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Longevity

Fighting the good fight: Sara Saved!

The big moment finally arrived when Fabienne’s plane landed at the Halifax Airport. Spriggs and I were escorted from the suite to meet the aircraft, which had taxied to the jet bridge. They had just attached the covered ramp to the airplane’s front side door as the airport manager escorted us down the covered hallway towards the plane entrance. I could feel my anticipation rising. Just outside the door of the plane, a rather distinguished-looking gentleman joined us. The airport manager introduced him as France’s representative: The Honourary French Vice-Consulate, Dominique Henry. This event was a huge deal. An international search had been underway for three years, and it had finally culminated in the best possible resolution. This is rare in police work and to be part of something so tremendously uplifting was overwhelmingly rewarding. We cordially exchanged handshakes, and he thanked us for having recovered Sara. He spoke to

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Longevity

Fighting the good fight: Sara Part 4

With Sara at a safe house, I was finally able to leave work. It was late at night by the time I got home. My wife was waiting for me, and I told her the whole story. I mentioned that I would be reuniting Sara with her mother late tomorrow afternoon at the Halifax airport. As I talked to Marianne, I realized that there would probably be quite a bit of time before Sara’s mother arrived from Montreal. I then had a flash of brilliance and thought that perhaps bringing my daughter Abbie, who was four years old at the time, might be a good idea.  She could keep Sara company, and Sara would have a little friend her sister’s age to play with. I asked Marianne what she thought, and she immediately said she felt that this would be a splendid idea. Marianne gathered up some toys, colouring books

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Longevity

Fighting the good fight: the first shooting

When I first sat down with my editor to write this memoir, the Darren Roode shootings were the first stories I needed to write. It was as if they were the cap on top of the well, and unless I exorcised them, I felt nothing else would come forward.  There are always a limited number of cases that mark one’s career as an RCMP officer. The Darren Roode shootings are part of those cases. I was on afternoon patrol in Colchester County, Nova Scotia. Truro, where I’d first been stationed, is the shire town of Colchester County. We had an area of just over four hundred kilometres to patrol with a population of roughly thirty thousand. I had entered the small village of Bible Hill where my current detachment was situated. Bible Hill is a small community on the north side of the Salmon River. It had a population of

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