IF I should go back in time — perhaps two decades — and reflect, I would have to admit that clothes were very important to me. Suits were my weakness. I used to put more effort into dressing for court than for a date.

One day, over 20 years ago, I was fortunate enough to be given an Oscar de la Renta suit. It was the most expensive garment in my closet. Soon after receiving it I decided to wear it to court.

I had missed the previous court date in a matter. I was the investigating officer and the court had issued and stayed a warrant for me. I was to face a judge named Kay Beckford. Well, I have never feared any man in my lifetime, but I was definitely petrified of that judge.

She chewed out lawyers and police officers in large volumes before lunch. I figured that maybe if she saw that I made a lot of effort to look my best for court she would go easy on me. When you’re desperate you don’t think straight.

Whilst sitting in court, waiting for my case to be called, I received a call from my supervisor, Detective Sergeant Carey Duncan, now Superintendent Carey Duncan. He informed me that one of the most wanted men in my division was in a yard in Gregory Park, St Catherine. I had been looking for this man for almost a year and he was killing anybody he could find who was related to his enemies.

I decided to go as fast as I could to Gregory Park to assist in apprehending this man and then rush back to court, if I was done before my case was called up. It took me 10 minutes to get from that court bench to the Caymanas Police Station.

On my arrival I saw a group of young police. They were about a decade younger than I was. The group included a young constable named O’Neill Morgan. He would later become the best operational policeman I have ever served with. He is now a sergeant. I told the young cop to run to a particular spot with his team and that I would run to another spot; we would corner the criminals so they couldn’t escape.

As we moved into position I saw young Morgan take off as I was stepping off. What I didn’t know was that he used to run sprints for Holmwood Technical High School, maybe the year or two before. I was, at the time, an international heavyweight fighter, weighing over 200 pounds. I couldn’t hope to run at his speed.

By the time the young men moved into position I had not reached halfway to where I was supposed to go, but they could not have known this. Halfway up the dirt lane, gunfire erupted. The zinc fence was being shredded and I was still 30 metres from that concrete wall, where I needed to be. My colleague and I were caught in a crossfire. The best solution to avoid being hit was to dive to the ground and stay as low as I could, with my head and body flat on the dirt.

I looked up and saw my colleague, Corporal Rodney Matthews — who is now an inspector — kneeling, and I told him to get flat.

He replied: “I don’t want to dirty up my clothes.”

I said: “Pardy, this is a $100,000 suit I’m laying down in this dirt. Get flat.”

Whilst lying there I remember wishing the ground would open up so I could bury myself even deeper. I also remember thinking: “Wah mi lef de good, good court duty to come dead lef mi pickney dem fa?” Trust me, you don’t panic in the Queen’s English.

The shooting subsided, the killer escaped, and the reality set in that I needed to get back to court as the case must have been called up by now. I drove like Mario Andretti back to the Supreme Court building and rushed into the courtroom. I was as “dutty” as a rubbish truck.

The case had obviously been called up, the judge looked livid, and I recall thinking that the gunshot I had just avoided would have been less painful than what was coming.

Judge Beckford was beyond furious. She told me she had seen me in court earlier and demanded to know where I had gone. I told her I had rushed out on an operation. She reminded me, in no uncertain terms, that court is a duty — not something you come to when it happens to fit into your schedule. I felt one foot tall, but at least she vacated the warrant.

I joke about and reflect on that day often. Morgan and I are still serving on the same team. He still runs at twice my speed. I did, however, learn a lesson that day — nothing material is important. Your family, the people you work with, your friends, innocent people, and children are the ones who are important.

The only thing of real value that you have is your health. That pretty suit meant nothing as zinc fences were being shredded with gunfire.

This also guided my police work going forward. What I carry into combat is what I need, not what looks cool. Logic guides my tactics; law governs my actions.

You cannot hope that you have the ability to do something and then plan your tactics based on that desire. You have to find where you are most useful and ensure that you are the best-possible version of yourself — not necessarily the best in the group because that is unimportant.

Snap operations conducted as quickly as possible are never going to be as smooth as operations that you take days to conduct. Safety, not ambition, needs to guide your every decision.

There is no criminal worth my life or that of any police officer in the world. If I had taken two more minutes to think about the operation, the outcome could have been better.

So, over two decades later, when I’m 20 pounds heavier and significantly smarter, would I be sitting in a court waiting for my case to start, receive information about a gunman being on the ground, and leave the court to do the operation?

Likely not. I trust the men I work with to be able to do as good a job as I could.

When I am in court I am in the most important place in the world because that criminal is already caught.

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