Editor's note: Gold & Blue is a series of police stories which may be inappropriate for younger readers. This is a small peek behind the badge of America's Finest.
I briefly rubbed our middle son Raymond's short hair and head as I prepared to drop him off at Oak Valley Middle School. With traffic inching along and the early morning sun rising from the east, I could see the car in front of me and its rear license plate. Despite being miles from Logan Heights and years from being a street cop, the last three numbers of the car's license plate, 187, caught my eye.
The numbers made me feel a sense of caution. The way a person might react if they saw a rattlesnake near a trail on an early morning hike. It is always smarter to keep your distance from the snake and move on. I tried not to think about those three numbers and how often I had written them down on a police report or attended court proceedings relating to them.
I really don't know why, but I found myself asking Raymond if he knew what those three numbers meant. With his skateboard and helmet re
sting on his backpack by his feet, he replied, "187, dad?" I told him, "yes." He said, "No, what does it mean?" He then chuckled under his breath. A kind of funny chuckle as he probably wondered where I was going with this weird discussion and the those three numbers.
sting on his backpack by his feet, he replied, "187, dad?" I told him, "yes." He said, "No, what does it mean?" He then chuckled under his breath. A kind of funny chuckle as he probably wondered where I was going with this weird discussion and the those three numbers.
There are likely three types of people that immediately know what the numbers 187 might mean. You would know right away If you were ever a cop, a deputy district attorney, or just hung out with a group of criminals who sagged their pants, threw up gang signs, and kept loaded handguns in their waistbands.
As a cop, you always knew each time you were at a 187 scene. First of all it was quickly surrounded by our trademark yellow crime scene tape. You also knew it was the type of crime scene where everyone had to document their presence in a written report. No sightseeing here. Anything or anyone you see, touch or talk to, is in your report. And that report frequently has a court subpoena attached to it.
If you were a street gang member you may have spray painted those three numbers on a wall of a house as a sign that you were claiming credit for the evil deed you did, or you're going to retaliate against a rival street gang member, or maybe you thought you could intimidate the police by writing a cop's name on the wall followed by 187. It is so funny. If you did such a thing your actions had the absolute opposite effect. You only inspired us to work harder to stop you and your violent ways.
As police officers we faced the danger of the initial crime and the pursuit of the criminals responsible. We also comforted family members as they arrived ashen-faced, looking for their child, brother or sister at the crime scenes, the hospital or the police station. Messy and traumatic work, but it's over pretty quick. At the end of shift, you did your best to leave your gun belt and those memories in your locker.
I think the deputy district attorneys and criminal investigators always had the hardest jobs when it came to those three deadly numbers.
They would spend countless hours investigating every possible piece of evidence, while still dealing with the family members left behind as their silent tears splashed quietly on the hard conference room tables. They tried not to listen to their muffled sobs months and sometimes even years after the crimes.
The best outcome anyone could ever hope for is the jury and the judge to say that one word: "guilty." Not very often, but sometimes, they would hear the judge say two words. It may be due to a legal technicality or simply a faulty memory. Even worse, the investigator may look at their phone when it would ring on the anniversary of the crime and realize they have to tell a mother or father yet again, they still don't have any news on who the persons were that ended their child's life.
As traffic cleared and Raymond jumped out of our car, he smiled. He then began riding his skateboard to class. I am so pleased he had no idea that 187 are the numbers in the California Penal code that identify a crime as murder.
Raymond will learn more about those things and others when he is an adult. In the meantime, he should ride his skateboard (with his helmet strap snapped firmly under his chin) and feel the fresh morning air, thinking about soccer, his classmates and other things so important to 12-year-old boys.
Like the hiker on the mountain trail, I brushed off my question to Raymond as a confused father in rush hour traffic. I guess I just decided to take the long way around and avoid that dirty old snake. There will be plenty of time in the future to explain to Raymond what those three numbers can mean.
Enjoy your week. If you want to be inspired by an amazing local family, and the challenges they faced together with their son, be sure to click on the video link in this week's Mole Report.
Ray and Theresa Shay
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