June bugs mailbox

Jerome “June Bug” Johnson was the best doggone auto mechanic in Doodle, North Carolina, and the grease- and oil-stained ridges and whorls of his fingers and palms were proof of the professional wrench-turner’s many years of experience. Why, there wasn’t a single hood in town that he hadn’t poked his head under at least once. Not one.

In the evenings, when the other men of Doodle were at the pool hall or playing gin rummy in the back room at Dilly’s Feed Store, June Bug Johnson could be found doing his second favorite thing, leaning against the blue steel U.S. mailbox at the corner of Rebel and Yell, watching and listening.

You see, June Bug liked to eavesdrop, if you will, on passing cars as their drivers traveled to and fro, running errands, shopping, or heading to the barbershop or hairdresser. With his head cocked at just the right angle, and with the echo bouncing back from the brick facade of Wilson’s Drug Store, June Bug could pretty much diagnose the ailings of every single vehicle that went by, no matter how insignificant the trouble.

Like the snobby folks at the country club who savor their fine wines, June Bug took great delight in absorbing the sounds, sights, and smells of the passing automobiles. The air-to-gas ratio in the one that just passed wasn’t quite right. Too much gas in the next. Clogged air filter on Jimmy Jensen’s Ford truck.

There was Pete Peterson’s blue caddy with the air-sucking carburetor—Pete normally liked for his “Blue Bell” to run a little lean. The mayor’s yellow-as-a-lemon VW bug that dropped a quarter-size spot of engine oil every time it stopped at the town’s one and only stop light.

And, of course, there was that new problem that had somehow escaped him. The town’s one and only ambulance had developed a slight miss when idling. He’d have to change those spark plugs pretty soon. After all, it just wouldn’t do to have Doodle’s only emergency vehicle break down at the precise moment when Charlene Chernover’s baby decided it was time to see some daylight.

Yes, that miss was getting worse by the second. Definitely needed new plugs.

Purr, purr, purr, tick, tick, clang, purr, purr.

Somebody needed to step on the gas pedal before the engine shut off. Purr, tick, clang. Why were they just sitting there? Couldn’t they hear it?

Purr, purr, purr, tick, tick, clang, sputter, purr, purr.

It was odd, June Bug thought, to look down and see himself being loaded into the ambulance. Wait. Was he sick? Why weren’t they hurrying? Was he…dead?

He heard the ambulance driver talking to the Paul Polano, the policeman. “Ruth Robinson said she didn’t mean to hit June Bug, but her car wouldn’t stop no matter how hard she pushed the pedal. She’d noticed the brakes were a little soft a week or so ago, and she planned to have June Bug install new shoes all around, and check the fluid, but first came one thing then another. Then she had to go see her sister up in Dingle County, you know the one, that bug-eyed lady who walks around all the time looking scared out of her gourd. Between you and me and the fencepost, you look up Scary As Hell in the dictionary and you’ll see a picture of old Bug-Eyed Robinson right there on the page. Know what I’m saying?”

Purr, purr, purr, tick, tick, clang, purr, spit, purr.

“Anyway,” said the ambulance driver. “When Miss Ruth got back from visiting her sister, she tried calling June Bug’s shop but no one answered. So she figured she’d catch him hanging out at the corner and have him take a look at her car right there. Next thing she knew her Fairlane was sitting all catawampus with the mailbox jammed beneath the right front tire, and June Bug—may his soul rest in peace—was sprawled out in the gutter with his noggin cracked open like Humpty Dumpty after his fall.”

Looking down from his place in the white light, watching and listening as he faded further and further into nothingness, June Bug remembered telling Miss Ruth she probably had another month left on the brakes. That was six months ago. She’d forgotten and so had he.

To his right, four blocks over and two down, he saw Charlene Chernover double over in pain and then reach for her cell phone. It was time. Little Charlotta Charlene—soon to be CC, for short—was on her way.

Purr, purr, purr, spit, sputter tick, tick, sputter, cla……….

But the ambulance wasn’t.

 

Friday's Heroes - Remembering the fallen officers

 

You gave your all to protect and serve us, and for that we are eternally grateful.

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Officer Jair Cabrera, 37

Salt River Tribal Police Department

May 24, 2014 – Officer Jair Cabrera was shot and killed while making a traffic stop. The vehicle pulled into a convenience store parking lot where a passenger got out with a high-powered rifle. He used the car as a means to steady the weapon and then fired, striking Officer Cabrera in the head before he had a chance to exit his patrol vehicle.

Officer Cabrera is survived by his parents, a brother, and his girlfriend.

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Border Patrol Agent Alexander Giannini, 25

United States Border Patrol

May 28, 2014 – Agent Alexander Giannini was killed in a car crash when his vehicle collided with another. He is survived by his parents, sister, and fiancee.

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Trooper Christopher Skinner, 42

New York State Police

May 29, 2014 – Trooper Christopher Skinner was conducting a traffic stop on the shoulder of a roadway when a hit and run driver purposely drove from the far left lane over to the right with the alleged intention of hitting and killing the trooper. Police learned this by way of the driver’s own admission after he was later caught on foot attempting to escape capture.

Trooper Skinner is survived by his two children, mother, brother, and fiance.

Drug War
Source: Online-Paralegal-Programs.com

*Today’s article was prepared by Online-Paralegal-Programs. I have not fact-checked any of the information.

Katherine Ramsland

The Washington Post reported that Elliot Rodger “flew under the radar” when police checked on him in response to his family’s concern. The ranting, suicidal college student who killed six people and injured thirteen last Friday in CA before shooting himself, was out to punish girls for rejecting him and guys who had a better life than he did. It was a “day of retribution,” he said.

People around him knew how much he blamed women for his loneliness. Some anticipated he might become violent.

Rodger’s earlier erratic behavior and refusal to get help or take medication had concerned his family and they’d asked police to pay him a “welfare” call. Sheriff’s deputies visited Rodger’s apartment on April 30 and found him to be polite, courteous, and quiet. He assured them he was not going to hurt anyone or himself, and they concluded that he did not pose a threat.

However, trying to assess danger to oneself or others from a single visit is generally pointless, unless the person is in an obviously psychotic state. Those who plot mass murder are secretive and will mask their intent from anyone who they think might stop them. An isolated visit cannot provide sufficient tools for determining the threat of future violence.

Reportedly, Rodger had seen several therapists, and a social worker had even contacted the police. He apparently did not get on well with others, but nevertheless did not like feeling so isolated and alone. He did have a record of personal difficulties that the visiting officers could have consulted, and his family knew that he had a mental illness. Even so, there is more to threat assessment than a loose collection of issues.

Predicting the potential for violence should draw on multiple domains of information. It’s not an analysis of just how one is currently behaving. No cop should bear the responsibility of making such a difficult judgment call.

The idea of “dangerousness,” or risk of violence, has been a central issue in the legal/mental health arena for years. Mental health experts once relied on their best clinical judgment, committing potentially violent people involuntarily. However, these assessments were correct in just one of three cases, so there were many “false positives” – people committed who would not be violent – and “false negatives” – people freed who then committed violence. The error rate was unacceptable.

During the 1980s, studies were undertaken to develop instruments to improve the percentage of correct assessments. Instead of focusing on dangerousness itself, they emphasized a variety of “risk factors.”

Actuarial prediction identifies the criteria used – age, gender, race, IQ – and assigns statistical weights to each in terms of which is most significant. Devices have been developed to determine such psychological conditions as the degree of psychopathy, impulsivity, paranoia, substance abuse, tendency to blame others, and reactive anger. Character and mental disorders are examined, along with school and criminal records, and a past history of violence or threatened violence. Some scales also evaluate attitudes about weapons.

For example, the Violence Risk Assessment Guide (VRAG) was developed at the Oak Ridge maximum security psychiatric hospital in Ontario, Canada. It’s an actuarial instrument for the prediction of violent recidivism, which means it has tested variables relevant to prediction in relationship to an outcome variable (any new violent offense). Predictor variables numbered around fifty and reflected those for which there was any empirical support for associations with violence.

The Historical Clinical Risk Management Scheme (HCR-20) offers a way to combine individual case analysis with an actuarial assessment. It uses a checklist of 20 items that identify historical and clinical risk factors to decide whether the individual is at a low, medium or high risk of violence. It improves upon actuarial approaches in tailoring an assessment to an individual, which allows for unique circumstances or conditions.

I’ve written a lot about mass murder. Studies I’ve looked at find that they are often rigid in temperament, they resent others and blame them for their own issues, they want to punish others, and they’re often self-defeating or suicidal (all of which were present in Rodger). Rarely do they have personal insight. Significant influences have been some form of mental instability, coupled with an inability to absorb and deal appropriately with life’s disappointments. Quite often, they feel entitled.

Usually they’ve made threats in the past and/or had fantasies about using violence to get their way. They arm themselves in preparation and think about the satisfaction of seeing others die. Some seek international fame. What they do is the result of long-term planning, with an ultimate goal. People around them have seen the red flags, but they will hide their specific plan. They want no interference.

Using actuarial data that have been affirmed with more studies, coupled with a case-specific assessment, is superior to intuitive judgment, although any prediction of a violent act must be qualified within a time period and set of circumstances. No one can predict future risk of violence with unerring accuracy, not even police officers, who see more violent incidents than most of us.

Still, even if Rodger had been erratic on April 30, when officers went to check, they could not have stated his level of danger a month hence. Even our best assessments cannot accomplish this. They can only provide the range of factors that put him at risk and identify those for which intervention might be helpful.

If Rodger refused such help, which he reportedly did, there isn’t much anyone can do until he clearly posed a risk of doing something now. That’s the state of our laws.

Perhaps our ability to prevent these incidents needs a re-adjustment of our cultural attitudes. Because a violent act of extreme aggression involves a complex interaction of factors, we cannot expect that a superficial observation by law enforcement will ensure our safety from a person with deadly intent. To assess danger to others requires a more sophisticated approach, which costs a lot more than we currently want to spend.

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Dr. Katherine Ramsland has published 44 books and over 1,000 articles, and recently had a #1 bestseller on the Wall Street Journal’s nonfiction list. She teaches forensic psychology and criminal justice at DeSales University in Pennsylvania and offers trainings on psychological aspects of investigations. She writes a blog, “Shadow Boxing” for Psychology Today, speaks widely on serial killers and psychopaths, and is a frequent commentator on crime documentaries. She has appeared on 20/20, 48 Hours, Larry King Live, and numerous cable programs.

Paul Beecroft

I would like to introduce you to a very special friend of mine who is a remarkable lady. Her name is Doris ‘Dot’ Long, also known as Daring Doris. I first met her exactly 40 years ago in 1974.

She ran the Tilehurst Animal and Bird Sanctuary. I popped in to see her one day to inquire about the possibility of getting a kitten and ended up doing a couple of repair jobs for her on some rabbit hutches. From then on I was a regular helper there and due to this I was introduced to my first bird of prey, a young kestrel, which I reared and then flew and I have been a Falconer ever since.

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Some 20 years or so ago Dot retired to the seaside town of Hayling Island in Hampshire. She still kept and rescued animals and birds but not on the scale that she had before. She was soon involved with the local community, helping the elderly and doing charity work. The charity she became heavily involved in is The Rowans Hospice which is dedicated to improving the lives of people with cancer and other life shortening illnesses. Over the years she has raised a lot of money for the Hospice and continues to do so today.

Possibly by now some of you are reading this and wondering why she is so remarkable. Please let me tell you.

On Sunday 18th May 2014 two special events occurred in Dot’s life. At 1:30 pm Dot abseiled down the Spinnaker Tower in Portsmouth. The Tower in total is 170 metres high. The event was televised and in fact she was joined on the abseil by a local News Reader/Journalist.

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Spinnaker Tower

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Dot caught the lift up. Here’s she’s ready to start going down.

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Going down.

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The journey down.

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Safe on the ground.

As Dot touched ground, the Portsmouth Band started playing and somewhere in the region of 1,000 people sang Happy Birthday to her which was then followed by the song Congratulations.

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Portsmouth Band

Of course the second special event was the fact it was her birthday, but not just any birthday, for on this day Dot was 100 years old.

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Dot with her balloon.

She is officially the world’s oldest abseiler.

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Card from Rowans Hospice

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Dot also was awarded the MBE in 1984 and in 2009 she received Special Recognition at the Pride of Britain Awards.

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Myself with Dot.

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Paul Beecroft has spent a good deal of his life in law enforcement, in England. He’s worked Foot Patrol, Area Car, Instant Response Car and also as a Police Motorcyclist. Paul currently works as a coroner’s investigator and has traveled all over England, Wales, Scotland and even Germany to investigate crimes.

 

Friday's Heroes - Remembering the fallen officers

 

You gave your all to protect and serve us, and for that we are eternally grateful.

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Deputy Sheriff Cruz Thomas, 26

Franklin County Georgia Sheriff’s Office

May 21, 2014 – Deputy Cruz Thomas was killed in a vehicle crash while attempting to overtake a speeding vehicle. As he approached a tractor trailer, the truck pulled into his lane, causing Deputy Thomas’ patrol car to leave the roadway where he struck several trees. He died at the scene.

Deputy Thomas’ father serves as sheriff of the Franklin County Sheriff’s Office.

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Correctional Officer Chad Charles, 43

Michigan Department of Corrections

May 21, 2014 – Correctional Officer Chad Charles suffered a fatal heart attack during a training exercise with the agency’s Emergency Response Team.

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Officer Mark H. Larson, 50

Jacksonville Florida Sheriff’s Office

March 24, 2014 – Officer Mark Larson succumbed to serious injuries received in 1993, when he was intentionally dragged by a vehicle subsequent to a traffic stop. The suspect had attempted to force a woman into the woods and when Officer Larson stopped the suspect’s vehicle the man grabbed his arm and drove off, dragging the officer with him. The suspect unsuccessfully attempted to sideswipe the officer into oncoming traffic. However, he rammed Officer Larson against a section of guardrail, breaking both of his legs and nearly severing one arm.

Remarkably, Officer Larson was able to hang on with one hand. Using the other he drew his weapon and fired four shots into the suspect’s body. The officer was then thrown into a roadside ditch.

The suspect crashed into a tree, but died from gunshot wounds.

Officer Larson was transported to the hospital where his arm was amputated and his badly damaged legs were repaired. The surgery lasted 27 hours.

Mark Larson fought a difficult and courageous battle to survive, enduring painful rehabilitation, suffering aplastic anemia—his body no longer produced enough red and white blood cells, and the platelets needed to clot blood—receiving hundreds of blood transfusions, and a bout of meningitis that left him deaf and confined to a wheelchair.

Sadly, Officer Larson finally lost the fight and succumbed to his injuries. He is survived by his wife, Erica.

*It’s always tough to post the Friday’s Heroes article. To lose an officer is devastating to anyone who’s ever worn a badge. To put these words into print each and every week is a kick in the gut.

The events that lead to the deaths of these brave officers are all horrifying and tragic. But Officer Mark Larson’s story and his battle with injuries and other demons is, well, it’s nothing short of incredible, and heartbreaking.

Rest in peace, guys. Your law enforcement brothers and sisters will take it from here.

Magistrates, Jack Daniels

As writers of stories featuring cops and robbers, you’ve probably written a paragraph or two where a police investigator roused a sleeping judge to have him/her sign a search warrant. And that’s fine. It happens. However, in some parts of the country—Virginia, for one—it is a magistrate who normally signs off on search warrants and arrest warrants. Magistrates in the Commonwealth of Virginia also set bail/bond, and they have the authority to have someone incarcerated, or released from jail. Remember, writers, prison and jail are not the same. Big difference.

So, what is a magistrate? How do they get the job? What do they do?

First of all, a little history of the Virginia magistrate system. This office actually came about around the year 1195, in England, where certain knights were appointed by the King’s Justiciar to “keep the King’s peace.”

Along comes King Edward III, a 14-year-old ruler with whom parliament had little faith in knowing the youngster would rule not only the land, but would also have the power to send people to prison. So, they passed a law preventing a king from having the power to keep the peace. In 1361, the office of Justice of the Peace (JP) was established. Justices of the Peace had the power to arrest and to try offenders. And, they were assigned three or four assistants to help with those duties.

The Commonwealth of Virginia started its own JP system in the early 1620’s. It was crude, mostly to try petty offenses involving less than 100 lbs. of tobacco, etc. And, as a modern-thinking state, one that keeps up with the times, Virginia kept the office of Justice of the Peace until 1974.

Virginia JP’s were part-timers who carried their “office” inside a briefcase, responding to county jails and police departments whenever they were called in to issue a warrant, commit someone to jail, etc. They were also empowered to perform marriage ceremonies.

Many years ago, my father worked as a manager of a large chain clothing store. His bookkeeper/secretary/right-hand woman, was a pistol-toting, briefcase-carrying Virginia magistrate who would often leave her department store office duties behind to issue a search warrant or an arrest warrant. Later, when she retired, her magistrate reigns were handed over to a local AM radio disc jockey.

In the much larger jurisdiction, where I began my police career, there were three part-time magistrates assigned to the area where I worked patrol. They worked under the watchful eye of their boss, the chief magistrate. The chief was a full time employee. His underlings worked part time, conducting their magistrate duties as an “on call” service.

In our area, one of the three magistrates worked as a used car salesman, another owned a small mom and pop furniture store, and the third was a cattle farmer who had a massive farming operation out in the county. People such as these three were typical of the magistrates throughout the Commonwealth. These were the people who had the power to commit offenders to jail. They were the folks that we, as police officers, had to stand before to raise our right hand and swear that the facts and probable cause we presented were the truth as we knew it. They were the three who decided if we, the trained police officers, had probable cause to search a house for a murderer, or for narcotics.

Think about that for a moment. Imagine buying a used VW from a guy wearing a green-checked suit and white loafers, and then having that same geezer turn down your request for a search warrant because he doesn’t “think” you have enough information to search Joe Blow’s house, the guy who just traded his older Cadillac for a newer model. Guess who the salesman was that worked the deal? Yeah, imagine that.

How about this scenario. You, as a police investigator, need a search warrant pronto because the largest shipment of heroin to have ever hit your city is stored in a home and you have an informant inside right NOW. So you have dispatch contact the on-call magistrate. Dispatch calls you back and relays a message from the cattle farmer’s wife. “He’ll come down in a couple of hours. Right now, one of his cows is giving birth and he’s “up to his elbows” trying to help her along. Frustrating? Yes, for both the officer and the cow. But there was nothing either could do. It would happen when it happened.

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I know, you want to know what sort of qualifications these goobers were required to meet to become a magistrate? The hiring process had to be rigid, right? After all, people’s lives were often at stake. Well, back in those days, magistrates were appointed by the circuit court judge, the guy who hunted, fished, and drank with his buddies/appointees. The set in stone requirements from 1974 until 2008 were as follows: magistrates must be U.S. citizens and a resident of Virginia. Nothing more. Not even as much as having to know how to spell the word magistrate.

After 2008, though, the requirements changed—citizen of the U.S., resident of Va., must possess a bachelors degree, no felony convictions, and a few other general housekeeping requirements. Also, post the 2008 change, magistrates are no longer appointed by deer-hunting, Jack Daniels drinking, poker buddy judges. Now they’re appointed by an Executive Secretary of the State Supreme Court. Whether or not he/she is a deer-hunting, Jack Daniels drinking, poker player is anybody’s guess. The majority of present-day magistrate positions are full time, but on-call service is in effect in some areas. The system, however, is far superior to days not so long ago.

Sure, I’ve made light of the position of magistrate in this brief blog post, but only to help emphasize the frustrations of police officers and citizens. Of course the position is extremely important, and the Va. magistrates have always taken their positions seriously, and they’re now all highly-trained professionals. I do not mean to offend anyone. Instead, this piece is, as always, information to assist writers with their fiction.

Still, that doesn’t stop the smell of warm cow manure or a fresh used car deal (the two are often synonymous) from holding up the show.

 

Mt. St. Helens

 

In 2004, we stood five miles away from the volcano known as Mt. St. Helens. Missing from the mountain was nearly 1,300 feet of its top. In its place was a huge gaping maw. A plume of steam spewed upward from the center of the massive hole, where a three-hundred foot tall dome of lava was slowly but steadily growing upward.

Standing there, my wife and I couldn’t help noticing the silence. There were no birds chirping, no tree branches creaking and clacking together in the breeze. Nothing. Not a single sound. It was extremely eerie. Yet it was extremely calming at the same time. There was a definite feel of overwhelming peace and tranquility. How odd in a place where such devastation had occurred.

The threat of danger to human life on the day we were there prompted officials to enact the five-mile “keep away” boundary. Still, the volcano was an awesome site, and the distance between us did nothing to diminish the power that I knew was churning and roiling below the surface. I also knew the history of St. Helens. She was a killer.

Twenty-four years prior to my trip to the area, on May 18, 1980, Mt. St. Helens erupted with such force that it blew off the top of the mountain, leaving the crater you see in the photos. As a result of the eruption, the mountain’s snow pack melted and caused flooding, and hot ash started forest fires.

Fast moving gases and rock were propelled down the mountain in what was the largest debris avalanche in recorded history. It flattened everything in its path, including all trees, vegetation, and houses and other buildings within 230 square miles. 57 people were killed. Had there been more in the area, they, too, would have perished. No living thing in the direct path of destruction survived. Nothing and no one

I wish I’d taken a better photo, one that showed all the dead trees on the ground. As far as the eye could see, they looked like thousands upon thousands of matchsticks, all pointing in a single direction, facing away from the volcano and the force of the blast.

Nearby hills where tall evergreens and other trees once stood.

The bridge to Mt. St. Helens

Today, plants, trees, and wildlife have returned, and the area is definitely well on its way back to normal…until the next time when the mountain can no longer contain the pressure from within.

Below – Steam rising from the growing lava dome. The mountain is attempting to rebuild itself.

Below – An ominous message of the past, and of things that could come again, and probably will.

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Friday's Heroes - Remembering the fallen officers

 

You gave your all to protect and serve us, and for that we are eternally grateful.

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Master Sergeant John Collum, 56

Mississippi Department of Wildlife, Fisheries, and Parks

May 9, 2014 – Master Sergeant John Collum was struck and killed by a vehicle while investigating a prowler.

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Officer Michael Petrina, 25

Metro Nashville Tennessee Police Department

May 10, 2014 – Officer Michael Petrina was struck and killed by a motor home while he was at the scene of a previous vehicle crash.

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Detective Charles Dinwiddie

Killeen Texas Police Department

May 11, 2014 – Detective Charles Dinwiddie died as a result of gunshot wounds to his face while serving a narcotics search warrant. Three other officers were wounded during the gunfire.

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Patrolman Stephen Arkell, 48

Brentwood New Hampshire Police Department

May 12, 2014 – Patrolman Stephen Arkell was shot and killed while entering a home with other officers in response to a domestic dispute. Shortly afterward, a massive explosion and fire destroyed the home.

Patrolman Arkell is survived by his wife and two daughters.

*Police officer line of duty deaths are 5% higher than at this time last year.

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