led to numerous traffi c crashes and a pile of accident reports.
Schoen, 27, had only been with the sheriff ’s
offi ce for fi ve years, but he had joined the Army at 18, served in the airborne infantry and later as a CID investigator, spent a year in Bosnia, and had two years police experience with another sheriff ’s department. He was young, aggressive and dedicated, and his hard work and experi- ence had earned him a spot as assistant team leader on the county’s special response team as well as his current assignment as a canine handler. T ings were going well, but his career wasn’t what was on his mind. He was just hun- gry, happy to be sitting in the warmth of his cruiser, and anxious to get caught up with his accident reports.
But his lunch and paperwork would have to wait. His call number crackled from his radio, followed by an assignment to check on the welfare of a woman at a residence in the far southeast corner of the county. T e dispatcher advised that the woman hadn’t shown up for work for two days, but had nothing else to add. T e residence was in a remote location far from backup and in an area that wasn’t very familiar to Schoen. He found the correct street with little trouble, but, due to the fact that many of the homes didn’t have their addresses on dis- play, went to the wrong house. After running the plate on a car in the driveway that revealed he was close to his destination but not there yet, he continued on about a quarter mile, where he found a private driveway leading up to a house nestled among some trees about 100 yards from the road. T ere were no other houses nearby. It had to be the correct location. As he turned into the driveway, the fi rst thing Schoen noticed was the conspicuous absence of any tracks in the snow, indicating no vehicular traffi c since at least the night before. At fi rst, the residence appeared to be a typical two-story farmhouse with a barn and several other out- buildings nearby. But as Schoen made his way up the driveway, he could see it more clearly. Hardly the typical farmhouse he had believed it to be, it was a single-story residence, still under construction and sitting atop an empty concrete shell. He got the impression that the original home had been lifted up to make a sec- ond story, with the empty foundation slipped in below for its fi rst fl oor. T ere were no visible steps leading upstairs, and an extension ladder led up to a porch that ran along the entire width
of the second fl oor. Unless there was a staircase somewhere in the lower level that led upstairs, the only way to check out the second-fl oor liv- ing area would be to climb the ladder, move across the porch, and enter through the front door. Alert, safety conscious, and always think- ing ahead, Schoen instinctively took notice of the tactical implications of the odd structure. T ere was no way to climb the ladder and cross the porch without exposing himself to danger from anyone inside. Schoen saw no vehicles in the driveway or anywhere else, and no signs of any recent activ- ity in or around the house. In fact, it looked as if no one lived there. Still, Schoen knew better than to assume anything. Welfare checks could mean anything from a telephone malfunction to a natural death, to a mass of bloody bodies. Department policy required a thorough inves- tigation, including entry into the dwelling, and Schoen was too dedicated to the safety of the county’s citizens to handle them in any other way. He let the dispatcher know he had arrived but forgot to advise her that he had changed locations—a mistake that would delay things later on—then stepped out into the bone-chill- ing cold and snow.
Before approaching the front of the house, he walked around the lower level, checking for anything out of the ordinary and looking for ways to get upstairs. T ere were no surprises ex- cept for the complete lack of any signs of life— no footprints, no yard tools, no trash, nothing but the unbroken surface of the fresh snow— and no staircases. He found a doorway and sev- eral windows in the lower level, but the inside was completely empty and devoid of any steps or other means of getting upstairs. He would have to enter via the ladder and front door. He didn’t like being in such a vulnerable
position, but police work sometimes entails unavoidable risks. T e best he could do was to make a plan in case he got in trouble. Preplan- ning was second nature to him and he made his plan not out of fear, but in pragmatic rec- ognition of the fact that bad things sometimes happen. With nowhere else to go in the event that he would have to escape the hot zone, he decided his only option would be to jump off the porch.
With this simple but practical plan in mind,
Schoen climbed the ladder and crossed the porch to the nearest window, a large picture window with no curtains. He quick peeked
inside, noting that the room was nearly empty except for a few boxes that appeared to be typi- cal of the inside of a building under construc- tion. T ere was nothing to indicate that anyone lived there and no signs of violence. Standing slightly to the left side of the door, he knocked and waited. No reply. He tried again and again got no response.
Now more convinced than ever that no one was inside, Schoen tried the door and found it to be unlocked. T en, lulled into an uncharac- teristic moment of complacency by his sincere belief that the house was vacant, he made a mistake. Pushing the door open about halfway with his right hand, he moved partly into the doorway and started to announce his presence. “Sheriff ’s Depart…” he shouted, but that’s as far he got.
Without warning, a shadowy fi gure of a man
fl ashed into view, spinning into the open door- way of an adjoining room about 10 feet directly in front of him. Before his startled mind could fully grasp what was happening to him, deadly fi re burst from the muzzle of a shotgun the man was holding. Schoen took the full blast in his right hand, arm, chest, neck and face, but didn’t feel any pain and didn’t recoil from its impact. He hardly knew he had been hit, largely because of the adrenalin surge, but also because his body armor absorbed all the hits to his torso. And he was also lucky that his assailant—a large, stocky man of 27 wearing a bushy beard and fl annel shirt named Ilish Abir Shimpi—had loaded the shotgun with turkey loads. Still, at such short range the blast sent a devastating storm of near- BB-sized missiles into Schoen’s fl esh. More from the shock of the sudden violence than anything else, Schoen took a step back and to his right. Unfortunately, this instinctive reac- tion put him squarely inside the doorway. But before he could move out of the way, a second blast crashed into him, again hitting his neck and face along with his left side and arm. Several thoughts fl ashed through his mind in rapid succession. First came utter confusion; then the harsh reality of what was actually hap- pening to him, followed instantly by astonish- ing puzzlement as he—like many offi cers before him—wondered why anyone would infl ict such violence upon him. T en, an instant later he became horrifi cally aware that he had lost the strength in both arms and most of his control over them (the radial nerves in both arms had been torn up by the blasts). He couldn’t fi ght
37 The Police Marksman Jan-Feb 2014
www.policemarksman.com
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