5 Ways Officers Can Avoid the Dreaded Pucker Factor

Pucker Factor. Two simple words that, when spoken separately, have truly harmless meanings.

1. Pucker: a rounded shape by folding or wrinkling, such as puckering your lips.

2. Factor: an element contributing to a result.

However, when those two words are combined into a single phrase they take on a whole new meaning, a meaning that refers to the instant tightening of a particular southerly body part.

It’s odd, but when you consider the usual function of that persnickety body part, things like “early warning system,” “saving lives,” and “draw your weapon,” don’t normally come to mind. Actually, even in a puckered state one wouldn’t normally associate those things with that tiny muscle. Nope, not at all.

“Drawing” a service weapon

However, ask cops about their first reaction to the instant puckering of the factor muscle and they’ll probably mention drawing their service weapon, preparing to fight, or do whatever it took at that moment to stay alive, because danger was imminent.

Yes, the Pucker Factor is indeed a cop’s early warning system. It causes rapid heart rate, sweating and, hopefully, an immediate reflex action that causes the officer to revert to his/her training, because reasoning skills are greatly diminished during a Pucker Factor incident.

The “pucker factor” sometimes causes strange reactions.

For police officers, the Pucker Factor can be triggered by a number of events, usually all related to threats and a crisis at hand. For example, a traffic stop at night where the suspect reaches for a firearm in the glove compartment, or while searching a vacant building for a wanted person the crazed suspect pops out of a closet and charges the officer with knife in hand. Even a radio call directing an officer to the scene of a shots-fired call can bring on an onset of PF.

So what can an officer do to reduce the possibility of encountering PF-inducing situations? Here are 5 ways to decrease the dreaded PF’s.

1. Wear your seat belts, and SLOW DOWN! Losing control of a patrol car while responding to an in-progress call is one of the top causes of PF. Officers, remember the first time you “fishtailed” at 85mph? How about rounding a curve at 90 during a pursuit and meeting a car driving on the wrong side of the road?

Both 10’s on the PF 1-10 scale.

2. Never assume that people see your blue lights and heard the siren. This happens all the time—while running lights and siren to answer an emergency call, officers change lanes to pass a car and suddenly the vehicle in front drifts over into the passing lane to make a left turn. They didn’t have a clue the police car was there because the driver was (a) talking on a cell phone, (b) drunk, (c) daydreaming, (d) were playing their radio at peak volume and never looked in the rear-view mirror, etc. And, let’s not forget the person who slams on brakes when they realize a police car is behind them. PF score of 7.

3. Patience. Take the time to assess the possibilities that could occur during a traffic stop or while answering a call. Is the suspect wanted? Did you run the plates through to see if the car was stolen? Is the guy sitting on the couch agitated? On drugs? Why is he sweating profusely? Where are his hands? Run all the checks before diving into any situation!

You’re in a hurry because your shift ends in fifteen minutes, so you skip running the subject’s name through the system. Result? He’s wanted for armed robbery and decides killing you is better than going to prison. He pulls a gun from his waistband. PF score of 10.

4. Never operate on the assumption that each person encountered will do the right thing or obey your commands. Not everyone respects the badge and your authority. So keep your guard up and be prepared to use force every single time you respond to a call. That young woman in the mini-skirt, or the handsome man in the business suit? They can fight, shoot, stab, and cut as well as anyone.

The woman who catches you by surprise by pulling a gun from her purse while your firearm is still holstered … PF score 8. Stupid score = 10.

5. No ambush. No ambush. No ambush! Always plan an escape route!

You get a call at 3 am. It’s a “female needs assistance” call. She’s in an alley that has only one way in. You wave off backup and head in thinking it’s “only a girl.” Suddenly, a car pulls in behind you and shots are fired. The driver of the car that blocked you in the alley, the person who’s sending a barrage of 9mm rounds in your direction, is the young woman’s boyfriend, the cop-hater you arrested a year ago. He served nine months in the county jail and spent 8 of those months planning his revenge.

PF score 10.

Police officers are human and they, like most people, want to see the good in others. Unfortunately, that “good” is becoming more and more scarce with each passing day, while PF instances are constantly on the rise.

I guess the real trick to reducing pucker factor instances is using commonsense, not taking chances, reminding constantly aware of your surroundings, and attending regular training.

Remember officers (both real and fictional) – Always watch the hands!

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Extracting Nuclear DNA from Hair Shafts is a “Hairy” Situation

Law enforcement officers collect a variety of evidence at crime scenes, such as bullet fragments, weapons, narcotics, and fingerprints. In addition, police gather body fluids, skin cells, bones, and hairs, hoping that one or more of those substances will contain a suspect’s DNA.

But where, you might ask, is the DNA located? Well, it’s certainly not doing the backstroke in the pool of blood that leaked from a fallen victim of a gunshot. Instead, the DNA evidence sought by police—nuclear DNA—is contained within the nuclei of cells.

Cells, the Home of Nuclear DNA

All cells in our body are made up of a cell wall (cell membrane), cell fluid (cytoplasm) and a nucleus, with the exception of red blood cells and platelets. Since neither of latter two have a nucleus they do not contain DNA.

Nuclear DNA is made up of genetic material from our fathers and mothers. The nucleus of each cell contains a pair of chromosomes—, one from each parent.

Each cell typically contains 23 pairs of chromosomes, for a total of 46. Twenty-two of the pairs are called autosomes, and they look identical in both male and female humans. The 23rd pair are the sex chromosomes and they are distinctly different between males and females. Females have two copies of the X chromosome. Males have one X and one Y chromosome.

As evidence in criminal matters, DNA serves a dual purpose—identifying an individual as the source of the DNA found on an evidence item, or to exclude the individual as the contributor of the collected DNA evidence.

Now, we’ve briefly and generally discussed that DNA lives in cells, and those cells are where scientist go to retrieve the DNA needed for testing. And we know that DNA is readily found in body fluids, skin cells, bones, and for many years it was believed that testing hair for DNA was only possible if the bulb/root at the base of the hair shaft was intact. This was so because the keratinization process that creates the hair shaft during its growth often breaks down (lyses ) cell membranes.

DNA IS present, though, in hair shafts, but in small quantities. It’s quite short and fragmented, which is similar to DNA found in ancient remains. So yes, like testing DNA found remains of wooly mammoths and other beings and bits and bobs from long ago, it is possible to isolate nuclear DNA from rootless human hair samples.

In fact, to make this possible, a company called InnoGenomics uses a magnetic bead extraction system that’s specifically optimized for the process of capturing low-level, highly degraded DNA.

By combining InnoGenomics’ two DNA typing kits together—InnoXtract and InnoTyper 21 (IT21), the isolation and typing of nuclear DNA from rootless hair shafts is quite achievable. And, the process is compatible with Capillary Electrophoresis (CE) instruments, such as Promega’s Spectrum CE System.

So yes, crime writers, the heroes of your tales have a tool to add to their crimefighting toolboxes, because it is indeed possible to obtain nuclear DNA from hair shafts.

DNA Testing in General

The first step in the testing process is to extract DNA from the evidence sample. To do so, the scientist adds chemicals to the sample, a process that ruptures cells. When the cells open up DNA is released and is ready for examination.

Did you know it’s possible to see DNA with the naked eye? Well, you can, and at the bottom of this page you’ll learn how see the DNA that you, in your home kitchen, can extract DNA from split peas.

After DNA is extracted it’s then loaded into wells inside the genetic analyzer.

Scientist placing a well plate containing 96 individual wells into a genetic analyzer. Below right in photo is a closeup of a well plate.

Electric current separates the DNA, sending it from the wells through narrow straw-like tubes called capillaries. During its journey through the analyzer, DNA passes by a laser. The laser causes the DNA loci (a gene’s position on a chromosome) to fluoresce as they pass by, which allows a tiny camera to capture their images.

The image below shows DNA’s path from the wells through the capillaries past the laser.

new-picture-3.jpg

At the end of the testing, the equipment produces a graph/chart called an electropherogram, a chart/graph of peaks and valleys that precisely pinpoints where genes are located.

An allele is a term that describes a specific copy of a gene. Each allele occupies a specific region on the chromosome called a gene locus. A locus (loci, plural) is the location of a gene on a chromosome.

Peaks on the graph depict the amount of DNA strands at each location (loci). It is this unique pattern of peaks and valleys that scientists use to match or exclude suspects.

 

The image below, as ominous as it appears, is an electropheragram showing the DNA of a strawberry.

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Serial Killer Challenges DNA Results

*The following text regarding the appeal from serial killer Timothy W. Spencer, The Southside Strangler,” is from the US Court of Appeals for the Fourth Circuit. Spencer’s case was the first in the U.S. based on DNA evidence that resulted in the death penalty. I served as a witness to Spencer’s execution. Click here to read about my experience.

“Timothy W. Spencer, Petitioner-appellant, v. Edward W. Murray, Director, Respondent-appellee, 5 F.3d 758 (4th Cir. 1993)

US Court of Appeals for the Fourth Circuit – 5 F.3d 758 (4th Cir. 1993)Argued Oct. 28, 1992. Decided Sept. 16, 1993

J. Lloyd Snook, III, Snook & Haughey, Charlottesville, VA, argued (William T. Linka, Boatwright & Linka, Richmond, VA, on brief), for petitioner-appellant.

Donald Richard Curry, Sr. Asst. Atty. Gen., Richmond, VA (Mary Sue Terry, Atty. Gen. of Virginia, on brief), for respondent-appellee.

Before WIDENER, PHILLIPS, and WILLIAMS, Circuit Judges.

OPINION

WIDENER, Circuit Judge:

Timothy Wilson Spencer attacks a Virginia state court judgment sentencing him to death for the murder of Debbie Dudley Davis. We affirm.

The gruesome details of the murder of Debbie Davis can be found in the Supreme Court of Virginia’s opinion on direct review, Spencer v. Commonwealth, 238 Va. 295, 384 S.E.2d 785 (1989), cert. denied, 493 U.S. 1093, 110 S. Ct. 1171, 107 L. Ed. 2d 1073 (1990). For our purposes, a brief recitation will suffice. Miss Davis was murdered sometime between 9:00 p.m. on September 18, 1987 and 9:30 a.m. on September 19, 1987.

Miss Davis was murdered sometime between 9:00 p.m. on September 18, 1987 and 9:30 a.m. on September 19, 1987. The victim’s body was found on her bed by officers of the Richmond Bureau of Police. She had been strangled by the use of a sock and vacuum cleaner hose, which had been assembled into what the Virginia Court called a ligature and ratchet-type device. The medical examiner determined that the ligature had been twisted two or three times, and the cause of death was ligature strangulation. The pressure exerted was so great that, in addition to cutting into Miss Davis’s neck muscles, larynx, and voice box, it had caused blood congestion in her head and a hemorrhage in one of her eyes. In addition her nose and mouth were bruised. Miss Davis’s hands were bound by the use of shoestrings, which were attached to the ligature device. 384 S.E.2d at 789.

Semen stains were found on the victim’s bedclothes. The presence of spermatozoa also was found when rectal and vaginal swabs of the victim were taken. In addition, when the victim’s pubic hair was combed, two hairs were recovered that did not belong to the victim. 384 S.E.2d at 789. The two hairs later were determined through forensic analysis to be “consistent with” Spencer’s underarm hair. 384 S.E.2d at 789. Further forensic analysis was completed on the semen stains on the victim’s bedclothes. The analysis revealed that the stains had been deposited by a secretor whose blood characteristics matched a group comprised of approximately thirteen percent of the population. Spencer’s blood and saliva samples revealed that he is a member of that group. 384 S.E.2d at 789.

Next, a sample of Spencer’s blood and the semen collected from the bedclothes were subjected to DNA analysis. The results of the DNA analysis, performed by Lifecodes Corporation, a private laboratory, established that the DNA molecules extracted from Spencer’s blood matched the DNA molecules extracted from the semen stains. Spencer is a black male, and the evidence adduced at trial showed that the statistical likelihood of finding duplication of Spencer’s particular DNA pattern in the population of members of the black race who live in North America is one in 705,000,000 (seven hundred five million). In addition, the evidence also showed that the number of black males living in North America was approximately 10,000,000 (ten million). 384 S.E.2d at 790.”

How You Can Easily Extract DNA From Split Peas!

Easy “pea-sy” DNA extraction

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Jimmy Bob “Peanut” Lawson: Button-Zinging At The Local Piggly Wiggly

Cap’n Rufus “Tater” Jenkins of the Cornsqueezins’ County Sheriff’s Office had a long night answering call after call—he-saids, she-saids, chasing a half-nekkid Peeping Tom through back yards and alleys, wrestlin’ with a couple of drunks whose scuffle started over who got the last swig from a bottle of Strawberry Hill, kids spray-painting stop signs, and the guy who insisted he was Jesus and attempted to prove it by damning Tater to hell a few dozen times after he refused to give the man ten dollars for a hamburger he promised to repay on Tuesday.

Cap’n Rufus “Tater” Jenkins

Yep, a looonnnggg night and it was only half over when Jimmy Bob “Peanut” Lawson, Jr. decided to join forces with his good friend Jack Daniels to blacken both his wife’s eyes.

Well, Erlene, the wife, wasn’t about to stand for that nonsense so she poked ‘ol Peanut in the gut a couple of times with a dull kitchen knife. Didn’t break the skin, much, mind you, but the act was just enough to send Peanut off the deep end. Oh, he was plenty mad about it, a yellin’ and screamin’ and a stompin’ his Doc Martens across the linoleum, and kicking at Porkchop, the family’s adopted and long ago retired police dog. But Porkchop, having been to this freak show one too many times in the past, was a nervous wreck and knew to stay six or seven dog-dish-lengths away from his master’s size twelves.

Porkchop, having seen his better days, religiously adheres to the seven dog-dish rule of thumb.

After about ten minutes of plate, bowl, and pot-and-pan-throwing, one of the kids, a snot-nosed, freckle-faced boy, aptly named Junior Lawson, Jr., of around ten or so years of age, picked up the cordless and punched the speed dial button for 911.

So Cap’n Rufus Jenkins showed up with lights and siren blazing and blaring to all get out. And Peanut, a Friday night regular, met him in the dirt and weed-infested driveway leading to the rusty single-wide, huffing and puffing like an old-time, coal-fired locomotive engine. In each hand, a backyard chicken he’d been choking in preparation of the Sunday noon meal.

Peanut is well-known in his town as a backyard chicken-choker.

Now here’s where things could get a little dicey. So it’s best to run down the checklist before diving right in. You know, size him up. Is Peanut armed this time? Is he really going to attack? Or, is all that chest-thumping and Tarzan-yelling just a show for the neighbors? Well, Cap’n Jenkins better find out in a hurry because Peanut’s starting to spin like the Tasmanian Devil.

So how can police tell if this guy means business, or not?  Well, there are a few telltale signs that could help evaluate the situation since weapons and other items that are capable of puncturing your flesh, bones, and organs should be your first concern.

Here are some common indicators that Peanut, or the cousin visiting from the big city who’s standing off to the side of the trailer, is carrying a hidden gun or knife. Some are obvious, while others … not so much.

The first is a clear indicator.

Cousin Jimmy Buck from Swamp Holler, West Virginia

Signs the Suspect May Be Carrying a Weapon

1. It’s 97 degrees outside and Peanut, standing smack-dab in the center of the intersection at 9th and Main, is wearing his heavily-insulated, knee-length, blood-stained orange hunting coat. Yes, Einstein, he’s probably wearing it to hide a sawed-off shotgun, the one Daddy gave him for Christmas when he was three.

2. The tail of his flannel shirt is out, but one side is riding higher than the other. A great sign that he’s wearing a weapon on the “high side.”

3. Even wearing a shirt tail on the outside is a sign that he might be carrying a weapon. Unfortunately, it’s also a sign known to bad guys, which means they might recognize you as an undercover officer.

Signs that Peanut is about to attempt to stomp your butt into a mudhole

1. For some unknown reason, many offenders/would-be attackers seem to feel the need to rip off their shirts prior to delivering the first blow. So, when a drunk starts ripping cloth and zinging buttons across the Piggly Wiggly parking lot, well, that might be a good time to reach for the pepper spray because he’s subtly announced his intentions.

The standard shirt-ripping ritual is usually accompanied by lots of top-of-the-lung screaming and yelling, especially nasty comments about your wife and mother. Nasty comments about the family dog are optional.

They sometimes decide to rip off their shirts before engaging in battle. Other times, if the mood to fight strikes ’em just right, they’ll throw punches while wearing nothing but …

2. Another clue that a “Peanut” is about “go for it” is when he starts glancing at a particular spot on your body, like your throat, stomach, or even a knee. Instantly, you should go on alert for a possible strike to that area because the subject is announcing his intentions and he’s ready to pounce. Watch the eyes, for sure, but more importantly watch the hands.

3. “Peanut” constantly glances to a spot behind you, or to a place off to your right just out of your line of sight. Watch out, because his partner may be approaching for a rear ambush. And, his partner just might be Mrs. “Peanut.” Yes, even though her “loving husband” had just moments ago beat the ever-loving snot out of her she’ll often defend her man until the bitter end. Unfortunately, the end sometimes results in a funeral.

These quick glances are also good indicators that the subject has a hidden weapon nearby. For example, you’ve stopped good old “Peanut” for drunk driving and he’s constantly glancing toward the glove compartment. Well, there’s a good chance that a weapon or other illegal items are concealed there.

Eyes. WATCH. THE. EYES.

The Spud family

4. The Lights Are On But Nobody’s Home – You arrive on scene and you approach Peanut, who is standing still, staring off into space. His jaw is clenched and he’s sweating profusely, even though you’re both standing in two feet of freshly-fallen New England snow (New England snow, to me, is the coldest snow on the planet). He doesn’t respond to you in any way, but you see the anger rising—face growing redder by the second, veins poking out on his forehead, eyes bulging. Yeah, you get the idea. Believe me, it is time to take a step back and start pulling every tool you’ve got on your duty belt because this guy’s getting ready to blow. Silence is definitely not golden in this case.

5. Peanut might be a “I’m not going to look at you” kind of personality. This is another indicator that an assault may be on the way. If he’s staring at place on the ground, refusing to listen and obey your verbal commands, then be prepared for an attack. At the very least, be prepared for a battle when the time comes to snap on the cuffs.

I guess a good rule of thumb is to always assume the worst, hope for the best. Sometimes , though, Mrs. Peanut becomes fed up with her abusive husband.

 

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A Police K-9 Offers 8 Tips To Handlers

I’m currently working an extremely dangerous undercover assignment in a massive dog-fighting ring, but I’ve blown my cover to speak with you today about a very important subject—K-9 handlers.

Please feel free to call me “Dawg.” Not my real name, of course. But I’ll answer to it, especially if there’s a treat or my favorite toy in your hand.

I’ve risked exposing my true ID because, well, sometimes you guys, dog handlers and civilian pet owners, don’t use your heads. I’m not saying you’re stupid. Although, it’s no secret who’s on the “smart end” of the leash. The instructor at the state police academy who trained the guy writing this blog stressed that fact every single day for 16 long and grueling weeks. “Your dog is on the smart end of the leash, troopers. Let the dog lead the way,” he’d say. That was one intelligent state police lieutenant.

He’s right, you don’t think before you act and you thinking you know it all causes us, the K-9s, to look dumb. Let. Us. Do. Our. Jobs. We’re really good at what we do.

Another thing. Seriously, you think it’s okay to leave us in the car while you’re outside standing in the shade yucking it up with your buddies? We enjoy a good joke too. Besides, the grass feels wonderful on our feet. And don’t think I can’t smell the burgers and fries on your breath when you get back inside the bucket of bolts you so proudly call a police car. Nearly an hour inside Mickie D’s …. puhleeze …

And, remember that traffic stop last week? Yeah, you know the one. I know you only issued her a warning. But I’m not stupid. I get it. She batted her eyelashes at you and she smelled like jasmine. What I don’t understand, though, is why you didn’t you introduce me to the poodle riding shotgun. You know I’m a sucker for curly hair. Life is not all about you and your shiny badge and big gun, you know.

Anyway, our union, Police Dogs 101, recently elected me to serve as official spokesdog, so I’m here today to address a few of our concerns in advance of the upcoming contract renewal. It wouldn’t hurt private citizens to pull up a chair and listen as well. So here goes.  I suggest you take notes.

1. We notice that you wear shoes to work every single day of your life. And we know why. Oh, boy, do we know why! Snow and ice are COLD. Concrete and asphalt are HOT. And, for goodness sake, would you walk barefoot over broken glass? Well, no one, including dogs, should be forced to walk on those surfaces. So take your narrow hips to the store and buy us some booties! They make and sell them every day. We don’t mind looking goofy if it means protection against frostbite, blisters, or cuts. Use your head, you Sherlock wannabe.

2. We enjoy biting a bad guy as much as any dog, but our internal temperatures can skyrocket while tracking and searching on really hot days. That’s right, Ace, you try wearing a thick fur coat in the August sunshine. So keep one of those thermometer things in your pocket. No, we don’t enjoy it when you poke them into the place where the sun doesn’t shine, but it’s better than keeling over from heat exhaustion. We’d do it ourselves, but … no fingers, you know.

3. Another good idea, and goodness knows you’d never think of it, is to wet us down before a search on hot days. It helps keep us cool. But, please, not when the humidity is really high, because the water in those instances would only serve to hold the heat in.

4. Bring plenty of water with you if the search is going to be a long one. We don’t like drinking from mud puddles and creeks. Do you know what’s been there? Well, we do, and it’s not exactly the most sanitary thing to do. Would you drink from something that turtles and frogs use as a toilet? I didn’t think so. And let’s not even think about all the mosquito larvae swimming and squirming around in those places. Gives me goosebumps just thinking about it. Do us both a favor and bring along clean water!

Speaking of water … how about changing the water in my bucket a few times during the day (the containerl in my kennel)? You know me, I drool in it, and even sometimes step in it to cool my hot feet (and you know where my feet have been). Besides, I don’t like tasting the green slimy stuff that can build up in the bowl/bucket if the water sits for a long time.

5. If you do insist upon leaving me in the car while you’re off doing who knows what (probably biting someone behind my back), then please have the decency to leave the car and air conditioning running. Also, have the motor pool mechanics install an alarm that notifies you if either of the two malfunctions or shuts off. Remember, I don’t have fingers to operate the power locks and those window roller-downer-things.

6. Shade. I can’t stress this enough. We want our kennels placed in the shade. If your yard is treeless (heaven forbid) then march your butt down to the hardware store and purchase a roll or two of shade cloth to place over the top of our kennels. It’s an easy project. We’ll even help, if you want.  If so, merely place the roll near us and I promise we’ll have it unrolled and divided into bite-size pieces in no time flat. Now that’s what we call fun.

7. Speaking of fun … we demand a few hours of play time each day. You cannot expect us to work every minute. Throw something for us to retrieve. Hide something and let us find it. Let us roll around in the dirt, etc. Tug of war with a rope or our favorite toy. Anything like that will suffice. Besides, it helps to keep us fit.

My friend Ralph (below), poor guy, has a handler who never allows him any exercise time at all. Take a good look, because you’ve been a bit slack lately and I’m now about five tennis ball throws away from looking like him.

K-9 Ralph

 

8. And whatever you do, please don’t forget to tell us what a great job we’re doing. We absolutely adore praise for a job well done. Also, a little loving goes a long way.

Don’t go getting all mushy on me, though. A pat on the head and back and an occasional hug is all we’re asking. You can save the kisses for your spouses. Besides, you have more germs in your mouth than I do, and I’ve been known to chew on some pretty nasty stuff.

Okay, that’s it for now. We look forward to your response in advance of our next meeting.

By the way, if you happen to see that poodle again, tell her to give me a call.

 

 

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Day One – 2022 Writers’ Police Academy at the Fox Cities Exhibition Center

Upon arrival at the Fox Cities Exhibition Center in Appleton, Wisconsin, one of three fabulous venues for the 2022 Writers’ Police Academy, Denene and I were immediately greeted by Mike Videc, the man in charge of the facility’s operations. Mike, from that moment forward, was my go-to person for everything. He made certain that ALL our needs were met. He and I exchanged early morning texts at 5 a.m. to discuss plans for the day—room setups, times to

Mike Videc, the nam in charge of the Fox Cities Exhibition Center in Appleton, WI

Mike Videc

switch on the menagerie of escalators and elevators, lighting, etc. We exchanged texts again late night ,after midnight, to see if scheduling had changed for the following day. He was on top of his job, and mine, every minute we were there. If we needed something, Mike handled it, and he did so with a smile on his face. His was the first face we saw when we arrived, and it was the last we saw as we departed Appleton.

Mike Videc is a fan of mystery novels. He’s particularly fond of Lee Child’s Jack Reacher books (a huge fan, actually). And, after helping with the event and meeting so many authors who were new to him, well, Mike is now working his way through numerous books he purchased at the Writers’ Police Academy bookstore. He also won several at the raffle. He thoroughly enjoyed meeting attendees of the event, and I’m extremely pleased to have a new and very good friend.

Many of you now have a new fan.

Speaking of Lee Child, here’s how you can join Lee on the set of the hit TV show REACHER!

Click here for details.

Our first official WPA business was a pre-conference meeting with hotel staff who, by the way, rolled out the red carpet to welcome the Writers’ Police Academy to the hotel. The pre-con meeting was attended by sales and event managers, reservations manager, setup managers and staff, hotel security chief, banquet managers, the chef, Mike Videc, and another Mike, the outstanding A/V tech who also made himself readily available from morning to night, and others. And, of course, Denene and I attended. We discussed every detail of the event and what we expected during our stay, and they took the time to explain their roles and how they’d fit into our plan. The meeting went well and those folks certainly didn’t disappoint. The executions of their plans were flawless. I don’t believe we’ve had a better hotel experience in all our years of producing and operating the Writers’ Police Academy.

So, day one of the WPA …

Thursday

Attendees who stayed at the event hotel, Hilton Appleton Paper Valley received a free buffet breakfast each day in a private Salon reserved for the WPA.

12 noon – 4 p.m. 

For four hours, attendees were treated to a large indoor display of various emergency vehicles—firetruck, ambulance, CSI, patrol car, SWAT drones, and more. Also available were tools and equipment used by different agencies, experts for Q&A and demos, K-9, SWAT, Suicide Awareness and Prevention experts, to name only a few. This was a phenomenal portion of the event.

Here’s a brief video I recorded while the various agencies were arriving to set up their equipment and displays.

 

The video and photos below feature a few of the indoor displays and demos.

Displays and demos at the 2022 Writers' Police Academy

Displays and demos

 

Displays and demos at the 2022 Writers' Police Academy

Displays and demos

 

Displays and demos at the 2022 Writers' Police academy

Displays and demos

 

2:00 p.m. to 5:30 p.m.

Registration/check-in

The check-in process was as smooth as a newborn baby’s bottom. Only one tiny mistake (mine). I misspelled someone’s last name on a name tag. But that was it. The only issue.

Also, Jason Weber, the public safety training director, was present to handout continuing education certificates to WPA attendees who’d signed up to receive those valuable credits. I must say, it’s a nice (free) bonus to receive con. ed. credit simply for attending the Writers’ Police Academy.

8:00 p.m.

MONSTER

After enjoying the cash bar and chatting with both old and new friends, a brief event orientation, and a first glimpse of the display of raffle and auction items (more about these exciting  items in the next post), WPA attendees were treated to a presentation by Anne E. Swartz, the former Milwaukee Journal newspaper reporter who broke the story of serial killer Jeffrey Dahmer and wrote the book, “The Man Who Could Not Kill Enough: The Story of Milwaukee’s Jeffrey Dahmer.” Anne and the reporting team were nominated for a Pulitzer Prize.

Anne’s latest book about Dahmer, MONSTER, was also the title of her enthralling presentation.

Anne E. Schwartz presents "MONSTER"

Anne E. Schwartz

The evening wrapped up with Anne signing books for the crowd. Believe me, the line of people waiting to have their copies signed was quite long.

At the conclusion of Anne’s presentation, Mike Videc immediately went to work preparing the venue for the next day. When he was done he secured our things, locked the doors, cut the power to the escalators and elevators, and then switched off the lights before heading home. A few minutes later, just after midnight, he and I were chatting via texts to discuss plans and setups for the next evening.

I then had four hours to sleep, shower, dress, have a very quick breakfast, make sure the buses were on the way to the hotel to transport everyone to the public safety academy for the start of classes and hands-on sessions, contact Jason Weber at the academy to make certain they were ready with the live-action scenario that was to begin precisely at 8 a.m., herd everyone to the buses and check to be sure no one was left behind, and then drive to the public safety academy, a 25 minute trip. And … everything kicked off as planned and on time. Of course, at 5 a.m., Mike and I had already exchanged a couple of last minute “do you need anything, no, we’re good” texts.

Next up … Friday, the first day of sessions at the public safety academy.

Writers’ Police Academy Online’s Next Class

Behavioral Clues at Crime Scenes

June 25, 2022

11:00-12:30 p.m. EST

A fascinating live, online seminar taught by Dr. Katherine Ramsland. Session covers staging, profiling, character development, and more!

Dr. Katherine Ramsland teaches forensic psychology at DeSales University in Pennsylvania, where she is the Assistant Provost. She has appeared on more than 200 Dr. Katherine Ramslandcrime documentaries and magazine shows, is an executive producer of Murder House Flip, and has consulted for CSI, Bones, and The Alienist. The author of more than 1,500 articles and 69 books, including The Forensic Science of CSI, The Forensic Psychology of Criminal Minds, How to Catch a Killer, The Psychology of Death Investigations, and Confession of a Serial Killer: The Untold Story of Dennis Rader, The BTK Killer, she was co-executive producer for the Wolf Entertainment/A&E documentary based on the years she spent talking with Rader. Dr. Ramsland consults on death investigations, pens a blog for Psychology Today, and is writing a fiction series based on a female forensic psychologist.

Registration for this class is OPEN.

Click here to sign up.

 

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My Long and Winding Journey to the 2022 Writers’ Police Academy … and SpongeBob

The final two weeks of preparation for the annual Writers’ Police Academy passed by quickly, but eerily. I say it was eerie because there wasn’t a speck of trouble or problems. Well, other than presenters who backed out at the last minute. Fortunately, we filled those spots quickly, with fantastic speakers. In fact, we filled the spots almost as fast as the short time it takes to read this paragraph.

During that fortnight of preparation, Denene and I were busy designing and printing name tags and banquet meal tickets, creating spreadsheets for everything we could imagine, days of plotting and planning individual attendee schedules, devising backup plans in case the sunny weather forecast morphed into a rain-soaked weekend which would have grounded the helicopter, drenched the emergency vehicle driving track, and caused the K-9s to smell like, well, wet dogs.

But we were blessed with sunny skies and mild temperatures throughout the event.

Since we had a mountain of luggage, and boxes and bags full of WPA “stuff”, which was far too much to ship, Denene and I opted to drive to Wisconsin. A 16-hour trip, one way.

When it came time to load our vehicle, well, I felt like I was the tall green fellow in Whoville who was delivering a colossal bag filled to the brim with toys and floof to the Who girls and boys.

So many packages filled with snoof and tringlers and fuzzles; pantookas, dafflers and wuzzles. We had everything we could think of that we might need. Everything but the roast beast, which the event hotel assured me there’d be plenty of for everyone at the Saturday night banquet.

The day before we left home, we made a dry run to make certain the menagerie of cartons and cases fit into our vehicle and still leave room for two human passengers. And, after twisting, turning, shoving, and me grunting and groaning and spewing a long line of words that I didn’t know were in my vocabulary, I stood back to look at the result. What I’d created was a masterpiece. A work of art. Every bit and bob fit together into a giant, perfectly and tightly formed Jenga puzzle. Had one box slipped from its spot I believe the vehicle would have exploded.

The problem then was that I had to unload everything so we could fill the empty suitcases with enough clothing for ten days, stuff the empty boxes with registration goodies and other vital information, etc. Oh, I almost forgot the cooler. I couldn’t leave home without Coke Zero, bottled water, Cheerios, almond milk, gluten free bread and peanut butter, and jalapeno Cheetos (my crack)—the staples for a long road trip.

Denene knows me well; therefore, she knew it was likely I’d not remember how to accurately recreate the complex Jenga puzzle and, being a bulldozer in a china shop, end up destroying something when using my foot to stomp the &*$% out of the final box that refused to fit into its (im)proper place. Therefore, before unloading everything, Denene took photos to aid with re-packing. She’s a good wife who knows how to keep my blood pressure at a level that doesn’t send my brain jetting into orbit.

I drive a large pickup truck, a 2022 Chevrolet Silverado High Country. Hey, I’m a big guy who needs big space and comfort. Plus, we plan to do the obligatory retirement activity of using the truck to tow a travel trailer/5th wheel when heading south to visit family. Rick McMahan, one of WPA’s longtime core instructors and our good friend, said my truck was the size of a boat.

So, with our bags packed and truck loaded to the gills, we were ready to go. I filled up with gas ($4.49 per gallon) and off we went, with Steppenwolf’s “Born to be Wild” pumping from the speakers and the woman inside the dashboard telling me to drive X number of miles and to turn here and there, slow down, a speed trap is ahead, make a U-turn, do this, and don’t do that. My truck was also very talkative and pushy, ringing bells that warned me to slow down for school crossings, exceeding the speed limit (this one clanged more than once), alerting me to other cars that were too close to me on either side, and so on and on and on.

The next stop was for, well, you know, and to again fill up with gas—$4.69 per gallon. We consumed a peanut butter sandwich at this stop, and then we were off, in search of a hotel for the night.

We’d already traveled through four states, and it was quite late, past the hour of “nothing good happens at that time of night,” when we started our scan for roadside hotel signs. Finally, on that very dark desert highway, up ahead in the distance I saw a shimmering light. My eyelids had grown heavy, my sight dim. Yes, we’d found a hotel, and it was one in. chain that might rhyme with Killton. Relief at last.

However, we soon discovered we’d made an awful mistake in judgement when choosing this hotel. I promise, our experience there is not indicative of this chain’s properties, but I must share with you the tale of this overnight hell.

After exiting the main road I pulled beneath the covered drive at the front door of the sleeping establishment. This being the only hotel we’d seen for miles and miles it, I hoped it was an oasis where we’d get some much-needed rest.

When the automatic front doors parted I was greeted by an odor like I’d not experienced before. Not quite terrible, but slightly offensive. My senses told me to turn around, but the need for sleep pushed me inside. Still, there was a nagging feeling that we’d stepped inside “Motel Hell,” the fictional hotel from the 1980 comedy horror film of the same name. In the movie, the hotel is run by Vincent Smith, a farmer, butcher, and motel manager who traps travelers and harvests them for his popular smoked sausages made of human flesh. I wondered about the off-putting scent pouring into my nostrils and immediately scanned the area for homemade sausages.

The desk clerk at our hotel (not Motel Hell, but close) was a man who looked young enough to be fresh out of high school. When I approached the counter, I saw him seated at a desk in a backroom, in full view of the front counter, intently watching a video. He didn’t hear me come in. I called out to him a few times before I got his attention. He finally walked to the counter at the pace of a snail who’d overdosed on tranquilizers.

When this slender, frail person finally made it to the front desk he simply stood there. His thick round glasses made his eyes appear to be the size of marbles. When it became clear that he had no intention of speaking I asked if he had a room available for the night. He nodded once but still did not say a word.

The odd guy, still without speaking, handed me a paper with spaces highlighted in purple. Being the detective that I am I figured out that two spaces required my initials and the third a signature. Then he spoke. “I need your ID and credit card,” he said. His voice was quiet and tranquil, like the voice a parent uses when trying to convince a baby to sleep.

Well, the computer system wasn’t working so he completed the transaction by hand, old school style. As he handed me the card key he said in his unique snoozy tone, “There’s a problem with the hot water.”

Me – “We WILL have hot for showers, RIGHT?”

The pasty man with fingers barely larger than spaghetti noodles (the tiniest fingers I’ve ever seen other than those of a infant) didn’t reply. Instead, he very slowly shrugged his shoulders, and by slow, I mean it took him 7 full seconds to raise and lower his shoulders.

So, I asked again. Another slow shrug of his shoulders.

Ordinarily this would have been my final clue to head out the door and move on to another hotel. But we were in the middle of Stretch of Nowhere, Ohio. Population … one guy who works at the only hotel for miles and miles. And we were exhausted.

So, I grabbed a luggage cart and began the laborious process of unloading the Jenga puzzle in reverse order for transfer to the hotel wagon. Once it was loaded to above my eye level with cartons and cases bulging from all sides, I then leaned into the task of pushing the grossly overloaded trolley toward our room, straining my legs and back along the way. The cart, by the way, was so heavily laden the excessive weight caused its well-worn wheels to moan like a wounded animal while digging deeply into the cheap, stained carpeting in the hallway.

I opened the door to the room and the yucky odor inside was even more pronounced than the funk permeating the air in the lobby and corridor. The source of the stink, we believed, was a large sofa cushion sized area of black mold on the bathroom ceiling. The drapes were badly torn and couldn’t be closed on their own. Denene creatively pinned them shut using the metal clips on the in-room clothes hangers. Then she, being an astute microbiologist and immunologist, broke out a package of alcohol wipes and proceeded to disinfect every reachable surface in the room. The only thing in the room that was clean and fresh smelling was the bedding (we tossed the comforter and used only the sheets).

The a/c barely worked, and when it did it rattled like someone emptying metal garbage cans into a refuse truck.

The hotel was like one you’d see in a low budget film featuring crack dealers and prostitutes.

Somehow, we made it through the rest of night without being attacked by bedbugs, roaches, rats, or drug dealers and prostitutes. But the next morning, as I feared … NO HOT WATER. Not a drop. It was like showering in ice water. What I didn’t foresee was the power outage that occurred when I stepped from the shower. It was 80 degrees outside, and it didn’t take long for the heat to rush into the room once the ailing a/c unit wheezed its last breath.

I repacked the Jenga game into the truck, using the photo as a guide, and then filled up with gas—$4.89 per gallon.

The rest of Ohio was uneventful, but the further we traveled the higher the price of gas. The next stop it was $5.59 per gallon.

We spent the night in Wisconsin, in town that’s been in the news quite a bit during the past couple of years. That’s not why we stayed there, though. We picked it because there was a variety of hotels and restaurants. We struck gold this time because the hotel was quite pleasant as was the food. And gas prices were heading down—$4.59.

The next day was a shorter drive and in just under three hours we pulled into the rear private parking lot of the impressive Fox Cities Exhibition Center in Appleton, WI, the location of the nighttime activities of the 2022 Writers’ Police Academy.

The Fox Cities Exhibition Center is attached to the Hilton Paper Valley Hotel, our official event hotel).

The 2022 WPA was a fantastic event, one of the best we’ve produced to date.

Of course, there was the one night during our stay when the local police were called by hotel security to assist with booting the gaggle of loud and rowdy underage alcohol-consuming partiers from the room next to ours. I learned the next day that the mother of one of the teens rented the room as a graduation present. And, as teens do, they invited all their friends over, also under legal drinking age, to yell, scream, squeal, shriek, giggle, bang on walls, stomp on floors, and play music at ZZ Top concert levels.

Security visited the room twice to ask the group to hold down the noise. I heard the security officer say, “This is your final warning.” He was soft-spoken, yet firm, and he was built like a small tank. He had the widest shoulders I’ve ever seen on a real person. It looked like he’d inserted a six-foot 2×4 inside his suit jacket, lengthwise across the tops of his shoulders.

Think of a torso shaped like Spongebob, with a human head on top and arms and legs protruding from their appropriate locations. A waist length braided ponytail, and a small black hoop ring inserted through one eyebrow. This guy is tailor made to be a character in a novel.

After the final warning and with the party still in full swing, SpongeBob’s patience was a thing of the past, as was mine (we had to get up a 5 a.m. and by this time it was after two. He called the police to assist with the eviction.

Yes, there’s nothing like a booming “cop knock” on a metal door in the wee hours of the night/morning, followed by the gentle sound of a police officer’s timid voice when he shouted, “POLICE! OPEN. THE. DOOR. NOW!” Then, “PACK. YOUR. STUFF. AND. GET. OUT!”

Mom was not happy when she was roused from her sleep with a call to come pick up her daughter who’d been evicted from the hotel and was currently standing on the sidewalk outside the hotel.

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