|
|
Many years ago, I was investigating the death of a twenty-two-year-old male. The victim lived with his parents, though he was home alone when the accident occurred. His mother returned home to find her son dead in the dining room, with a .22 caliber rifle near his body.
|
|
Read more...
|
|
|
When I was a brand-new recruit at the New Buffalo Post I was assigned to work with Larry Boger. Trooper Boger was a short, stocky, stubborn, older man with a gruff voice, deep lines on his face, gray hair, and a cigarette in his mouth. He was my training officer. He was the epitome of what we call "old school." I was green and shy.
|
|
Read more...
|
|
My father died at the age of eighty-two. This in itself is not significant to anyone but his family. What happened four days later though, is.
|
|
Read more...
|
|
For nearly seventeen years I’ve patrolled the streets of San Diego, California. I began my career in the late 1980s, when the rock cocaine epidemic was at its peak, crystal methamphetamine was exploding onto the scene, and gangs openly wore colors and engaged in drug-fueled battles over territory.
I’ve worked in poverty-stricken neighborhoods with bad schools; middle-class neighborhoods with working-class everyday folk; ultra-wealthy, gated communities with high-walled homes; and border communities where the only thing that separates have and want is a piece of corrugated steel fence.
|
|
Read more...
|
|
One late afternoon in August, I received a call on a domestic assault in progress. The assault occurred at a house just outside of town and involved a husband and wife. I was a brand-new deputy and didn’t have much experience under my belt.
As I was driving down the dirt road, within a mile of the residence, I had the sudden urge to roll up my window. Keep in mind, this was a hot summer day, and I was only minutes from the house. Was it a sixth sense, divine guidance, or an angel telling me what to do? I don’t know. I do know, however, I followed the urge and rolled up the window.
|
|
Read more...
|
|
|
|