True Crime Blog
My editor recently became outraged at a writing critique I privately received from a person involved in a book club. This person was critical of my book, A Good Bunch of Men, because of a bathroom scene. Though nothing beyond a conversation occurs in this scene, this critic was incensed that such a scene was…
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…
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…
Suicide cases run the gamut: shooting, hanging, jumping, overdosing on pills, and slashing wrists. Carbon monoxide poisoning, drowning, asphyxia, suicide by train, suicide by cop, plummeting one’s car over a cliff.
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…