As December drew to a close, the news was rife with tragic stories—earthquakes, riots, plane crashes, and the loss of beloved musicians.

— a typical year, really.

Adele was topping the charts.

— quite ordinary indeed.

Let’s be more specific; it was the year of heavy snowfall that paralyzed the nation.

Constable Winston Thackerton Fenchurch Jones reached out to the station, leaving a note for the sergeant that his car was stuck in the snow, leading to a delay in his arrival.

A few minor calls quickly transformed into a flood of emergencies, requiring immediate police response. After two hours on duty, I checked in to see if Constable Jones had made it to the office. No one had seen him.

As the snowfall subsided and calls dwindled, I had a moment of respite during the post-rush hour. I turned to my office clerk.

“Have you seen Constable Jones?”

“No, he hasn’t shown up yet.”

“Has he reached out to indicate when he might arrive?”

“No, he hasn’t answered either his mobile or home phone.”

I began to worry. What if something unfortunate had happened to Constable Jones?

Setting aside my work, I drove to his residence, hoping for the best. Despite leaving messages on his answering machine and mobile, there had been no response.

His street was steep, and I parked at the bottom before trudging through the snow on foot.

People were out with shovels, clearing the path, bundled in parkas and boots. One man, dressed in a hooded jacket, looked up, revealing himself to be Constable Jones.

He appeared taken aback by my presence.

“Hello Inspector, what brings you here?”

“You!”

“I was just helping my neighbors clear the street.”

“You were supposed to be at work. We’ve been attempting to contact you every ten minutes for three hours, and I’ve left messages on your devices asking for you to reach me immediately.”

“Oh, my mobile is charging at home.”

I shot him a disapproving look.

Maintaining my composure in front of the public was crucial; I reserved my frustration for private moments. My expression conveyed my discontent.

As an officer, you carry a significant responsibility, foundational to the role. A constable is tasked with protecting life and property, maintaining order, and preventing crime.

We empower constables with the authority to fulfill these duties, and carrying them out is fundamental to the conduct expected of a law enforcement officer.

Police officers exist to serve the community, respond to crises, and ensure public safety. The powers given to a constable come with the expectation of fulfilling that duty. You cannot execute your responsibilities if you’re engaged in snow removal at home.

Constable Jones’s face turned a shade of embarrassment.

“What do you want me to do, Inspector?”

“I want you to get in my car, and I’ll take you to work.”

“I need to gather my belongings, Inspector. Do you want to come inside?”

“I’ll wait in the car.”

I was seething.

Constable Jones had significantly eroded my trust. Not only had he neglected his duties, but he had also shown a lack of respect for the community he was meant to serve and for the colleagues left to handle the influx of calls.

He had sworn to uphold his role but chose instead to assist with snow removal alongside his neighbors.

I strive to avoid profane language since excessive swearing diminishes its impact. When I do use it, it carries weight.

As I sat in my car waiting for Constable Jones to gather his things, I was extremely angry and needed to calm down.

Constable Jones finally got into the car after taking ten minutes to fetch his items. This delay spared me from a fierce reprimand.

Instead, I opted for silence, driving back to the station in a sullen mood.

Constable Jones, however, broke the silence.

“I sense you might be a bit upset with me, Inspector?”

Upset? More like furious.

I chose my words carefully.

“Son, I am more than a bit upset, so if you know what’s best for you, just sit there quietly, and I’ll discuss it when I’m ready.”

As I continued driving, he couldn’t contain himself and offered an apology.

“I’m sorry, Inspector; it’s just that when I returned to my flat, my car was stuck in the snow, and I thought it best to leave a message for the sergeant.”

Returned to his flat?

“What do you mean by ‘when you returned to your flat?’”

“I was at my girlfriend’s and needed to grab my belongings before heading to work.”

“What belongings?”

“Just my sandwiches and stuff.”

“Sandwiches and stuff?”

“Yeah, my lunch.”

“Where is your uniform?”

“In my locker at the station.”

“So why did you need to stop by your house just now?”

“I needed to grab my sandwiches.”

His explanations were only making matters worse.

“How far does your girlfriend live?”

“About fifteen miles. But it took me much longer to get back due to the snow.”

“You mean you drove fifteen miles in the snow back to your house but couldn’t make it to work?”

“Well, I got stuck.”

“Didn’t you think to park at the bottom of your street and walk up?”

“No, I suppose I should have. I drove into my driveway to turn around, but I couldn’t get the car back out.”

“Wait a minute. There was no car in your driveway when I was there.”

“Um, no, my neighbor helped me push it out.”

“So your car isn’t stuck anymore?”

Constable Jones had been shoveling snow, but now he was digging himself into a deeper hole.

“No. It’s out.”

“So why didn’t you come to work?”

“I thought it best to help my neighbors clear the street, so I grabbed my shovel and assisted them.”

He spoke as if this justified his absence, as if it held greater importance than responding to emergencies or supporting his colleagues.

“Why didn’t you inform me your car was free? You could have driven yourself to work!”

“I thought I should follow your orders.”

You might be surprised to learn that I didn’t stop the vehicle, exit, and drag Constable Jones out. I didn’t handcuff him to a lamppost or run him over. That’s how much I’ve matured—an indication of my professionalism.

At the office, I left him with my sergeant, promising to follow up the next day.

That night, I lay awake, unable to sleep.

The incident replayed in my mind, and I felt overwhelmed.

I was angry, then irritated, then frustrated. I pondered how best to address the situation and what I would communicate to him.

After considerable reflection, my anger faded.

Perhaps Constable Jones wasn’t inherently negligent. He might simply be a regular person with typical thoughts and feelings. It could be the training he received, his mentor, the company he kept, or even my expectations that were misaligned.

I couldn’t recall any training focused on our obligations or the need for reliability. We learned the basics of theft, poaching, and public decency, but no one ever asked, “Do you truly understand what it means to be a law enforcement officer?”

Then there was my sense of obligation. After over twenty-five years in the role of an inspector, I had formed clear beliefs about what being a constable entails.

When I started, I was young and inexperienced. Why should I expect Constable Jones to behave differently? His priorities differed from mine; he didn’t have a family to support, while I did.

At his age, my priorities likely mirrored his—earning enough to buy beer and muster the courage to ask someone out.

The following day, I called Constable Jones into my office for a conversation. After our discussion, I chose to move on.

We all make mistakes, and Constable Jones made a significant error. Though it was serious, no one was harmed, and no one suffered unduly. The unfortunate reality is that all of that could have happened.

I asked him how he would feel if he were responding to calls and felt abandoned by a colleague who decided to shovel snow instead of fulfilling their duty.

I also asked how he would react if his mother were involved in an accident needing police assistance, but the officer on duty chose to prioritize snow shoveling.

Finally, I inquired what lesson he had taken away from the experience.

To his credit, he acknowledged his substantial misjudgment and offered an apology.