was an unusual thing to say, I mean it's not like we don't say thank you, it was just that she's part of an elite unit and there is a definite pecking order. I'm a plain Jane uniformed Senior Constable and while she was the same rank it made me feel a little more important.
Cassie was sitting watching the news when I got home and Fiona had just washed the dishes. Our four year old red heeler, Rastus was there to greet me and there was the usual turning about on his own arse. I inherited Rastus when we were called out to a house by neighbours who reported a dog whining like it was in pain. When we eventually gained access through a partially open window we found the owner dead in the bath where he'd opened up his own veins. The suicide note in the kitchen was kind of rambling but one line stood out at the end.
Please look after my dog, his name is Rastus.
I did eventually manage to get Rastus out of the pound and due to the circumstances under which we encountered each other, he's become another member of our tiny family. Cassie just loves him to bits. She's a great kid and I know I'm prejudiced but I'm also remembering the many compliments people have offered over her in the past. Cassie has two main loves in life, reading and cycling, just not at the same time! She's forever got her nose buried in a book and just lately she's started writing her own short stories.
"Your dinner is in the microwave," Fiona nodded, "I taped the news for you."
"Thanks, she told me," I rose and looked at the door, "how is she?"
