What did the Shooting Victim Say Before Going to the Hospital?

With the steam rising off the street in the August heat, little cones marked the shell casings on the street in the Hilltop section of Wilmington, Delaware. The victim, Blane Koss, was still breathing and stable when paramedics loaded him into the ambulance.

When Detective Cecily Frampton arrived on the scene, she picked up on a few things only a detective would have been able to see.

“We can tell by the shell casings how the gunman fired the weapon from a considerable distance,” she explained. She spoke with uniformed officers who collected even more information.

“I’ve just been taking these shootings as much as I can,” Cecily stated. “I’ve been working out a plan to stop them in this city, this state.”

She had covered twenty-six shootings since the beginning of the year and nine deaths.

Tonight, Koss had been more fortunate than others. Koss spoke to the paramedics saying, “Let me call my wife.” He held out his blood splattered smartphone.

“We’re in the process of getting you to the hospital. You can call there.”

“I’m calling now.”

The paramedic, Sophie Plano showed her exasperation, but let the shooting victim get in touch with his spouse.

With Detective Cecily, some gallows humor slipped from her lips. “With the size of this city, if they keep up this shooting, there will be no one left to shoot,” she laughed wryly. The way she maneuvered her vehicle was sure, almost aggressive. She was like a lightning bolt striking a tree. Her energy was palpable.

“That Koss victim could have easily been my tenth. He had the round go through his arm and out again. That was it.” She then fumed about why the shootings occurred. “I can’t stand the bureaucracy, to be honest. I feel as if the politicians don’t really care about their lives. They just see numbers and data. They see the stats and push forward all kinds of wishlist mandates that never work.”

She stopped back at the station, and entered her office. The place was absolutely immaculate. Not a speck of dust on any surface. Everything was in its place, and she never let herself slump. She sat straight-backed at her computer, and entered the facts of the shooting.

“If I had my way, I’d just clear the streets every day and night. Just have dozens of cops on every street. An army of cops on the beat—I’m kidding,” she laughed. “That would be a logistical nightmare. I honestly don’t know what to do about all of these shootings. I’m not here to prevent, but to investigate and enforce. That’s all I can do.”

As she typed in the information, she played heavy metal softly. It then transitioned to trap hip hop on her wireless sound bar. She was intent on getting each word down correctly. Her gross words a minute was 150. Detective Cecily paid close attention to every word, and ensured she spelled and corrected grammar with aplomb.

“I think this was a win tonight. He wasn’t lucky, or blessed, but very fortunate. Mr. Koss could’ve been in much worse shape given how many shots the assailant fired. He could’ve left his wife and kids. It’s because of the facts of reality he’s still breathing. Had he just been a few inches to the left or right, his family would’ve been making funeral arrangements. I’m just glad he’s okay.”

Cecily took the printout, and reviewed everything she entered. As she looked at all the entry points, she placed reading glasses over her face.

“That’s about right,” she asserted.