A Friday or Saturday nightshift for Yellowknife's Mounties is a world of DIPPs, domestics, and keeping the peace. Kevin Wilson, Yellowknifer's police reporter, spent the last two weekends riding along with the police for the night shift to get a cop's eye view. Here's part two of the series.
Kevin Wilson
Northern News Services
Yellowknife (May 18/01) - Constables Jason Doucet and Paul Mounsey were warned early in the evening to keep an eye out for a drunk teenager.
She'd initially been spotted passed out, but when some other officers went to investigate, she was gone.
There's always a few of those during Super Soccer weekend. Put a bunch of teenagers in the big city for the weekend and you're bound to get a few problems.
It could be worse. During the old-timers' hockey tournament, an attempt to arrest a drunk male nearly went horribly awry.
Doucet was trying to handcuff the man when a crowd gathered. Doucet found himself separated from his partner and surrounded by at least 60 people. He was thrown up against a wall by the mob.
"My partner and I emptied out our cans of pepper spray on the crowd, and fought our way out of it," said Doucet.
"I managed to keep a grip on the guy, because there was no telling what he was going to do if I let go of him."
On an ordinary weekend, the police routine is usually manageable. It's when there's some event, be it a big hockey tournament, or Caribou Carnival, or Raven Mad Daze, when the cops expect things to get hectic.
On this particular Saturday, police keep a close eye on the schools. There's lots of kids milling around, and while they're mostly well behaved, teens will be teens.
Staff Sgt. Terry Scott, Yellowknife detachment commander, says police are starting to keep a close eye on the liquor store. The kids are obviously getting booze from somewhere. Scott speculates that some adults are being approached by teenagers to buy them bottles.
"I'd like to get my hands on the people who are getting the liquor for these kids."
Over and over during the course of the Friday, Doucet and Mounsey deal with the effects of alcohol abuse in the city.
"Joe" is the first DIPP (Drunk In Public Place) picked up on the Friday 10 p.m. to 3 a.m. shift. Doucet and Mounsey know him well. When Joe is booked into cells, they take off his coat. In the right sleeve is a three-quarters empty bottle of Old Stock Whiskey. A bottle of Finesse hairspray falls out of the left.
"Now why do you need that, Joe? Your hair looks great already," Doucet tells him.
For the most part, drunks are put in the tank for their own protection. Last week, a man was brought to cells hardly able to walk. His pockets were emptied during booking, and found to have $684.
Cpl. Brian Glover, the arresting officer said, "the guy was a ripe target. He'd probably get jumped and beaten up by a few guys, and that would be the end of his money."
Not long after Joe is booked, a tip earlier in the night plays out. Someone warned Doucet and Mounsey that a man was drinking in the Gold Range. The tipster pointed out the man's van and warned police that he planned to drive home.
As they drive by the parking lot adjacent to the Gold Range, they see the headlights come on.
"He's moving," says Mounsey.
Doucet turns on the afterburners and makes two quick left turns to get into the alley behind 50th street. The driver is arrested on suspicion of driving while impaired. He's going to be brought to the station for a breathalyzer test.
There's an 18-year-old woman in the car with him. She's carrying a baby in her amouti. "How am I supposed to get home," she shouts.
Mounsey tells her to get a move on. Hands shaking, she lights up a cigarette.
"Aw, for Christ's sake," the man in custody calls to Mounsey. "Give her a ride home."
She hightails it a few seconds later. Back at the station, the man police arrested demands to call a lawyer. He's led into a room with a phone, and given a phonebook. By law, if he refuses to take a breathalyzer, he can be charged with refusing to provide a sample. But no lawyer is going to come in at midnight to witness the thing, and he wants a lawyer.
The man reluctantly goes to provide the sample, and is booked.
Before the shift is over, he's released on a promise to appear. He and Doucet walk down the hall, making small talk.
"See you in court," he says.
Not long after the man leaves, the drunken teen Mounsey and Doucet were told to look out for makes an appearance.
She's huddled on the floor of the Toronto Dominion Bank's alcove, unable to stand.
A crowd of about a dozen has gathered around the entrance to the bank's ATM.
A woman approaches Doucet and Mounsey as they exit the Suburban. After a few questions with the bystanders, the two constables enter the alcove. The smell of rum comes off the girl in waves.
"Where are you from?" they ask.
"Edzo," she tells them.
"Come on with us," Doucet tells her. "We're gonna call your parents."
Doucet and Mounsey pick her up and she starts to sob.
Within seconds of being placed in the vehicle, the girl starts vomiting. Doucet and Mounsey decide to take her to Stanton Regional Hospital.
The stench of puke and booze permeate the Suburban. Fortunately, the back of the vehicle is all metal, so a few swipes of a wet mop will clean it up. Unfortunately, the two constables have to do the job.
Doucet and Mounsey take a call around 1 a.m. from Stanton. The girl is sleeping it off, but the phone number she gave is bogus. Mounsey goes into the room and wakes the girl up. His voice is firmer now.
"What's your name?"
The girl repeats her name. It's the same one she gave before.
"How old are you?"
"Fourteen."
"What's your phone number?" The girl gives Mounsey four digits of a phone number.
"What's the first three numbers?"
"Eight-six-seven," she replies. Technically, she's right. The territorial area code is 867.
"What were you drinking tonight?"
"Bacardi."
"What's your sign?"
"Bacardi."
Mounsey gives up. "Her sign's Bacardi," he mutters as he walks out of the room to confer with the doctor. The doctor agrees to keep her under observation for a while longer, and police put out a call to the Rae-Edzo RCMP detachment to try and track down the girl's parents.
Mounsey and Doucet spend the last hour of their shift to patrol the downtown bar area. When the throngs outside the Gallery and the Gold Range finally subside, they return to Stanton to collect the teen born under the sign of Bacardi.
She's sobered up considerably, and is chatting animatedly with one of the nurses. She tried to leave, but the emergency staff wouldn't let her.
En route to cells, she tells the cops they can only keep her for eight hours.
"Are you a lawyer or something," Mounsey asks her.
"Where's my friend?" she asks.
"We don't know," says Doucet. "I guess they all ditched you."
The girl looks wounded, then alarmed.
"You guys have gotta find my friend. She's all alone with six guys we met."
