Nightmarish moments inside Detroit police cars on night of Loren Courts' fatal shooting

Wednesday's shift began as usual, even a little early, for Detroit special operations unit officer Loren Courts.

He reported to work at the city's 2nd Precinct on Schaefer and Grand River, chatting with colleagues as he waited for any calls to come in. Instead of heading home around 6 p.m., Courts called his wife and said he was working a double shift, something that also wasn't out of the ordinary. And, as usual, several of his fellow officers were grilling out back — hamburgers and hot dogs. Even the precinct captain was in attendance, and there were laughs and conversation all around.

The laid-back scene that early evening was the antithesis of the chaotic carnage that was to come — a moment all police officers prepare for, but hope to never have to endure.

Courts, 40, and his partner, Amanda Hudgens, 29, heard a call over their police radios a little after 7 p.m. of shots being fired in a nearby neighborhood, and immediately jumped in their squad car and headed for the scene.

As usual, Courts drove. He always joked that Hudgens' driving made him carsick, she said. And, as usual, the two police partners sang old school songs as they sped to the area of Joy Road and Marlowe Street in the Fiskhorn neighborhood on the city's west side — Hudgens says she can't recall exactly what they sang that evening.

However, what happened when they got to the scene was anything but usual. A young man, armed with a Draco semiautomatic, assault-style pistol, was firing shots indiscriminately in the area, as well as at arriving officers, sending them scrambling for cover.

Before Courts and Hudgens could exit their vehicle and offer assistance, the unthinkable happened: One of the many 7.62x39-caliber rounds being sprayed by the gunman pierced the window and struck Courts in the neck area.

At first, "I didn't know he got hit," Hudgens recalled exclusively to the Free Press of that tragic evening. "I thought the bullet went between us."

Upon seeing the extent of the damage, Hudgens said she "was screaming to God."

She also immediately radioed for help.

“We are under fire, my partner is down!” Hudgens screamed over the police radio. Through tears, she continued to demand: “Help me!” describing the sound as a scream no dispatcher would ever want to hear.

Hearing the desperate dispatch, Officer Jason Lord, who had been manning the grill at the 2nd Precinct for what would turn out to be Courts' last meal, jumped in a car and headed for the scene.

“I don’t think I took my foot off the gas pedal the entire time,” Lord told the Free Press. “I was upset. I was scared and I wanted to be there, like right then.”

Lord said by the time he arrived at the nightmarish scene, other DPD officers already were trying to get Courts' mortally wounded body into the back of one of their squad vehicles. And so, he said, muscle memory kicked in and he started doing what he normally would: Like Courts, Lord says he always drove the scout car. But as he approached the driver's side door he saw someone else was already prepared to drive. So, he got in on the passenger side, leaned over into the back and started helping to pull Courts into the vehicle. Once Courts was inside, Lord said he tried to get him to respond.

“I kept trying to get him to hold my hand,” he said. “I got nothing.”

But that didn’t stop Lord from believing his colleague and friend, would make it through.

“I took his gun (belt) off and they (the medical professionals) started cutting his clothes off," he said. “I just started gathering everything and bagging it up, like he's gonna need it.”

Tragically, Loren Courts, who, family members said, wanted to follow in his father's footsteps by serving in the DPD, took his final breaths Wednesday evening, a little after 7:30 p.m., doing something he loved and was so proud to do — serving and protecting the community where he was born and raised.

Detroit police later identified the gunman as Ehmani Davis, 19, of Eastpointe, who also died after officers returned fire as he exited an apartment building from which he had been shooting and advanced on police on the street. Detroit Police Chief James White said he felt Davis wanted police to shoot him. A 2-week-old warrant request for Davis on a weapons-related charge was pending in Macomb County at the time of Wednesday night's shooting.

During a news conference that night, and at a subsequent news conference Thursday afternoon, White proudly — but with a heavy heart and righteous indignation — commended his officers' actions, hailing Courts and Hudgens as heroes, while blasting the proliferation of assault-style weapons plaguing the streets of Detroit and the country; and calling on political leaders to push for real change to prevent the relatively easy accessibility of such weapons.

On Friday, Macomb County Prosecutor Peter Lucido said members of his staff were "devastated" in their belief that Courts' fatal shooting may have been averted if his office had more help with Davis' current case that might have put him behind bars earlier and kept him off the streets that fateful night.

'I would have given my life'

For Hudgens, being called a hero and receiving adulations for her actions that night are little consolation when you have had to watch your partner and good friend literally dying in your arms.

And it's not something, just like Courts is not someone, you can forget.

“I know people heard me blocks away” Hudgens said, recalling the moment she yelled through the police radio to alert that her partner was down. She said the two had gotten out of their squad car together — as they normally would — and Courts ran from the car, holding his neck, trying to get to cover, until he eventually collapsed to the ground.

The scene, she told the Free Press, was active gunfire when the two arrived.

After Courts fell to the ground, Hudgens said she realized her partner was hurt. She said she immediately ran to help him. She said she turned and looked at the shooter, who had exited his shooting perch in an upstairs apartment and now was advancing down the street, coming toward Courts and her. Hudgens looked at her partner, she said, knowing she couldn't move him due to the extent of his injuries, and that there was no cover to shield either of them from the gunman's deadly barrage of bullets. So, she did the only thing she could do.

"I told him, 'I love you' and made myself his cover, blocking his body from the shooter with my body."

She added: "I know some people think I was giving up on life and was ready to die. I didn't want to die. But for him, I would have given my life. And I would do it over and over again."

Hudgens, who is from Shelton, a small town in Washington state, said Courts was her very first friend when she moved to Detroit after being offered the job to join the DPD.

After graduating from the police academy, she started her career at the 7th Precinct on the city’s east side, off Chene. She transferred to the 2nd Precinct three years ago, she said, after Courts convinced her it was the place to be.

“He always talked so highly about the 2nd Precinct, and how it was a hidden gem. So I put in my transfer and we became scout partners.”

She says the two also put in their special ops paperwork together.

“We had a bond and partnership that no one else could understand,” Hudgens said. "He would always crack up laughing when we'd be riding and an old-school Lil Wayne song came on, and I knew all the words."

Recalling the final moments the two partners spent with each other she said:

"I held him, as I knew he would do for me."

'The everything without him'

For Courts' wife, Kristine Courts, 37, the anguish she felt that Wednesday night when her father-in-law, Larry Courts — Loren Court's father — called with the news that her husband had been shot, was unfathomable.

The couple had never discussed the "What if?" possibility of him not coming home one day, she told the Free Press. Kristine Courts' father was a police officer for the Northville Police Department her whole life, so she said she never really feared it. And if she ever had any doubts, she said, her husband would quickly squash it with his "I'm invincible" wit.

"He was our safety net. We never feared anything when Loren was around," she said. The couple had just celebrated their 11-year wedding anniversary in June. They took the kids to the movies, and the two of them went out to dinner.

"Simple" is how the widow described the family's everyday life.

"We were just kind of homebodies," Kristine Courts said. "We just enjoyed each other and our kids."

The two met while working at a Costco in 2005. They had their son, Darian, one year later, then got married four years after that in 2011.

"He was a flirt," Kristine Courts said with a slight chuckle.

She said Loren Courts was a hard worker, even before he became a police officer. And even after he joined the DPD, he worked a lot, but still found time to check on her and the kids throughout his workday. Even on the day of his last shift, he still found time to check on her and the kids.

"He called me that day and said he was working a double and he'd be home by 12," Kristine Courts recalled.

But he never made it.

Kristine Courts said she woke up early Wednesday, just briefly, around 6 a.m. Her husband was still sleeping, so she went back to sleep and woke up again around 9:30 a.m. to find that Loren Courts had already left for work.

"I took the kids to my mom's, and Loren and I were texting, and he was supposed to be done at 6 p.m. But he called and said he was working a double. I said, (to Loren Courts) 'OK, you sound tired, are you good?' He said, 'I'm tired, but I'm good.' And then we texted back and forth that day. And then, right before 8 (p.m.), I got the call from my father-in-law that he (Loren Courts) had been shot."

When Kristine Courts got the call, she said she was upstairs with their kids. She had just opened a bottle of grape juice that she grabbed from the kitchen, before sitting down on the bed. Before her father-in law could finish the call, she said, she instantly got up from the bed, put her shoes on, and ran out of the house. On the way out, she told her son to watch his sister and he responded: "What happened?!"

She lied, as most mothers would do, not knowing what to say in a situation like this, and said: "Nothing. It's OK. I'll be back," as she rushed to her car.

"I called my mom and I remember just shaking, and I just started praying," she said recalling her eight-minute ride to Sinai Grace Hospital in Detroit from the couple's Southfield home.

"Just please Lord, please, please, please," she said she pleaded. "The whole thing was just kind of like an out of body experience."

When she arrived at the hospital, all she said she remembered seeing was police officers — everywhere.

"There were so many officers outside," she said.

She said she approached the emergency room and told the staff she was the wife of the officer who had just been shot. They immediately rushed her back, where she was met by her father-in-law.

"He didn't know anything yet, either," she said. "He just kept saying, 'No news is good news, no news is good news.' "

One of the DPD officers, whose name she says she doesn't recall, approached her.

"He said, 'You know, he's fighting for his life, he's a fighter.' "

But, Kristine Courts said after White arrived, her hope quickly changed to "the worst day of my life."

"Everybody started crowding around and the nurse came in, and all I remember her saying was: 'We did all we could.' "

"That was it for me," Kristine Courts said. "I just kept saying, 'My kids! My kids! My kids!' "

Kristen Courts' sister, she said, walked through the doors of the emergency room seconds after the news was revealed. Kristine Courts' mom, nephew, daughter and son came in next.

"I remember my daughter walked in just bawling, and I just grabbed her. My son gave me the tightest hug I think he's ever given me. And I just held them. And we just cried. ... And we still just cry," she said through tears.

Kristine Courts said her mom had tried to prepare the children on the way to the hospital what they were about to walk into. But, really, there is no quick or easy way to tell a child that they may never see their dad alive again.

Now, Kristine Courts says, her fear is "the everything without him."

"How do we live without him?" she said crying. "He's supposed to be here. He's supposed to walk Devyn down the aisle one day, and ... you know ... there were so many things left undone that he was going to do, and all the promises. ... Like, how do we live without him? How will we be OK with him not walking through the door anymore? How do I wake up every day and he's not there?"

'Forever changed'

"The day just seemed like a good day" Hudgens said.

Courts' workday started earlier that morning around 10, according to Lord, who found Loren Courts backed into the parking space he would normally take. Lord said he pulled next to him per usual, and the two immediately started exchanging harmless jokes. Shortly after that, the two entered the precinct and Lord said Loren Courts went to his desk, scrambled through some paperwork and went out on a surveillance run. Loren Courts returned to the station once the run was clear and Lord said he decided to get on the grill.

“He (Loren Courts) said: ‘Lord's over there cooking them undercooked hot dogs again,’ " a usual jab Hudgens said Loren Courts would make whenever he cooked — especially after he burned some hamburgers one day. On Wednesday, Loren Courts ate a hamburger off the grill.

“He looked at Lord and said, ‘It’s actually pretty good' … and giggled,” Hudgens said.

Loren Courts, along with the rest of the department who were all outside enjoying the sunshine and food that evening, chilled until the calls started coming in.

Hudgens and Loren Courts left the precinct after the call of “shots fired, neighbor shot in the air and went back in the house” came over the radio. Due to short staffing, she said they went out to provide backup. She and Loren Courts “never thought of themselves above patrol units just because we are in special ops.”

“We were backing on that run that changed us forever,” she said.

Walking in dad's footsteps'

It was a cold day in mid-December 2017. Loren Courts, along with his 21 other cadets walked through the doors of Tabernacle Missionary Baptist Church to be presented with their official police badges. Loren Courts stood proud after successfully graduating from the Detroit Police Academy.

His father, Larry Courts Sr., who had been serving on the force for almost 32 years prior to retiring in 2004, said, "Like father, like son." And so, after his dad, or "pops" as Loren Courts would affectionately call him, pinned the official badge to his son's navy blue uniform, his legacy began.

His family and extended family, sat in the audience watching the ceremony. They were proud, his dad said, but fearful, too.

"We (him and Loren Courts) never talked about him not coming home, but his mother and other family outside of Michigan had concerns about him becoming a cop," Larry Courts said.

Hudgens, who graduated with Loren Courts, says she remembers how happy Loren Courts was that day, calling it a day of “nonstop laughter.”

“He has a laugh that is so contagious and warming,” she said.

Grant Burns, 29, who was appointed class president of the Detroit Police Academy’s 2017 L class, describes his memory of Loren Courts that day similarly to Hudgens. He also characterized Courts as the blueprint for aspiring police officers.

Burns says he recalls first meeting Loren Courts and how he would show up on time every day, in his powder blue academy uniform, “starched and ironed crisp, shoes polished to a shine,” and his take-home assignments completed in his hands. His attendance, Burns said, was "flawless."

“Courts was the physical embodiment of what a police officer should be,” said Burns, who left the DPD after five years to start his own security business. “He did not just pass, but excelled at every aspect of the academy; from emergency vehicle operations, firearms instruction, defensive tactics, legal instruction and fitness.”

Hudgens added: “He could drive the crap out of a scout car, and loved doing it."

On Wednesday evening, Loren Courts took his final drive, weaving in and out of traffic to the Joy Road and Marlowe Street scene, in one of the department's black Dodge Chargers.

He was just an all-around good guy

Most who knew Loren Courts describe him as a gentle-eyed, loving, genuine guy. His DPD family said he talked the most about how much he loved being a father to his two children: 15-year-old son Darian and 9-year-old daughter Devyn.

"He would always tell me how much he loved leaving candies on his daughter's daughters pillow, or when she would give him her special hug; and he was so happy to show Darian how to make this lemon pepper chicken; and taking him to Marvel movies," Hudgens said

Officers throughout Loren Courts' precinct effused positive sentiments of him.

Shelby Kersten, who worked with Loren Courts in the Special Ops Unit, said he always could put a smile on her face. Regardless if it were him making funny faces at her, or secretly passing candy to her, he was always doing something to brighten up someone's day.

"I promise to remember Courts as the amazing friend, partner and family man he was," Kersten said in a text message to the Free Press. "I am honored to have had the opportunity to be your friend."

"Love you always buddy, Shelby Kersten," with a red heart emoji signed next to her name.

Jasmin Barmore is born and raised in the city of Detroit. She covers the city's neighborhoods and communities using her passion as her drive to give the voiceless a voice. You can reach her at jmbarmore@freepress.com or by sending her a message on Instagram or Twitter at @bjasminmare. 

This article originally appeared on Detroit Free Press: Detroit Police Officer Loren Courts killed: What happened shooting day