The veteran officer had served over a decade on the force. In that time, he’d faced violent offenders, comforted grieving families, and witnessed scenes that lingered in his mind.
Yet nothing could have prepared him for what unfolded on what seemed like an ordinary patrol.
Driving along the city’s outskirts, he kept one hand steady on the wheel, eyes scanning oncoming traffic. Everything appeared calm until he noticed a black hearse hurtling down the empty highway at breakneck speed.
That instantly raised red flags — hearses rarely move fast, especially when carrying the dead. But this one? No hazard lights, no escort — just racing like it was late for a championship.
He flicked on his siren and lights, radioing in: — Unit 45 requesting stop of suspicious hearse. Vehicle traveling Highway 7 at about 120. Engaging pursuit.
Rather than comply, the driver floored the accelerator. The hearse lunged forward, clearly trying to escape. The officer pushed on, keeping distance while monitoring every move. The pursuit lasted five tense minutes, the driver swerving wildly, cutting sharp corners, even nearly hitting guardrails.
At last, seeing no escape, the driver pulled over. The door opened and out stepped a tall, sweaty man in a black suit, flashing an odd, too-wide grin.
— Good afternoon, officer! — he said, attempting calm, though his voice quivered.
— I’m… I’m late for a funeral. Urgent. Family’s waiting… very important… — he fumbled, eyes darting anywhere but at the officer.
— Who are you transporting? — the officer asked evenly.
— Uh… a man… I mean… a woman. Yes. My mother-in-law. No, no… my niece! — he laughed nervously, tripping over his lies.
— Strange. You said “man,” — the officer noted.
— Slip of the tongue! Long day, you know.
The officer’s gaze shifted toward the back.
— Open it.
— There’s a corpse in there! — the driver barked. — I don’t think you should—
— Open it.
Cornered, the man exhaled hard, walked to the rear, and lifted the hatch. Inside sat a coffin. The officer signaled for that to be opened too.
No body. No shroud, flowers, or pillow. Just rows of sealed plastic containers. Dozens of them, wrapped in black plastic, tape, and film, giving off a pungent chemical odor.
The officer’s pulse quickened.
— Illegal subst:ances? — he muttered.
He pressed the emergency call button.
— Suspect in custody. Contraband found. Need backup.
The driver tried to speak, but the officer was already cuffing him.
— You have the right to remain silent. Use it.
Within minutes, reinforcements arrived. The containers — filled with narcotics — were removed from the hearse.
Investigations later revealed the “funeral” was a front for smuggling a massi:ve shipment for an international crim:e ring.
For the officer, it became one of the most unforgettable days of his career. His sharp instincts had stopped a plot that could have devastated the city.
