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.

On TV, if an innocent citizen is threatened by a criminal, the cops spare no expense protecting him–or her.

If s/he’s really lucky, s/he’ll get protection from no less than the Top Cop HImself–such as Steve McGarrett (on Hawaii Five-O) or Elliot Ness (on The Untouchables).

If you think that’s how real-life cops operate, you’re in for a shock.  Especially if you have to entrust your life to them.

Consider the case of a friend of mine I’ll call Bill.

Bill was shopping in a Home Depot in Daly City when his cell phone rang.  Assuming it was someone he knew, he casually answered it.

The caller proved to be someone he didn’t know.  More ominously, it was someone he wouldn’t want to know.

“You got my friend kicked out,” he said.  “And I’m going to get you.  I know who you are and where you live.”

Bill explained–truthfully–that he hadn’t gotten anyone kicked out.  For a few moments he had no idea who the caller might be talking about.

Then he remembered: About two months earlier, an aggressive psychopathic tenant had been evicted from his apartment building.  Bill hadn’t had anything to do with the eviction.

True, the property management company supervising the complex had tried to recruit him to testify in a lawsuit against the psycho-tenant.  But Bill had wanted nothing to do with the case.

There were some risks just not worth taking–especially when a man who routinely threatened others lived only two floors below.

Still, the tenant had clearly been told by someone else that Bill had played a role in his eviction.  Just days before he was to move out, he shouted at Bill: “I’m being evicted, and you’re responsible for it!”

The next day, by unfortunate coincidence, Bill again ran into the psycho-tenant, who shuted: “I’m being evicted, and I’m sure that makes you happy!”

So now, as Bill listened to the unknown caller making his threat, he felt 99% certain that even if he didn’t know the caller, he knew the man on whose behalf he was calling.

Bill stayed calm, trying to draw the caller into giving some specific information.  But the caller refused to be tempted, and Bill hung up.

Thinking it over, Bill was worried: His cell phone number was known to only a few people–and certainly not to the evicted tenant.  Someone had clearly gone to a great deal of trouble to find it.

For the moment, he took some heart in that the caller’s number showed up on his cell phone.  No doubt the police could quickly trace it, he assumed.

(He soon found out they couldn’t.  The number was to a Google phone exchange, which could be used by callers who didn’t want to reveal their actual number.)

As soon as Bill returned to San Francisco, he visited a police station and made out a report to a uniformed officer.

Later that day, he called the station to provide more information.  He was connected to an Inspector Jones (not his real name).

In the police world, an Inspector is a figure of real authority and prestige.  The word “inspector” will open doors that may well be closed to other police officers.

So Bill assumed he was dealing with the elite of the San Francisco Police Department (SFPD)

To his surprise, Jones asked if he had filed a report of the incident with the Daly City Police Department.

“No,” Bill said.  He had simply been visiting Daly City when the call came in.  No one had assaulted him in Daly City  And he believed the call had almost certainly come from San Francisco.

“Well,” said Inspector Jones, “you must file a report with the Daly City Police Department.  Otherwise, we can’t (that is, won’t) help you.”

Bill asked: ” Can I make the report over the phone?”

“No,” said Jones, “it has to be made in person.”

Bill: “I don’t have a car.  I don’t know where the Daly City Police Department is.”

“Well, we can’t help you until you do it,” said Jones.

So Bill called the Daly City Police Department.  A female officer soon came on the line.  Bill outlined the reason for his call.

“Did you file a report with the SFPD?” the officer asked.

“Yes,” said Bill.

“Then you don’t need to file one with us,” said the officer.

“Are you certain?” asked Bill.

“Yes.”

Now Bill was not so much worried as angry.  He re-dialed the SFPD–but this time, at a far higher level: The Office of the Chief of Police.

he didn’t expect to speak with the Chief himself.  But that wasn’t necessary.  It would be enough for him to reach someone who worked directly for the Chief.

Police department are quasi-military organizations.  They are rigidly hierarchial.  At a police station, a captain wields Godlike authority over everyone beneath him–detectives, sergeants, uniformed officers.

And if a captain wields Godlike authority over his subordinates, the Chief is the uniformed version of God to everyone else in the department.