Rhode Island news
A memorial is set up at Detective James Allen's desk, department members go to debriefing sessions, and emergency calls for police assistance continue as they do every day of the week.
09:43 AM EDT on Monday, April 18, 2005
PROVIDENCE -- This was their house.
This was the place, the police officers said, where they felt safe. Some
joked they spend more time here at the Public Safety Complex at Dean and
Washington streets than they do at home. Most would not be kidding about
that.
They know the risks when they take this job. But not here. Not in this
brick and concrete building.
This isn't a crime scene like any other. When the officers were
searching yesterday through the halls and offices inside, and beating
through the shrubbery outside, it was their house under seige. It was
their house on lockdown.
"It's tainted," Officer Clarence Gough said softly. His tired eyes
drifted to look at the station. The lowered flag fluttered against the
flagpole.
He'd come to the job not long after James Allen and rode around with him
in the West End. Gough left his own birthday party just after midnight
to come to the station and begin his other job -- as part of the peer
support group.
Yesterday, he and Lt. Kenneth Cohen, Mike Wheeler, and others in the
group gathered all day and through the night in meetings with the
officers. Other departments -- West Warwick, Warwick, Coventry, Fall
River -- had offered help.
"I'm in shock," Gough said. "I feel like I can't get my bearings. I
haven't been able to focus."
In the brilliant sunshine, the sister and father of another fallen
officer tied blue ribbons on the antennae of police cruisers. Robert
Shaw and his daughter, Pamela, were both near tears. Allen's death was
so like the murder of Sgt. Steven Shaw 11 years ago.
Robert Shaw hugged Gough. He hugged the other officers who saw him and
came over to say hello.
The pain never goes away, Shaw said.
All that some of the officers could think about was getting through the
day. Few had slept. Most had come in when they heard the news, and they
stayed at the station or the hospital.
The sleepless commanders worked through the day. Chief Dean M.
Esserman's phone rang with calls from ministers, police chiefs,
community leaders. The City Council members had been awakened at night
with the news, which spread through the community.
"All of us have been struck by the outpouring of support from the
community," Esserman said. "The Police Department is not grieving alone.
The community is grieving with us."
People brought in flowers. They called with condolences, said clerk Jean
Patek. "People are saying, 'We love you. We care about you,' " Patek
said. "They say, 'We want you to be safe.' "
The emergency calls kept coming in the city. A stabbing in the
afternoon. Car accidents. Complaints about harassing phone calls.
The officers went out, their faces wooden. They cracked bad jokes about
other things, talked about other investigations, searching for ways to
take their minds off Allen's death.
Later, they gathered to talk to each other.
Some went into the debriefing sessions late in the afternoon.
Allen's desk mates, Detectives John Murray Jr. and John Coughlin Jr.,
stood in the shadows of the parking garage behind the station, talking
to each other.
They had set up a simple memorial at his desk. They laid a black wreath
and arranged his family pictures. They put up pictures of Allen, so the
rookies who were sworn in January would know who he was.
Of all people, they kept saying, Jimmy was the last one they had
imagined getting hurt. He wouldn't hurt anyone else. He was smart, but
wise enough not to lord it over anyone else. His world was simple: work
at the station, work part-time as security at Whole Foods Market. But
his free time was with his family.
His death shattered everyone. The staff from Aftermath Cleaning Company
had removed the blood-stained rugs from the conference room and cleaned
the glass shattered from the window.
The room would be repaired. But they couldn't imagine ever going back in
again.
"Every day, we have to go in and think about this," Murray said. "This
is our house."
He repeated himself, wondering. "This kid got killed in our house."
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