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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INFORMANTS VS. RATS
In Bureaucracy, History, Law, Law Enforcement, Social commentary on October 31, 2013 at 2:09 amIn the 1981 police drama, “Prince of the City,” both cops and criminals use plenty of four-letter words.
But the word both groups consider the most obscene is spelled is spelled with three letters: R-a-t.
The movie is based on the true-life story of former NYPD detective Robert Leuci (“Danny Ciello” in the film, and played by Treat Williams). It’s based on the best-selling nonfiction book, Prince of the City, by Robert Daley, a former deputy commissioner with NYPD.
Leuci/Ciello volunteers to work undercover against massive corruption among lawyers, bail bondsmen and even his fellow narcotics agents.
Along the way, the movie gives viewers numerous insights into not only how real-world cops work but how they see the world–and their role in it.
In its first scenes, “Prince” shows members of the elite Special Investigating Unit (SIU) preparing for a major raid on an apartment of Columbian drug-dealers.
Ciello, sitting in a restaurant, gets a tip on the Columbians from one of his informants. He then phones it in to his fellow officers. Together, they raid the apartment, assault the dealers, and confiscate their drugs and money.
The film makes it clear that even an elite detective squad can’t operate effectively without informants. And in narcotics cases, these are either addicts willing to sell out their suppliers or other drug-dealers willing to sell out their competitors.
For the cops, the payoff is information that leads to arrests. In the case of the SIU, that means big, headline-grabbing arrests.
With their superiors happy, the stree-level detectives are largely unsupervised–which is how they like it. Because most of them are doing a brisk business shaking down drug-dealers for their cash.
For their informants, the payoffs come in several forms, including:
All of these activities are strictly against the law. But to the men charged with enforcing anti-narcotics laws, this is the price to be paid for effective policing.
But not all police informants are criminals. Many of them work in highly technical industries–such as phone companies.
A “connection” such as this is truly prized. With it, a detective can illegally eavesdrop on the conversations of those he’s targeting.
He doesn’t have to go through the hassles of getting a court-approved wiretap. Assuming he has enough evidence to convince a judge to grant such a wiretap.
A top priority for any cop–especially a narcotics cop–is protecting the identities of his informants.
At the very least, exposing such identities could lead to embarrassment, unemployment, arrest and imprisonment. At worst, it could lead to the murder of those informants by enraged criminals.
But there is another reason for protecting the identity of informants: The cop who amasses a roster of prized informants is seen as someone special within the police department, by colleagues and superiors alike.
He knows “something” they do not. And that “something” allows him to make a lot of arrests–which, in turn, reflects well on the police department.
If those arrests end in convictions, his status within the department is further enhanced.
But while a cop is always on the lookout for informants against potential targets, that doesn’t prevent him from generally holding such people in contempt.
“Rats,” “finks,” “stool pigeons,” “canaries,” “informers”–these are among the more printable terms (for most media) cops use to describe those who betray the trust of others.
Such terms are never used by cops when speaking to their informants.
For cops, the most feared- and -hated part of every police department is its Internal Affairs Division (IAD). This is the unit charged with investigating allegations of illegal behavior by police.
For most cops, IAD represents the devil incarnate. Any officer who would be willing to “lock up” a “brother officer” is considered a traitor to the police brotherhood.
Even if that “brother officer” is engaging in behavior that completely violates his sworn oath “to protect and serve.”
In “Prince of the City,” Danny Ciello gives voice to just these feelings.
He’s preparing to betray the trust of his fellow narcotics officers by exposing the massive corruption among them. Yet he fiercely rejects the idea that he is a “rat.”
“A rat is when they catch you and make you an informer,” he tells his wife. “This is my game.”
Ciello has volunteered to obtain evidence of corruption; he’s not under some prosecutor’s thumb. That, to him, makes him different from a “rat.”
Of course, once Ciello’s cover is blown and his fellow cops learn what he has done, they will forever brand him a “rat,” the worst sort of turncoat.
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.”
For viewers seeking to learn the workings–and mindsets–of real-world police agencies, “Prince of the City” has a great many lessons to teach.
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