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Radcliffe stared at him, then finished, “. . . and it’d be great if you could do just the Homicide part. Detective Parkman’s already agreed to be the sponsor.”
“What? Pretty Boy? You asked him first? Why do I suddenly feel like the last kid picked for a team on the playground?”
Payne tried to feign a hurt look. When he saw it wasn’t working, he smiled.
“All right. Sure, Andy. When?”
—
The next night in the Homicide Unit, Sergeant Matthew M. Payne, wearing gray woolen slacks, navy blazer, and a striped necktie, stood before twenty-five criminal justice students from La Salle University.
It was a fairly varied group, despite being made up mostly of males. All were nicely dressed, a few of the males even in coat and tie. While it was impossible to pinpoint their exact ethnic lineage, a dozen in the group, including of course Andy Radcliffe, clearly were African-American, with the remainder being a mix of backgrounds well representative of Philadelphia. Payne recognized signs of Irish and English heritage as well as those of Italian, Spanish, Asian, and Hispanic descent.
What a great bunch of kids, Payne thought.
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“I’ve been asked to describe the makeup of crime here in Philly, with an emphasis on homicides,” Payne said. “But I’d like to ask you a question first: How many of you have had friends or family who’ve been victims of crime?”
All but four in the group raised their hands.
“And how many of you personally have been victims?”
A moment later, six hands remained raised.
Payne nodded, motioned for them to put down their hands, then said, “I’m sorry to see that, but I have to say I’m not surprised. You guys are what age—nineteen, twenty?”
They nodded.
“Okay, tell me: What’s generally considered the largest cause of death for people your age?”
“Car crashes,” a tall, thoughtful-looking black male said.
“Correct. For those age fifteen to twenty-five, cars are by far the worst. That is, pretty much everywhere but Philadelphia. Anyone want to venture a guess what it is here?”
The group was silent, then a male voice in the back said, “Murder?”
Payne nodded solemnly. “Unfortunately, yes. Homicides are the top killer for that age group in Philly.”
There was a murmur, then the same voice in the back, his tone now incredulous, said, “But why?”
“That’s a very good question. One I wish we had an answer for—then I wouldn’t have to work so hard.”
That triggered polite laughter.
Then, toward the front, a light-brown-skinned female with short dark hair raised her hand to shoulder level and said: “Thanks to the media, it’s not exactly a secret that you’re known to get into shoot-outs. Weren’t you just cleared in that shoot-out on the casino boardwalk?”
Payne thought that she probably was Puerto Rican.
He smiled.
“You don’t beat around the bush, do you?” he said. “You’re going to make a great cop.”
There were chuckles.
“No offense intended, Sergeant Payne,” she said. “I’m just curious about deadly force—that is, Officer-Involved Shootings—how the process works?”
Payne nodded.
