Almost as if mocking his wish, Blake’s “CAD” gave a quick beep and then words began to spill onto the screen. Blake looked down at the device mounted in between his seat and the passenger seat next to him. It looked like a laptop on steroids with rubber siding to protect it from the abuse it inevitable received from police officers on patrol. Like most in his profession, Blake had a love/hate relationship with his CAD or “computer assisted dispatch.” He was thankful for all the information it placed at his fingertips and for not needing to write addresses down while driving. But he also saw it as a cruel, if silent taskmaster that kept him busy by sending him on call after call, without any human understanding that sometimes he needed a break.

 

Blake read the words now appearing on his screen as he took another quick bite of his biscuit. “PSERVE” was the first word that appeared at the top of the screen, which was shorthand for “police service call.” This is the label that the dispatch center affixed to any call for service that did not fit neatly into any other category. These calls ranged from the mundane like delivering mail to a far off district station, to the absurd like two neighbors arguing over grass clippings blowing on each other’s lawn. Blake quickly moved his eyes to the narrative knowing that would reveal which side of the spectrum his morning was about to fall. But as he read, Blake’s face grew dark.

 

“Respond 3952 Sidewinder Avenue; ATL (attempt to locate) a Mr. & Mrs. Pettyjohn. Inform that 23 y/o (year old) son, George Pettyjohn, was killed in automobile crash last night; location Pennsylvania Turnpike, near Cumberland PA. Advise of results. End;&% time 06:12 hrs.”

Blake starred at the computer screen and two words flooded his mind; death notification. Most officers would choose to run into a bank being robbed rather than deliver a death notification. Telling strangers that their loved-one was dead is hard enough but police culture teaches officers to be tough and always be in command of every situation. If the grieving relatives are stoic then the notification is not so bad. But if they become emotional and even hysterical, many officers are at a loss as how to handle them. Chasing a criminal was much more easy and straightforward. More importantly, it did not involve dealing with emotions.

 

Blake closed his eyes. This was not the first death notification he had done and his approach was simple; do it like he would want to be notified himself. He opened his eyes and reading the narrative again, he knew he needed more information. He pulled out his cell phone and called the dispatcher for his patrol area. As the phone rang, Blake knew he could have sent a message through his CAD but he felt that a human voice could express inflection and intent so much better than the typed word. Eventually the dispatcher answered her phone with a guarded voice.

 

“DPSC station 7, dispatcher Rosslyn speaking,” she said.

​

"Hey, this is Blake in area 701,” he said quickly.

 

“Oh hey Blake, watcha need honey?” her voice grew warmer knowing it was one of her units.

 

“Sorry to bother you Rozzie, but I just got this death notification and I need more info than what is here,” Blake explained.

 

“Sorry honey but that’s all the folks from Pennsylvania sent to us,” she said.

 

“I figured,” Blake answered, “you got their number?”

 

“Sure thing honey,” she answered as Blake could hear her shuffling in the background.

 

After she gave him the phone number, Blake hung up and dialed the number. Even though it was long distance and Blake would personally eat the cost, he felt it well worth it.

 

After a few rings, a voice answered Blake’s call.

 

“Cumberland Emergency Services Dispatch Center,” the voice said mechanically.

 

Blake quickly explained who he was and what he needed and so he got bounced around the phone tree a few times. Eventually he was greeted with a “Sergeant Thornton” on the other end.

 

“Hey Sarge, sorry to bother you but I’m about to do this death notification for you guys and I just need a little more info,” Blake explained again.

 

“What more information do you need?” Thornton’s voice did not disguise his annoyance.

 

Blake reminded himself that it was an early Sunday morning for Thornton as well and disguised his own annoyance.

 

“Just a little more on the crash, Sarge, you know; how it happened, who was at fault and like that,” Blake said.

 

“Why?” Thornton said and sighed out loud.

 

“Well sir, it’s just that if I was being told that my son had been killed in a car crash, I would want to know the details. Maybe these folks won’t ask but in case they do, I want to have the answers ready,” Blake said and held his breath.

 

There was a momentary pause on the other end of the line and Blake wondered if he needed to ask if Thornton was still there.

 

“Ok, hold on for a second,” Thornton said.

 

Blake could hear the phone being put down and he could hear the faint sounds of office work in the background. After a minute he could hear the sound of the receiver being picked up and papers being shuffled close by.

 

“Ok …. I have the crash report,” Thornton explained, “Let’s see…… looks like it was a tee bone crash. Two vehicles involved ….ummmm, Pettyjohn was struck on the driver side of his car. Ummmmm, rescue responded …… ummmm, and he was declared dead at the scene. Ummmmm….” 

 

Blake could almost visualize Thornton tracing the various lines of the report with his finger as he read it over the phone.

 

“Ummm…. Looks like it was alcohol related and excessive speed was a factor in the crash,” Thornton said with finality.

 

“Thanks Sarge I really appreciate it! But hey, can you tell me who was at fault?” Blake asked.

 

“Yea … let’s see … yup, the other driver was at fault. He was arrested for DUI. No violations on the part of Pettyjohn,” Thornton answered.

 

Blake swallowed.

“

Last question, I promise sir! Who should the parents call about receiving the body?”

 

Blake could hear more shuffling on Thornton’s end of the call.

 

“They can call the Cumberland Regional Hospital. Let me get the number for their death services,” Thornton said.

 

Blake quickly pulled out a business card and wrote the name of the hospital on the back. When Thornton returned with the number, Blake wrote that on the back of the card as well.

 

“Thanks Sarge, I appreciate it. Sorry to take up so much of your time,” Blake said.

 

“Hey no problem, son,” Thornton paused for a second, “we probably should have included that info when we sent down the request to you guys.”

 

Blake realized that this was as much of an apology as he would get, so he took it.

 

“No worries sir, it’s all good,” which was the universal cop phrase of forgiveness.

 

Blake hung up the phone and pushed the “enroute” button on his CAD to signal the dispatch center that he was on his way. He arrived at the address quickly as there was little traffic on the roads this early in the morning. Blake wondered if the Pettyjohn’s would be attending early church services and whether he would have to come back. As he drove into a townhouse development, Blake reached down and hit the “onscene” button. He spotted the exact address and pulled up in front a non-descript brown townhouse sandwiched between other non-descript townhouses. 

“Are you Mrs. Pettyjohn?” Blake asked.

​

“Yes …….” She answered.

​

“May I come inside for a minute?” Blake said.

​

Before she could answer, a middle-aged man appeared beside her, also in a bathrobe.

​

“Who is it dear?” he asked.

​

“It’s a policeman,” Mrs. Pettyjohn answered.

​

Blake cleared his throat.

​

“Mr. Pettyjohn?”

​

The man nodded but looked at Blake suspiciously.

​

“May I come inside for just a minute?” Blake asked again.

​

Mr. Pettyjohn responded, “Not until you tell us what this is about.”

​

Mrs. Pettyjohn put a hand on her husband’s arm but did not contradict his tart answer.

​

“Yes sir, I will tell you exactly why I am here. But I think you will want to hear this in the privacy of your own home. I can assure you that you are not in trouble and this does not involve anything criminal. But if you still want me to tell you while standing out here, I will.”

​

Blake waited to see how the Pettyjohns would react and he could see the wife look up to the husband with concern on her face. The husband continued to stare at Blake but there was calculating going on behind his eyes. After a moment and with obvious reluctance, Mr. Pettyjohn pushed the screen door open and stood to the side. Blake took that as permission enough and stepped just inside the threshold of the townhouse.

​

Blake’s nostrils were quickly filled by the smell of bacon and he thought how comforting that smell was. He had probably interrupted the beginning of the couple making breakfast and wondered if they intended to have pancakes or waffles with their bacon. His eyes scanned the small hallway and he spotted several pictures on the wall beside the door. As Mrs. Pettyjohn shut the front door, Blake’s eyes rested on a single picture of the couple standing together with a young man in between them. All three were smiling and it appeared they were standing next to the edge of the Grand Canyon. Blake figured that this was George, the son and wished to himself that he did not have to now destroy this couple’s world.

​

“Ok, what is this all about?” Mr. Pettyjohn said.

​

Blake turned to face them both and briefly considered asking if they could sit down somewhere inside the residence. But he figured that would require more negotiation with Mr. Pettyjohn and Blake did want to prolong their discomfort. He cleared his throat.

​

“Ma’am … sir … this is not going to be easy to hear, and I am sorry for that,” Blake said.

​

A hint of understanding crept into Mrs. Pettyjohn’s eyes.

​

“I regret to inform you that your son, George, was killed last night in an automobile accident,” Blake said quietly.

​

Mrs. Pettyjohn gasped and grabbed her husband. Mr. Pettyjohn had a look of shock on his face as he wrapped his wife in his arms. She buried her face in his shoulder and immediately began to cry but Mr. Pettyjohn continued to look straight ahead as in disbelief. Blake waited a moment as Mrs. Pettyjohn cried freely. Then Blake placed a hand on Mr. Pettyjohn’s shoulder.

​

“I am truly, truly sorry for your loss, sir,” Blake said.

​

Mr. Pettyjohn’s attention snapped back to Blake and initially there was a look of challenge on his face. But when he saw the moisture gathering around Blake’s eyes, his demeanor changed and his shoulders visibly drooped. Mr. Pettyjohn’s nodded and whispered “thank you.” Mrs. Pettyjohn continued to cry and the three of them stood like that in the small hallway for several minutes. After a while, Mrs. Pettyjohn stopped sobbing and backed away from her husband, sniffling. Blake removed his hand from Mr. Pettyjohn’s shoulder and quickly wiped the gathering wetness from his own eyes.

​

“I have more information to pass on but if you would like me to return later, or give you a call later, I completely understand,” Blake said softly.

​

The husband put a hand on his wife’s arm but then looked at Blake.

​

“No officer, let’s hear it now,” Mr. Pettyjohn said.

​

“Well sir, there is no easy way to say this, or easy way for you to hear this; your son was killed by a drunk driver on the Pennsylvania Turnpike. Your son’s vehicle was struck on the driver side,” Blake paused for a second, “and your son died at the scene.”

​

Mrs. PettyJohn looked like she might begin weeping again but did not. Mr. Pettyjohn looked over Blake’s shoulder and there was anger in his eyes again, but this time his ire was not directed at Blake. Blake waited a minute for the couple to digest this information before pulling out his business card.

​

“Mr. & Mrs. Pettyjohn, I have written down the number of the hospital where they have taken your son’s body. I have written it on the back of my business card so if there is anything else I can do for you, please do not hesitate to call me,” Blake said handing over his card.

​

Blake swallowed hard, turned and opened the door behind him. As he stepped out onto the stoop, he heard Mr. Pettyjohn’s voice behind him.

​

“Thank you, officer.”

​

Blake turned and still fighting the moisture gathering in his own eyes, he answered.

​

“I’m sorry we have to meet under these circumstances. Once again, I am sorry for your loss,” Blake said.

​

Blake then retreated to his cruiser and quickly closed the door. He took in a deep breath and glanced down at his CAD to see two pending service calls waiting for him. Blake checked to see if either was a “hot” call demanding his immediate response and seeing that neither was, he leaned back in his car seat for a second.

​

“I have to take care of something first,” Blake said to himself.

​

He reached into his pocket, took out a handkerchief and looked forward for a few seconds. Inside he allowed the walls to lower and within a moment, the tears came streaming down his face. Blake sobbed openly for a full minute and then when the moment had passed, he wiped the moisture from his cheeks. Blake then dabbed his eyes dry and when he was satisfied that he was back in control of his emotions, he put the handkerchief away. 

​

Glancing quickly at his rear-view mirror, Blake saw that his eyes were red and puffy and could make out the faint outline of tear tracks down his cheeks. He reached over to his bag and retrieved a pair of dark wraparound sunglasses, and put them on. As he hit the “in service” button on his CAD, Blake thought to himself how most people assume that cops wear dark sunglasses to appear intimidating. 

​

“Little do they know,” Blake said to himself, “we wear them to hide the tracks of our tears.”