Sarah Jones was 11 hours and 49 minutes into her hour shift as an emergency dispatcher for the county sheriff in Spokane, Washington, when she received what she would later describe as the worst phone call of her life. The voice was unnaturally deep, slow, so claustrophobically close to the microphone that its breath seemed to fill the line.
That operator transferred him to Jones WIRED has changed her name at her request , a year-old, red-headed mother of three. This would be her first. Because after I kill everyone I see, I want to kill cops too. Shots heard! The caller had hung up; the entire conversation had lasted 45 seconds. Lombard not her real last name had already sent out an emergency alert to all police in the region—a high-pitched tone followed by her warning that a school shooting was in progress. More than 50 units, sirens blazing, were on their way to Central Valley High School.
In a quick, controlled voice, Lombard explained that there had been shots fired at the nearby high school and they needed to lock down. Lombard quickly hung up and tuned in to police radio communications, listening as officers armed with rifles began to enter Central Valley High School.
They moved through its hallways, guns drawn, as teachers barricaded doorways and students hid inside locked, dark classrooms, crouching in silence. In , she had listened to the same radio chatter as Spokane law enforcement entered a different local high school after a year-old boy shot four classmates. At the time the school was targeted, the FBI already knew the identity of the perpetrator but had done little to stop his swatting spree.
Now she sat in the dispatch office next to Jones, listening to the radio, waiting with dread to hear that sound again. Instead, as dozens of officers moved through the school that May morning, they found—nothing.
