True Crime Blog
Baptism by Fire Before I had a chance to grab a cup of coffee or discover the location of my desk, I was given my first assignment as a homicide detective. A 16-year-old boy had been killed by a train in the City of Industry. It was a chilly fall morning, and I made the…
Nada Lazarevic, a first-generation American, immigrated from Yugoslavia. The 67-year-old was a seamstress by trade who had built a steady and substantial clientele. Thrifty and hardworking, Nada saved until she could pay cash for her modest home and sensible car. She abhorred debt. Nada was living The American Dream, until she disappeared. That was the…
Crimson was twenty-two, single, and vivacious. The daughter of perhaps the most forgiving woman I’ve ever met. She had recently broken up with Derek. He was the macho sort who boasted of his combat experience as a paratrooper during Desert Storm. Which, as it turns out, was a lie. He wasn’t a paratrooper, he hadn’t…
Fugitive apprehension was filler work for SPI/Metro. The nature of our assignments was responsive: someone was kidnapped, we’d go to work; a prisoner escaped, we started a manhunt; a judge was threatened, we’d set up around-the-clock protection while investigating the source. And so on.
The Greatest Job I ever Left SPI (pronounced “spy”), the acronym for Special Investigations Bureau, was a Detective Division assignment within the Los Angeles County Sheriff’s Department. It has been renamed to Major Crimes Bureau. Personally, I liked SPI better. The bureau comprises several details: Metro, Prison Gangs, Biker Gangs, Vice, Surveillance, and Organized Crime.…
While LAPD was busy kicking Rodney King’s ass somewhere off the L.A. to Canada freeway in Lake View Terrace, I was preparing for an upcoming civil trial in federal court. I was one of four defendants, all sheriff’s deputies, charged with federal civil rights violations.
Three Basic Rules to Successful Policing 1) Don’t Go Hungry Far too often though, we would. Not by choice, but by activity. In my day (at least), we worked eight-hour days on patrol. There was no lunch break. You ate when you could. When and if it quieted enough to do so, you scarfed a…
This Blog has Gone to the Dogs. In 1997 when I promoted to Homicide, I was introduced to a tool of investigation that was new to me: scent canines. Droopy-eared hounds, low and stable, good for cornering if they were ever to build up speed. Which they don’t. They are slow and steady, designed for…
On a warm L.A. morning, the first day of October 1987, Johnny Babbitt and I were working as radio car partners assigned to Firestone Station. Neither of us could have been any happier.
Hell found me. It seeped into my skin and flowed through my veins as I held the hand of a killer. The Interview “You’re not a bad girl, Valerie,” I told her, staring into the hollow eyes that shifted from me to the floor. I saw no remorse, no emotion. She seemed to be thinking, plotting…