True Crime Blog
From Part I: Duval announced, “He’s down. He’s down.” Mac responded. “I’m hit!” At that time, the thought occurred to him to remain still since he had been hit near his spine; he didn’t want to spend the rest of his life in a wheelchair. If you missed part I: Part I of The Elm Street…
Los Angeles, 1988 Gang violence propelled murder rates off the charts as crack cocaine fueled turf wars and funded caches of military-style weaponry. Shootings were rampant. Law enforcement battled to contain the fires while rap music, pop culture, and movies like Colors further fanned them. On a cool night in April, a gang cop came…
The eighties were the height of the crack cocaine epidemic in Los Angeles and throughout the country. With it came skyrocketing violent crime rates and unmatched death tolls.
Two LAPD cars drove into our jurisdiction, slowly following a van. Their lights were flashing but the driver of the van seemed oblivious to them. It was the during the late hours of our shift on a slow night in the Florence, Firestone, and Walnut Park Districts of Los Angeles County, districts patrolled by deputies…
The (semi-) Honorable J. Spencer Letts, who closely resembled the judge in the hit comedy My Cousin Vinny, sat high upon his throne in all of his black robeness, and glared at the four cop defendants who stood before him. Yours truly was one of the four.
This week I wanted to answer a question often asked by those who follow my blog: What are you reading? Who are your favorite authors? Favorite Crime Authors Joseph Wambaugh When I was a young man just out of high school, I was introduced to Wambaugh novels by my good friend Johnny Babbitt. He asked if I…
“She’s going to kill us both.” The big man at the other end of my gun glanced over to see my partner pointing her gun at him—at us—the barrel bouncing in her shaking hands. He said, “I’m cool, man.”
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.
In Marina del Rey There were worse places to process a crime scene than two miles offshore in Marina del Rey, California. But how, exactly, would one go about such a task, and what circumstances would call for such an investigation? Perhaps a case of suicide. Or murder. Those were the questions I asked a…