Bill was visiting Daly City when he got threatening call from a stranger.
A resident of San Francisco, he filed a complaint with his local police station as soon as he returned to the city.
But then an Inspector named Jones told him: “You need to also file a report with the Daly City Police Department. Otherwise, we can’t help you.”
So Bill called the Daly City police–and was quickly told he didn’t need to file a report, since he had already filed one with the San Francisco Police Ddepartment (SFPD)
Angered, Bill decided to make a complaint. He dialed the main number and said, “Chief’s office, please.”
Bill didn’t expect to speak with the chief, Greg Suhr. Speaking with one of Surh’s aides would be enough.
Police departments are quasi-military organizations, where hierarchy counts for everything.
A sergeant-secretary answered the phone. Bill outlined what had happened–and didn’t hide his anger at having been blackmailed at a time when he most needed help.
The Chief’s secretary was sympathetic, took Bill’s number, and promised to get back to him soon. A few minutes later, he called back.
The secretary said he had spoken with Inspector Jones, who had tried to trace the phone number of the person who had threatened him. But that hadn’t been possible.
The number went to a Google phone exchange, which could be used by callers who didn’t want to reveal their actual number.
The next time Bill spoke with the Inspector, he detected a more helpful attitude. Still, no one in the SFPD offered Bill any advice on how to deal with an unprecedented situation.
Bill again visited a local police station. He brought a detailed, written account of who he suspected might be responsible for the threat.
Inspector Jones accepted it. Bill asked what would happen next.
Jones said he would forward Bill’s report to the District Attorney’s office. They would then decide whether to prosecute.
Bill continues to remain uncertain–of the danger he faces, of what police and prosecutors might do on his behalf. He remains alert whenever he goes out, but that’s all he can do.
Unlike celebrities, he can’t afford bodyguards. Unlike public officials, he can’t count on round-the-clock police protection.
When dealing with police, it’s best to remember the following:
Above everyone else, police look out for each other.
Robert Daley, a police reporter for the New York Times, spent one year as a deputy police commissioner. He bluntly revealed this truth in his 1971 bestseller, Target Blue: An Insider’s View of the N.Y.P.D.:
“In effect, the citizen who murdered his wife’s lover was sought by a team of detectives, two men. But he who killed a cop was sought by 32,000.”
That’s why the Mafia didn’t kill cops. Only sucidal people took on those odds.
Don’t expect the police to do for you what they’ll do for one another.
In February, 2013, a fired LAPD cop named Christopher Dorner declared war on his former colleagues.
The LAPD assigned security and surveillance details to at least 50 threatened officers and their families. A typical detail consists of two to five or more guards. And those guards must be changed every eight to 12 hours.
And those details stayed in place until Dorner was killed in a firefight on February 12.
Money makes the difference.
Police claim to enforce the law impartially. But that happens only in TV crime shows.
If you’re rich, your complaint will likely get top priority and the best service the agency can provide.
But if you’re poor or even middle-class without high-level political or police connections, your case will likely go nowhere.
Don’t expect your police department to be as efficient as those in TV police dramas.
“I want this rock [Hawaii] sealed off,” Steve McGarrett (Jack Lord) routinely ordered when pursuing criminals on “Hawaii Five-O.”
Jack Lord as Steve McGarrett
But in San Jose–a city close to bankruptcy–residents can’t get police to respond to break-ins because the police department is dangerously understaffed.
And in San Francisco, if you’re assaulted and can’t give police “a named suspect,” they won’t assign the case. As far as they’re concerned, the solvability rate is too low.
Among the realities of real-life law enforcement:
- Many police departments lack state-of-the-art crime labs to analyze evidence.
- Files often get lost or accidentally destroyed.
- Some officers are lazy, indifferent or incompetent.
- Police are notoriously competitive, generally refusing to share information with other officers or other police departments–and thus making it easier for criminals to run amok.
- Even when police ”solve” a crime, that simply means making an arrest. The perpetrator may cop to a lesser offense and serve only a token sentence–or none at all. Or he might be found not guilty by a judge or jury.
The result of all this is disillusionment with law enforcement from a deservedly–and increasingly–cynical public.


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THE TRUTH ABOUT COPS–AND A GREAT MOVIE
In Bureaucracy, History, Law, Law Enforcement, Social commentary on October 30, 2013 at 1:36 amIt’s a movie that appeared in 1981–making it, for those born in 2000, an oldie. And it wasn’t a blockbuster, being yanked out of theaters almost as soon as it arrived.
Yet “Prince of the City” remains that rarity–a movie about big-city police that
It’s based on the real-life case of NYPD Detective Robert Leuci (“Danny Ciello” in the film).
A member of the elite Special Investigating Unit (SIU) Ciello (played by Treat Williams) volunteers to work undercover against rampant corruption among narcotics agents, attorneys and bail bondsmen.
His motive appears simple: To redeem himself and the NYPD from the corruption he sees everywhere: “These people we take from own us.”
His only condition: “I will never betray cops who’ve been my partners.”
Assistant US Attorney Rick Cappalino assures Ciello: “We’ll never make you do something you can’t live with.”
As the almost three-hour movie unfolds, Ciello finds–to his growing dismay–that there are a great many things he will have to learn to live with.
Although he doesn’t have a hand in it, he’s appalled to learn that Gino Moscone, a former buddy, is going to be arrested for taking bribes from drug dealers.
Confronted by a high-ranking agent for the Drug Enforcement Agency, Moscone refuses to “rat out” his buddies.
Instead, he puts his service revolver to his head and blows out his brains.
Ciello is devastated, but the investigation–and film–must go on.
Along the way, he’s suspected by a corrupt cop and bail bondsman of being a “rat” and threatened with death. He’s about to be wasted in a back alley when his cousin–a Mafia member–suddenly intervenes.
The Mafioso tells Ciello’s would-be killers: “You’d better be sure he’s a rat, because people like him.”
At which point, the grotesquely fat bail bondsman–who has been demanding Ciello’s execution–pats Danny on the arm and says, “No hard feelings.”
It is director Sidney Lumet’s way of graphically saying: “Sometimes the bad guys can be good guys–and the good guys can be bad guys.”
Lumet makes it clear that police don’t always operate with the Godlike perfection of cops in TV and films. It’s precisely because his Federal backup agents lost him that Ciello almost became a casualty.
In the end, Ciello becomes a victim of the prosecutorial forces he has unleashed. Although he’s vowed to never testify against his former partners, Ciello finds this a promise he can’t keep.
Too many of the cops he’s responsible for indicting have implicated him of similar–if not worse–behavior.
He’s even suspected of being involved in the theft of 450 pounds of heroin (“the French Connection”) from the police property room.
A sympathetic prosecutor–Mario Vincente in the movie, Rudolph Giuliani in real-life–convinces Ciello that he must finally reveal everything he knows.
Ciello’s had originally claimed to have done “three things” as a corrupt narcotics agent. By the time his true confessions are over, he’s admitted to scores of felonies.
Ciello then tries to convince his longtime SIU partners to do the same.
One of them commits suicide. Another tells Ciello to screw himself: “I’m not going to shoot myself and I’m not going to rat out my friends.”
To his surprise, Ciello finds himself admiring his corrupt former partner for being willing to stand up to the Federal case-agents and prosecutors demanding his head.
The movie ends with a double dose of irony.
First: Armed with Ciello’s confessions, an attorney whom Ciello had successfully testified against appeals his conviction. But the judge rules these to be “collateral,” apart from the main evidence in the case, and affirms the conviction.
Second: Ciello is himself placed on trial–of a sort. A large group of assistant U.S. attorneys gathers to debate whether their prize “canary” should be indicted.
If he is, his confessions will ensure his conviction.
Some prosecutors argue forcefully that Ciello is a corrupt law enforcement officer who has admitted to more than 40 cases of perjury–among other crimes. How can the government use him to convict others and not address the criminality in his own past?
Other prosecutors argue that Ciello voluntarily risked his life–physically and professionally–to expose rampant police corruption. He deserves a better deal than to be cast aside by those who have made so many cases through his testimony.
Eventually, the U.S. Attorney for the Southern District of New York makes his decision: “The government declines to prosecute Detective Daniel Ciello.”
It is Lumet’s way of showing that the decision to prosecute is not always an easy or objective one.
The movie ends with Ciello now teaching surveillance classes at the NYPD Academy. A student asks: “Are you the Detective Ciello?”
“I’m Detective Ciello.”
“I don’t think I have anything to learn from you.”
Is Danny Ciello–again, Robert Leuci in real-life–a hero, a villain, or some combination of the two? It is with this ambiguity that the film ends–an ambiguity that each viewer must resolve for himself.
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