by Joe Nobody
Two impediments to change stopped the movement in its tracks. At first outraged by the posted videos, savvy internet consumers soon became numb to the continuing onslaught of abuse. There were simply so many instances being recorded, the general public became immune.
Secondly, law enforcement administrators had adapted after the first wave of brutality videos were published online. Department spokespeople became well versed in dismissing and diverting questions about the apparent abusive practices of their officers as captured by amateur cameramen.
“We feel the video may have been edited so as not to show the entire episode,” was a favorite snub, calling into question the motivation of the camera’s owner. “You don’t see the images of the suspect reaching for the officer’s gun or when he is spitting at the police.”
Oddly enough, the integrity of cell phone video was seldom challenged when it provided the police vital evidence in solving crimes or defending officers’ actions.
“It’s difficult to judge what was really occurring with only a two-dimensional view of fast-moving events,” was another common dismissal. “From this angle, it’s impossible to tell what was actually going down.”
The rank and file lawmen also caught on very quickly. While she’d never observed it personally, Karen had heard whispers of informal training sessions where officers were taught how to surround a suspect, blocking the view of any prying cameras that may be lurking nearby. This technique became especially popular after so many departments began installing dash cameras.
Seizing cell phones that may contain “critical evidence” was in vogue for a while, but several court rulings had quelled such actions for the most part.
Not everyone believed the cops were brutal bullies hiding behind shields. Even when questionable video streamed on local news stations, the spin tactics deployed by law enforcement professionals were normally sufficient to convince the public to remain calm and to uphold the cops’ positive image.
As more and more videos surfaced over time, the police became even more adept at diffusing outrage. Experts appeared on national networks, analyzing examples and defending the actions of their law enforcement brethren. “That’s a commonly taught technique at the academy. The camera angle makes the procedure look a lot worse than what it really is.” The public seemed to accept such accounts. After all, if the method were taught to everyone, effectively implementing it must be critical to police officer job performance. Right?
The men on the street weren’t the only ones developing expertise in downplaying citizen-generated videos. Karen’s professional circle, as well as most district attorneys’ offices across the land, had developed several clever methods to counteract what appeared to be horrible acts by those paid to serve and protect.
One such method of manipulating public clamor, invented by her personally, involved the sitting members of the various grand juries, especially those that might be called upon to decide an officer’s future.
Each member of the jury was taken to a police training simulator, where an assortment of scenarios was played out via video screen and laser-firing pistol. “Officers often have a few hundredths of a second to make a decision,” the clean-cut, all American-looking instructor would caution.
He would then have each juror step into the emulator and face purpose built tests that served to drive home the reality of what our law enforcement officers face on the streets. Karen’s favorite was the example of the man standing twenty feet away with a knife. In the simulation, he would charge, murder clearly in his eye. It was practically impossible for anyone to put a bullet into the suspect before the red lights flashed, signaling the officer had suffered a stab wound. Almost every citizen was amazed by how little time the officers had to make a lethal force decision. It was a lesson that would return to them while an officer was on the stand, testifying that he ‘thought’ the suspect was armed, and he was forced to make an instant judgment.
Another favorite was called “Hogan’s Alley.” This simulation had the juror standing in an office hallway, facing several closed doors. A surprise door would open, revealing either an armed suspect or a citizen merely carrying a cell phone.
The DA always made sure the grand jury was shown her favorite example, which over 99% of all trainees failed. A woman opens the door, partially turned away. The shadows and light make it look like she is holding some sort of shotgun. She begins to turn, and practically every cadet shoots. In reality, the shotgun is a folded up baby stroller, her odd motions due to the fact that she is holding the infant in the nook of her free arm. Everyone, no matter how tainted against the police, was touched by the lesson.
Her rolodex was now populated with a new category of expert, video analysts joining the ranks of forensics, DNA, and mental health professionals. It was just the way of a new world.
“We are not going to dismiss the charges against this young man,” she finally pronounced. “To do so would bolster their civil case against Sergeant Marwick. As far as the complaint against the officer, we have an established procedure for that. They must fill out the necessary forms, which will then be assigned to Internal Affairs for investigation. If IA recommends further action, I’ll take it in front of the grand jury. The criminal justice system will not be blackmailed or bullied by one screaming, young man who clearly has a low tolerance for pain or is just a crybaby.”
Tony nodded his understanding, “You got it, boss,” he replied and then bowed out of the room without further comment.
DA Sanders watched him go and then swiveled her chair to gaze out the window, quickly becoming lost in thought. “What a travesty,” she eventually whispered. She knew the cops of today were no worse, no more violent or vigilante than at any time in America’s past. If they didn’t establish command and control of the streets, the criminal element would. Sometimes that meant playing rough. Sometimes that meant getting physical and letting the bad guys know who was in charge. “Some people only respect brute force and the willingness to use it. The police have little choice. Why can’t everyone understand what we’re dealing with?”
Judge Pearson’s docket was full, as usual.
The harried jurist was well known for tugging on his salt and pepper beard while deliberating. If he stroked with a slow, smooth motion, his mood was cerebral and calm. If the distinguished facial hairs were pulled, his honor was growing impatient, or worse yet, frustrated with the proceedings.
As Adam and Tony watched from their respective positions facing the bench, both men were concerned that the judge wouldn’t have any beard left by the end of the day. The dilemma? Neither attorney had any clue regarding which one of them was raising the judge’s dander.
They sat silently watching Pearson’s lips move as he read Adam’s motion for dismissal. It was a lengthy document, an unusual submission for arraignment proceedings.
There had already been one recess, both of the attorneys being called to chambers so the judge could view the video recordings. Adam had presented them as evidence of the police report being false… then argued that charges based on a lie could not hold merit. Tony had countered, charging that neither piece of physical evidence, nor any of the witness depositions, was related to the primary charges of resisting and assault.
The situation was further complicated by the arrival of not one, but two local news crews, complete with cameras. Adam had sent copies of the video to both stations after hearing the DA showed every intent of prosecuting Jacob Chase to the fullest extent allowed by the law.
Pearson had grimaced when he noticed the cameras, tempted to order them out of his court. He then seemed to reconsider, staunchly returning to the business at hand.
Finally, the judge sighed and placed the thick set of papers on his bench. Glancing at each attorney, he rendered his decision. “I’m not going to dismiss the charges against Mr. Chase at this time. However,” the judge continued, staring hard at Tony, “I find the evidence presented on behalf of Mr. Chase to be extremely troubling. In order
to expedite a plea arrangement, I’m strongly suggesting the people dig deep and get very creative to settle this matter before trial. The defendant is hereby released on his own recognizance and should not leave the State of Texas without permission from this court.”
The gavel tapping the bench signaled his honor was ready for the next docket case, but Adam was no longer paying attention. He’d achieved the bare minimum he’d come for, but nothing beyond that.
The defense counsel turned to see Gabe sitting in the first row, his eyes betraying no emotion. After gathering up his papers, Adam signaled for his client’s father to follow him out into the hall.
The two men walked side by side, moving down the corridor until they eventually arrived in an isolated area. “I assume that didn’t go well,” Gabe stated.
“We avoided having to post bail,” Adam responded. “But I was hoping for a complete dismissal. At least you can take Jacob straight home from the hospital.”
“Thanks for that,” Gabe nodded. “This isn’t going to be easy; is it?”
“No, no it’s not. But I’m confident we’ll prevail in the end. Remember what I told you, Mr. Chase. We have three separate battles to wage before this war is over. We have to win Jacob’s freedom first, then we have to see Officer Marwick and his cronies punished. Finally, we have sue the county to recover for your family’s financial and emotional damages. All of this is going to drag out for some time, and we have to take it step by step.”
Gabe considered his lawyer’s prediction of the long road ahead of them, a path that would hopefully led to justice. He knew he was in for the fight, but then his thoughts turned to Sandy and Jacob. His wife was holding on, but just barely. His son was still difficult to peg, the pain medications and healing process masking the boy’s true feelings behind a veil of narcotics and the sheer exertion of physical mending.
“Should we consider plea bargaining with the DA?” the troubled father asked.
“Ultimately, that decision is up to your family, but I recommend against it. Any offer made by the DA is going to result in Jacob carrying a criminal record for the rest of his life. It will influence every aspect of his future, from applying for a job to qualifying for a mortgage. Some colleges now run background checks as part of the entrance process. He’ll be tainted forever if we follow that path.”
It was all so permanent, Gabe thought. Jacob will have to live with these decisions for the rest of his life. “And if we choose to fight… and lose?”
Adam sighed, hating this part of the criminal justice system. “While it shouldn’t be this way, the truth of the matter is that the district attorney’s office is retaliatory and spiteful. Fighting them will raise the level of punishment they seek at a minimum, sometimes even increase the number and severity of the charges they bring. It doesn’t seem right for a system based on the premise of innocent until proven guilty to operate this way, but that’s just how it is.”
“Sounds like there is a presumption of guilt, and if you try to prove innocence, you’re even more guilty,” observed Gabe.
“That’s about it,” nodded Adam. “But we have about the strongest case I’ve ever brought in front of a jury, and I’m not just saying that to increase my billable hours.”
Frowning, Gabe felt a brief flash of guilt. He’d already considered the possibility that the smooth-tongued devil of a lawyer standing beside him was milking the old cash cow for all it was worth… or could borrow. Sandy and he had concluded they had no choice but to trust the only person in the entire process that had helped them so far.
Waving a hand to dismiss the notion, Gabe said, “I won’t lie and say I hadn’t thought about that, but Sandy and I trust you. How much money are we looking at if this goes to trial?”
“About $60,000 dollars, sir. Some of that amount represents my time and expertise. Some of it will be allocated for experts and specialists we’ll have to bring in to help. There are court reporters during depositions, travel expenses, and all kinds of miscellaneous costs associated with the entire affair.”
Again, Gabe had expected the amount, having done hours of research on the net. “I’ll withdraw money from our retirement account. Thank God, the old 401K has been doing well in the markets lately. But then again, what choice do we have? I can’t let my son go to jail and ruin his life while I still have a single dime left to my name.”
Chapter 4
Peelian Principle
The basic mission for which the police exist is to prevent crime and disorder.
With injuries to multiple areas of his body, Jacob seemed to struggle with the crutches, breaking his father’s heart even on the days when he managed to get around without stumbling. Just a few days ago, his son was a graceful athlete, soaring to unimaginable heights with his vertical leaping ability, moving at dizzying speeds on the court. Now he hobbled, his cut, muscular frame for naught, limited by the weakest link of his body-chain.
The worst of the knee’s swelling had subsided – mostly. It was still an awful looking joint, shades of purple and green identifying the area aggravated from nerve and vessel damage. The first surgery would have to wait until the tissue surrounding the injury had healed.
Sandy didn’t seem to be as melancholy as her husband. Her son was coming home where she could take care of him, see him without the restriction of narrow hours, exhausting drives, and pre-visit security screenings. For Jacob’s sake, she had gone to the grocery store, stocking up on all of his favorite foods. The best television in the house had been moved to the teenager’s room.
Gabe secretly smirked, his mind re-calculating the expected longevity of their home’s flooring. Probably saved ourselves from an $8,000 repair this year, he sighed, relieved that the carpet’s lifespan was no longer in immediate jeopardy from Sandy’s troubled pacing. It had been a close call.
Jacob managed the backseat with only one minor groan and two grimaces of pain.
Blood clots were still a threat to his recovery, as were recurring effects from the concussion. The broken ribs were healing better than most of his other wounds. Gabe found it difficult to keep perspective regarding his son’s situation, the father’s rage welling up and then subsiding, his own regrets fighting an internal struggle with a dark need for justice. A victory by either would be bittersweet.
They exited Central Hospital’s circular drive, never looking back at the nurse’s aide returning to the building with the wheelchair. It was an episode of their family history that none of them wanted to remember, all of them secretly sure they’d never be able to forget.
Gabe pushed aside the negativity, partially bolstered by Sandy’s steady stream of upbeat conversation and positive outlook. Mother was determined to cheer up their gloomy son. He was going home. It was all going to get better.
And it was for the first few miles.
A mere ten minutes into the ride, Jacob’s anxious warning from the backseat shocked his parents, his words a revelation of the necessary emotional healing ahead of him. “Dad, there’s a policeman behind you. Watch out!” the panic-laden voice cautioned. “Oh God, please don’t pull us over… please leave us alone.”
“It’s okay, Jacob,” Gabe reassured. “I’m not breaking any laws.”
“That doesn’t matter,” the mumbled response sounded from the backseat.
The kid couldn’t keep from turning around and staring in horror at the squad car following them, despite the pain his contortions were causing. Gabe noticed his son’s breathing had accelerated, small beads of perspiration blooming on his forehead.
He’s terrified, Gabe realized, trying to figure out how to help. I suppose none of us will ever fully understand the hell he lives in since this happened.
And then the trailing cop turned off, rolling away on a side street.
It was several minutes before Jacob’s respirations returned to normal, but the threat remained present in the teen’s mind. His eyes darted left and right, his head pivoting front and back in near panic.
&nbs
p; The next random encounter with a police cruiser sent Jacob into a huddled ball, ducking low and turning sideways in the seat as if to hide. Jacob covered his face with both hands, slowly rocking back and forth while whispering, “No. No. No.”
Gabe and Sandy exchanged a look, both parents suddenly realizing their son’s injuries extended far beyond the physical damage to ligaments and tendons, muscle and flesh. A new urgency rose inside the Chase family sedan, a priority to get Jacob home and shield his injured mind from the world outside. It was a terrible recognition.
Sandy’s motherly instincts surfaced. “Jacob, Manny promised to stop by this afternoon. She has been over a few times, helping me get your room ready. She can’t wait to see you.”
That single statement calmed the troubled teen instantly.
Mother and son were now connected, her gentle voice penetrating the wall of fear and distrust that existed just outside the sedan’s glass and steel frame. Sandy kept up her side of the conversation, soothing Jacob with promises of his favorite flavor of ice cream, the arrival of his senior pictures in the mail, and Manny’s promise of visiting as often as possible.
During the remainder of the drive, Gabe began to wonder about Manny’s ongoing role in helping Jacob heal. His son’s reaction to the mere mention of her name had been powerful, resulting in a nearly instant transformation. They have a shared experience, he realized. The girl is the only person on earth who truly understands what happened that night. They’re like two soldiers who shared a foxhole during battle. Only they know. Only they were there.
Finally, they were pulling into the driveway, both parents watching their son’s reaction closely in the rear view mirror. Jacob casually glanced at his childhood home and asked, “What time is Manny coming over?”
