Broken Badges: Cases from Police Internal Affairs Files

by Lou Reiter

  Taylor decided he should find himself a place to stay. He asked the chief’s secretary for suggestions. She mentioned one of the newer places near the I35 interchange. He told her he’d be back shortly and would like to ride with one of the officers on the night watch.

  As he left the main gates cloistering Isle of Mann, Taylor turned onto the old Route 66. On his left he observed the Tumbleweed Motel. The place intrigued him with its rustic Western look. Taylor turned into the parking lot and drove around what once was the swimming pool. The gaping hole had been filled in and a wooden gazebo was erected in its place, complete with a barbeque grill and tables surrounded by scruffy cacti. He found an open parking space a couple stalls down from the office. He noticed an attractive black woman sitting in a chair in front of Unit #2, casually painting her toenails. She looked up and gave him a big smile. He smiled back and mimicked tipping his hat to her.

  Taylor entered the manager’s office and found a large black man lounging in a chair watching an ESPN broadcast. The TV was tuned to a college women’s lacrosse game. The black man, Cedric according to his name plate, cocked his head but didn’t get out of the chair.

  “Dem bitches sure be in good shape. They runs and swing that damn club thing. Wonder none get put down with a split head. Can I help you?”

  “You got any available rooms?”

  “Nope. They’re all on long-term rental. We haven’t had an opening for months. Seems everyone likes the nostalgia of the Tumbleweed. Anything else I can help you with, mister?”

  “No, not today. Maybe some other time.”

  “We’re here to please.”

  Taylor figured this had to be the chief’s whorehouse. He planned to check property records over the next few days. The Hampton Inn was available and Taylor rented a room, apparently without the Tumbleweed Motel extras.

  *****

  Ned, from the insurance pool, directed Taylor to the law firm of Boles, Smith, and Nesmith. Their office was located in one of the corporate centers on the fringes of Oklahoma City. Jeff Nesmith was the partner handling the Isle of Mann contract.

  “We’ve settled two lawsuits for them during the past two years. One similar element stands out in each,” Jeff explained. “Chief Andy Martin was involved with both.”

  Jeff noticed the quizzical look covering Taylor’s face.

  “Each case started with a routine inquiry by one of his cops. But the chief came in like a hurricane and ended making it a mess, ending in a lawsuit that cost the city money.”

  “What did the city do?”

  “Best we can figure, absolutely nothing! Just paid their share of the settlement and let the pool pay the remainder.”

  “Can you give me a brief thumbnail on each?”

  Jeff asked his secretary to bring in a tray of water and soft drinks.

  “The first one is kind of funny in the end. Apparently a patrol cop saw an unmarked van parked in the Sewell residence driveway. The Sewells were the claimants. Several people were loading boxes into the van. The cop checked with dispatch and found that the gate was opened for the Budget rental van after clearance was given by the Sewells.

  Chief Andy suddenly showed up on the scene. He didn’t like the explanation given about what was going on, so he whipped out his knife and opened one of the boxes. Porn DVDs. They were titled stuff like, What Are Your Neighbors Doing? or Homegrown Honeys. Chief Andy went on this rant about “sickos, weirdoes, and freaks!” He rushed past the Sewells into their house. He ended up in the rec room in the lower level and found that it had been turned into a crude video production studio.”

  “And then what did he do?”

  “During the next several hours, Chief Andy and his cops, some called in from off-duty, itemized and categorized each DVD. He used the rental van that was in the driveway to haul everything, including all the video equipment and sexy lingerie, back to the Administrative Center. Chief Andy arrested Mr. and Mrs. Sewell on some obscure federal statute concerning electronic recording and pornographic materials, another strange post office statute, and a few oddball state statutes.”

  “No search warrant, of course,” Taylor commented. “Clearly Fourth and Fourteenth Amendment violations.”

  “Correct. And probably some elements of the First Amendment, as well. The Sewell’s attorney went directly to the DA and got the arrests declined. The Sewells were in county jail for a total of six hours. Got everything back, other than a few DVDs obviously looted by Isle of Mann officers. The city gave the Sewells a “cease and desist” order regarding conducting a business within the city limits without a permit.”

  “What was the end result?”

  “The Sewells were given $250,000 and ended up selling their house and moving out of fantasy land.”

  “And the second case you settled?”

  Jeff thought for a moment. “Don’t know how best to start this one. It’s very similar in many respects. Again it started when one of the cops saw twelve cars parked in front of and in the driveway of a residence early one morning. The house belonged to the Bakers. Most of the cars belonged to other residents, but there were four or five visitors evident. It was around eight in the morning. The cop knocked on the door and was greeted by Mr. Baker. Apparently he was sponsoring a prayer study group. Belongs to some fundamental Christian Church.”

  “What’s wrong with that?”

  “Between you and me, nothing. But apparently that wasn’t what Chief Andy thought about it. Again he suddenly showed up on the scene. Said the Bakers were using their private residence as a church and that was a violation of the CC and Rs. You know Code, Covenants, and Restrictions.”

  “Was it?”

  Jeff sat back and pondered a bit. “Well, it depends on how you interpret those CC and Rs. If they were operating a church, it probably would have been a violation. But, a prayer group isn’t a church. Certainly a First Amendment issue.”

  “But what happened? He didn’t arrest them, did he?”

  “Nope, at least he didn’t do that. But he did order them to stop the prayer meeting and told everyone to leave immediately. Chief Andy told them they couldn’t hold any more prayer meetings and threatened to arrest the Bakers if they did,” Jeff recounted. “This time the Bakers got a “cease and desist” order against the city and chief. They sued for costs and punitive damages against Chief Andy. We settled for $75,000.”

  Jeff and Taylor discussed the legal issues involved with hiring security guards and using them as police officers. Jeff felt the insurance pool should cut any and all ties to Isle of Mann. He felt Chief Martin was spinning out of control.

  *****

  The gates to Isle of Mann opened wide after Taylor identified himself to the voice on the other end of the speaker. He located the night dispatcher since it was already early in the evening and the shift had changed. He asked how many units were being deployed that night and found there were two hitting the road. One officer on patrol had been on the job for nearly five years.

  The police unit soon arrived in front of the Administrative Center to pick up Taylor. Zeke Cameron introduced himself. Zeke was in his early fifties. It was obvious he had been fairly fit at one time, but a sedentary lifestyle and too many doughnuts made a noticeable impact on his “girlish figure.” Zeke joined the Isle of Mann department after retiring from the Air Force.

  “You like the police work here?” Taylor asked after a few minutes of driving around the small city.

  “Mr. Sterling, this isn’t police work. It’s more like being a security force. Make the residents feel safe, comfortable. ‘Be out and be seen’ is what Chief Andy tells us all the time.”

  Zeke suddenly became excited. “Hey, look at that!”

  Taylor looked around and couldn’t see anything unusual. He was looking for a suspect running or something unusual happening.

  “What are you seeing?”

  Zeke sped up and skidded to a stop in front of a house with a well-manicured front yard.

  “Mud! Look
at that dark stuff running off the lawn into the street. That’s mud, pure and simple. You can’t do that! Resident has to monitor watering. Can’t allow that run-off. That’s a citation for sure.”

  Zeke found the owner and ordered him to shut down the water flow. He gave him a written citation and told him he could pay the fine at the Admin Center, or argue his case in front of the City Council. Taylor was surprised by Zeke’s zealous reaction. Most cops don’t want to be bothered with minor incidents like running mud. They want to chase criminals; stop crime. Somebody had to be responsible for creating this nitpicky attitude in Isle of Mann officers to give a dipshit offense such a high priority. Chief Andy’s boys were truly “environmental enforcers” and apparently proud of it.

  “What kind of crime do you have here?” Taylor asked. Zeke looked at him with a confused stare.

  “You do have crime, don’t you?”

  “Not really.”

  “What if a guy beats his wife? You know, domestic violence.”

  “We haven’t had any of that. We have arguments sometimes. We just tell the couple to cool it. Sometimes we’ll tell them to see an attorney if we’re called more than once. I did have a woman who wore bruises on her face. I told her she needed to see her doctor. But, we don’t get much of that in our city.”

  “Have you ever referred anything like that to the sheriff’s office?”

  “County doesn’t come in here. Chief Andy says they got no place in his city.”

  “What if someone steals something from one of the residences?”

  “Oh, we’ve had a couple of those instances. Usually construction people are to blame. Last time we investigated we narrowed it down to one crew. Chief got a hold of the contractor and owner and told them to get the shit back or pay the resident the replacement cost. We got them by the gonads, if you know what I mean. We can jerk construction permits easily enough. We keep pretty good tabs on the construction and service people. They can only work in the city from7:00 a.m. to 7:00 p.m. and not on the weekends, unless it’s an emergency, of course.”

  “What if you had a murder?”

  “A murder! You shittin’ me, Mr. Sterling? I don’t think we’ve had anyone murdered in the five years I’ve been here.”

  “But what if you did?”

  “I guess…” Zeke started thinking and appeared lost in an internal fog. “Guess I’d call Chief Andy if that happened. Shit, he’s the only one certified here. I’m just a security guard. What the hell do I know?”

  “Do you keep reports of these crimes?” Taylor asked. Zeke shook his head.

  Taylor continued his night ride with Zeke. He was impressed how the security officer dealt with the people he visited. Zeke stopped the car, got out, and talked with each resident on his beat. Usually he knew them by name and in turn, they knew him by name. It seemed to Taylor that residents were genuinely interested in each other. It was a police/citizen relationship he rarely saw as he covered audits around the country.

  *****

  Taylor spent the next morning checking on the training of the “security and environmental enforcement green cops” and investigating the ownership of the Tumbleweed Motel. He was sitting in the breakfast area of the Hampton Inn having coffee, powdered scrambled eggs, and an English muffin slathered with strawberry jelly.

  “May I share your table?” a woman asked tentatively. She was an attractive black woman wearing a stylish navy business suit. She set down her Tumi backpack and placed her Coach purse on the chair. “Let me grab a cup of coffee to get me started.”

  Taylor watched her slide over to the bank of coffee pots. This was a woman who was certain of her position and knew men in the room were watching her every move. For some reason, she must have thought Taylor was special.

  “Thanks for letting me share your table. If I sit by myself some crude guy usually tries to come on to me.”

  “No problem…Ms?”

  “Sheila Montrose. Yes, it’s Ms., not Mrs. Are you here on business?”

  “Yes. Insurance. And you?”

  “I push drugs. Pharmaceuticals, that is.”

  “I hear that’s a very lucrative business, particularly for an attractive woman.”

  “Yes, it is, and thanks for the compliment. It seems to help. At least it gets me an open door now and then and into the doctor’s office, if I can get past the doctor’s secretary. How long will you be in town?”

  “Couple more days.”

  “I’ve got appointments all day, but my evening is open. I like to have a nice dinner and sort of kick back. Can we meet later?”

  “I’d love to, but I have commitments,” Taylor said.

  “Can I do or say something that might change those commitments?”

  “Sorry, no you can’t. But if anyone could, it would be someone like you.”

  Sheila smiled, picked up her Coach and Tumi bags and strutted out. Taylor liked the exchange. He didn’t have any reason to tell her he recognized her as a resident of the Tumbleweed. She was the woman he’d seen earlier painting her toenails. Obviously this was an attempt by Chief Andy to get dirt on Taylor. That got him thinking about what other dirt the chief had on people living in his small city. The Tumbleweed Motel could be a goldmine of dirt.

  *****

  The next morning Taylor scanned through county property tax registers looking for the owner of the Tumbleweed Motel. The registry listed the owner as MAM Enterprise, Inc. with the mailing address as a post office box in Edmond. He called Ned Jenkins with the insurance pool and asked whether he could access state corporate records for the listed individual owner. Taylor wanted to know who the corporate officers of the Tumbleweed were.

  Next, Taylor called CLEET. He found that Chief Andy was up-to-date on his in-service training requirement to maintain certification. Oklahoma required full-time regular officers to take 25 hours of training each year with two hours mandated to cover mental health topics.

  Most states have mandated in-service training for police officers. This is similar to requirements for nurses, attorneys, doctors, and many tradesmen. What’s different in law enforcement is that cops have consistently forced their employers to pay for training and to allow them to receive it while on actual duty. Most careers with in-service training require employees to get it on their own nickel and their own time. Most states require 20 hours of in-service training each year for their police officers. Some require more, such as Tennessee that has mandated 40 hours a year for many years. Some only require 20 or 24 hours over a three or four year period. A few states, like Rhode Island, don’t require any training updates.

  On his way back to Isle of Mann, Taylor passed the Admin Center and found himself at the country club. Apparently it was the athletic center of the community. A golf course, tennis courts, fitness center, and an Olympic-size swimming pool were just a few of the amenities clustered in the complex.

  “I thought the chief might be here,” Taylor mentioned to the young man behind the pro shop desk.

  “No, he has a standing tee time at 1:00 and doesn’t come in until then.”

  “He should be pretty good.”

  “Good? Now that’s an understatement! The chief could give a PGA pro a run for his money. He’s got players coming from all around to play with him. I’m sure he does very well out there.”

  “Plays for money, huh?” Taylor casually asked.

  “Oh, yeah, that he does! I hear it’s usually a buck a hole.”

  “That doesn’t seem too steep?”

  “That’s a hundred dollars, not a dollar.” The kid smirked like he knew he was talking with someone uneducated in the fine art of golf gambling. “Sometimes, I hear, it’s a thousand. He’s that good. Some folks like poker, the ponies, or sports book. Those who play here are golf junkies. They come to knock the chief off, but rarely do.”

  *****

  Chief Andy was in his office reading the local newspapers, probably the Edmond Sun and the City Journal Record. He pointed over to the Keurig and tol
d Taylor to make himself a cup of coffee, recommending Café Noir.

  “Hear you’ve been snooping around my department. Find anything interesting?”

  “Not much that I didn’t expect to find, boss.” Taylor usually used the term “boss” when dealing with chiefs and sheriffs during his inquiries. He felt it made them feel important and a notch or two above him.

  “Your enforcement officers have an amazing grasp of their role in Isle of Mann. No crime fighting, just service. That’s an amazing accomplishment and it has to be your making.”

  Chief Andy smiled. “You got some bad stuff I’m sure. You consultants don’t work on only good shit.”

  “Well, I still have some questions, boss. Tell me about the Bakers.”

  “Sterling, I did wrong on that one. I’m the first to say so. My temper got the best of me. Shouldn’t have reacted the way I did. But I thought they were setting up an off-shoot church. I was wrong!”

  “And the Sewells?”

  “Those dirt mongers. They were filming fucking right here in the Isle. They were tarnishing our reputation as a family friendly community. The missus wasn’t even that hot. I couldn’t believe so many couples would video themselves fucking and then sell copies for anyone and everyone to see. Some of those people shouldn’t be seen without clothes anyway. Ugly. Fat. Deformed. Some guys even had tiny dicks that no right guy would be proud to show. Sickos. Weirdos. But I got rid of them. I made the city better for it. Cheap at the price.”

  “Quarter of a million is cheap?”

  Chief Andy just smiled. Taylor continued, “Tell your attractive lady, the black gal, that she did a good job hitting on me. But I recognized her and figured you were trying to set me up.”

  Chief Andy smirked, but didn’t respond.

  *****

  Ned Jenkins called Taylor with the corporate information from the Secretary of State’s Office. The owner of the Tumbleweed was one Marvin A. Martin of Isle of Mann. Taylor recalled something and checked his notes, specifically the CLEET records concerning Chief Andy’s training. His full name was Marvin Andrew Martin.

  Taylor made calls to set up an exit debriefing before leaving Isle of Mann. Ned Jenkins said he wanted to be there. The mayor and city council members would also be at the debriefing, along with Chief Andy.