Today marks the end of another year. This one was especially turbulent for me and my family. But above all the bad, of course, came the filling of most of the top portion of a half-empty glass.

As many of you know, both my mother-in-law and our daughter, Ellen, were each diagnosed with serious cancer. They underwent surgeries, a couple each, and they received chemo and radiation.

Our daughter’s primary physician initially mis-diagnosed her troubles, telling her several times during several visits, to deal with the intense pain and other horrible issues, and told her to take Tylenol. He also dismissed obvious signs and symptoms as nothing more than “female problems.” In the meantime, and I won’t go into detail, but she lived a life of crying and moaning while doubled over from excruciating pain, while experiencing an agonizing and extremely anemic hell, for more than a year.

Then, fortunately, she visited a specialist for an entirely different issue. It took him only a minute or two to realize that his patient was in serious trouble and had her rushed to a local hospital for immediate, emergency surgery. Her condition, the troubles dismissed by the original doctor, were life-threatening. Thank goodness the specialist recognized the deadly disease symptoms because we learned that the surgery likely saved her life, that very day.

Then came the cancer diagnosis

During the emergency surgery, doctors discovered the disease, and it didn’t look good. Had the primary care physician performed any sort of typical exam for the type of problem he would have caught the cancer a year earlier. A FULL year sooner.

The oncologist overseeing Ellen’s condition decided to approach with a full-on super-aggressive attack. She wasn’t messing around. Chemo and radiation were started right away and, as a result of the intensity of the regimen, the powerful treatments took a huge toll on Ellen’s body and mind and emotions, as well as ruining her family financially. As a result, they’re struggling to meet even the basic human needs—food, clothing, utilities, and shelter.

The Hurricane

Next came the hurricane, a storm that devastated her city and community. Homes just down the road from Ellen’s house were destroyed by wind and water. Fortunately, Ellen’s home is still standing, but it received damage from heavy rains and floodwaters, damage that included ruining their septic system. They now use a pump to drain the bathtub and sinks and there’s a Port-a-John situated at the end of their driveway. This is how a cancer patient, who’s in pain most of the day, must live. Still, her faith is strong and prayer helps her go about her daily life.

Ellen applied for and was denied public assistance. Disability was also denied. In the meantime, Ellen’s husband’s work hours have been cut as result of company shutdowns of related factories. The cost of medication alone is more than their monthly income. The hospital forgives some of the expenses, and many of you contributed to Ellen’s GoFundMe campaign (please click here to contribute), as well as a few of extremely generous private contributions (no amount is too small). But those dollars are gone and bills still arrive and the medication is ongoing, some for life. By the way, Ellen and I are extremely appreciative for your assistance. I’m forever grateful and will never forget it.

My mother-in-law continues regular doses of chemo. Her surgeon and I chatted, in private, immediately after operation and he said her situation was not great. But, what he didn’t know is that, despite her years, Denene’s mom is a strong, independent woman. Cancer and the life-changing, body-altering surgeries were nothing more than a bump in the road for her. She took it all in stride and pushed forward.

Like Ellen, her faith is strong and she relies on prayer to guide her way. Her family is close and devoted to one another.

As soon as she was able Denene’s mother returned to a fairly normal lifestyle, including yard work, hairdresser appointments, shopping trips and, of course, going to church on a regular basis. She drives to her chemo appointments with the company of a friend. She’s tough.

Ellen and my mother-in-law are fighters. They’re strong. And they’re survivors.

Ellen’s last scan showed she’s cancer free. Not pain and sickness and emotionally free, but cancer free. It’s a miracle we didn’t see coming.

At her last scan, my mother-in-law’s results showed her cancer had reduced in size. Still serious, but less of it and what’s there is smaller. They recently  increased the dosage of her ongoing chemo. Hopefully, we’ll soon learn that she, too is cancer free.

The Gifts

Many of you contributed books and other reading material, and gifts, and prayers throughout these ordeals. Those things meant the world to Ellen and my mother-in-law. They helped them escape the world for a little while each day. They’re both avid readers and thoroughly enjoyed the books, and other things. Ellen told me that she often read a book in a single day. The stories took her away from it all for a while.

The Fires

During all of the above, we, while living in California, we were forced to evacuate our home due to one of the huge wildfires. We watched as the smoke began to rise over the hills in front of our house. A day later ash piled on my vehicle and in the yard and on walkways. The air grew thick and smelled like a water-dampened campfire. Then we saw the sky turn orange and soon the flames reached into the sky above the golden, dry hills.

We loaded our valuables and important papers and fled to an area out of the evacuation zone. A former co-worker of Denene’s owns a very nice condo located in a city near where we lived and she gave us the key and told us to stay as long as we needed. We had no idea if our home would be standing when we returned. Fortunately, it was. The threat of fire continued throughout the entirety of last summer, with many communities near us being totally destroyed. People lost their lives, including firefighters.

The Hip

Meanwhile, my left hip was hurting, a lot. With each step it felt as if someone jabbed an ice pick into the bone. I visited my doctor who said it was bursitis. No exam, just an opinion. She gave me an injection. I saw no improvement and the pain grew much worse, to the point that I was limping like the Festus character on the old TV western, Gunsmoke.

I convinced my doctor to send me to a specialist who ordered x-rays. Again, a diagnosis of, “I don’t see anything work. Take Ibuprofen. It’ll pass.”

Well, it became far worse. I didn’t want to walk because it hurt so bad. Another doctor visit. No luck. Another x-ray. Nothing wrong, they said.

Then we moved to Delaware. Another extremely stressful point in our already turbulent lives. We moved to be closer to our family.

As soon as our health insurance went into effect I visited a nurse practitioner at the University of Delaware. She ordered x-rays and, wait for it, she learned that there’s absolutely no cartilage in my hip joint. It’s bone on bone with three bone spurs wedged between. She said she couldn’t imagine me dealing for so long with the pain this caused. She sent me to a hip specialist. He agreed. A total hip replacement was the only solution

My surgery is scheduled for this Thursday, January 3rd. Again, no cartilage in the joint. It was impossible for even a non medical person to look at the x-rays and not see this. But that’s the care we received from Kaiser Permanente in California. I must say, it was the worst I’ve ever seen. Denene, too, and she’d know since she been in the medical field her entire adult life, including managing hospital labs, teaching at medical universities, contributing to medical textbooks, and running clinical trials for drugs she and her teams developed that are now on the market.

The Move

As a result of our move to Delaware, Denene left a job she absolutely loved. So switching was a difficult choice to make. And there was the whole moving thing where it’s inevitable that belongings are lost or destroyed. Along with a move comes the stress of finding a house to purchase, selling the old home, and so on. We were lucky to have sold our sold our California home extremely quick and I credit that to a wonderful and extremely efficient Realtor, Phyllis Ballew, with Berkshire Hathaway. We found a really nice home here in Delaware, a place that’s in a state of chaos right now due to a large remodel project that includes a complete custom master bathroom re-do.

The contractor we selected for the bathroom job, after a serious search (we’re picky), is Delaware contractor R.A. (Ron) Barker. He and his crew are wonderfully meticulous down to the finest detail. Since I’m just hours away from hip surgery, having a new bathroom is essential. I think they’ll have it completed just in time. It’s a large space that required a ton of work and they’ve gone above and beyond to accommodate us. The room isn’t finished but already looks amazing.

Since I’m barely able to walk from one room to the other (I rely on a can I’ve named Virgil. Get it? Virgil Cane?) it’s practically killing me to not do some of the work myself. But it is what it is.

The Gratitude

I’ve shared all of this to express my deepest gratitude to each of you for the support you’ve shown for me and my family over the past several months. It’s been a tough year and I don’t know what we’d have done without your generosity and kindness. Believe me, I cherish your friendship.

You guys are the best and wish you all an extremely Happy New Year.

Again, thank you from the bottom of my heart!

 

 

The abandoned factory sat just across the county line. Its towering and crumbling red brick smokestacks stood like fingers pointing to the sky. Portions of the building’s red brick facade and stacks appeared as if they’d been devoured by mounds of deep green kudzu.

A vast asphalt parking lot and an array of driveways surrounded the enormous building, a place where hundreds of employees once buzzed about like bees in a hive.

During its heyday, rows upon rows of workers sat side-by-side at long metal tables, operating industrial sewing machines. Others were charged with dying operations, driving forklifts, and pushing the buttons and dialing the knobs of machinery that clicked and clacked and whirred as they transformed tiny threads into enormous rolls of various types of cloth. Floor sweepers maneuvered back and forth in the corridors and spaces between equipment. Their nonstop to-and-fro movements were much like the mechanical and mindless ducks in a shooting gallery.

An in-house machine shop contained every tool imaginable for the repair of equipment from the smallest of contraptions to the hulking and huffing and puffing metal machinery, some the size of buses. There, highly skilled professionals wore heavily soiled overalls and displayed a shift’s worth of jet-black grease stains on their faces and hands. They went about the business of fixing and mending and fabricating at a never-ending pace, round the clock, seven days per week. Likewise, the factory workers tended to their never-ending tasks that, too, were divided into three round the clock shifts.

A constant flow of tractor trailers arrived empty and left filled with goods, heading to other factories where the materials would be transformed into an assortment of consumer goods.

Then, without notice, came the layoff notices and one by one workers were let go, machinery slowed, lights ceased to flash, motors stopped turning, and the factory quickly began to die. Paint peeled, roofing sagged, and pipes leaked. Weeds sprouted through cracks in the parking lot and driveways. With the end of truck traffic the wild plants and stalks flourished and propagated and spread and grew and grew and grew.

Rats and roaches replaced workers. Raccoons and opossums took over office spaces.

Vandals arrived to break windows and leave behind painted symbols and signs. Teenagers held spooky nighttime seances. Others smoked pot and drank beer and cheap wine and told stories of ghosts who roamed the empty hallways and cavernous spaces.

We received a call from a concerned citizen who’d reported seeing what appeared to be a person inside the factory, using a flashlight to find their way. It was just after midnight and the caller said “something just didn’t seem right.” She was absolutely correct.

Inside the factory, using our bright Maglights to help find our own way, we stepped into a room big enough to contain two high school gymnasiums. Inside the sprawling space we waded through an assortment of monstrous machinery and rows of metal racks. The roof sagged and  dripped oily water. Rust coated the steel supports that crisscrossed the upper spaces. Field mice scurried along tabletops and among the broken glass that littered the floors. Roaches as big as my thumb scattered and slid into cracks and crevices when the powerful beams of our flashlights illuminated them.

And that, in that huge room among the mice droppings, dripping water, massive insects, and eerie echoes, is where we found the boy. His body hung from a thick and long, black extension cord that connected his neck to a steel beam that supported an upper floor. Two loops of cord around the neck were held in place by a granny knot.

The boy, barely a teenager, wore a dark t-shirt, shorts a bit too big for his narrow frame, dirty white socks, and one black Converse tennis shoe. Its mate, the left one, was on the floor beneath the body. Also under the boy’s body was old office chair. The seat was on its side with its wheels two or three inches from the left shoe, which was also on its side.

His eyes and mouth were open, as if locked in a silent, terror-induced scream. His skin was cool and firm to the touch. There was no flashlight and without it there was no way the boy could’ve found his way through the pitch black darkness to find the room, find a chair and cord, attach the cord to a rafter, and so on. You couldn’t see your hand in front of your face inside that place without the assistance of a light of some kind.

The knot that held the cord closed and tightly to the boy’s flesh was positioned on the right side of the neck. According to his mother, the boy was left-handed and to use his right would have been extremely awkward, unlike many left-handers who are fairly fluid with the use of both. Still, a knot on either side of the neck is not a particularly strong indication of left- or right-handedness. A point to consider if all else failed.

The victim’s friends said he’d been hanging out with a group of older teens who sold drugs They said the boy was not a user, not even pot. However, an autopsy indicated the presence of cocaine and pot. The examination also showed bruising in various spots on the body, including the areas around the wrists and forearms, as if someone had held him there, tightly. The signs pointed to a beating and a murder.

Still, the medical examiner ruled the death as a suicide. I knew better. Remember, the call came in as a report of someone seeing a light inside the factory. There was no flashlight to be found and common sense told me that flashlights don’t grow legs and flee crime scenes. So, in spite of the official ruling and based solely on the witnesses claim of seeing a light, and common sense, I continued to investigate and it didn’t take long to learn the truth.

The boy sold drugs for a known dealer. While selling those drugs he caved to peer pressure and began using. Then he became hooked. His habit grew to a point greater than he could afford so he started using the drugs he was given to sell. Then, as is often a problem, he was quickly unable to pay his dealer and went deeper and deeper into debt.

So they killed him. And they left his body swaying in an abandoned warehouse among rats and mice and roaches and raccoons and opossums and rust and broken glass, dripping oily water, and eerie echoes.

A few days after the boy’s funeral, teenagers, those who went to the factory at night to drink and to smoke pot and to tell tall and spooky tales, had a new ghost story to tell, one of a new spirit roaming the factory corridors. Many claimed to have seen the dead boy hanging from the rafters, especially on Halloween nights. Passersby sometimes said the boy appeared at the windows, peering out from behind cracked glass.

As a result of those vivid imaginations we’d sometime receive calls of people seeing what appeared to be a person inside the factory using a bright flashlight to find their way. And we’d investigate. Of course, we never found a single ghost, but each time I went, even though it was just a memory, I did indeed see that poor boy hanging from the rafters. It’s one of those things you never forget.

The cause of death, by the way, was changed to Murder, a fact I never doubted, not even for a second. So remember, writers, sometimes it’s “the thing” that isn’t there, such as a the flashlight in this case, that’s the key to solving a crime.

 

It’s 9:00 p.m., the evening after Christmas and you’re at a neighbor’s house drinking leftover eggnog and discussing the cool gifts you’d received from friends and family. Meanwhile, a man jimmies open your bedroom window, climbs inside, and then steals your jewelry, a TV, and your signed copy of Police Procedure and Investigation, a very valuable book. This crime is a burglary, not a robbery.

A burglary is normally defined as the breaking and entering into a building, (usually during the nighttime) for the purpose of committing a crime, such as larceny. A robbery, by the way, is the taking of property by violence, force, and/or intimidation, such as being held up at gunpoint.

If a guy steals a car from someone’s driveway while the owner is in bed asleep, the crime committed is larceny, not robbery. If someone breaks a car window to steal a backpack left on the rear seat while the driver dashed inside the Piggly Wiggly to pick up a pig’s head for the New Year’s day family dinner, that, too, is a larceny, not robbery. Of course, damaging the car is also crime, but it’s still not a robbery because the thief didn’t take the backpack directly from a person.

Whole pig’s head for sale in the meat department at a southern Piggly Wiggly. Price – $14.65

Robberies require a face-to-face taking of property from one person by another, by force, threat, or intimidation

Okay, now that that huge difference between a robbery and a burglary are finally laid to rest (one more time), let’s discuss investigating a burglary.

First, many burglaries, or B&E’s (breaking and enterings), are committed by low level criminals who are seeking items they can sell quickly for twenty dollars each—TV, DVD player, video game console, etc.— in order to purchase a hit/rock or two of crack cocaine, or other drug (each crack rock typically sells for$20).

Crack cocaine is often broken into and sold as $20 pieces that are approximately the size of an aspirin.

These crooks are often addicts who target friends and family members. They do so because the property is familiar to them, and because there’s a chance that family and friends won’t prosecute.

Crack addicts often spend $1,000 – $3,000 per week to feed their addiction.

Some addicts shoplift meats from grocery store. A $15 pig’s head sells for $5 – $10 on the street.

Crooks who commit B&E’s are often still on the property when homeowners return, therefore, burglaries are sometimes “in-progress” calls. Also, many B&E calls are reported by neighbors who witness the bad guy climbing in or out of a neighbor’s window. This means that officers have a greater chance of encountering the thief during the act of committing the crime, a dangerous scenario for everyone involved.

All burglary calls should be treated as if the crime has just taken place, or is still in-progress, because the crook may still be in the area. Officers should use caution and not fall into the tunnel-vision trap by focusing only on reaching the crime scene. After all, they could pass by the thief on the way.

Evidence collection at burglary scenes is important, of course, but potential or actual evidence is often compromised/contaminated before officers set the first foot on the scene. Victims feel violated and sometimes experience the urge to clean and straighten up the area. They do so hoping to eliminate the “dirty” sensation that often accompanies the knowledge that a stranger has pawed through your personal property and intimate belongings. This cleaning can, and does, destroy vital evidence.

In addition to searching the interior rooms of a burgled home, important evidence is also found at the point of entry. This is where the thief may have left fingerprints (on the glass or doorknob), tool marks, footwear impressions, and/or blood (he may have cut himself while climbing through broken glass). The crook may also have left behind other trace evidence, such as fibers from his clothing, and DNA.

Sometimes, a burglary suspect leaves a clear trail. I’ve worked cases where the crooks dropped pieces of evidence all the way to their home just a few doors away. I also investigated a case where the dumb bad guy dropped his wallet inside the home he’d just burgled.

Important B&E facts to remember are:

1) Always activate your security system.

2) Lock your doors and windows.

3. Lock all car doors.

4) Place your signed copy of Police Procedure and Investigation in a locked safe (when you’re not reading it, of course). Hiding this priceless item reduces the unbearable temptation to break in.

Officer Jason Quick, 31

Lumberton North Carolina Police Department

December 15, 2018 – Officer Jason Quick was struck and killed by a vehicle while investigating a car crash on I-95. He is survived by his wife and two young children.

 

 

 


Officer Eduardo Marmolejo, 36

Chicago Illinois Police Department

December 17, 2018 – Officer Eduardo Marmolejo and Officer Conrad Gary were struck and killed by a commuter train while investigating a shots-fired call. After receiving an alert by a ShotSpotter sensor in the area, they arrived at the scene and observed a suspect running up an embankment. They pursued the suspected shooter  and were both struck by the outbound train as they crossed tracks.

Officer Marmolejo is survived by his wife and three children.


Officer Conrad Gary, 31

Chicago Illinois Police Department

December 17, 2018 – Officer Conrad Gary and Officer Eduardo Marmolejo were struck and killed by a commuter train while investigating a shots-fired call. After receiving an alert by a ShotSpotter sensor in the area, they arrived at the scene and observed a suspect running up an embankment. They pursued the suspected shooter  and were both struck by the outbound train as they crossed tracks.

Officer Gary is survived by his wife and child.

It’s not often these days that I applaud the actions taken by the federal government. But passing a prison reform bill was a good thing. Hooray.

Well, it’s a start, at least.

Yes, I’m pleased that cry-babies politicians put aside the foot-stompin’, name-callin’, and whining and pouting to actually work toward solving the huge problem of overcrowding in federal prisons, and the reduction of recidivism, by passing The First Step Act.

With about 181,000 imprisoned people incarcerated in federal prisons, in addition to the 2.1 million locked up in jails and state prisons throughout the country, it’s certainly no secret that something’s not working.

The First Step Act

IN THE SENATE OF THE UNITED STATES—115th Cong., 2d Sess.

S. 3649

“To provide for programs to help reduce the risk that prisoners will recidivate upon release from prison, and for other purposes.” ~

Let’s address recidivism …

… and why I think it occurs so often. First of all, I have many years of experience working in both corrections and in law enforcement, which means I’ve seen the system in action, from all sides. I’ve also owned a business where I employed a few former inmates, men who’d received prison sentences resulting from my investigations. Ironic, huh? Yes, I honestly believe in second chances and I believe in reducing recidivism.

Believe it or not, some former prisoners would absolutely love to lead normal and productive lives once they’re released. They’d paid their dues and they want to do right. They made a mistake, paid for it, and would like to move on.

The Deck is Stacked Against Them

What do former prisoners face upon their release? (these may vary depending on location)

1. They must, on a regular basis, check in with a probation or parole officer.

2. They must have an established residence.

3. Many drug and sex offenders must register with the local police, advising officials where they’ll be residing and working.

4. They must maintain employment (in some areas this is a discretionary requirement imposed by the court).

5. They’re required to complete a monthly report detailing their earnings, address changes, if any, employers name (probation officer will visit the job site and home), drug offenders must submit to urine testing, all must submit vehicle information, record of purchases (many probationers may not possess credit or debit cards), and they’re encouraged to further their education (This is a bit of a catch-22 for some since drug offenders may not receive grants to attend college. Murderers, yes, but drug offenders, no).

Employment is mandatory but some companies refuse to hire people who’ve been convicted of felonies … any felonies.

A vast number of employers absolutely will not hire felons and, as I stated above, drug offenders are not eligible for student loans. In fact, many felons are legally banned from working in certain professions, such as:

  • airport security screener
  • armored car crew member
  • bank teller
  • child care provider
  • delivery driver
  • health care positions with direct patient contact
  • public safety officer
  • residential installers
  • apartment or condo maintenance
  • jobs that require handling money
  • Realtor
  • Some volunteer programs refuse to accept felons (any felon)—nature programs, animal shelters, libraries, etc.

Even when a felon finds a job he is subject to a list of restrictions, including (this is only a partial list, and it may vary from area to area):

  • Agents /officers must be allowed to visit worksite and/or speak with a supervisor to discuss client’s performance, progress, and accountability
  • Cannot work in a position that serves alcohol
  • Cannot work with minors
  • Cannot work with vulnerable adults
  • Employment must be within or close to a supervision district so that agents may visit the worksite
  • Not allowed to use or have contact with devices that host a computer modem (i.e. any device that can access the Internet)
  • Cannot travel outside area or state (affects delivery drivers)

A few professions do hire convicted felons, but the list is short. And, this is still entirely up to the company. Some do not employ those who’ve been convicted of crimes … any crimes.

Professions sometimes available to convicted felons:

  • Warehouse work
  • Maintenance and janitorial positions
  • Food service (no alcohol)
  • Production and manufacturing
  • Assembly
  • Construction
  • Landscaping

In addition, many convicted felons are banned from living in publicly assisted housing (section 8), so they turn to the streets. Right back to the places where their troubles started.

No job and no housing

So you see, without a job and with the limited occupations to choose from, and without housing and educational opportunities, it’s darn tough for a former prisoner to make it on the outside.

To top it all off, the convicted felons never actually “pay their debts to society.” The stigma of being a “convicted felon” hangs over their head for life. This is especially true for those who were convicted of federal offenses. State prisoners may receive relief (pardon and/or restoration of rights) from the governor’s office.

Federal inmates may ONLY receive restoration of rights, etc. from the President of the United States.

IF, and that’s a BIG IF, one of the tens of thousands of former federal inmates wants to have the president’s pardon attorneys review their application, it’s almost a must that they retain a private attorney to represent them and to submit the forms. A typical fee to assist with a federal pardon application is approximately $5,000 and up. And, chances of the typical Joe or Jane receiving a presidential pardon are about as likely as me beating out George Clooney for a starring role in a movie. The chances of doling out a minimum of five-thousand bucks AND topping George Clooney for the next big role is, well, you get the idea.

To read the process and view the Clemency and Pardon forms, click here.

Some states allow convicted felons to vote in elections (others do not).

Still, felons, even one-time first offenders convicted of minor, non-violent felonies lose their right to own firearms and other weapons, their right to vote, student loans, housing, etc. And these restrictions are for life.

Second Chances!!

Wouldn’t it make sense to give the non-violent offenders a second chance by removing the “convicted felon” status after, say, 10 years of living a productive, crime-free life. At least then they’d have the opportunity to return to school, live in better neighborhoods (away from criminal activity), find a decent job that would help support their families and take better care of their children, who, by the way, also suffer by being forced to live in poor conditions.

Having a second chance and goals to work toward could be part of the solution to the “prison problem” in this country. Now, I’m not talking about hardcore career criminals and repeat offenders. Nor am I including violent offenders. Most of those thugs need to remain behind bars for as long as we can keep them there. And I certainly don’t believe that every inmate would take advantage of the opportunity if presented to them. But there would be many who would work hard to achieve the goal and finally be able to put the mistake behind them for good.

If this helped keep just a small portion of the recidivists out of prison, the results could be huge. Families could remain together, children would grow up with two parents in the home, employers might find top-notch employees, the former inmates could become better educated and productive members of society, and taxpayers would save approximately $30,000 per year per inmate. Not to mention that instead of costing taxpayers, the non-recidivist would become a taxPAYER.

Anyway, that’s my two cents on the matter. What do you think? Do you approve of The First Step Act? Is is enough? Too much? Should nonviolent offenders be given a second chance?

looking-out.jpg

Of course, there is the issue of private prisons that have contracts with the government … contracts that promise a minimum number of inmates will be sent their way. We must also remember that the private prisons are a big, money-making industry with stockholders.

And then there’s the food industry that makes a bundle off the prisons. And the construction companies, the jobs for officers, stock brokers medical staff, administration, the vehicle contracts, the weapons contracts, dog food (canines), condiment sales (I once sat next to a woman on a plane who was on her way to a huge nationwide prison food convention. She was in charge of condiment sales to prisons and jails—packets of mustard, ketchup, and mayonnaise, along with napkins, and sporks—a multi-million-dollar industry)

Inmate phone calls are EXPENSIVE!

Let’s not forget the prison phone systems, where a collect call can go for fees as high as nearly $300 for just one hour of conversation. Think about it for a second. A call for a kid’s birthday, a mother’s sick, etc. $300 for an hour of family time is a tough expense for most families.

A portion of that whopping phone bill goes back to the prison in exchange for a contract with the provider. Again, it is the family who shoulders this burden since inmates don’t earn anywhere near enough money to cover the expense, yet, officials encourage strong and regular family contact.

Anyway, you get the idea.

A very happy prisoner. I asked why the big smile. Her reply was, “Things could be worse. At least I’m alive and healthy.” Notice the blue phone and its cord at the right side of the photo. Collect calls only.


Life on the inside

Above and below – inside a small county jail where conditions were truly deplorable.

Showers drained into the corridors.

 

Jailer entering corridor.

Jail Pods

132-jail-module-interior.jpg

Above – Inside a shipping container “pod” that was converted into a dormitory-style jail cell. This pod is located inside a parking garage outside an overcrowded county jail.

Below – Space between two modules serves as the recreation yard. Absolutely no sunlight to be found, anywhere. Nothing but concrete, sewer pipes, exhaust fumes, and prisoners.

pod-recreation-area.jpg

Below – In this county jail, prisoners are brought to these small rooms where they “visit” with family members seated on the opposite side of the window. The family’s room is a mirror image of the inmate’s visiting room. The view below is from the inmate’s side of the glass.

visiting-room.jpg

Overcrowding is a big issue within some prisons and jails. As an answer to their growing space problem, this county jail (below) installed steel beds in the hallways, outside the already packed jail cells.

hall-in-shadows.jpg

 

Looking out from inside the trustee cells.

 

Hallways and corridors were narrow, making for dangerous conditions for the jailers. The jail was heated by steam (boilers) and radiators were there, but scarce. There was no heat inside the cells. And, there was no air conditioning whatsoever. The only airflow came from  small widows. Here, you can see one of those windows (top left corner), open and tilted in toward the cells. The electrical cord is connected to a portable TV sitting on the wonky shelf, also at top left next to the window.

Narrow corridors are dangerous!

 

Makeshift antenna controls were fashioned from string or wires. Not allowed, but prisoners will be prisoners …

Wires to rotate rabbit-ear antennas from side to side to help receive a better picture. No cable.

 

It was a cold January night back in 1975, a night when the temperatures dipped to the mid 20s. There were no clouds in the coal-black sky, but the overhead inky nothingness was peppered with thousands of tiny off-white dots—winking and flickering wintertime stars.

The victim, a fragile 88-year-old retired school teacher, Eva Jones, was in her modest home located less than a hundred yards, just short of a football field’s distance, from the local police department. She was at home alone, typical of most evenings, when the stranger forced his way through the front door.

Minutes later the elderly woman had been choked, raped, and robbed of $40 cash, all the money she had in her possession. Her attacker then slipped away as quickly as he’d arrived.

The old woman managed to get to her phone and dialed the number to summon police. When the dispatcher answered the call she heard a female voice gasping for breathe as she pleaded for help. Since the station was within sight of her home, officers arrived right away and found the partially-clad victim of the brutal assault.

Two hours later, after being transported to the hospital, Eva Jones was dead. Before she died, though, she told police that “a negro man had torn her clothes off and had choked her.” No further details. Just the man’s race. And then she was gone, leaving police with little—practically nothing—to help with their investigation.

During the next few days police questioned several men who’d been seen in the area, nearly two dozen, or so, but they were each cleared and sent on their way. Eventually, officers set their sights on a 32-year-old man, Curtis Jasper Moore, who’d been recently released from a psychiatric hospital.

Investigators interrogated the man for approximately six hours, nonstop, but Moore never, not once, admitted involvement in the murder of the woman. During the taped questioning, the man repeatedly hummed the theme song of a popular western television show. His mind and thoughts strayed from the matters at hand, and his statements were inconsistent. Some of his words, though, were taken as incriminatory.

So police took the man to the woman’s house—the scene of the murder—hoping the visit would illicit a confession. Again, some of his words, while confusing, were thought to be incriminating, including a couple of statements that seemed to indicate that he’d been inside the woman’s home on the night of the killing. That scant bit of “evidence” was enough for police officers who desperately wanted to close the case. Public and political pressure to do so, of course, was great. They arrested Moore for the murder and rape of the former educator.

A little over three years later, Curtis Moore, the severely mentally-challenged man, was convicted of murder, rape, and robbery and was sentenced to serve life in prison. His guilt was based almost entirely on the statements he’d made to police. There was no physical evidence that connected him to the murder scene. Due to his diminished mental capacity Moore was sent to a psychiatric hospital.

Court appointed attorneys filed state appeals on his behalf but all were denied. Next, a federal petition for a writ of habeas corpus was filed. It was only then when a U.S.  District Judge ordered the confession suppressed and set aside the conviction.

The judge ruled that the interrogation was improper because the man had not been offered the Miranda warning until after at least four hours of interrogation had passed. The judge also determined that the state was unable to prove that the man understood his rights after investigators finally got around to advising him.

It took a year and half after the judge’s ruling for the appeals court to affirm his decision, and when they did, finally, the man was released from prison pending a new trial. It was three years after his conviction that he was able to set foot outside of institutional walls.

Prosectors, with no evidence on which to rely, elected to not pursue the case and dismissed it..

Twenty-four years later, the governor of Virginia ordered testing of biological evidence that was found contained in the files of a recently deceased state crime analyst, Mary Jane Burton. Burton, for whatever reason, secretly taped small swatches of biological evidence—samples she used for blood typing—to her test sheets and then placed those sheets in her permanent hard-copy files.

The Burton evidence was discovered in 2001 when The Innocence Project requested all files on behalf of Marvin Anderson, a man convicted of rape. He fought and continued fighting to prove his innocence after his release from prison based on Burton’s saved/hidden evidence..

But saving bits of biological evidence was not the norm. Actually, by preserving the samples the examiner violated the lab protocol that all evidence was to be returned to the submitting agencies/investigators. However, by breaking department rules, the saved evidence samples were indeed tested per the order of the governor and the results produced were nothing short of stunning.

The rule-breaking, highly-meticulous Mary Jane Burton and I have a couple of loosely-based connections.

  • It was Mary Jane Burton who determined the identifying characteristics of biological evidence that would later convict Timothy Spencer, the serial killer known as The Southside Strangler. Spencer was the first person in the U.S. sentenced to death based on DNA evidence. I witnessed Spencer’s execution via electric chair.

Author Patricia Cornwell worked in the state lab at the same time as Burton. Dr. Marcella Fierro, the state’s chief medical examiner, a colleague of Burton was the inspiration for Cornwell’s character Kay Scarpetta. Dr. Fierro’s office conducted the autopsy on the bank robber I was forced to shoot and kill during a shootout beside a major interstate highway. Dr. Fierro and her assistant had dinner with Denene and me at the Commonwealth Club in Richmond, Va. the night Denene received her PhD.

  • In 2008, the evidence in the Jones murder case that was found in Burton’s file was submitted to the lab for DNA testing. The DNA tests proved that, without a doubt, the murder of Eva Jones could not have been committed by Curtis Jasper Moore.

 

Instead, the DNA was a solid match to a man named Thomas Pope Jr. Pope’s DNA was in the system because he’d been convicted of abduction and forcible sodomy in 1991. He was paroled in 2003.

 

My connection to Thomas Pope, Jr.? I’ve had the “pleasure” of investigating and arresting him a couple of times over the years, including for sexual assault (not in the same area as the Eva Jones murder, though). Unfortunately, at the time I arrested Pope his DNA had not yet been entered into CODIS. Somewhere in my files, I still have a copy of one of the Pope’s arrest warrants.

 

Curtis Jasper Moore didn’t live long enough to learn  that he’d been totally exonerated. He died in California in 2006.

 

The two officers who interrogated Moore have since passed away, as well. One committed suicide in the mid nineties. The other died of natural causes. Both were elected and served many years as sheriffs in Virginia.

 

On March 24, 2010, Thomas Pope,Jr., 55, was finally convicted of the rape and murder of Eva Jones, the retired, elderly school teacher. He was sentenced to life in prison.

I imagine Pope is currently residing in a state-run prison somewhere in Virginia after nearly and literally getting away with murder because two cops flirted with disaster by allowing tunnel vision and political pressure take over their investigation. And for taking advantage of an obviously mentally ill man.

 

Officer Edgar Isidro Flores, 24

DeKalb County Georgia Police Department

December 13, 2019 – Officer Edgar Flores was shot and killed during a traffic stop that subsequently led to a foot pursuit. The suspect hid behind a building and fired at officers as they approached. A police K9 was also shot and wounded and was transported to a veterinarian’s office in critical condition.

 

 


Detective Larry Marrero, 58

Miami Beach Florida Police Department

November 28, 2018 – Detective Larry Marrero suffered a fatal heart attack while participating in the department’s physical fitness program. He is survived by his wife and two children.

 

 

 


Sergeant Benton Bertram, 33

Charlestown Indiana Police Department

December 12, 2018 – Sergeant Ben Bertram was involved in the pursuit of a vehicle that fled the scene of a traffic stop. During the chase, Officer Bertram’s patrol car left the roadway and struck a tree. He succumbed to his injuries at the scene. His K9 partner was injured during the crash but survived. Sergeant Bertram is survived by his parents.

 


Officer Jermaine Brown, 46

Miami-Dade Florida Police Department

December 12, 2018 – Officer Jermaine Brown was killed in an ATV crash while responding to assist officers involved in an enforcement detail regarding  illegal activity along a canal trail. Officer Brown is survived by his wife and three children. His wife also serves with the department.

 

 


Sergeant Matthew Moreno, 37

Las Animas County Colorado Sheriff’s Office

December 12, 2018 – Sergeant Matthew Moreno was killed in a vehicle crash while responding to a domestic call. While responding, his police truck collided with an oncoming car whose passengers also died in the crash. He is survived by his wife, two daughters, and one stepson.

 

 

 

It’s that time again, where we all join hands in front of a crackling fire to sing the holiday classic …

The Twelve Nights Of Graveyard

On the first night of graveyard my sergeant gave to me, a car-tri-idge and a cuff key.

On the second night of graveyard my sergeant gave to me, two ghetto whores and a car-tri-idge and a cuff key.

On the third night of graveyard my sergeant gave to me, three stinky winos, two ghetto whores, and a car-tri-idge and a cuff key.

On the fourth night of graveyard my sergeant gave to me, four calls from wackos, three stinky winos, two ghetto whores, and a car-tri-idge and a cuff key.

On the fifth night of graveyard my sergeant gave to me, five … cans … of … pepper-spray, four calls from wackos, three stinky winos, two ghetto whores, and a car-tri-idge and a cuff key.

On the sixth night of graveyard my sergeant gave to me, six drunks a-peeing,  five … cans … of … pepper-spray, four calls from wackos, three stinky winos, two ghetto whores, and a car-tridge and a cuff key.

On the seventh night of graveyard my sergeant gave to me, seven robbers running, six drunks a-peeing, five … cans … of … pepper-spray, four calls from wackos, three stinky winos, two ghetto whores, and a car-tri-idge and a cuff key.

On the eighth night of graveyard my sergeant gave to me, eight maids embezzling, seven robbers running, six drunks a-peeing, five … cans … of … pepper-spray, four calls from wackos, three stinky winos, two ghetto whores, and a car-tri-idge and a cuff key.

On the ninth night of graveyard my sergeant gave to me, nine ladies fighting, eight maids embezzling, seven robbers running, six drunks a peeing, five … cans … of … pepper-spray, four calls from wackos, three stinky winos, two ghetto whores, and a car-tri-idge and a cuff key.

On the tenth night of graveyard my sergeant gave to me, ten perverts peeping, nine ladies fighting, eight maids embezzling, seven robbers running, six drunks a-peeing, five … cans … of … pepper-spray, four calls from wackos, three stinky winos, two ghetto whores, and a car-tri-idge and a cuff key.

Peeping Tom

On the eleventh night of graveyard my sergeant gave to me, eleven crackheads stealing, ten perverts peeping, nine ladies fighting, eight maids embezzling, seven robbers running, six drunks a-peeing, five … cans … of … pepper-spray, four calls from wackos, three stinky winos, two ghetto whores, and a car-tri-idge and a cuff key.

On the twelfth night of graveyard my sergeant gave to me, twelve hours of overtime, eleven crackheads stealing, ten perverts peeping, nine ladies fighting, eight maids embezzling, seven robbers running, six drunks a-peeing, five … cans … of … pepper-spray, four calls from wackos, three stinky winos, two ghetto whores, and a car-tri-idge … and … a … cuff … keeey.

Officers must be on high alert at every moment during each and every traffic stop. Actually, they must remain in that heightened state of “ready for anything” from the moment they activate their blue lights until the stop is complete and they’re back in the safety of their patrol cars and the stopped vehicle is on its way..

After all, officers never know what to expect. A driver could be wanted for a serious crime, such as murder or rape or threats against the lives of police officers. Is he carrying dangerous drugs or other contraband? Is he armed? Are there explosives in the car? Is this an ambush? Suicide by cop? The list goes on and on.

Police academy instructors teach recruits how to be safe. They set up mock exercises simulating scenarios that officers could encounter once they hit the streets. Role-playing is a big part of academy training. Still, all the training in the world cannot cover every real-life situation. No two traffic stops are the same, nor are any two calls.

In spite of the intense training, traffic stops are one of the most dangerous duties of police work. There are many unknowns. Too many. And the danger level is amplified many times when stopping a car at night.

Imagine that it’s 2 a.m. and you’re patrolling a lonely stretch of highway when you spot a black SUV parked on the shoulder of the road. Headlights and brake lights are both on. The driver, of course, has his foot on the pedal, meaning at least one person is inside the vehicle.

You pull in behind the car and flip the toggle switches to activate your blue strobes and takedown lights (to let them know you’re a police officer and to illuminate as much of the area as possible). *See bottom of page for more takedown lights.

Then, after sizing-up the situation, you step outside and immediately hear loud music blaring from the car’s speakers. The car’s windows are tinted black and you can’t see inside, but the motions of the vehicle tell you people are moving around.

To make things even worse there’s no moonlight or streetlamps. For all you know, the driver and an unknown number of passengers could be pointing machine guns at you. Your nearest backup is a good twenty minutes away. Believe me, it’s unnerving, to say the least.

Each officer has his/her own way of doing things and they often develop routines to help avoid missing details. The officer in the picture above, for example, has positioned her patrol car on an angle to the roadway, with the front tires also angled out toward the street. Any idea why she chose do park her patrol car in such a way?

Patrol car parked on an angle

Patrol car parked on angle with wheels pointed out.

She has her left hand on the trunk of the car. Why not her right hand? She’s looking ahead at the passing car while keeping the driver in her line of vision. She’s standing a certain way. Actually, it appears that she’s doing everything right. Good for her, because she had no idea a photographer was behind her. We were pretty sneaky.

Hand on the trunk

Left hand on trunk lid. Right hand free. Body angled as well.

Wait a minute. If a camera-toting writer and her supervisor could sneak up behind her … well, why couldn’t a cop killer do the same? The answer is yes, and it’s extremely important hat officers remain aware of all surrounding while approaching a car and while dealing with the driver, passengers, traffic, pedestrians, etc.

Okay, enough of my rambling. It’s time to put the shiny shoe on the other foot. I’m asking each of you to tell me why the officer decided to do the things she’d done. And, is there anything else she could have done to ensure her safety?

Remember, she wants to go home at the end of her shift, and she wants to make it there without any bullet holes perforating her body.


Light Bar

The light bar on the vehicle’s top features white takedown lights (front), and side alley lights. These lights are merely white spotlights that’re used to illuminate specific items, or people, during traffic stops and other situations. Alley lights can be switched on to illuminate areas to the side of the patrol car, allowing the officer to see down alleyways, inside store windows and door areas, yards of residences, etc. An excellent tool for patrol officers.

Takedown lights

 

Alley lights

In addition, they have use of a movable spotlight that’s mounted to the driver’s side between the doorframe and windshield. Officers sometimes store an extra set of cuffs on the spotlight control arm.

Here’s an interesting point to note for writers who’re searching for a bit of flavor to a scene.

While driving along, especially on bumpy and curvy roads, etc., there’s a constant “click” of metal tapping metal as the handcuffs hanging from the spotlight arm sway with the motions of the car. After a while, though, the noise is “tuned out” and simply becomes a part of the cacophony of sounds inside the patrol vehicle—constant police radio chatter, FM radio station, the drunk yelling and singing from the backseat, and even a partner going on and on about his kids or the big fish he caught, or the mangled dead body they’d discovered at a crash scene earlier in the night.

The light bar is also equipped with red and/or blue emergency lights. Some light bars are equipped with speakers for the siren (siren horns are also mounted behind the front grill). Other light bars contain hidden radar antennas. The positioning and style of light bars depend on the individual department policies.

Light colors and the combination thereof may be dictated by state or local law. Such as, in Virginia:

Code of Virginia

§ 46.2-1022. Flashing or steady-burning blue or red, flashing red and blue or blue and white, or red, white, and blue warning lights.

Certain Department of Military Affairs vehicles and certain Virginia National Guard vehicles designated by the Adjutant General, when used in state active duty to perform particular law-enforcement functions, Department of Corrections vehicles designated by the Director of the Department of Corrections, and law-enforcement vehicles may be equipped with flashing, blinking, or alternating blue, blue and red, blue and white, or red, white, and blue combination warning lights of types approved by the Superintendent. Such warning lights may be of types constructed within turn signal housings or motorcycle headlight housings, subject to approval by the Superintendent.Law-enforcement vehicles may also be equipped with steady-burning blue or red warning lights of types approved by the Superintendent.


Please help me

I need your help. I’m desperate. Truly desperate.

Our daughter has been in an exhaustive battle with cancer for just over a year. She’s a real fighter and her last scan showed no signs of the disease. Excellent news, believe me. A miracle, actually, But her troubles didn’t stop there. She’s still very ill and weak and is suffering greatly from the effects of chemo and radiation.

Hospital, doctor, and pharmacy bills are over the moon. She just received two bills totaling over $13,000, her part of the bill after insurance paid theirs. Ellen’s family is experiencing a financial crisis. In addition to the cancer-related expenses, she had surgery on both eyes this week, and their home and property experienced damage during the recent hurricane. Part of that damage caused their septic system to fail. They now must use a port-a-john that’s situated at the end of their drive way. They pump water from their bathtub and sink using a sump pump. Having cancer woes is bad enough, but to have to go outside to an outhouse in the middle of night during the winter is awful.

Paying everyday bills along with the mountain of medical bills and insurance premiums is a juggling act just to keep utilities working and switched on.

Now it’s Christmas time, Ellen’s favorite time of the year. She cherishes it, actually. She missed last Christmas due to treatments. She has no memory of it at all. The same for much of the past year.

This year she’s well enough to enjoy the holidays. However, her husband, who’s the sole wage-earner, has been working reduced hours and, as a result, they often have to supplement his pay so that their health insurance will continue. Yes, he’s actually paying the company because he’s not earning enough to cover insurance. His company had to reduce hours because they make parts for GM vehicles and, as you’ve probably heard, GM is closing plants and laying off workers. Having to pay to work at the company means there’s no money for food, heat, water, gas, etc. Sometimes it’s less than no money.

They have a teenage son who’s trying to help out, but he missed two months of school after the hurricane destroyed much of his school.

Their gym and training area is still closed, meaning he and his teammates have no place to train and to prepare for matches with competing schools.

Tyler’s longterm goal is to earn a wrestling scholarship so he can attend college. He’s aware of the devastating effect that cancer has been on family finances. His sights are also set on the Olympics.

So, like a true champion, he borrowed mats from his coach and rolls them out in his backyard where he and a few of his teammates practice on their own time and as often as they can.

Tyler, a true champion, recently first place at the Swiss Bear Wrestling Classic. He won the 170 title match via a 52-second pin over the final competitor. Last weekend he won the gold in his weight class at the massive Beast of the East wrestling tournament. 178 wrestlers competed with only 14 winning the top spots.

Ellen and her family are true fighters but currently they’re at the bottom of a very large and extremely steep hill. With nowhere else to turn for help I’ve come to you. So if you can, please. No amount is too small or large. Anything to help them at least experience a good Christmas.

From the bottom of my heart, thank you.

Please click here to contribute (it’s Ellen’s GoFundMe page).

Ellen, my sweet little girl. Always.

 

Deputy U.S. Marshal Chase White, 41

United States Marshals Service

November 29, 2018 – Deputy U.S. Marshal Chase White was shot and killed while attempting to serve a warrant on a man who had been charged with stalking a law enforcement officer. Deputy Marshal White and other officers were attempting to arrest the man, the subject named on the warrant, when he opened fire.

He is survived by his wife and four children.

 


Trooper Robert E. Nagle, 67

New Jersey State Police

November 26, 2018 – Trooper Robert Nagle died as the result of cancer he developed following his involvement in the search and recovery efforts at the World Trade Center site following the 9/11 Terrorist Attacks.

He is survived by his wife, children, grandchildren, sister, and a brother.