offi cer down: Off-Duty Ambush: The Steve Franks Incident
As unpleasant as it may be to critique the actions of fellow offi cers who have been injured or killed in the line of duty, it is even more distasteful to see their blood shed in vain, to deny others the lessons we can learn from their sacrifi ces. The purpose of this column is not to criticize, but to learn from the mistakes and triumphs of those who have faced lethal violence fi rsthand. With this in mind, this column is dedicated to the offi cers whose stories are told here, and to all our fellow offi cers who have been killed and injured in unselfi sh service to their communities.
of rain. Rushing to get inside, he stopped in front of the door and fumbled for the key while holding tight to the food and coff ee cup.
“Don’t move!” warned a booming voice to his right, “or I’ll blow your f__ing head off!”
DESCRIPTION OF INCIDENT S
teve Franks and Mary, his wife of less than four months, were not thinking about Earl Barnes as they drove home from work. Barnes had caused them a lot of grief over the past fi ve and a half months, but he had left them alone for the past several weeks and it had been a long day. The only thing the Franks were concerned about was picking up something for dinner and getting home.
Franks, a 45-year-old, seven-year veteran of police work, was a captain with the hos- pital police department that served the larg- est healthcare network in the metropolitan area. He worked in the same hospital as his wife (an employee in the billing offi ce), and since they both worked the day shift, they rode to and from work together. T e com- mute took 40 minutes even in light traffi c, Mary had worked overtime about an hour, they were hungry, and Steve was anxious to get out of his uniform and relax. As they neared the end of their long com- mute, they stopped at a fast food restaurant for carryout and then drove the rest of the way to their suburban home, a comfortable ranch house nestled among shade trees on a spacious lot at the end of a long cul-de- sac. Strange, Franks thought, as he spotted his mailbox lying on the sidewalk leading up to his front door. It looked like it had been torn from its post and tossed into the yard. As he parked the car and started to get out, Franks pointed the mailbox out to his wife, initiating a brief discussion leading
to the conclusion that the mail carrier may have knocked it off its post. It didn’t look seriously damaged, but it would have to be put back up. T at can wait, Franks thought, suddenly feeling a bit uneasy. T e late after- noon sky was becoming darkly foreboding with deep gray clouds, it had been a long day, and the mailbox bothered him for some reason. He didn’t feel threatened in any way, but an eerie feeling was descend- ing upon him. With his keys in his right hand, Franks picked up the bag of food and his morning coff ee cup—an oversized plastic mug—and put them in his left hand. He headed for the house while Mary stopped to pick up the mailbox. Franks walked quickly up the sidewalk, still uneasy but giving no thought to Earl Barnes.
Barnes, Mary’s fi rst husband, couldn’t get over losing her. Actually, he hadn’t lost her at all—he had dumped her to go back to his fi rst wife. But this new relationship had soon soured and he had begun to re- gret his choice. In the meantime, Mary met Steve and they married. T e harassment had begun about two months before their mar- riage, and, as is often the case, it had started rather nonthreateningly. A telephone call about their joint tax refund had been the pretext for Barnes’ fi rst contact with Mary, then came false allegations claiming Mary’s infi delity, repeated hang-up calls, and in- creasingly hostile threats. As Franks approached the front door, the gloomy sky suddenly turned dark as night and the clouds erupted into a deluge, drenching him and Mary in thick sheets
Franks spun toward the voice. A man in his early 50s, unexplained hatred blaz- ing from his fi ery eyes, stood at the cor- ner of the house shouldering a 12-gauge in the fi ring position, its gaping muzzle pointed directly at Franks! Instinctively, Franks ducked into a low fi ghting crouch while going for his own gun, a .40 caliber GLOCK model 22. T e shotgun boomed twice, its muzzle fl ashing like lightning through the rain-soaked darkness, before Franks could complete the draw and get on target. Something peppered Franks’ face and upper body, and he had a lousy grip on the GLOCK—he had always had trouble getting a good grip with this particular hol- ster—but he kept going. T e pistol was on target a split second later and there wasn’t time to adjust his grip. Without hesitation, he pulled the trigger. He cranked off two or three shots, the last one coming at the same instant as another thunderous blast from his assailant’s shotgun. Off to his right, Franks could hear his wife’s horrifi ed screams. Fearing for her safety, he looked in her direction. T ough unhurt, she stood next to the mailbox, transfi xed in terror with her eyes riveted on the gunman. He shouted at her to get down but she ignored him. Up to this point, Franks had been partially shielded by two large concrete planters at the corners of the front porch. In fact, the one closest to him had taken one of the fi rst charges of 00 buck from the shotgun. Although he was still unaware of it, the impacts he had felt had been debris from the shattering con- crete. Franks immediately realized that his warnings to Mary were going unheeded. He broke cover and went to her.
In the meantime, the gunman had shot his shotgun dry. He dropped it and drew a Ruger Blackhawk from his waistband. T e big revolver roared and belched fl ame as the gunman cranked off shot after shot
43 The Police Marksman Mar-Apr 2015
www.policemarksman.com
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