Final Analysis - Catherine Crier [14]
Barely seven minutes had passed since he first called that number. He recognized the female dispatcher’s voice when she answered.
“Uh, murder,” he blurted out.
There was a moment’s hesitation, as if the dispatcher was processing the declaration. “Where at?”
“At 728 Miner Road.”
“Okay, what happened?” she asked, switching on the police radio to alert units in the field. Orinda is one of five unincorporated cities in the county that contracts patrol services from the Contra Costa Sheriff ’s Department.
“Um, I think my mom…my mom shot my dad.”
“You think your mom shot your dad?” the dispatcher repeated.
“Yeah.”
“Okay, stay on the phone, I’m going to connect you to the fire department. Do not hang up,” the officer instructed.
There were several beeps, and then ringing, as the call was transferred to the fire department’s emergency line.
“It’s a possible shooting,” the sheriff ’s dispatcher said, briefing her counterpart at the Contra Costa Fire Department.
“Okay, what’s your name, sir?” the fire dispatcher asked Gabe.
The teen spelled it twice.
“Where’s your mom at now?”
“She’s still in the house,” the teen responded breathlessly.
“Does she still have the gun?”
“I believe so.”
“Where is your dad at?”
“He’s dead,” Gabe shot back.
“Where is he at, do you know?”
“He’s in my cottage.”
“In your cottage?”
“Yeah.”
“Does your mom still have the gun?”
“I believe so.”
“Do you know when this happened?”
“No, no idea.”
“Do you know where your mom is in the house?”
“No, I don’t.”
“How do you know she’s still in the house?”
“Because I was just in the fuckin’ house,” the teen’s voice was beginning to waver, as though he was fighting back tears.
“Okay, where are you now?”
“I’m outside,” Gabe’s voice grew softer.
“Okay, what’s your mom’s name?”
“Susan. She’s got a mental illness.”
“What’s her last name?”
“Polk.”
“How old is your mom?”
There was no response.
“Gabe. Gabe? Are you still there?” The dispatcher asked.
The line went dead.
Gabriel’s attention had shifted to the sound of a door opening. He could tell it wasn’t coming from the main house. Peering around the carport, he was certain that it was his mother opening then closing the door to the guesthouse.
“Hey, did you see that?” she yelled up to him.
Gabe didn’t respond. He wanted to get as far away as possible. Bolting down the hill and onto Miner Road, he flagged down an arriving fire truck. Panting furiously, he remained with the firemen until police units arrived just after 10:15 PM.
Chapter Four
“SHE’S CRAZY”
It was after 1 AM on the morning of Tuesday, October 15, 2002, when Contra Costa Sheriff ’s officers Jeff Moule and Jeffrey Hebel finally sat down with Gabriel Polk in a small interview room at the Field Operation’s Bureau in Martinez. They had left the teen alone in the tiny space for nearly thirty minutes, watching and recording his movements on the hidden video camera in the ceiling. Gabriel still had no shirt on.
The officers who would be interviewing him were members of the county’s Criminal Investigative Division (CID). They were responsible for follow-up investigation of all reported felony offenses in the 521 square miles of the unincorporated areas in the county. Before placing the visibly shaken teenager in a patrol car, they performed a gunshot residue test on him to determine whether he had recently discharged a firearm. The test was negative, and now they needed some answers from the distraught teen.
Gabe told the officers that his mother was “crazy and delusional,” and that she had tried to buy a shotgun after threatening Felix during the Montana trip. Although Gabriel was pointing the finger at his mother, the officers were reserving judgment. It was standard protocol to