Patrick Murphy is looking after the peace of mind of at least 350 households in Observatory. Apart from several alarms throughout the suburb linked to his company 072-NO-CRIME, he also looks after the security in Observatory Estate enclosure.
To link up your alarm with him, phone him on 082-690-3090. To report anything suspicious, phone your dedicated crime hotline 072-NO-CRIME (072 66-27463)
CARINE HARTMAN went driving with the man we trust with our lives...
MURPHY’S LAW
Private. No trespassing allowed.
I know this when I get into Patrick Murphy’s white Golf 3 shortly before midnight on Tuesday “to save the world”.
Patrick smiles – and he has reason: the Observatory Estate committee earlier tonight unanimously accepted his company, KPS, as the new guardian for our enclosure north of the golf course.
From 1 March all 350 households’ peace of mind rests with him. It was a decision that did not come easily to the committee: “better the devil you know”; “maybe he’s too small”; “it’s a risk”; “what do we really know about him?”
And that is why I get into the shy Irishman’s vehicle. To see him operate in the world he knows best: prowling the dark streets of our suburb in the wee hours of the night, always on the lookout, always alert.
He crossed my path hardly a year ago through his passion for fighting crime. But that is what he talks about: crime – and only crime.
We start off in Rosettenville. The decay in that suburb still shocks him. Patrick points out a streetwalker in a comely floral dress. “Maybe she’s on her way to the garage to buy milk?” I venture. He laughs and shows me the telltale signs.
Over the next hour I learn to be more cynical. I can now spot the drug dealers and get to know the streetwalkers. My heart bleeds for the begging drug addict we have now passed at least six times.
He points to an innocuous looking car. “We know what he is shopping for.” I argue. Nonsense. The man is just on his way home. He makes me remember the guy’s number plate – and we keep on prowling. Two blocks later my home-coming man is spotted “negotiating a price”. I check the registration number. I don’t argue anymore.
But I pry about his passion. He ignores me. I ask again and he closes his eyes. I briefly hear he was a victim of crime six times after his arrival in this country in 1993. Yes, a hi-jacking; another attempted one. “And then I decided I could maybe help,” he admits. He joined the Police as a reservist and “did my bit” voluntary for the next eight years – five of that with the Child Protection Unit. Enough said.
One of the many radios in the car crackles. We hear of a murder in progress in Geranium Street and shoot off. “Don’t worry, I did an advance driving course years ago,” I hear while I cling to the dashboard. We arrive with the cops. It’s only a domestic dispute… His good relationship with the men in blue is evident.
Off to Kensington, Patrick’s turf where he keeps the long Highland Road safe. He ‘alpha, bravos’ into a radio to his reaction vehicle. I understand not a word and believe him when he says it’s all quiet. Three years ago, before he took over, it was mayhem. He points out house after house: number 103 armed robbery, 105 hijacking; 109 housebreaking; 115 hijacking… The list seems endless. I hear about one of the very few times where he had to use his firearm. But order was restored. “It’s quiet now. We had not one incidence the past couple of months.” He waves to his guards in the reaction vehicle.
Over Sylvia’s Pass to the Mountainview enclosure he also has under his wing. It’s after two in the morning and his guard is wide-awake and patrolling. “I check up on all my guys all the time.”
Now Observatory. Fast asleep and very dark. Our streetlights are useless, I say. “We must get the motion-spotlights on people’s walls going.” He agrees. It was his suggestion, after all, while he worked with me on a crime plan for the whole of Observatory. “Light is the enemy of the criminal. If he has nowhere to hide, he won’t come into your area,” he told me over and over then.
But now he turns the car’s headlights and engine off. We crawl to a halt. He motions me to be quiet. I see nothing. He points. Now I spot the two guys walking down Eckstein Street. “Maybe to buy milk” I squeak? “This time of night?” I get gruffly. We wait and watch patiently; his hand ready. It seems like ages before they disappear around the bend and Patrick starts the car. They spot us and quicken their pace. He passes them, does a u-turn, passes them again. We repeat the pattern until they are “escorted” nearly to the Zenex. We turn in a boomed-off area in Cyrildene. Patrick even knows the people there.
He speeds off to our enclosure. Hoots impatiently when the sleepy guard is too slow with the boom. We race up and down: Mons Road; Judith; St Georges; Klip; Robertson; Adam Tas; East… His head whips from side to side. He misses nothing. The car slows. ‘Dogs are barking. Why?’ We wait. Nothing. It looks good – but he zooms out to the Zenex for a last look at the escorted men. He is satisfied.
It’s 3.30am and we’re having coffee in my safe house. We talk the never-ending crime: his long arrest record, his years as a reservist, he shares some horrific incidents, some funny… I yawn; Patrick’s eyes are wide open. As are mine: so there was no shoot-out, no handcuffs, no confrontation. But I now know more. My ‘training’ was invaluable. The who, the how, even the when, is clearer in my mind. He allowed me a glimpse into an instinct that comes only with experience. And I know I can trust that instinct.
4am and Patrick disappears into the darkness. He’ll patrol until at least 5. I yawn… I’ll sleep safely.
- You can phone Patrick on 082 690 3090 or the dedicated crime number for our suburb: 072-NO-CRIME (072-66-27463)
Written 24 January 2007 by Carine Hartman
|
