The tragic death of Officer Eric Zapata

KALAMAZOO, Mich. (WOOD) - As the city of Kalamazoo prepares to bury its first officer ever killed in the line of duty, 24 Hour News 8 takes a look back at what led to the death.

On April 18, Officer Eric Zapata, a father of three, was working a night shift.

"Officer Zapata lived it every day, every minute that he was behind the wheel of a patrol car, walking the sidewalks of this city," fellow Public Safety Officer Kenneth Skibbe said. "He shared that enthusiasm to do his job and do it the best he could."

Then, at 11:18 p.m., came the 911 call reporting shots fired in the 1400 block of Hays Park Avenue, in the Edison neighborhood -- which knew Zapata well. It was a neighborhood that counted on him.

"It's when they need help, some intervention, some salvation to come and fix whatever's wrong in their lives, no matter what it is, that's when they turn to the police," Skibbe said.

It was another officer who arrived first.

"The subject, later identified as Leonard D. Statler, began firing a weapon at the officer," Public Safety Director Jeff Hadley said.

That first officer returned fire, leading to a "running gun battle," Hadley said.

Moments later, in a dark alley, it came down to Zapata and the gunman, who had a decided advantage: a high-powered rifle. The officer was killed by shots to the head and chest.

Police said Leonard "Danny" Statler then shot himself.

Fellow officers rushed Zapata to the hospital in a patrol car; no time for an ambulance.

"The mortally wounded public safety officer is identified as public safety officer Eric Zapata, 35 years of age, a 10-year veteran of the Kalamazoo Department of Public Safety," Hadley said.

A visibly tired and shaken public safety chief addressed the public at a news conference at noon on April 19.

"A little less than three weeks ago, I stood before you giving a press conference on an officer-involved shooting," Hadley said. "In that press conference, I conveyed my expectation that every officer comes home safe. I now stand before you and must report that that expectation wasn't met.

"We as a community did not send one of our officers home safe at the end of his shift. For that, I am truly sorry."

But how could this have happened? Who could have done this? And what does it mean for a community struggling with violence?

The officer's family walked hand in hand into a news conference and remembered Zapata as more than just a police officer.

"Eric was kind, good-hearted and enjoyed making people laugh," his sister, Irene Ferguson, said. "His children wanted everyone to know that their father was loved, and they will miss him a lot."

Even the gunman's mother struggled for answers.

She believed her son, whose record includes fighting with police and carrying a weapon, had straightened himself out -- for the sake of his 4-year-old daughter.

"This is not in his character," said his mother, Rae Booth. "He was not this type of man. He was a very loving son, very loving father and this was just not him."

But, witnesses said, Statler was drinking that night, and had fired a gun into the air from a front porch, leading to that shots-fired call.

"He was drinking," his mother said. "He had a lot on his mind with all the separation issues from his ex-fiancee, and he just lost it. He snapped."

Booth apologized to Zapata's family.

"My heart goes out to you, just like it goes out to my family," she said. "We're all hurting. I'm sorry, and I know if he was here to say so, he'd say he's sorry, but he can't. So, I apologize for him and my family, but we're hurting too, and we're grieving too, and I just wish it could all go away."

The grieving spread from Kalamazoo to Lake Odessa, where Zapata grew up.

At the chief's news conference, officers gathered in the public safety department hallway, fighting back tears, still in disbelief, straining to listen in. They had lost more than just a co-worker.

"We experience death (and) tragedy," Hadley said. "We share each other's secrets, sitting next to each other at 3 o'clock in the morning when it's a slow night, talking about our families, our happinesses, our unhappinesses. We forge bonds that other folks don't."

The day after the shooting, fellow officer Skibbe reported to work.

"After hearing what had happened and actually having to make that drive in to work and go down into the locker room and look at your uniform, it was very difficult," he said.

Skibbe walks the Edison beat and sees a neighborhood on the rebound, where crime has dropped -- knowing Zapata was a part of that.

"He wouldn't quit. He wouldn't stop. He wouldn't put the badge down and say, I quit. This is a time when you stand a little bit taller and you get the job done, no matter what."