On a Saturday night in Myrtle Beach, a domestic call became the site of irreversible loss — Officer Jacob Hancher, a young man who had spent years serving his community before ever wearing a badge, was killed in an exchange of gunfire that also claimed the suspect's life. It was the first officer death the department had endured in eighteen years, a marker of how rarely, and yet how suddenly, the ordinary work of showing up can become the final act. His story is one shared across generations of public servants: the quiet commitment to answer when called, and the price that commitment sometimes
Myrtle Beach Officer Jacob Hancher Killed in Domestic Call Shooting
One police officer (Jacob Hancher) killed; one officer wounded with non-life-threatening injuries; suspect found dead.
A dedicated public servant who made the ultimate sacrifice
Mark
So this was a domestic call—do we know what the actual situation was when officers arrived?
Mimi
The reporting doesn't give us those details yet. SLED is still investigating. We know there was a confrontation, shots were exchanged, but the specifics of what happened in that house—what the initial complaint was, what escalated things—that's still being worked out.
Luke
Right. And that matters because domestic calls are unpredictable. We don't know if the suspect fired first, if there was a weapon visible when they arrived, any of that. The narrative says "shots were exchanged" but that's neutral language that could mean several things.
Mark
What do we know about Hancher himself?
Mimi
He was relatively new to the force—less than a year as a full officer, though he'd been a community officer for four years before that. He was also volunteering with the fire department. By all accounts, someone committed to service.
Luke
Four years as a community officer, then promoted to police officer. That's a specific career path. But we don't have details about his training, his experience, how he was regarded by colleagues. The chief's statement is respectful, but it's also what you'd expect a chief to say.
Mark
And the second officer—we know they survived?
Mimi
Yes. Non-life-threatening injuries. They were taken to a hospital and treated. So there's a survivor who was there, who experienced this, but we haven't heard from them.
Luke
That's important. That officer is a witness to what happened. Their account will be crucial to understanding the sequence of events. Right now we just know there was an exchange of gunfire and the suspect ended up dead.
Mark
First officer death since 2002. That's a long time.
Mimi
Eighteen years. For a lot of the department, this is the first time they've lost someone. That's a different kind of weight.
Luke
It is. Though we should note—we don't have numbers on how many officers work for Myrtle Beach PD, what the turnover is, whether most of the current force would have been there in 2002. The loss is real, but the context of the department's size and composition isn't clear.
Le Pouls
- A domestic disturbance call at 10 p.m. on a quiet Saturday escalated within minutes into a fatal shooting that no one in the department had faced in nearly two decades.
- Officer Jacob Hancher — 27 years old, less than a year into his role as a sworn officer — was struck and killed; a second officer was wounded before the gunfire ceased.
- The suspect was found dead at the scene, leaving investigators with an outcome but not yet a complete account of what ignited the confrontation.
- SLED assumed control of the investigation as the department, still absorbing the shock, asked its officers to keep responding to calls while mourning one of their own.
- Chief Amy Prock's statement framed Hancher's death as the ultimate sacrifice, but for the officers who were there that night, it was also an immediate and personal wound that no official language could fully hold.
On a Saturday night in Myrtle Beach, a domestic call became the site of irreversible loss — Officer Jacob Hancher, a young man who had spent years serving his community before ever wearing a badge, was killed in an exchange of gunfire that also claimed the suspect's life. It was the first officer death the department had endured in eighteen years, a marker of how rarely, and yet how suddenly, the ordinary work of showing up can become the final act. His story is one shared across generations of public servants: the quiet commitment to answer when called, and the price that commitment sometimes demands.
On a Saturday night in early October, Myrtle Beach police officers responded to a domestic disturbance near Yaupon Drive and 14th Avenue South. It was a routine call — the kind that comes in around 10 p.m. and rarely makes the news. This one would be different.
Officer Jacob Hancher was among those who responded. At 27, he had spent four years as a community officer before earning his badge less than a year prior. He also volunteered with Horry County Fire Rescue — the portrait of someone who made a habit of showing up. That Saturday, he showed up and did not come home.
Shots were exchanged between officers and a man at the residence. Hancher was struck and killed. A second officer was wounded but survived, transported to a local hospital with non-life-threatening injuries. When the gunfire ended, the suspect was found dead. The entire exchange lasted only moments, but it left a permanent mark on a department that had not lost an officer since 2002.
Chief Amy Prock described Hancher as a dedicated public servant who had made the ultimate sacrifice, and asked the community to hold his family and fellow officers in their thoughts. For many on the force, it was their first encounter with this kind of grief — sudden, irreversible, arriving on an otherwise ordinary night. SLED took over the investigation, and Myrtle Beach began the slower work of mourning.
On a Saturday night in early October, officers from the Myrtle Beach Police Department responded to a domestic call in the 400 block of 14th Avenue South, near Yaupon Drive. The call came in around 10 p.m. What unfolded in the next minutes would mark the first officer death in the department's history since 2002.
Officer Jacob Hancher arrived at the scene as part of that response. Hancher was 27 years old—he had spent four years as a community officer before transitioning to full police officer status less than a year prior. He was also a volunteer firefighter with Horry County Fire Rescue, the kind of person who showed up when his community needed him. That Saturday night, he showed up to a domestic disturbance and did not come home.
During the confrontation, shots were exchanged between officers and a man at the residence. The details of what triggered the gunfire remain under investigation by the South Carolina Law Enforcement Division, but the outcome was immediate and irreversible. Hancher was struck and killed. A second officer at the scene was also shot, sustaining injuries that were not life-threatening, and was transported to a local hospital for treatment.
When the gunfire stopped, the suspect was found dead at the scene. No other injuries were reported. The exchange had lasted only moments, but it had fundamentally altered the Myrtle Beach Police Department and the community it serves.
Myrtle Beach Police Chief Amy Prock released a statement acknowledging the loss. She described Hancher as a dedicated public servant who had upheld his oath to protect the community and had made what she called the ultimate sacrifice. The department asked for prayers for Hancher, his family, and the officers who had been there with him that night—the ones who had to keep working, keep responding to calls, knowing that one of their own would not be coming back.
The shooting sent ripples through a department that had not lost an officer in eighteen years. For many of the officers working that night, it was likely their first experience with this kind of loss. SLED took over the investigation, as is standard in officer-involved shootings, and the community began the process of reckoning with what had happened on a quiet Saturday evening when someone called for help and everything changed.
Citations marquantes
He was a dedicated public servant who upheld his oath to protect this community and made the ultimate sacrifice.— Myrtle Beach Police Chief Amy Prock
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Crime & Justice