Tag Archive for: search warrant

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Five Questions: A Thursday Cop and Crime-Scene Quiz for Writers

Okay, today is quiz day here at The Graveyard Shift. So sharpen your pencils (we’re not high tech), take a seat at your desks, and then you may begin.

Miranda. Yes or No?

  • Johnny I. Lawbreaker was arrested at the scene of a burglary. A man walking his dog, a toy poodle named Ralph, saw Lawbreaker enter the home through a side window. The witness called the police and within a minute or two a patrol car showed up and the two officers nabbed the crook as he climbed feet first from the open window. In his right hand was a money bag filled with cash. The bag was clearly labeled with the homeowners first and last name.

The officers handcuffed Lawbreaker and hauled him to the local jail. He was allowed to post bond and later appeared in court to answer to the charges of Breaking and Entering and Larceny. Prior to his testimony Lawbreaker appeared confident and even occasionally smiled at jury members, the arresting officers, and the DA. After the prosecutor finished her opening statement Lawbreaker, having waived his right to an attorney, was representing himself, stood an addressed the court by saying, “Your Honor, I’d like for you to dismiss all charges because the officers never read me my rights, and the law states that they must. They violated my constitutional rights. Thank you.”

The judge, the Honorable Tommy T. Toughasnails, said, “Motion denied. Madam prosecutor, you may continue. “Law breaker was flabbergasted. He wondered how the judge could allow such a flagrant violation? After all, he thought, it’s right there in the constitution—When a person is arrested, police officers must immediately advise them of their rights.

Question – When making arrests, are police officers required by law to advise suspects of their rights? If so, is there a specific time and/or place to do so (at the spot of the arrest, for example?) At the police station/jail?

The One Phone Call

  • Police arrested Steve Legalbeaglewannabe and are now inside the department booking area. The prisoner rants and complains and hollers about his constitutional right to a phone call. “I want to call my wife and I demand that you take me to a phone right now! You idiots are violating my constitutional right to make a phone call. I ain’t no fool. I. Know. My. RIGHTS!”

Question – Is Leagalbeaglewannabe correct? Is there a constitutional right to be allowed that “one phone call?”

Those Lyin’ Cops

  • Ronnie Wrongway tells the judge that he shouldn’t be convicted for his crime of selling a million pounds of fentanyl to an undercover cop because the plainclothes cop lied to him, stating that he was not a police officer when Wrongway asked. During the trial the drug dealer aimed a grubby and stubby index finger at the officer and declared, “He, that fibbing cop right there, violated my constitutional rights when he lied to me. Cops must always tell the truth; therefore, I demand that all charges against me be dismissed.”

Question – Is it written in the constitution that police officers must always be truthful when dealing with criminals? Must charges be dismissed if an officers lies to a suspect during an investigation?

I Ain’t Pressing’ No Charges

  • Betty Blackeye calls the police to report an assault committed by her boyfriend. She tells the dispatcher that that Billy Buck came home from work, caught her in bed with two clowns from the circus that was in town for the week, and the next thing she knew … POW! Billy socked her in the eye. He tried fighting her two lovers but each time he bopped them in the nose they simply fell backward for a second, after releasing an odd squeaking noise, before quickly bouncing back upright.

So officers drove over to nab Billy Buck with plans of charging him with assault. When they arrived they observed Betty’s recently and badly bruised eye. However, Betty had a change of heart and began crying and begging officers to let the love of her life go. “I LOVE him,” she squalled. Between sobs she said she didn’t want to press charges, but the officers handcuffed Billy and took him to jail anyway. He was charged with assault.

Question – Was it legal for officers to arrest Billy Buck even though Betty withdrew her complaint?

Peekaboo, I See You

  • Donnie Doper called the police to report a break-in at his home. He told police that a rear door was forced open and the crooks stole his Crockpot, a socket set, and a shotgun. Police officers arrived and Donnie invited them inside to have a look around. While touring the home and taking notes one of the officers spotted a 5 lb. bag of cocaine on the kitchen table. Beside it is a set of scales and a stack of plastic bags. They arrested Donnie and confiscated the drugs and associated items.

Donnie argued that the officers illegally seized the drugs and paraphernalia because they did not possess a warrant to do so. And, since the seizure was illegal then so was his arrest. He demanded that charges be dropped.

Question – Was Donnie’s arrest illegal? Do police need a warrant in this or similar circumstances?

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Homemade Bread, and Heroin: Search Warrants and Snacks

The entry team is briefed and are in position at the front door. A second team stands ready at the back door. Other officers cover each of the windows to prevent someone from slipping away.

It’s an impressive sight, all those highly-trained police officers dressed in all black and holding enough firepower and break-and-rake tools to overtake a small country. On command, a well practiced entry team moves like an intricately designed machine.

First, the distraction, a technique used to be sure the team members at the front door are able to make a safe entry into the home. CRASH! A side window is broken by an officer swinging a crowbar. Shards of broken glass are raked away from the window frame and sill. BOOM! A flashbang is tossed into the bedroom. The cover officer aims his weapon at the inside and clears the room (Never insert the gun barrel past the window frame. You don’t want some thug grabbing it and taking it away).

Now, with all attention diverted toward the crash and explosion, the battering ram hits the front door. A second CRASH! The house is suddenly flooded with heavily-armed police officers who mean business. They’ve come for the wanted suspect and they’ve caught him with his “pants down.” Seriously, sometimes you really do catch them that way!

People scream. Men run. Woman yell. Babies cry. Dogs bark. Cellphones ring. TV roars. Radios crackle. Handcuffs click. And finally … silence.

That’s how a search warrant execution can go. They’re dangerous. Exciting. Adrenaline flows like the whitewater portion of a swift-moving river. Heart pounding against the inside of your chest. Pulse pushing against the neck.

Ah, yes … the excitement.

But not so for me on one summer night …

It was to be the largest heroin bust I’d ever made—the mother-lode. I had all details perfectly spelled out on the warrant and we were ready to make our move. I absolutely wanted no mistakes. None. So the team was briefed, re-briefed, and briefed again. Besides, we’d worked together for so long that we could practically do a safe entry with our eyes closed. Still, you never know.

Sometimes I preferred to surprise the bad guys by simply knocking on the front door (with the rest of the entry team hiding around the corner). Occasionally you get lucky and the suspect opens the door, thinking it might be Aunt Susie or one of their regular customers dropping by to re-up their supply.

I decided to go for the door-knocking this time—the polite kind, not the cop-knock where you slam the butt of your fist or end of a flashlight sharply against the door. Always use command presence, even with a door-knock, right?

Knock, Knock, Knock (gently, with my knuckles).

Footsteps approached.

Since I’m highly allergic to bullet holes I stood slightly to the side of the doorjamb.

The heavy door opened slowly with a creak of the old hinges.

I was tense, prepared to grab my dangerous suspect and pull him outside.

In the opening of the doorway, however, appeared an elderly lady. White hair, round glasses perched on the end of her bird-beak nose. Faded housedress. Pink slippers.

A tiny smile split her ruby-red lips, painted with a smear of the bright red lipstick reaching a bit too high above the upper lip. A short strand of pearls hung around her neck, appearing out of place against the old paisley housedress.

The stopper was instantly pulled on the boiling adrenaline. I felt it swirling away at the bottom of the bowl.

“May I help you?” she said.

“Is Mr. Drug Dealer at home?” I asked.

“No, he’s out with some of his little friends.”

“Are you related to him?”

“No. I’m his grandmother’s live-in nurse. Her companion, actually. Madam is here, though. Would you like to see her?”

“Is anyone else in the house, besides the two of you?”

“No, it’s just us. Could I help you?”

Well, I decided to go ahead with the search, figuring I could always pick up Mr. Drug Dealer another time. So I stepped inside and explained the purpose of my visit. Madam’s companion then led me to Grandma so I could repeat the whole story again, to her.

Grandma was at least 190-years-old and shriveled like an over-ripe prune. She sat propped up in a hospital bed in a room that smelled like a mid-summer construction site Port-a-John. Ms. Companion apparently had not been attending to a few needs.

The companion/nurse asked if I’d like a nice, cold glass of iced tea?

“No thank you,” I said and then moved on explaining the search warrant to Grandma. She said she understood and asked then if I was hungry.

“No, Ma’am.”

I told her that we needed to begin our search.

“No one is going to do any searching in my house,” she said “without first having something to eat. No man has ever left my house, hungry, and tonight will be no exception”

She called for the companion and told her to set the dining room table, buffet style.

“No Ma’am, we can’t eat. We’re here to—”

“Nonsense. You gather all your little friends in the dining room and tell them to grab a plate. Mary! Is the table ready, yet? Fetch some  homemade rolls, too. And the real butter. Don’t forget the butter!”

“No, Ma’am. Really, we  need to …”

She held up a skeletal version of a hand. “Hush. Now you go have a bite to eat and then you boys can go about your little searching, or whatever it is you want.”

“Ma’am, really we can’t …”

One of the team members walked into room holding half a hot, buttered roll in his left hand (at least he’d kept his gun hand free). The other half of the roll crammed inside his mouth, lumped inside his right cheek. Between chews he nodded toward the dining room. “Food’s getting cold.”

The bread smelled delicious.

He raised his eyebrows and nodded again.

I knew when I was outnumbered and accepted the cold glass of iced tea that Madam’s companion held in her liver-spotted hand. I hadn’t eaten all day and was famished.

And that was the beginning of my search warrant for the mother … um…  well, the Grandma-lode of heroin, which we did find, by the way, along with cocaine, animal tranquilizer, LSD, hash, syringes, and more.

Mr. Drug Dealer was assigned a bond of one-million dollars. Yes, it was a somewhat large scale operation that he conducted under the noses of Madam and her companion. The two women were clueless.

True story …

*Break and rake is a technique used to draw attention away from the point of entry (POE). It’s a great distraction that often prevents suspects from arming themselves or from escaping custody. Catching suspects with their “pants down” (off-guard) is often the safest way to effect an arrest in a dangerous environment.Having a snack while serving a search warrant is definitely not recommended. Unless, of course, homemade bread is on the menu.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Tickets are still available to this one-of-a-kind, opportunity for writers to attend hands-on homicide investigation training, training that’s typically available only to law enforcement. Hurry while spots are still available. Crime writers should not miss this rare event!

MurderCon registration

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Informants: The Case of Sibling Snitchery

It was an extremely difficult and odd case, busting a woman whose brother had snitched on her to protect his own skin. Yep, threw his own flesh and blood under the bus the second the cuffs touched his wrists.

It started when I’d decided to do a little cold-calling, like an old-time door-to-door encyclopedia salesman. Picking the names of a few known drug dealers, I paid each of them a visit at their homes. The idea was to knock on the door, tell them my name and that I was a police detective (most already knew), and then ask if I and my partners could search their home(s), looking for drugs and illegal weapons. Well, you would not believe the number of idiots who said, “Yes, Officer. You may search my home because I’m a fine upstanding citizen and there are absolutely no drugs or guns here. Honest.”

Anyway, I knocked on this one guy’s door (let’s call him Dumb Jimmy), giving him my little speech about the drug problem in his neighborhood and that I’d like to search his house, with his permission, of course. I even told him that I suspected him of selling illegal narcotics. I also let him know that he could refuse the search and I’d be on my way.

Guess what? Yep … His narrow chicken lips split into a wide grin. Then he said, “Come on in!”

He was so enthusiastic with the invitation, it was like listening to the Price Is Right announcer. “Come on in, Detective Lofland. You have the chance to find fifteen pounds of primo weed and two ounces of the finest cocaine money can buy. And … an absolutely free trip to COURT to visit with  distinguished judge! Yes, you and your fellow detectives could win an all expense paid trip to circuit court, where you and your co-conspirator will enjoy the company of some of the best thieves, murderers, and whores in the business! All this and more, IF … the search is good.”

So Dumb Jimmy stepped aside and waved us in. The place was extremely neat and very clean. Sparsely furnished. He’d gone for IKEA chic, all blonde wood and bright solid-colored burlap-type upholstery. A few Ansel Adams prints dotted the walls. The room was open to the kitchen and a small but adequate dining area. The table there was dark walnut, topped with quite a bit of camera equipment. Nothing cheap. All high-end goods.

Dumb Jimmy’s girlfriend sat on the couch with her outstretched legs and bare feet planted on a glass-topped coffee table, watching TV. Never batted an eyelash in our direction. I understood. Eight Is Enough had that effect on most viewers—a must see.

I guess she’d forgotten, or didn’t care about the big bag of pot and the large bong sitting not two feet from her polished-pink toenails. I turned to Dumb Jimmy, and I kid you not, his first words were, “That’s hers.”

I spun him around to slip the stainless-steel jewelry on his wrists and that’s when he really started spilling his guts. Yodeled like a canary on speed. Anything to get out of the mess he’d suddenly found himself in.

I found myself wanting to make a deal with his girlfriend—I’d let her go if she’d go to the kitchen junk drawer to find some duct tape I could use to cover her boyfriend’s mouth.

“My sister’s got some heroin,” said Dumb Jimmy. “Acid, too. And probably some pot, mushrooms, and meth. Oh, yeah, there’s hash and some horse tranquilizer in the basement.”

“Is that all?” I said. What a dirtbag, rolling over his own sister. I’d meant it as a rhetorical question, but DJ (Dumb Jimmy) hadn’t taken it that way.

“Well, she’s usually got a bunch of Oxy or Percocet …” He scrunched up his nose, a gesture that caused his eyes to narrow into a deep squint. I thought he was going to sneeze, but after a couple seconds passed I realized he was thinking, hard. He was actually trying to come up with even more things his sister had done wrong. Suddenly, his eyes opened, wide. “Hey, what about Botox? That’s illegal, right? I mean, she shouldn’t be giving those shots to people, should she? Does it at home. Shoots ’em up right there in the living room. She steals the stuff from the doctor she works for. That’s where she gets the pills, too. Swiped a few of his script pads. Keeps them in her room with—”

I stopped him, pulling the Miranda card from my badge case. “I need to read something to you,” I said. “And you need to listen carefully. Then, if you still want to talk to me about your sister, you can.”

DJ nodded his head vigorously. “I want to help. And you’ll help me, right?”

His girlfriend shook her head from side to side, slowly. “What a dumbass,” she said before using one hand to stifle a belch while reaching for a pack of smokes with the other.

I heard one of my partners agree with her. “No, not him,” she said. “Me, for staying with that wimp. But, his family has a boatload of money and they always have really good dope. So …”

I spent the next several hours listening to DJ ramble on about his sister’s illegal activities, deciding that he was probably being pretty darn truthful. If so, we had a much bigger fish to fry. The prosecutor agreed and a deal was made. If all went as planned, we’d raid the sister’s house, arrest her, and DJ would testify against her in court in exchange for having all his charges dismissed. We held the girlfriend on minor charges so we could keep the lid on the operation until we were ready to make the next move.

Of course, it took all of three minutes into our search of the sister’s house before she said to me, “My brother sells weed. Lots of weed.”

So, with another warrant in hand and my drug dog leading the way, well, this …

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Hidden Evidence: What’s in Your Wall?

In the world of cops and robbers, there are many rules, both written and unwritten. Writers, of course, enjoy the freedom of making things up as their stories progress from one scene to another. However, a touch of authenticity sprinkled throughout the pages can add a nice touch to a well-crafted tale.

Here’s a tasty tidbit that’s a perfect garnish for your next well-baked tale.

To read, simply click the arrows below each page. The right arrow allows you to continue reading. The left, of course, allows you to return to previous pages. As always, thanks for supporting The Graveyard Shift!

*For a different viewing experience, click (at the bottom of the page) on “Hidden Evidence by Lee Lofland,” The link takes you to a place where you can view the entire piece one page at a time without having to scroll at all. For an even better perspective, click on the the little icon that resembles a TV screen. I’m learning, too, don’t worry. Thanks!

Hidden Evidence by Lee Lofland

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Pre-Search Warrant: What’s in Your Drawers?

We all love those scenes in our favorite cop shows where the hero decides there’s a piece of much-needed evidence in the bad guy’s house, so he merely kicks in the door and goes in to get it. TV heroes do this at least once per episode.

Well, in the real world there’s a problem with that procedure. First of all, cops need one of two things before they can enter someone’s property—permission from the homeowner, or probable cause and a search warrant. The exceptions to this rule are when someone’s life is in immediate danger or if the evidence could be destroyed before a warrant could be obtained.

Before approaching a judge or magistrate to obtain a search warrant the officer should ask himself/herself a few basic questions. If the answers to those questions are satisfactory the officer should be able to obtain the warrant.

1. Where do they want to search?

Addresses/locations must be very specific on search warrants. The officer must also describe the property in detail (red clapboard-sided, single-story, single-family house with blue shutters. House number is painted on the front door in purple, etc.).

2. What is the officer searching for?

Blanket searches are not permitted. Officers must be very specific when listing the property they hope to find, and the details must be related to the case they’re working. For example, if the case involves a stolen refrigerator officers may not look in places where the fridge could not be hidden (nightstand, etc.). Therefore, illegal items found in the nightstand drawers, or other “drawers,” would not be admissible in court.

3. Details of the investigation that led to the search warrant request.

This is a basic narrative of what the officer has done and learned that led him to believe the evidence is inside the property listed on the paperwork.

4. Do I know what I’m doing?

Officers must convince a judge that they have enough training and experience to apply for and carry out a search warrant service. They should list that training and experience on the affidavit (application for search warrant).

5, Does this warrant need to be served under the cover of night or, is it safe to go in during the daytime?

Officers must justify their reasons for wanting to “go in” at night. And those reasons vary—wanting to catch the dangerous drug dealers while they’re asleep, the drug dealers are always at home during  certain hours, it’s safer to raid a home while everyone’s in the bed asleep.

If officers meet these very basic requirements they’ll probably come away from the judge’s office with warrant in hand. (Of course, there’s more to it than this, but you get the idea). The next step is to knock and announce their presence, serve the warrant, and then collect the evidence you were hoping to find. When finished the officer must leave a receipt for every single item seized.

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Informants: Working the System

Informants: Gotta love-em

It was an extremely difficult and odd case, busting a woman whose brother had snitched on her to protect his own skin. Yep, threw his own flesh and blood under the bus the second the cuffs touched his wrists.

It started when I’d decided to do a little cold-calling, like an old-time door-to-door encyclopedia salesman. Picking the names of a few suspected drug dealers, I paid each of them a visit at their homes. The idea was to knock on the door, tell them my name and that I was a police detective (most already knew), and then ask if I, and my partners, could search their home, looking for drugs and illegal weapons.

You would not believe the number of idiots who say, “Yes, Officer. You may search my home because I’m a fine upstanding citizen and there are absolutely no drugs here. Honest.”

Anyway, I knocked on this guy’s door (let’s call him … ummm … Dumb Jimmy) and offered him my little speech about the drug problem in his neighborhood and that I’d like to search his house, with his permission, of course. I even told him that I suspected him of selling illegal narcotics.

Guess what? Yep … His narrow lips split into a wide grin. Then he said, “Come on in!”

He was unbelievably enthusiastic with the invitation, sounding like a TV game show announcer. “Come on in, Detective Lofland. You have the chance to win two ounces of the finest cocaine money can buy. And … an exciting trip to court! Yes, you and your fellow detectives could win an all expense paid trip to circuit court, where you’ll enjoy the company of some of the best thieves, murderers, and whores in the business! All this and more, IF the search is good.”

So Dumb Jimmy opens the door and waves us inside. The place was extremely neat and very clean. Sparsely furnished. He’d gone for IKEA chic, all blonde wood and solid colors of burlap-type upholstery. A few Ansel Adams prints dotted the walls. The room was open to the kitchen and a small but adequate dining area. The table there was dark walnut, topped with quite a bit of camera equipment. Nothing cheap, either.

Dumb Jimmy’s girlfriend sat on the couch with her feet planted on a glass-topped coffee table, watching TV. Never batted an eyelash in our direction. I understood. The People’s Court had that effect on most viewers—a must see.

I guess she’d forgotten, or didn’t care about the big bag of pot and the large bong sitting not two feet from her blue Converse tennis shoes. I turned to Dumb Jimmy and I kid you not, his first words were, “That’s hers.”

I spun him around to slip the jewelry on his wrists and that’s when he really started spilling his guts. Anything to get out of the mess he’d suddenly found himself in. I found myself wanting to make a deal with his girlfriend. I’d let her go if she’d find me some duct tape for her boyfriend’s mouth. He simply wouldn’t shut up.

“My sister’s got some heroin,” he said. “Acid, too. And probably some pot, mushrooms, and meth.”

“Is that all?” I said. What a dirtbag, rolling over his own sister. I’d meant it as a rhetorical question, but DJ (Dumb Jimmy) hadn’t taken it that way.

“Well, she’s usually got a bunch of Oxy or Percocet …” He scrunched his nose tightly until it looked like a tiny accordion, a gesture that caused his eyes to squint. His nose looked like a tiny accordion and I thought he was going to sneeze, but after a couple seconds passed I realized he was thinking, hard. He was actually trying to come up with even more things his sister had done wrong.

Suddenly, his eyes opened, wide. “Hey, what about Botox? That’s illegal, right? I mean, she shouldn’t be giving those shots to people, should she? Does it at home. Shoots ’em up right there in the living room. She steals the stuff from the doctor she works for. That’s where she gets the pills, too. Got a few of his script pads, too. Keeps them in her room with—“

I stopped him, pulling the Miranda card from my badge case. “I need to read something to you,” I said. “And you need to listen carefully. Then, if you still want to talk to me about your sister, you can.”

DJ nodded his head vigorously. “I want to help. And you’ll help me, right?”

His girlfriend shook her head from side to side, slowly. “What a dumbass,” she said.

I heard one of my partners agree with her. “Not him,” she said. “Me, for staying with that wimp.”

I spent the next several hours listening to DJ ramble on about his sister’s illegal activities, deciding that he was probably being pretty darn truthful. If so, we had a much bigger fish to fry. The prosecutor agreed and a deal was made. If all went as planned, we’d raid the sister’s house, arrest her, and DJ would testify against her in court in exchange for having all his charges dismissed.

Of course, the second the sister opened her front door and saw the search warrant in my hand, she immediately said, “My brother’s holding a lot of cocaine …”

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