by Lou Reiter
*****
Everyone was seated in the Isle of Mann Council Chamber. Taylor noted two of the councilpersons weren’t present. Taylor had Googled the Isle of Mann earlier. There wasn’t much on the Internet, but one promo piece for “buying a lifestyle” listed the five members of the Council who allegedly governed the community. One missing member was the only female on the Council. The other absent member was a consultant with KPMG and was probably on the road Sunday to Thursday. The remaining three councilpersons included an older guy in bib overalls, a middle aged man wearing a black golf shirt with the Isle of Mann logo and plaid pants, and a professorial looking man with reading glasses and a three piece suit.
“I want to thank everyone from Isle of Mann for making my audit run so smoothly. Everyone was very helpful. As you know, IRMA asked me to take a look at your enforcement operation. The pool is concerned about recent lawsuits and settlements.” The mayor appeared to be attentive, but the other three were not giving Taylor the courtesy of a glance. Chief Andy sat off to the side, hands in his lap, with a smirk feeding his face.
Taylor went through his observations one by one. He noted the City Charter required the Council to evaluate the Chief of Police once a year. Chief Andy had held the position for over ten years and had never been evaluated.
“Your city’s only liability, at least from my point of view, is Chief Martin. Essentially he’s a hothead and lets his anger get the best of his judgment. He’s taken very interesting and inventive approaches to enforcement service in this city, but all I can see is more trouble coming down the road. I’m recommending to the pool that unless there are substantial changes to your protocol, they should drop Isle of Mann as a client.”
Mayor Uncle Mann put his hand up to stop Taylor.
“I appreciate your efforts. I’m sure you’re very qualified in what you do, but our city is different. We’ve created a unique community. We like the way Isle of Mann has developed. Chief Andy and his enforcement officers have been important factors in that positive development. We aren’t going to be making any changes. In fact, we have decided we don’t need the insurance coverage IRMA has provided in the past. We can go it alone, or “bare,” as they call it. Thank you. This meeting is now adjourned.”
With that announcement the mayor got up and left with the three council members trailing behind him. Chief Andy continued to sit in his chair with an even broader smirk on his face.
As Taylor and Ned started to leave the room, Chief Andy rose and extended his hand to Taylor. “No hard feelings? As I told you the first day, this is my city. They don’t care what I do as long as they don’t hear anything negative from the residents at large. Uncle Mann can handle the weird ones like the Sewells and Bakers.”
Ned and Taylor looked at each other, shrugging shoulders in unison. Outside they shook hands, said goodbye, and each went to his car. Taylor figured that Isle of Mann was an insular community, and they should get what they wanted, no matter if he thought it was good or bad, right or wrong.
*****
Taylor had two things left to do before leaving. He went back to the Hampton Inn and made a call to Joe Jackson. Joe agreed to meet him at the hotel in an hour. Joe was easy to spot as he entered. He was almost round. He had to wiggle to fit his heavy thighs and butt into the chair. Taylor told him he was familiar with his lawsuit against Isle of Mann and Chief Andy.
“Yeah, he retaliated against me for doing the right thing. Had no call to do that. I was completing an investigation. The chief didn’t give a shit. Just shit canned me, like that. That’s a First Amendment violation. I got federal rights, my attorney tells me.”
“Tell me, Joe. Is your attorney taking your case on a contingency basis?” Taylor could see this was an unknown term to Joe. “That means, is he charging you anything or is his fee dependent on winning your lawsuit?”
“No, he’s charging by the hour. Hundred an hour.”
“Joe, I’ll be blunt with you. Save your money. Back in, I think it was 2005, the U.S. Supreme Court ruled that government workers essentially don’t have any First Amendment rights. It was the case of Garcetti v. Caballos. They ruled any job change or disciplinary action a governmental worker gets from anything stemming from his job can’t be heard in federal court. Maybe in a state court. But you’re in Oklahoma, a right to work state. Joe, unfortunately you got no rights. Now I’m not an attorney, but I’m pretty sure I’m right on this one. You may have done the right thing, but you got screwed.”
“But, Mr. Sterling. This is all wrong! Crap, the guy is running a whorehouse and no one does shit. It’s not fair!”
“Very true. But I don’t expect the sheriff or DA will do anything. Too much Mann family money and too many influential people living in Isle of Mann. Then there’s Chief Andy’s probable extensive video surveillance library to deal with. I don’t know why the State of Oklahoma isn’t interested,” Taylor commented.
They talked for another half hour. Joe had liked his job. He didn’t like the idea of going back to the oil fields. Maybe he would look for a security job in Edmond or Oklahoma City. Taylor wasn’t excited about Joe Jackson’s future as he watched him waddle out of the inn.
“Edwin, you got a minute,” Taylor asked the next person he called on the phone. “You still working for the Feds?”
“Got another five years. Got sucked in. They keep increasing my G-rating and throwing more money at me. Do you think that makes me a whore?”
“No more than the rest of us, Edwin.”
Taylor spent the next thirty minutes describing what he had found happening in Isle of Mann. He specifically detailed Chief Andy’s motel and golf income sources. Edwin told him to send him the information and he’d get a team to look into it. Taylor packaged up a copy of his report and put it into a large envelope addressing it:
AGENT EDWIN MACY
INTERNAL REVENUE SERVICE
SOUTHERN SECTOR
CRIMINAL FRAUD DIVISION
DALLAS, TX
Taylor smiled as he dropped the heavy envelope into the outgoing mail slot of the Hampton Inn.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Lou Reiter has been active in law enforcement for over 50 years. He served with the Los Angeles Police Department for 20 years and retired in 1981 as a Deputy Chief of Police. Since that time Lou has been a private police consultant.
Every year Lou conducts multi-day training seminars for over 1,000 police, sheriff, state police, and other criminal justice personnel teaching how to perform Internal Affairs investigations. He has conducted audits of troubled police and sheriff agencies for insurance and risk management pools throughout the country. The smallest agency was a three-man police department and the largest agency he audited was the N.Y.P.D. Lou has served as a consultant for the U.S. Department of Justice investigating police departments accused of Constitutional enforcement problems, including those in New Orleans, Pittsburgh, and Cincinnati. His text Law Enforcement Administrative Investigations is in its 3rd edition.
Lou has testified as a police practices expert in over 1,100 civil lawsuits. He has worked for police and sheriff agencies as well as for citizens bringing suit against police departments. He has testified in over 250 trials in Federal and State courts.
When Lou is not on the road consulting, he lives in the North Georgia Mountains near Atlanta with his wife, Marilyn, an attorney, and their two dogs, Shakti and SnoopDogg.
Taylor Sterling’s Internal Affairs investigative works continues in the second book of the Badges series—Shattered Badges—coming soon from Deeds Publishing (www.deedspublishing.com). Read on for a brief excerpt…
Taylor Sterling had flown to New Jersey after receiving the call from Chief Pisnero. One of his officers was in trouble and was caught in a political pissing match between the County Prosecutor, Irv Katz, and the State Attorney General, Big Bob as everyone called him. The Chief needed something to use for his community and City Council. Taylor was asked to do an administrative shooting investigation. It
had been three days since Taylor was on the ground and he was done with his investigation. His written report would be sent to the Riverton Police Chief a couple of days after Taylor got home. Taylor always met with his clients before he left to clue them into what his report would be saying. With this investigation, Taylor felt good about Officer Fay’s fatal shooting, even though it was a naked black man armed with a hairbrush. Taylor wasn’t certain Chief Pisnero would care for his analysis of his shitty supervision. Taylor probably wouldn’t mention that he thought the Chief was unprofessional and a real doofuss.
Of course Pisnero chose Santini’s for the debriefing meeting. Taylor was early. The red painted curb in front of the restaurant was devoid of any police cars or cars with microphones hanging from the rearview mirrors. The others hadn’t arrived. Taylor parked legally in the lot alongside the restaurant.
Nothing was different inside. Taylor thought the restaurant probably hadn’t changed in the last thirty years. Maybe fresh carpet every ten years or so. The bartender was inspecting the glasses and gave Taylor a slight nod. Taylor wasn’t sure whether he should go to the back room or not. Maybe you needed some secret passcode or handshake. So he slid onto one of the barstools.
“Ya wan sumpting?”
“See you got Stella on tap. Give me one of those.”
“Ya got it! Meetin’ the cops again?”
Taylor nodded.
“Cops seem to like this place. Always saprised me. They gots to know who owns Santini’s. Don’t cops feel ill at ease?”
Taylor knew the bartender was giving him a heads up that the restaurant was most likely mob connected. Didn’t surprise Taylor. He had made that the moment he walked in…what was it…three days ago? He just smiled and took a major gulp of the beer. He didn’t really care for Stella Artois beer and would have liked a heavier dark microbrew, but he was paying homage to the apparent owners. Taylor picked up an old Al Martino song slipping through the ceiling speakers.
“Hey, Taylor. See we’re the only ones here so far,” the voice belonged to Calvin Parker, the City Attorney. “Nicki, give me one of those, too!”
They sat next to each other, just drinking their beers and not saying anything. Taylor waited. Apparently Calvin didn’t talk unless he had an audience.
“Oh, you guys are already here,” Pisnero said as he entered with The Suit, Raymond Cavallo. “Let’s go into the back.”
“So, Taylor what did you find,” the Chief asked?
“Vince not coming?” Taylor said turning to Cavallo. He shook his head.
Lil’ Paulie appeared and it seemed he hadn’t changed his apron from three nights ago. He whispered into Chief Pisnero’s ear and disappeared as quickly as he had appeared.
“Lil’ Paulie says we got antipasti, then Veal Oscar, a special Fruits de Mari with white clam sauce, fig pate, and something special for dessert. Don’t know what da fuck fig pate is. What ya got to give to us, Taylor?”
“Some good, some bad, boss.”
“Let’s start with the good shit, huh? I’ve had a shitty day with my Council. They’re looking to bust my balls with new cuts to the budget. Third year in a row. My guys are getting moody with no raises, you know.”
“The shooting is real defensible, boss. But you should consider building for your defense and to protect Officer Fay. Not sure what Katz is going to do.”
“What do you mean by building a defense,” Calvin Parker asked?
“I always say you got to think, What would Johnnie Cochran do?” Taylor said. “You have to expect a civil lawsuit anytime someone is killed. Of course, here we have to prepare to defend Fay in the criminal trial. Not sure what Katz is going to do on that end. You’re defending him, aren’t you, Raymond?” The Suit nodded.
“What ya mean, think like Johnnie Cochran, Taylor,” Calvin asked? “By the way, did you know him? He started off in LA, too, didn’t he?”
“I did, for many years. Considered Johnnie a friend. I was his expert witness in several cases. When I say think like him… let me give you an example. He brought me in on a fatal shooting by a Chippie. Oh, I forget, you guys are on the opposite coast. Some California Highway Patrol motor cop stops this huge black guy in an Opal. An economy car back when they were really small. Cop says the guy jumped out and was about to attack him so he shot him four times. All center mass. Well, Johnnie got ahold of that car almost before the autopsy was done. By the time of the trial, he had that car disassembled, brought into the courtroom, and reassembled. He was able to show that there was no way a guy as big as the deceased could have gotten out of that car without a crowbar helping him. Kind of like the glove trick during the OJ trial. Today you have to put on a CSI show for any jury. They expect it. If you don’t, they feel you don’t have a case.”
Cavallo, the FOP lawyer, tonight wearing a $4000 Versace double-breasted suit, finally said something, “He’s right, you know.” Cavallo paused and then said, “Damn, Cochran used to wear some fine ties!”
“That’s one thing I worked hard to outdo Johnnie on. I’ve still got 40 or 50 in my closet. Those kinds of ties were all imported, mostly Italian. Buck to buck and a half each,” Taylor said. In the days he would testify in court as an expert, Taylor had a uniform of his own. Black blazer, dark grey slacks, and black shoes. But his ties made him, like Johnnie, stand apart.
Taylor took time out to savor the Veal Oscar that Lil’ Paulie had prepared. Hand-cut veal medallion, topped with a small lobster tail and a delicate white sauce. It was close to Hollandaise, but something different. Taylor would fondly remember this dish.
“I always thought Cochran was showboating,” Chief Pisnero said.
“Maybe, but it was for a purpose,” Taylor said, remembering his experiences with Johnnie in the courtroom. “He would own that courtroom. Johnnie made a point of going up to everyone working the court… bailiff, court reporter, clerk, even the lawyers on the other side… and saying something personal to them. ‘Gladys, your boy still in college?’… ‘Herb, sorry to hear about your mother’s passing.’ I don’t know how he got his information, but he used it expertly.”
“You seemed to like him,” Calvin said.
“I respected him,” Taylor said as he allowed himself to visualize his old friend, Johnnie Cochran. “He was a crusader for justice. He worked as hard for the street hooker as the millionaire or even a cop who might be in trouble. He went too early. He believed in fairness and was a champion of civil rights. I do miss him. I do…”
Calvin asked, “What would you figure for Officer Fay’s case, Taylor?”
“Three things, Calvin. First you need to make a mockup of the scene. Kind of like what you used to see in the old war movies. You can get that done cheap using architectural students. Second, you need to get someone to do a visual acuity evaluation. You’re going to have to search out someone for that. There are machines that can calibrate the light, or lumens, at the shooting scene. What could someone like Fay have reasonably seen under those circumstances? Last, you should consider having a forensic animation done. It can graphically show a jury what a split second seems like. It can support the ‘rapidly evolving’ situation Fay was facing. Think Johnnie Cochran!”
“What kind of cost range that be, Taylor?” Cavallo asked.
“Twenty thousand, there abouts,” Taylor said. None of them seemed phased by his estimate. “Remember, a problem police shooting can really cost you. Johnnie got, was it $16 million settlement for that State Police shooting of the minority basketball team… and none of them even died.”
“What’s the bad?” Pisnero asked.
“Fay’s shooting record,” Taylor replied.
“What ya mean? He’s had four others, hasn’t he?” Calvin said turning to the Chief.
“I think he’s had another one, Calvin,” Pisnero said.
“Actually he’s had six, guys,” Taylor said. “You’re going to have to keep that record out of the criminal and, if it occurs, the civil trials. That’ll really shock any jury. Ca
lvin you should be able to exclude it as being overly prejudicial. Between you and me, Fay’s record is unusual.”
“How so,” Cavallo asked?
“Raymond, how many other Riverton cops have been in six shootings and now a fatal, hell two fatals, in just six years? Huh?” The Suit didn’t reply. There were none.
“So what do we do with Fay?” Pisnero asked. “You know that none of them other shootings cost the City any money. Well, other than that pit bull. I was pissed that Fay up and shot that dog. Why didn’t he just kick it or hit it with his baton. I told the Mayor to issue the owner a check for $1,000. I saw that guy the other day and he’s got himself a new pit…one of those brown and black striped ones.”
“We have to keep him under wraps until the trials are over,” Calvin said. “Shit, that could be close to a year. Who knows what red suspenders guy in the Prosecutor’s Office will do? Statute for filing a notice of claim is 90 days, though, in New Jersey.”
“Then what? What if he’s not prosecuted and there is no civil lawsuit? Then what,” Taylor asked? All three just stared at him as if he had asked a question that had no answer. “All I know is that you can’t put him out there as a City employee with a gun. He’s too much of a liability. Next shooting he gets into, and he will, it won’t be some naked black guy with a shiny hairbrush. It might be a bad or indefensible one. Ray Fay and the City could lose big. Ray Fay might end up in prison.”
Taylor had been eyeing the chocolate cannoli. Chief Pisnero had just picked one up and bit into it. The confectioner’s sugar looked like a cloud as it landed on his dark uniform shirt and spread like the Milky Way. Taylor elected not to try one and wondered if the Chief kept a clean uniform shirt at the restaurant.
“Guess we could keep Fay on in some other City job,” Calvin said. “Maybe a uniformed code enforcement officer?”