Huck-a-Bucking for Beginners: Square-Dancing Gone Wrong

Every department has at least one officer who doesn’t quite beat the same drum as the others. His, or her, rhythm is slightly off. They can’t quite fit in no matter how hard they try. Sure, everyone likes this person, and they don’t really do anything that’s too weird, yet they always seem to do, well dumb stuff.

Enter my friend Franklin and his first experience with, well, this …

The honky-tonk nightclub was situated just outside the city limits. They were open for business on Saturday nights only and the place was so popular it didn’t take long for the gravel parking lot to fill to capacity with souped-up cars and dented and dusty pickup trucks with gun racks mounted in the rear windows.

Male patrons slicked their hair with Brylcreem or Butch Wax and they wore their best jeans, Stetson hats, dinner-plate-size belt buckles shaped like the state of Texas or a gun of some sort, and spit-shined cowboy boots made of cow, snake, or gator hide, or a combination of two or more. Sometimes the fancier snake hide adorned boots were reserved for Sunday attire along with a store-bought Sears and Roebuck striped suit and pearly-white socks. Many strapped hunting knives to their belts—their handles carved from deer antlers or hunks of wood cut from trees that once stood on family land.

Women curled and teased their hair until it reached heights only before seen by birds, power company linemen, and airline pilots, and then they loaded it with enough Aqua Net to hold it tightly in place for an entire evening of two-stepping and do-si-doing. They slipped into their finest square-dancing dresses and they waited on their front porches for one of those gussied-up farm trucks to pull into the driveway, and when it did … well, “Yipee ki-yay” the night had begun.

This club, the 95 Dance Hall, allowed brown-bagging (bring your own liquor), otherwise known as BYOB—bring your own bottle—because they didn’t have a license to sell alcohol. but they did supply ice and various mixers/chasers. The ice was freshly cracked from 50 lb blocks purchased that afternoon from the local ice and coal business.

Club workers filled galvanized washtubs with the ice and it was free for the taking, with the price of admission. In addition to counter-wiping and keeping a layer of freshly-scattered sawdust on the floor (the ground wood made for a nice “slicker’d-up dance surface, so I was told), the dancehall staff—the wife of the club owner, their kids, and the wives of the steel guitar sliders and banjo pickers—refilled the large metal containers throughout the evening as the frozen chunks of water melted.

By 10 p.m, the 95 Dance Hall was flat-out jumpin’. The house band, the Virginia Barn Dance Boys, was in high gear—fiddling, steel-guitaring, banjo-pickin’, and yodelin’ to all get out. Fancy dresses twirled. Scuffed boot heels clicked and tapped against the wood flooring. Drinks disappeared. Bottles emptied. Vision blurred and speech slurred. Voices and laughter grew louder and louder. The music became more frantic. The drummer rat-a-tatted at machine gun pace … And then the inevitable happened.

Somebody winked at somebody’s best girl and as quick as a fresh green grass goes through a goose, the place erupted into a free-for-all. Fists. Chairs. More fists. More chairs. Then, a knife. And then some blood. And then a call to the sheriff’s office. “HELP!”

Now’s a good time to introduce you to our department’s “one guy.” Remember the description above … doesn’t quite beat the same drum, etc.?

Okay, this is Franklin (not his real name, of course), a thin black man who was was quiet and somewhat shy, especially around women. He rarely spoke unless spoken to. He wore thick glasses with black rims and his uniform, the brown over tan, was always, without fail, neatly pressed with creases sharp enough to peel an apple and shoes so shiny they reflected moonlight on a cloudy night.

Franklin did not like to get his clothes dirty. In fact, he freaked out if a speck of mud marred the surface of his shoes, and he’d stop whatever he was doing to clean and polish them. He wore a tie even when it wasn’t required. And he did not, absolutely did not, would not, nor ever, exceeded the speed limit. Even when responding to the worst of the worst emergency calls. 55 meant 55 and by God 55 is where the needle stopped. Dead on the double nickels. Not one mile per hour more.

Franklin was my friend. A good friend too. But he was a bit quirky, to say the least.

I’d seen Franklin heading to murders-in-progress with red lights flashing and spinning and flickering, with siren wailing and screaming like a baby with a handful of thumbtacks in their diaper, but the posted speed limit was 45 mph so …

Franklin was an extremely cautious driver in other ways too. He utilized every safe driving tactic taught to him at the academy and he always drove with both hands on the wheel, one positioned at ten and the other at two. His seat was pulled nearly all the way forward and even then he leaned forward so close to the steering wheel that it nearly rubbed his chin at every curve and turn (he couldn’t see very well at night was his explanation for leaning close to the windshield). Blind as a bat is what we all thought.

This particular night there were four of us working the late shift—Franklin, two others, and me—and we were all dispatched to the “fight with weapons call.” Having been to a few of those calls at the nightclub over the years I knew we’d be outnumbered and I knew we’d have to fight, going toe-to-toe with practically every bumpkin in the county who used the opportunity as a free pass to punch a deputy . Therefore, since I’ve never been all that fond of pain, or bleeding, I requested backup from the state police and from a nearby city.

By the time we arrived, the fight had spilled out into the parking lot. So we, three deputies and several backup officers from surrounding jurisdictions, began the task of breaking up the massive brawl, which quickly turned into a “them against us” battle.

We were well into the thick of it when we heard a squalling and yelping siren coming our way. A few seconds later a brown sheriff’s office patrol car rolled slowly into the parking lot with siren and lights still in full “I mean business” mode. It was, of course, Franklin, the fourth member of the night shift.

Seriously, you’ve got to picture this to appreciate it. Fifteen cops and forty or so cowboys going to it in the parking lot. Fists flying, boots kicking, handcuffs clicking, batons swinging, clothing torn and dirty, heads bruised from contact with our lead-filled leather saps and wooden nightsticks, faces bruised and jaws stinging from fists covered with brass knuckles. And Franklin, calmly exiting his police car, then smoothing the wrinkles from his pants before slowly easing toward the massive battle.

Suddenly, it was like he, shiny-shoed Franklin, was sucked into a vacuum. In the blink of an eye, he was pulled into the fracas and was doing his best to restrain, arrest and, well, he was basically doing his best to stop people from hitting him.

We eventually gained control and arrested every fool we could lay our hands on and those troublemakers were hauled away to jail. Those of us who remained on the scene went inside the dance hall to speak with potential witnesses to a couple of pretty nasty stabbings. Franklin was one of the deputies who accompanied me inside.

We were a motley crew to say the least—clothing dirty, shoes scuffed, bloodstains here and there, and cut and bruised and sufficiently battered.

Franklin looked as if he’d been dragged through a hog pen, beaten by club-wielding cave people, and then run through the hand-cranked wringer of his grandmother’s antique washing machine. His glasses sat slightly askew on the bridge of his nose. His upper lip was cut and the lower bruised and swollen.

When we stepped from the darkness into the festive interior of the 95 Dance Hall, the lead guitar player of the Virginia Barn Dance Boys was in the process of calling a square dance. Dancers on the floor dipped and swirled and twirled and ducked and hopped like their lives depended on their actions. They’d paid no attention to what had taken place outside.

The music, if one could call it that, was horrible. The fiddler was busy sawing away at the strings, producing screeches that would cause Poe to lose sleep. The drummer’s timing was off. Way off. First he was a half beat too fast, then his sticks tapped slightly slower than the rest of group’s caterwauling. His right foot pushed the pedal against the bass drum in total out-of-syncness with what his left foot and both hands were trying to do. It was almost if that foot had a mind all it’s own.

The guy on the acoustic guitar apparently had never learned to properly tune his instrument. As a musician myself, the sound tap-danced on the raw ends of my nerves. But the crowd did not care. They were gettin’ it done like dancing was their nine-to-five job. Like the world would end if they didn’t go at it like politicians at an election year fundraiser.

Franklin did not move into the club any further than five feet from the front double wooden doors. He simply stood there blinking his eyes as he looked at the spinning and blinking colored lights. At the dancers. The condensation-covered ice tubs that were now half full of water. Franklin looked like a kid at the circus for the first time.

When we finally wrapped up our investigation and were standing outside in the parking lot beside our respective patrol cars, I asked Franklin if he was okay. His battered lips split into a slightly crooked smile before he said, “I’m fine. It’s just that I’ve never seen so many white people at one time in their own environment. And they were Huck-a-Bucking their asses off. This (he pointed to the club) is just bizarre.”

Franklin shook his head from side to side and turned to walk away, but stopped to look back over his shoulder. He said, “You know I’m going to have nightmares over this, right?” Then he playfully two-stepped back to his car and just before climbing in he raised an arm over his head to give a thumbs-up. He let out a loud, “Yee-Haw!” as he slid into the driver’s seat.

We each stood in silence, and disbelief, that Franklin had displayed some sort of emotion and a bit of humor. It was way out of character for him.

We watched Franklin pull out onto the highway where he sped away, at no more than 45 mph, of course. He tooted his horn twice before rounding the curve that took him out of view.

To this day, whenever I see someone square-dancing on TV I immediately think of Franklin’s descriptive term for those specific gyrations and swirls and twirls.

Huck-A-Bucking, according to Franklin: a traditional dance where participants spin, twirl, stomp, duck, and bow to their partners while semi-following the instructions yelled out to them by a band leader who’s sometimes referred to as a caller. When mixed with alcoholic beverages, huck-a-bucking can quickly switch from fun to fighting. Although, fighting is sometimes considered fun by avid huck-a-buckers. 

Yee-Haw, y’all!

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Homicide Investigations: Solving the Murder Puzzle

A homicide case is a puzzle, and it’s the job of the investigator to put the pieces together until they see a picture emerge. They may not always complete an entire image, but there should be enough there to clearly know that a crime was indeed committed and that the face that emerged from the puzzle is definitely that of the suspect.

Here are some of the major points/puzzle pieces to consider when investigating a murder.

1. When conducting a homicide investigation always take time to look at the case from the point of view of the defense attorney. What holes are in the case? What does your case lack? What’s missing? What areas could a defense attorney attack? Find those things and then locate the evidence needed to fill the voids. If there’s evidence out there, find it. If it’s not, then know the reason(s) why it’s unavailable. If details are left open-ended, a good defense attorney will use untidy loose ends as a means to indicate their client’s innocence. “If the detective had simply gone one step further they’d have discovered that my client could not be guilty of the crime!” Besides, the things you discover while approaching the case from this angle will almost always help build a better and stronger case.

2. Direct Evidence and Circumstantial Evidence.

A woman is standing at the counter of a dry cleaning store waiting for the clerk to come from the back room. She’s startled by a loud bang. The door to the room opens and a bald man holding a gun in hand runs out and then continues running outside through the open front door. The woman goes into the back room and sees the female clerk lying on the floor. She’s dead from what appears to be a gunshot wound to the head. There is no other entrance or exit from the room. The customer calls the police.

Direct Evidence is something actually observed by the witness, or clear evidence of fact. In the case above the direct evidence is:

a) The sound of the gunshot. The customer actually heard the sound.

b) The customer saw a bald man emerge from the room and he was holding a gun in his hand.

c) The clerk is lying on the floor with what appears to be a gunshot wound to her head. Blood, or what appears to be blood, is on the floor around the head of the victim.

Above image is from the Writers’ Police Academy’s “Treating the Trauma Patient” workshop. It is a staged photo and no one was harmed. The smile on the “victim’s face, however, was very real. She enjoyed teaching writers.

*Officers may not testify that the reddish-brownish liquid substance on the carpet was blood because at the time the material had not been tested and identified by laboratory experts. They may only testify to what they actually know, not what they think.

Circumstantial Evidence relates to fact or a series of facts that infers, but does not implicitly prove, another fact. In the case above we can infer, circumstantially, that the bald man who ran out of the room was indeed the killer because no one else was there, and there was no way anyone could have escaped other than by exiting the front door.

Now let’s revisit the case of the Washed Up Dry Cleaner, but from the defense attorney’s point of view. We, as investigators, know this … The clerk was killed by a gunshot wound to the head. A customer saw a bald man holding a gun run out of the back and then escape out into the street.

The defense attorney is already thinking of angles to defend their client, such as … It’s possible the clerk had tried to kill the bald man who managed to grab the gun, which accidentally discharged during a struggle. Or, the bald man, fearing for his life, fled from the business while still clutching the pistol. Suppose the bald man had witnessed the clerk shoot herself as an attempted suicide, so he panicked, grabbed the gun, and ran to get help? Was there a romantic tie between the two that could’ve resulted in a “heat of the moment” act of violence?

These are puzzle pieces that must be located in order to prove the “maybe this, maybe that” theories wrong, and that the bald man indeed killed the clerk, or not.

3. Proving Fact. 

We have the evidence, both direct and circumstantial, so how to we prove the bald man killed the clerk, or that he did not commit the crime? Let’s start by proving the defense theories wrong. Suicide? We’ll check for close contact powder burns and/or stippling, and gunshot residue on the hands of the victim. None there, so suicide is most likely not an option. The same is true for a struggle over the weapon (the self defense claim). No signs of a struggle—defensive wounds, items in the room overturned. Again, no close contact powder burns and/or stippling.

It’s safe to conclude the shooting took place from a distance, not at close range.

Through our investigation, we’ve learned there was no connection between the victim and her killer. Security video shows no one else entered the store other than Bald Man and the witness.

By proving the potential defense theories wrong, we’ve now bolstered our murder case against the bald man.

4. MOM – Motive, Opportunity, and Means

Now that we’ve definitely set our sights on Bald Man as the probable killer, it’s time to dig deep into the box to begin pulling out the puzzle pieces featuring specific details. So let’s call on MOM to help.

M = Motive. At this point, we don’t know the motive so we have to begin a search of the suspect’s personal history (gambling debt, robbery, infidelity, etc.). Detectives will attempt to learn the motive as the investigation progresses.

O = Opportunity. Check. We know that Bald Man was there at the scene of the crime.

M = Means. Check. Bald Man definitely had a gun.

In addition to MOM, there are a few other considerations on our handy checklist, such as:

Intent – Did Bald Man intend to kill the clerk? Ties to motive.

Plan – Did Bald Man plan to kill the clerk? Was this a premeditated act? If so, why? Ties to motive.

Preparation – Did Bald Man take steps to carry out his plan? Did he stockpile ammunition. Did he try to hire someone to commit the murder for him? Get his affairs in order in case he’s caught and goes to jail.

All of these details will be revealed during a thorough investigation.

5. First Responders.

It’s important to alert, train, and beg first responders—patrol officers, EMS, fire, etc. to not muddy up the crime scene by moving, tainting, disrupting, contaminating, or handling evidence.

6. The Crime Scene.

The back room of the dry cleaners is where the shooting took place, therefore it is the primary crime scene, or scene of the crime.

Suppose Bald Man hides the pistol in a dumpster down the street and it’s found by garbage collectors who alert police to their discovery. The dumpster is then a secondary crime scene, or simply a crime scene. Anyplace where evidence of a crime is found is considered to be a crime scene or secondary crime scene. Investigators should label each of those locations appropriately and orderly (Secondary Crime Scene A – dumpster at corner of Main and Killer, Secondary Crime Scene B – top dresser drawer in master bedroom of Bald Man’s residence at 666 Manson Lane, etc.).

7. Sometimes it’s best to work a case in reverse by ruling out potential suspects who couldn’t have committed the crime. Then, when all is said and done, the last man standing, so to speak, is the killer.

So there you have it, a few of the basic steps to solving a murder puzzle.

Finally, click the link for a detailed list of Homicide Investigation Do’s and Don’t’s. 

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In case you’re still concerned about the “victim” in the above photo, here she is again enjoying a bite to eat between classes at the Writers’ Police Academy.

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The makeup used in these workshops is extremely realistic.

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Contraband: Finally, No More Cakes and Pies Containing Saws and Files!

Smuggling narcotics and other illegal items into prisons has been a problem since at least 1809, when the first files and saws entered a prison ship’s lockup by way of gingerbread cakes. The problem continued in 1899, in Maryland, when four inmates escaped by using saws that had been baked into pies.

In 1921, Lucky Tommy” O’Connor used an ample supply of guns and bullets smuggled inside bread and cake to escape from the Cook County Jail in Chicago. He fled “the joint” just in time to avoid his execution.

In 1934, Robert Mais, a Richmond, Virginia jail inmate, received guns his mother sealed inside cans of baked chicken.

The list goes on, with with escape-assisting implements smuggled inside via chocolate and frosted pound cakes, cans of fruit, and more.

Nowadays, most prison and jails do not allow “care packages” from home, especially those containing home-cooked food. Therefore, smugglers turned more toward making a prisoner’s stay a bit more tolerable by introducing drugs into prisons and jails, and a common means of delivering the contraband is through the U.S. mail. For example, liquid LSD can be applied to the back of postage stamps, and paper is often coated with liquid fentanyl, Suboxone, and/or K2.

FYI – The two main ingredients of Suboxone are Buprenorphine and Naloxone. Buprenorphine is an opioid which is actually more potent than morphine. The drug is used to help suppress withdrawal symptoms in someone with opioid addiction. However, it’s still an opioid.

To help combat the delivery of illegal drugs and other contraband to lockups, some locations in North Carolina have turned to a new service called TextBehind.

Beginning in October of 2021, all inmate mail, including cards, hand-drawn artwork from children, and letters, must be sent directly to TextBehind, where the company will make copies of the mail and then forward digital reproductions to the prison mail rooms where the recipient inmates are housed. Prisons receiving the digital files will print the copied mail and then issue it to the prisoners.

Thus, the end of contraband entering prisons through the U.S. mail. However, it won’t stop prison staff, shady attorneys, and visitors from bringing it inside. And, of course, drones are used to airdrop contraband, such as the incident last week in Virginia, where a drone dropped a package containing several pounds of marijuana and tobacco (tobacco products are banned from prisons and are considered as illegal contraband). The bundle also included three cellphones and a USB-C to lightning converter. The drone operator, however, missed their target, a privately-operated prison that houses over 1,500 inmates, and instead dropped the illegal goodies onto the grounds of a nearby private school.

And then there’s the woman who smuggled a fully loaded handgun into a prison visitation area by concealing it inside her “lady parts.” I know, if you wrote that scene in a book, no one would believe it. But it happened. Really, it did.

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Why Officer Sam and Officer Pam Recall Things Differently

For the the purpose of this brief peek into the minds of police officers who enter into stressful situations such as a violent riot, or a gun battle with bullets whizzing by their heads, we’ll use Officer Sam as our guinea pig. Joining him in this discussion his partner, Officer Pam.

Sam is a bit of a worrier and, thanks to his parents, his name is coincidentally an acronym for three distinct reasons why officers, as well as other people, perhaps sees things differently when the weight of world seemingly comes crashing down around them. More about the acronym a bit later.

Pam, on the other hand, is a seasoned veteran who’s “been there, done that” a thousand times. She sincerely believes she’s impervious to stress.

Let’s dive right in by first setting the stage. Sam and Pam have been called to the scene of a bank robbery where the masked bandit has decided to not be taken alive. Therefore he begins lobbing .45 caliber rounds at the two responding officers who immediately take cover and immediately return fire.

The intense shootout lasts two minutes before both Pam and Sam fill the desperado full of government-purchased lead. He dies as a result of the aerating of his torso by a baker’s dozen of neat, round puncture wounds delivered by the officers’ sidearms.

The shift commander assigns a pair of internal affairs investigators to take the statements of the two heroes who saved the bank employees from what could have ended up as a mass funeral for the seven cashiers and an elderly security guard named Rufus.

The two IA detectives separate Pam and Sam and then take their statements. Later, the “suits” compare notes and, unbelievably, the officers’ stories vary … a lot. In fact, it’s almost as if Pam and Sam told tales that took place at two different locations and they’d practically described two entirely different events. Yes, they were that far apart.

So how could this happen, you ask? Well, let’s closely examine Sam’s name to see if we can arrive as some sort of answer that makes sense out of the discrepancies/distorted realty.

SAM

“S”, in my own little and limited warped mind, stands for “Secure.”

To start the ball rolling, the brain first must “SECURE” information. However, the human mind can receive only so much at once, so it decides what is important and then discards all of what it deems as unnecessary details.

This is where repetitive training plays a vital role, because repeating the same action over and over again (draw, point, shoot, draw, point, shoot, for example) helps the officer to react instinctively rather than having to rely on a brain that immediately discards some details, such as “the guy has a gun!”

During a stressful event the human mind does strange things

Human brains do not have a far-reaching ability to observe, meaning we see either a forest or we see a group of individual trees, or a lovely meadow versus individual grasses. A crowd of people, or individual humans. But not both at the same time (not both forest AND trees, etc.). The brain focuses on one or the other, making it difficult to process many details. And, when two humans are observing the same grouping of objects, one’s focus may be on the guy with the gun while the other’s is trained on the woman holding a baby.

“A” = “ABSORB,” meaning the retention of what the brain decides is important. Unfortunately, our minds operate on a selective basis and we absolutely have no control over this weird phenomena. It is the brain that picks and chooses what it wants to absorb, and often those human computers focus on one non-essential thing while totally disregarding another more important detail. Again, the woman holding a baby instead of the far more important and dangerous guy with the gun. This is the reason why Sam may see one thing while Pam’s mind secures and absorbs something entirely different.

The proper terminology for what to pay attention to and what to disregard is “selective attention.” For more on selective attention, click here.

“M,” the final letter of Sam’s name and it refers to “MEMORY.”

Memory, simply put, is the brain instantly filing away all of the details about the stressful event that it deemed as unimportant. But not all that’s experienced is retained. What’s left after the brain picks and choices what wants or doesn’t want are the elements that did stand out as “need to know NOW.” These are the bits that, due to selective attention, seem vividly specific. However, even those details may be perceived or skewed differently than  what actually took place, and that’s because not all surrounding information was retained by the brain.

Selective attention can and often does distort reality. For example, situations where officers mistakenly recognize a cellphone in a fleeing suspect’s hand and instead honestly perceive it as a firearm. The same is true in reverse, when the officer mistakenly believes an object is a cellphone when in reality it’s clearly a pistol. These false negatives are caused by a human mind rejecting something that should have received and accepted for what it is/was. In the case of officers involved in deadly force scenarios, these mistakes could and often do result in life-ending occurrences for both officers and citizens.

Repetitive training helps the brain in its decision-making process by allowing it do its thing while the officer simply reacts without having to take the time to first SECURE, ABSORB, and then pull the needed information from their MEMORY. Instead, they need only to draw, point, and shoot. It’s how they’re trained while at the academy, which is quite similar to training a dog to sit.

How many times have we all said to little Rover …

“Sit, boy. Sit.” “Sit, boy. Sit.” “Sit, boy. Sit.” “Sit, boy. Sit.”

Well, that’s how cops are trained and it’s by design. Repetitive training helps to keep them alive.

 

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Writing Small Town Cops: Do You Have Barney-Fife-itis?

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What is Barney-Fife-itis, you ask? Well, lots of writers suffer from it, and it’s a horrible disease. Nasty, in fact.

The best way to describe it is to take you to a small town somewhere deep inside your imaginations, where this stuff lives and breeds like the black mold that hides beneath an HGTV fixer-upper bathroom vanity.

So lets go there, to that spot in your mind where …

Yes, it’s a small red-brick building nestled between Betty Lou’s Cut ‘n Curl and Smilin’ Bob’s Hardware and Pawn Shop. The lone parking space in front is reserved. A sign reads “Chief’s Parking Only.”

Inside, the hallway to the right takes you to the water department and the office of the building inspector. There, you can also purchase dog tags and yard sale permits.

A left turn leads to the town’s police department, a force comprised of five dedicated, hardworking police officers—one chief, one sergeant, two full-time officers, and one part-time guy who’s also the mayor of the next town over.

Complaints can be filed with the dispatcher at the window, or by dialing the local number. Calling 911 in Small Town works the same as calling 911 in New York City. Hmm … there is a tiny difference, though. When you call 911 in Small Town somebody always shows up to see what’s wrong. Not always so in Big City.

Small Town dispatchers also work the computer terminals, and they handle calls for animal control, fire and rescue, sometimes reports of needed street repair, stoplights that are out, and even severe weather reports . They know CPR and they know everyone in town and the quickest routes to their houses.

Officers in Small Town attend the police academy and they receive the same training and certifications as the officers over in Big City. No, Small Town PD doesn’t have all the latest fancy equipment with the shiny, spinning dials and winking, blinking lights. They don’t have special detectives who only work homicides or white collar crime. And they don’t have divisions dedicated for traffic, vice, narcotics, and internal affairs. Budgets simply don’t allow it.

Officers in Small Town are cross-trained. They each know how to run radar, direct traffic, dust for fingerprints, interview suspects and witnesses, and they know how to investigate a murder.

Small Town officers investigate burglaries and assaults. They also arrest drunk drivers, drug dealers, people who abuse their spouses, rapists, pedophiles, and robbers. They break up fights, help kids cross the street safely, and they locate lost pets. And, if one of their officers steps out of line they’ll straighten them out, too.

Of course, Small Town is totally fictional, but there are many actual small towns with small police departments, and those small departments work the same kinds of cases as the departments in larger cities. No, not all departments are large enough to have officers who serve as detectives. But they all employ police officers who are fully capable of investigating any type of crime, and they do, from traffic offenses to murder. Sure, they perform the same work as a detective, but they do it while wearing a uniform instead of some fancy-smancy suit.

Yep, most small departments operate the same way as the large ones, just on a smaller scale.

For example:

The Yellow Springs, Ohio Police Department serves a village of slightly less than 4,000 residents. Therefore, the department is small. However, there’s a college in town and the village is located near Dayton and Springfield, which translates into the potential for a higher crime rate than would normally be found in a town that size. And, the potential for more crime means more proactive police work for the small number of officers.

Several years ago, back during the time I was conducting research for my book o police procedure, the YSPD didn’t have plainclothes detectives to investigate major crimes. Instead, as is the case with many small departments, uniformed officers investigated all crimes. Therefore, when an officer received a call from the dispatcher they’d see it all the way through, from the 911 call through court, including evidence collection, interviewing witnesses, etc.

If the officers needed additional help, or resources, they called on the county sheriff’s office.

Remember, not all departments operate in the same manner. Some smaller departments DO have detectives, and those investigators may or may not wear a uniform. They could dress in a coat and tie, and they could have the title of detective, or investigator. If they’re a detective who wears a uniform their rank would normally remain the same. There is no standard rule. It’s entirely up to the individual department.

Remember—a police department and a sheriff’s office are not the same. Deputy sheriffs work for sheriffs, not police chiefs. But that’s a topic for another day.

Since the topic today is “small town departments” and the officers who work there … well, hold on to your hats because I’m about to make an earth shattering announcement! Ready?

Here goes.

Sure you’re ready? Are you sitting down? Have your nervous medicine in hand? Your doctor on speed dial?

Yes to all of the above? Okay, then. Here it is, and I’m holding nothing back. Not this time.

(One second. I’m taking a deep breath)

Okay, here’s the news …

Small town cops are the same as cops in big cities!

Yes, they are. I’ve said it and the secret is OUT!

They receive the same training. They do the same jobs. They go through similar hiring procedures. They enforce the same or similar laws. They use the same or similar equipment. And, well, to write them all as inferior, stupid, ignorant, incompetent, etc. is not only absolutely and unequivocally wrong, it’s extremely offensive.

I’ve often wondered why some people assume that people who have little are to be considered inferior, or less intelligent when compared to those who have a lot. This is also true when considering law enforcement agencies. Those with the shiniest and best equipment are often seen as employing officers who are smarter than their peers who work for small town departments with meager budgets. Of course, this unfair stereotyping occurs throughout most walks of life.

Try breaking it down in this way:

  • Small Town, a town of 4,000 residents, employs five police officers. Those five officers provide police protection and coverage for those 4,000 citizens.
  • Big City, a city of 100,000 employs 125 officers.
  • Break down the number from Big City into three shifts (day, night, and rotating for the off hours of the other shifts) and you wind up with just over 40 officers per shift.
  • Now, since Big City covers a much larger land area than Small Town, officials divided Big City into 8 precincts.
  • Each of the eight precincts covers a land area the size of Small Town.
  • Each precinct employs … wait for it … FIVE officers. Just like Small Town!
  • Some of those precincts have 4,000 residents, or more, including the extremely high-crime areas. Therefore, these precincts of 4,000 residents are covered by five police officers, which is the same scenario that plays out in every small town and city across the country.
  • Many small town police officers attend the same police academies as their peers in larger cities. In fact, they’re often classmates in the same academy. And, their instructors are the same, their desks are the same, and the equipment used is identical.

Anyway, budget, land area, and location are the major differences. Not intelligence or training.

*The above scenario is fictional. I merely used it to illustrate the point. It is, however, a loosely accurate portrayal.

Let’s continue to explore our small town department.

YSPD dispatcher.

NCIC and other equipment.

Above – Felony traffic stop in a small town. The procedure is the same in both large and small departments.

Issuing a traffic summons in a small town is no different, other than surroundings, than the same situation in a larger jurisdiction.

An arrest is the same no matter where it takes place. Tactics and techniques are identical. So is training and equipment. Even the handcuffs used are the same in both Big City and Small Town. Imagine that!

Small departments may not have the latest, modern equipment, such as LiveScan fingerprint terminals. Instead, they still use the old ink and ten-print cards. Both produce the same results—fingerprints.

Ten-print fingerprinting station.

Small departments collect and preserve evidence using the same methods and materials as do larger departments.

Evidence storage is the same, but is on a smaller scale in smaller departments.

YSPD evidence room office/processing area.

Evidence safe in a small department (for narcotics, etc.).

YSPD officer’s workstation/office.

Small departments follow the same procedures as any other department. The job is identical to that of a big city officer, just in a different location.

Interior of a YSPD patrol car. Some cars feature mobile data terminals (computers), and some don’t.

Check with Experts, Not Guess-Perts

As always, please check with experts in the area where your story takes place. Those are the people who can best help with your research. Not someone who once read a book about how cops work in small towns. Obviously, to read incorrect information and then pass it along is, well, it’s wrong.

To do so would be no different than me reading a book on brain surgery and then telling you about so you can then operate on your readers and fans. Reading a book or asking your Uncle Percy who sister-in-law was once married to a guy whose cousin know a guy in elementary school who later married a woman whose father was a cop, well, that certainly does not make Uncle Percy a crackerjack law enforcement expert. It’s actual experience and training produces experts.

Otherwise, we still see “Guess-perts” (the folks with no real experience or training) telling authors to write small town cops as “Barney Fifes,” when that couldn’t be further from the truth. I know, there are “Barneys” in many departments (other professions as well), but they’re not exclusive to small towns. It’s just that they’re far more obvious when they’re one of only five officers citizens see every single day.

So, if you’re going for accuracy, the best advice for you, my writer friends, is to …

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Writers’ Police Academy

The Writers’ Police Academy (WPA) offers actual hands-on police training. It is the ultimate research tool for writers.

The next event is scheduled to take place June 2-5, 2022, at NWTC’s renowned public safety academy in Green Bay, Wi. The 2022 event is so massive that it’s stretched between two cities—Green Bay and Appleton!

Details TBA.

www.writerspoliceacademy.com

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Have You Visited the Writers’ Police Academy’s Online Store?

Yes, we’ve opened a store where you can find all sorts of WPA items, and here’s why …

In 2022, the Writers’ Police Academy (WPA) will enter its 14th year of presenting exciting, hands-on training for writers. Those of you who’ve attended experienced first-hand the heart-pounding rise of adrenaline when faced with dangerous situations, even when those scenarios were simulated. Those who have not yet participated in our law enforcement, forensics, EMS, crime scene investigation, and firefighter training, well, you owe it to yourselves and your readers to take advantage of this unique opportunity to train at an actual police academy, in classes taught by police academy instructors and other renowned experts.

WPA training is an adventure that immerses the author directly into the action, resulting in the sights, sounds, touch, tastes, and smells associated with the world of first-responders, detectives, and forensic/crime scene investigations. The event also activates a sort of 6th sense called proprioceptionis, the sense of movement and position of our limbs and muscles. This is the sense that allows officers to focus on, for example, drawing their weapon without having to look away from an armed suspect while doing so. It’s the same sense that allows us to perform simple tasks, such as using a finger to touch our noses, even with our eyes closed, or to climb stairs without watching our feet engage with each step.

With this valuable experience tucked away in a writer’s toolbox, they are then able to draw on their very own personal knowledge to help create realistic scenes with intricate details. Their characters rise above those in other books, the characters that lack the wisdom and expertise, proper dialog, and behind the scenes know-how of those created and written by writers who who’ve driven a patrol car during a pursuit, fired an AR-15, kicked in a door to locate a dangerous criminal, handcuffed a suspect, been in a gunfight, etc. Yes, those are merely three of dozens of hands-on training classes that take place at the Writers’ Police Academy.

Each year, during registration, the WPA offers the opportunity to purchase a couple of sought-after WPA products—t-shirts and/or hats. The items display the official registered trademark of the Writers’ Police Academy, the Gun/Pencil logo.

Year after year people have requested that we make available a larger variety of items and that they’re available throughout the year by means of online purchases.

Our web designer built an online store into this site a few years ago, but I couldn’t seem to muster the energy or time needed to design products, have them made and shipped to me, store them, package the items, ship them to customers, collect and pay sales taxes to different states, and so on. So the store sat dormant in a far back corner of the website, quietly collecting dust and cobwebs.

Well, after tons of research, and it only took me nearly 14 years to do it, I’ve finally taken the plunge and opened an online store using Zazzle. It’s easy. I simply design the products and the Zazzle folks take it from there.

Now everyone, everywhere, has the opportunity to purchase WPA, MurderCon, and The Graveyard Shift limited edition collectibles, clothing and numerous other items.

The store “Official_WPA_Merch” is now live and active, with a few items posted for sale, such as t-shirts, mugs, hoodies, etc. More items are on the way. A few items are available for a limited time, such as the mugs featuring original artwork, the quirky cartoon characters from The Graveyard Shift (this blog).

Here’s a preview of some of the items that are available. Please visit the store to see more fun items. Oh, and please do send me photos of you wearing, holding or displaying your purchases. Feel free to hold up a copy of your latest book while wearing a WPA Merch t-shirt or displaying other items purchased from the store. We’d love to help you advertise your work while advertising ours!

As always, I greatly appreciate your support. Without it we couldn’t continue to produce Writers’ Police Academy events and all that’s involved. The WPA online store profits go directly into the WPA operating fund.

 

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Click the items or links below to view the products and their descriptions. Then continue browsing throughout the store.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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FBI v. Local Police: Are You Guilty of Recycling Clichés?

If I had a quarter for every time I’ve heard or read a tired old cliché about the FBI v. local police departments, well, I’d be the proud owner of all my wants and desires (material things) with the entire kit and caboodle paid for in coins. You know the ones, and maybe you’ve used them in one or more of your own tall tales (It hope not). After all, there are so many and they’re tossed about in fiction about as often as words ending in “ly” unnecessarily and tragically appear in some stories.

There’s no good excuse for using these  threadbare, boilerplate, absolutely false, rubber-stamped, buzzwordesque, and  overused phrases, because the correct information is no further than a mere keyboard click away. Yet we see and hear these same old exhausting tunes everywhere!

So, where to begin? How about …

The White Horse Syndrome

In your latest book you’ve brought to life who you believe to be the coolest protagonist ever, an FBI agent who rides into a fictional town on a beautiful and powerfully muscular solid white horse to save the day by solving your cleverly-created murder. Her first order of business—take charge of, well, everything. First, she gives the local homicide detectives the boot. Next she tells the chief to stay out of her way because this is a job for the feds and, by the way, she’ll need the chief’s office as her home base … so, “GET OUT!” Then the cocky and totally obnoxious special agent scouts the area for just the right person to fall in love with before the case is solved. Then and only then is it time to get down to the business finding a murderer.

Of course, you’ve gone the extra mile to get your details right by binge watching Brooklyn Nine-Nine and The Andy Griffith Show. You’ve tossed in a great crime scene, some fingerprinting details, DNA evidence, bloodstain patterns, a car chase followed by a requisite huge explosion, the agent saves the town sweetheart and her dog from certain death, she defies all orders from her boss because she’s determined to be the hero of the tale, and, here it comes, the big payoff … she shoots a pistol from the hand of one bad guy while simultaneously rendering another unconscious with a limply-delivered karate chop to the back of the crook’s neck. AND THEN, before the odor of smokeless powder (NOT CORDITE!!) clerk the air, the agent catches the meanest and baddest villain ever concocted by a writer in the history of the written word.

Sound familiar?

Okay, this is the point where you should click on the video below. It is the soundtrack for the following text. So hit the play button and hang on!

Well, those super cool fictional FBI details are all fine and Jim Dandy, with the exception of one minor detail …  FBI AGENTS DO NOT INVESTIGATE LOCAL MURDER CASES!! And they don’t come into town and take over any local cases. They don’t have that authority or jurisdiction.

Okay, this one will be difficult to grasp, but here goes … FBI agents do not have a crystal ball that sounds off every time a child is abducted or a murder is committed. I know, what a shock. So take a moment to settle down and catch your breath before reading more of this crazy way-out information.

For the FBI to become involved in a local murder case, local law enforcement needs to invite the FBI in.

Yes, the FBI does investigate crimes against children—online predators and human trafficking and kidnapping, and parental kidnapping, But there’s no rule or law stating that the FBI must be called in to investigate kidnapping cases. The fact that they can investigate them doesn’t mean they work ALL abduction cases. Each state has its own kidnapping/abduction laws. Local detectives work kidnapping cases all the time. ALL. THE. TIME.

Keep in mind that there’s not an FBI field office located in every single town in the good old USA. They don’t have satellite headquarters situated next to your corner Piggly Wiggly or Billy Buck’s Feed Store. Sometimes agents are several hours away from a town. In fact, they’ve probably never set foot in many of your towns. Nope, they probably don’t know that Dinglebopadoodle, Rhode Island even exists.

Again, unless the local cops give ’em a call, the FBI has absolutely no means of knowing when Bubba Jenkins got all licker’d up and kilt T-Bone Roberts over cheatin’ during a checker game. Nor would the feds know when creepy human-trafficker Paul Pedophile used the promise of a never-ending supply of Goobers, Sno-Caps, Raisinets, and Junior Mints to lure little Daisy Sue from her front yard while she was in the middle of hopping and scotching in the driveway. Someone would have to actually call the FBI to report these crimes.

In the case of Bubba Jenkins and T-Bone Roberts, well, the feds would simply refer the caller to their local authorities. They’re not going to be involved in local murder cases unless they’re invited in by a city chief of county sheriff.

Even in cases involving serial murders, local authorities handle the investigations. The way the FBI becomes involved is when the local law enforcement invites them to participate because they need the FBI’s resources, expertise, etc.

However, when the investigation leads to other states—victims killed in similar manners that point to a single killer—it’s best that the FBI take the lead since they have nationwide jurisdiction. Besides, to have a local detective trekking from state to state to track down a killer would take a vital resource away from local department. The FBI is far better suited to handle such a task. However, local detectives can and do travel to other jurisdictions as part of their investigations.

The FBI might open an investigation into the disappearance of hopscotching little Daisy Sue; however, they’d likely coordinate activities with the local police who, by the way, would probably have detectives already working on it. The more folks working to find the child the better the chances of finding her. Like investigating a serial killer, tracking an interstate-traveling child abductor is best left to the FBI since they have the resources and jurisdiction to work in all U.S. states. Still, local police can and do work kidnapping cases that cross state lines. I, for example, have investigated a few of those cases, including one that originated in Virginia and ended in Washington state. The child was unharmed and returned to her family. The suspect arrested and convicted.

The FBI’s Magic Database

I can sum this up in a single word … NO. There is no magic database where an FBI special agent enters the name of a person—any person in the world—and instantly receives every single detail about the person—address, phone number, cars owned, blood type, underwear and shoe size, name of pets, number of freckles on their face, friends, favorite meal and drink, etc. It’s just not so.

Various types of records are kept in various independent locations—courts, medical facilities, military, schools, individual law enforcement departments/agencies, etc. Those databases are not linked. A person’s mental health records are not tied to other databases. Driving records are not cross-linked to hospital records, and so on.

Information contained within these systems is only as accurate as the data entered. If the person entering the data makes a mistake, well, that’s the information that shows up when a search is conducted. The National Computer Information Center (NCIC) is a massive database containing tons of crime data; however, the accuracy and timeliness of this information is dependent upon the numerous law enforcement agencies from around the country who enter the data. Many agencies enter incomplete information, if any at all. It could take weeks or months for a loan enforcement officer/agent to compile needed information on a single suspect, not a matter of minutes or even hours.

FBI Special Agents are Bullies and Don’t Play Well With Others 

My goodness, what load of BS. This misconception has been written into books and TV shows so often that even cops have begun to believe it, and that’s unfortunate, because when agents show up at a local department they’re often given the “stink-eye” by officers and detectives. This unwarranted misconception sometimes leaves agents with the task of building the trust of local law enforcement when that trust has not been violated.

I’ve worked and trained with agents of various federal agents and agencies over the years—FBI, ATF, U.S. Marshals, Secret Service, DEA, Border Patrol, ICE ( INS back in the day), Homeland Security, Department of Defense (DoD), DCIS, and more, and not once encountered an issue. In fact, when standoffishness occurred it was from local officers toward the agents. So yeah, thanks to the books, TV shows, and films that caused this imaginary trouble.

I once assisted a pair of FBI special agents on a civil rights investigation as a result of a white police officer who shot an African American male after the subject aimed a loaded pistol at him. The agents were pleasant, professional, and warm and compassionate toward the subjects of their investigations. In private they were funny and had a ton of interesting stories to tell.

 Stink Eye – to look at someone in a disapproving way:
“The people waiting to use the computers were giving me the stinkeye.”
 ~ Cambridge Dictionary

What’s that? You want to know what cases the FBI does work?

Hmm … I’m not sure if you’ll be able to handle the truth. After all, you see so many all of the above in so many books.

Yes, I’m sure you’re frightened, but you’ll be fine.

I know,  your editor said that IS what FBI agents do.

Wait a minute. Let me fini—

Wait—

Please don’t cry.

I know she told you about the white horse—

Yes, and the explosio—

Ah, so that’s where you guys are getting the cordite information ….

Well, I’m sure your literary agent and/or editor has a long history in law enforcement (big eye roll here).

Anyway, see for yourself. These are the cases the FBI works. No, I didn’t make this up. It’s fact.

WHAT THE FBI INVESTIGATES:

  • Public corruption
  • Civil rights
  • Organized crime
  • White collar crime
  • Violent crime such as mass killings, sniper murders, serial killings, gangs, crimes against children, Indian Country crimes, jewelry and gem theft, assisting state and local agencies in investigating bank robberies
  • Weapons of Mass Destruction (WMD)
  • Terrorism
  • Counterterrorism

DETAILS ARE IMPORTANT

It’s important for writers hoping to offer a bit of realism in their stories to at least know the basics of criminal investigations, including “who does what?” For example, absent in the list cases investigated by the FBI is MURDER. No, typically the FBI does NOT investigate local murder cases, nor do they ride into town on white horses to take over bank robbery or abduction cases. Instead, they’re available to assist local and state agencies. However, if a local department is not equipped to handle a bank robbery, for example, the FBI will indeed take the lead upon request.

In a case of child abductions there does not have to be a ransom demand nor does the child have to cross state lines or be missing for 24 hours before the FBI will become involved. When the FBI is alerted that a child has been abducted they’ll immediately spring into action and open an investigation. They will do so in partnership with state and local authorities.

So there you have it, writers—details to help add an extra level of zing to your next twisted tale.

*Resource – FBI and, of course, my personal knowledge and experience.

Next up … the FBI’s forensic laboratory.

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Labor Day: While You’re Enjoying The Day Off

Labor Day: while you're enjoying the day off

While we gather with friends and family to enjoy backyard barbecues … well, this …

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WPA my mother would call it a ministry

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Transporting prisoners

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Evelyn (“Ev”) E. Dense: A Guide To Crime Scene Investigation

Officer Willie Findem was hot on the trail of two armed robbers, running as fast as his flat feet could carry him, when he heard a woman screaming for help as he raced past a row of shotgun houses in a section of town the locals call Murder Alley.

Despite the fact that his heart thumped against the inside of his chest (felt like his sternum was on the receiving end of a fast flurry of jabs and right hooks delivered by top heavyweight boxer), and that his lungs sucked at the atmosphere like a kid going after the last drop at the bottom of a fast-food milkshake cup, he turned and ran up a set of wooden steps, taking them two at a time, responding to “who knows what’s behind the front door of house number 1313.” This, a house whose tattered shingles and paintless wood siding were well past their expiration dates, was the source of the yelping and squalling and screeching.

A quick twist of a slightly-dented steel doorknob, worn slick after many years and many turns by greasy, dirty hands, revealed a visibly shaken Ms. Patty Cakes, a petite blonde wearing a black bathrobe and a fresh coat of gleaming fire-engine-red polish on the nails of each of her ten stubby toes.

“Hurry, over here!” she said, pointing to an open doorway with one hand, clutching the robe tightly to her chest with the other. “It’s in the basement.”

Well, the officer’s mama didn’t raise no fool. “Ma’am, what’s in the basement?” he asked before taking a single step toward the entrance to the bowels of the home.

“The body! The dead body! That’s what’s in the basement! I heard a loud crash, and … I don’t know …  I looked … and … he’s dead. And there’s blood, and a knife … and please, hurry! Come on, I’ll show you, but you’ll need a flashlight. The batteries in mine are as dead as he is. Maybe even deader.”

Officer Findem clicked on his light, placed a hand on the butt of his gun, stepped in front of the nervous woman who detected a pleasant hint of Old Spice as he passed, and headed down the creaky, wood plank steps.

“See, it’s there. Right there … by the furnace.  I told you, it’s a dead body!”

An hour later, Evelyn E. Dense (“Ev” for short), and her crackerjack team of crime scene techs were hard at work collecting and packaging blood samples, the murder weapon, and hairs and fibers. “Ev” E. Dense is good at what she does. The best in the business, actually.

Findem was confident that with Ev Dense’s assistance he’d soon have his man, or woman.

The Process

Finding clues (evidence) is important, sure, but the manner in which those items are packaged can sometimes make, or break, a case. Common sense tells us to not pour the contents of a half-full wine glass into a cardboard box, right? So what are the proper containers for the many kinds of evidence encountered by crime scene techs and detectives?

Well, for starters, here’s “Ev” E. Dense’s handy guide to collecting and packaging items found at crime scenes.

CSI Supervisor “Ev” E. Dense – Frog Hollow PD

Powders – clear plastic bags, paper (druggist folds), envelopes. Always separate by suspect, meaning don’t lump all things found at a scene in one package (powder found in Suspect A’s bedroom is packaged separately from the powder found in Suspect B’s bedroom).

Pills and tablets – clear plastic bags

Vegetation (weeds and other plant material retrieved from outdoor crime scene) – air dry and seal in paper container.

Plants – seal in paper container (bags, etc.) Never use plastic.

Needles and other sharps – always seal inside safety tubes with appropriate bio-hazard warning labels attached.

Urine – clean, leak-proof containers. Urine should be refrigerated, and may also be frozen.

Blood (liquid form)- vials containing appropriate anticoagulant. Refrigerate.

Blood-stains (dry) – collect sample using sterile swabs moistened with distilled water. Air dry and package (paper).

Blood-stained clothing – air-dry entire article, package in paper.

Wet evidence drying lockers

Blood-stained objects (guns, carpet, knives, furniture, etc) – deliver the entire object to the lab, if possible. For carpeting, isolate and remove stained area for transport and testing.

Seminal (semen) stains (dry) – collect sample using sterile swabs moistened with distilled water. Air dry and package (paper). For wet stains, collect using sterile swab and then air dry and package (paper). If needed, use alternate light source to detect seminal stains. For large items (mattresses, etc.), collect the entire piece and deliver to lab for testing.

Condoms – collect liquid using cotton swabs. Air dry both the swabs and entire condom. Package in paper.

Saliva – (dry) – collect sample using sterile swabs moistened with distilled water. Air dry and package (paper). For wet stains, collect using sterile swab and then air dry and package (paper). If needed, use alternate light source to detect seminal stains. For large items (mattresses, etc.), collect the entire piece and deliver to lab for testing. Cigarette butts, masks, chewing gum, etc., air dry and package in paper.

Fingernail area – swab between the nail and fingertip using sterile swab moistened with distilled water. Use separate swab for each hand. Package in paper and label appropriately (right hand and left).

Hairs and fibers – small boxes or paper (druggist fold). Do not bend hair. Do not mix samples.

Rope – preserve and protect cut ends for possible sharps identification. Plastic or paper container.

Ammunition (discharged) – package each piece separately (paper, such as envelopes, etc.).

Weapons – make each weapon safe, if possible (no ammunition, magazine removed, etc.). Package in cardboard box appropriately labeled “FIREARM,” etc.

*Plastic containers, such as Ziploc bags, can act as a mini-incubator, encouraging bacteria growth. Bacteria can decompose and/or destroy DNA.

*Policy and procedure may vary depending upon the individual department and/or lab.

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