by Lou Reiter
The mayor was devastated over the loss of two of her officers. G had been her friend for nearly ten years and had worked on both her campaigns. She hadn’t known Betsy, but she seemed delightful and G was so happy in her relationship with this partner. Chief Connor gave a brief resume of his law enforcement experience and said how much he was enjoying Addisonville. He commented his wife had moved to be with him just the week before the tragedy.
“Connor. Alabama, huh?”
“No relation.”
“Wasn’t even going to ask that one. I was going to ask how you were getting along with the officers here in Wisconsin. A long way from Alabama, and quite different than working in a blue state.”
Craig laughed out loud. “Between the unions, alternative lifestyles, and jokes about my Southern accent, it’s been quite a trip, but a good one.”
“Sheriff Biggs said he didn’t know anything about the restraining order G and Betsy took out.”
Mayor Grants and Craig glanced at each other and Craig strongly stated, “That’s a boldfaced lie! He and I talked ‘bout it. He refused to facilitate service of the order. I had a long talk with G and Bits ‘bout that. I told them we would give them protection at their home. I ordered all on-duty units to swing by their place each shift. Quite frankly, I was worried.”
“The units log those swing-bys, boss?”
Craig pondered the question. “Don’t recall seeing any comments in the logs or the CAD reports, Taylor. That a problem?”
“Might be.”
The situation could be a problem if G and Betsy’s union was considered a “special relationship.” In law enforcement, a special relationship can be shown if the police promise to protect someone.
But, there has to be more involved. The person promised protection must rely on that belief, act consistently with the belief they will be protected, not take any action that they might otherwise take if not given that belief, and then suffer harm. Thus, it might be a problem for Addisonville. Taylor elected to forego delving into that scenario right now.
“I heard Officer McKnight might have been a little precocious. Not sure how to phrase it, though,” Taylor commented and nervously glanced at Mayor Grants. She didn’t seem to respond to the comment in any particular way.
“I heard rumors since the deaths. Nothing before that, though,” Mayor Grants admitted. “I heard the sergeant might have used her sexuality more than once in her life. That’s no excuse for getting murdered, Mr. Sterling.”
“I agree, but it’s something that might have to be addressed down the road. How’s the city looking at their deaths?”
Taylor could see neither Mayor Grants nor Chief Connor knew what he was asking. “Is Addisonville considering their deaths as work related?”
“You know, I’ve never thought of that one way or another,” Craig commented. “What are the options?”
“Well, if the deaths are classified as work related, they fall into the Workers’ Comp arena, which doesn’t have much bearing in this case since they’ve both passed on, got no spouse, or any children. Parents may not come into the picture on the state level, but could become involved as administrators of each woman’s estate. As slain police officers, their families, including their folks, might benefit from the federal program that pays around $250,000 if their deaths were classified as duty connected. That’s probably a stretch, though. If determined to be regular crime victims, that amount would be much less and would depend on what program Wisconsin has in place.
“Another unanswered question—will this be considered a hate crime? Then there’s the aspect that the case could fall under Section 1983 of the federal statutes and might be civilly litigated as a gender or race related incident. Now, with all this being between employees of each agency, someone might look closely at what the chief or sheriff did or did not do. Under the federal law, or Section 1983, it would have to be proved that one or the other was deliberately indifferent to the obvious needs surrounding the developing situation. Some define that as just not giving a damn. That might be a viable claim for both the chief and sheriff.”
“Chief,” Taylor continued, “does your agency have a written policy concerning domestic related issues when it involves police employees?”
“Well, we have an extensive policy for handling domestic violence incidents. That what you mean?”
“Not really, boss. When you focus everything solely on the criminal aspect of domestic situations, you miss the majority of stuff that gets officers and other public employees into trouble. I’m talking about things like workplace violence, handling duty assignments, misuse of criminal data terminals, downgrading actual domestic violence related calls so the cop doesn’t get in trouble, or perhaps grabbing the officer’s guns. A good written policy can bring out things that can have a real time-out impact on the turmoil. Kind of like an official ceasefire so the situation doesn’t escalate.”
“Well, I guess we don’t then. I gather you think we should. Any suggestions?”
“I’ll e-mail you sample policies tonight. Take a look at them and see what fits.”
Taylor left the two with his thoughts. He spent the next day at the library looking at old news accounts. Wisconsin had a very accessible court database that he could easily check with his computer.
Betsy McKnight had numerous entries in her file. When she was only 13, she had a sexual affair with her swim coach who was 18 years old. It forced him onto the sex registry after he pled guilty to statutory rape.
Two years later, Betsy was sexually involved with her high school English teacher. He also ended up as a registered sex offender. At the tender age of 16, Betsy ran off with the 17-year-old boy next door. They lied about their ages, and were married in Michigan. Their parents had the marriage quickly annulled.
The firearms instructor at the police academy who had the affair with Betsy received a 30-day suspension from the college, was terminated from his position at both the academy and police department, and news reports indicated his wife had filed for a divorce.
So what? Does any of this have bearing on what the insurance pool or anyone should consider? Maybe nothing should be noted, Taylor thought.
Taylor had a lot to think about.
During Taylor’s search of the court filings, he came across the protective order G and Betsy had received. There was an indication that Midtown Investigative Services had attempted the service several times.
“Mack, Midtown Investigations,” the gruff voice answered when Taylor placed a call to the agency.
“Mack, Taylor Sterling here. I’m working with WORM. Know them?”
“WORM! Got’s to have more than that, buddy.”
“It’s the insurance pool that handles the claims for many of the law enforcement agencies in Wisconsin.”
“Oh, that group. You betchum!”
Taylor smiled. He finally got someone to use the classic Wisconsin phrase. He laughed to himself, and then explained what he was doing and what he hoped Mack could provide for him.
“Oh, yeah. Nice ladies. I was shocked, really shocked, when that piece of shit took ‘em out. He and that asshole sheriff should pay. If they’d let me serve that order, maybe this whole thing wouldn’t have happened. Know what I mean? Huh? Huh?”
Mack told Taylor all he had attempted to try to serve the order. He had even asked a friend who knew someone who knew Sheriff Biggs personally to contact him. Nothing. After a couple visits to the SO, the desk officer wouldn’t even let him in. Mack told Taylor that once he ran into a guy called Deputy Carl in a local bar and asked him about Lt. Hansen and the sheriff. The deputy said he would try to give Mack something to work on, or at least find out when the lieutenant would be available. Mack thought the deputy might follow up since he had gone on and on about how worthless the lieutenant and sheriff were. But after two weeks with no response, Mack admitted to the ladies that he had failed. They thanked him and said they would try to handle it another way.
Taylor arranged to mee
t Torg for dinner that night. The German place seemed as good as any. Let Torg suffer from gas as much as Taylor had. He filled Torg in on what he had discovered and what he had been told. Taylor confided his biggest concern was the failure of each agency to facilitate the service of the protective order. It also concerned him that neither agency had an internal written policy concerning domestic misconduct, and apparently hadn’t even thought it was important. Actual civil liability was still an unknown. That night Taylor floated an idea that might be productive for the parents of both slain female officers.
“Torg, you say both sets of parents were at the funeral?”
“Yes. Seemed to be friendly with each other. They even made a brief appearance at the wake.”
“Maybe the pool could consider a fund or something to celebrate the lives of each of the ladies,” Taylor mused. “Something that would be significant to the LGBT community. Something that would keep the memory of Bits and G out front. Some sort of memorial.”
Torg wasn’t sure what direction the pool would want to take. He asked if Taylor could stay a couple more days until he got feedback from his shop. He might need support from the agency board.
The next day at breakfastt, Taylor mulled over Sheriff Biggs’ earlier response. He didn’t like it and he didn’t like him. He pulled a card from his briefcase and dialed the number on his cell phone.
“Dabney? This is Taylor Sterling. Remember I dropped by the OutReach office the other day?” Dabney instantly recalled Taylor’s visit.
“Well, maybe you could do something good for G and Bits. You know any of the reporters in Madison? Good investigative reporters? I think they might be able to get a good story on Sheriff Biggs. Might implicate him in the murders, or at least show he didn’t give a shit.” Taylor explained to Dabney what he thought might be a productive approach. He told him how to access the court computer files. He dropped Mack’s name and contact info.
Torg arranged a meeting with the parents of G and Bits. He asked Taylor to attend. Neither set of parents had talked with an attorney, yet. They said members of the LGBT community tried to convince them they should consider suing both Sheriff Biggs and the City of Addisonville, but they weren’t sure that was the proper thing to do. All four parents had come from a long line of hardworking Wisconsin stock who had been in the farming or dairy business. Midwesterners were different than people from the East or from the West Coast. Even jury verdicts in police civil trials were more moderate. The memorial idea intrigued them.
*****
A month passed since Taylor had been in Wisconsin. He exchanged several calls with Torg, Dabney, and even Chief Connor. One phone call from Torg found Taylor waiting in the Delta Sky Club between flight connections.
“Ink’s dry, Taylor,” Torg said flatly.
“And?”
“The pool settled without attorneys involved. Around $250K will go into an educational fund run by OutReach and will be named for both G and Bits Each victim’s family got another $250K. Seems Chief Connor survived. Hell, he’s even on the OutReach board! Biggs announced he decided not to run for reelection. Says it’s time to spend more quality time with his wife. Haven’t heard whether she supports that, though. ‘Preciate your help on this one, Taylor.”
“You betchum, Torg.” Taylor smiled at the homegrown phrase, but a scowl followed shortly when he saw his flight connection had been delayed two hours.
CHAPTER 6:
FORGOTTEN COP LAND
Complainant: Oklahoma Intergovernmental Risk Management Association
Assignment: Liability Assessment
Agency: Isle of Mann
The Mann family had been residents of Oklahoma since the Land Run of 1889. For five generations, the Manns had been acquiring land just northeast of Edmond. By the late 1990s, the family had amassed nearly 20,000 acres. The land ranged from flat tableaus of dust to deep craggy ravines bisecting grassy plains. Streams zigzagged through the property that included one sizable lake kept stocked for bass fishing. A stand of hardwoods anchored the property in one corner, growing strong and thick over decades. What would later become the famous Route 66 passed along the eastern border of the Mann’s extensive holdings. The family owned their share of oil, but most of their property was populated by a large and very valuable herd of cattle. The family tried to establish a wild game hunting preserve in the 1960s, but their vision was too far in front of the appeal, and animal import restrictions were too onerous to make it a reasonable family venture. The Manns thought about raising buffalo years before Ted Turner captured the market, but Oklahoma was positioned just too far south for the burly beasts to thrive.
In the late 1970s, the family joined forces with a national developer. Eight thousand acres was carved out of the eastern corner and “Isle of Mann,” a planned upscale residential community, was created. The ultimate goal was to build 3,000 homes, a golf course, tennis complex, clubhouse, and several community swimming pools. Well-landscaped bike and walking trails were designed to snake throughout the development.
*****
Andrew Martin grew up in a middle class neighborhood in Oklahoma City. He was awarded a baseball scholarship to Oklahoma State University in Stillwater. Between that athletic funding and a ROTC stipend, he was able to finish OSU in four years. Andrew, or Andy as he liked to be called, was easily and quickly hired as a cop with the Oklahoma City Police Department in 1975. While his reputation at OSU and his good looks initially brought perks to the job, Andy was lazy and his supervisors were always on his case, driving him to produce more. The young officer felt his supervisors were spying on him when he was out on the roads patrolling. Andy had a knack for dragging out his calls. He figured as long as he was answering one call, dispatch couldn’t assign him another one. Andy had received enough “dumb shit” supervisory disciplinary notices to put him on the department’s termination watch list.
One day Andy was taking lunch at his favorite diner just off the Interstate. A middle-aged man approached him and asked if he was the Andy Martin who had played ball at OSU. That chance meeting with one of the Mann boys, Albert, changed Andy’s future forever.
The Isle of Mann development was about ten miles outside Edmond. On his next day off, Andy drove out to meet Albert Mann on the family spread. Following the directions he’d written on a napkin, Andy drove off old Route 66 to connect to a recently paved road and traveled it for a few hundred yards. Rounding a bend, Andy was surprised to see a massive rock and iron archway looming large on the side of the new roadway. A huge bronze plaque encased in a rock frame indicated that Andy had arrived at Isle of Mann. A doublewide mobile home balanced the other side of the entrance, announced by a sign that simply read, OFFICE.
Albert introduced Andy to his Uncle Cliff Mann, Sid Rodney, and another man dressed in work clothes. Cliff Mann was the principal family member overseeing the development. Cliff was a large man, over six feet tall and weighing close to 300 pounds. He was wearing blue bib overalls, a red plaid shirt, and scuffed work boots. Anyone looking at him would think the man was a day laborer, certainly not one of the wealthiest men in this neck of the woods. Sid Rodney was the developer’s representative, a slight and wiry guy wearing grey slacks and a blue buttoned down dress shirt. Sid introduced the third guy as the on-site construction foreman, Harvey Gillette. Harvey was short, fat, and bald, but had the grip of a channel lock. Albert maneuvered Andy to a large desktop model of the proposed development.
“Andy, this is what’s going to be the Isle of Mann. Someday there’ll be nearly 10,000 folks living here. We’ll become our own city. Way the real estate market is going, we expect that will happen within five years or so,” Albert proudly boasted.
“And how is that something that will affect me? You’re not going to give me a percentage of the deal, are you?” Andy asked with a smirk.
“Nope, that we are not. We need someone to protect the development right now. We got a lot of equipment and materials lying around. We got some workers we’re not sure
of. I was hoping you’d be willing to sign on with us. As soon as we’re a city, we’ll make you the Chief of Police.”
“You mean you want me to moonlight as a security guard?”
“No, we want you full time. We can pay you more than the OCPD does. And, we’ll give you a car. We’ll initially put you up in the Tumbleweed Motel out on 66. It’s not much, but we’ll pay the bill. You can consider yourself the Marshal of Isle of Mann,” Albert chuckled at the absurd idea. “You’ll be able to make it whatever you want. Sure, it’s just site security now, but in a couple years you’ll have your own police department. I guarantee it.”
“Let me think about it. Can you give me a couple of days?”
Andy didn’t have to think much. He knew he had no future at OCPD and probably would be fired before long. He had no family. His apartment was a shit hole. He had his take-home marked cop car and his Harley Soft Tail Fat Boy as his rides. He had a lot of good memories, but even more visions of greatness to come. What the hell, he thought. Andy put in his resignation, much to the delight of his supervisors, and rode out to his new home at the Tumbleweed Motel.
Route 66 motels were pretty much all alike. Single story. Not many more than twenty or so units. Originally most motels featured a swimming pool in the front of the property as a come-on, but most of those aqua cement underwater caves were either bulldozed over or filled with sand and were now dumpy cactus gardens surrounding rusty barbeque pits. The Tumbleweed didn’t disappoint Andy. Twelve efficiency units, all needing more work than they probably were worth, created a squared U-shape. The desk clerk said Andy could take his pick of the litter, with the exception of unit numbers 11 and 12.
“What’s with them?” Andy asked.
“Those units have permanent residents. Don’t get many others passing through.”
“Permanent residents? What’s their problem?”
“Let’s say they get a lot of callers, usually in the evening hours. You might want to pick a unit closer to the office. Less noise, if you know what I mean.”