You can lie, but your fingerprints never will.

At my department we have the greatest piece of technology to combat LLPOF. That’s short for “Liar, Liar, Pants on Fire.” We use the Bluecheck fingerprint device whenever someone doesn’t have identification. It’s a game changer when it comes to trying to identify someone. The look on the suspect’s face is priceless when we tell them what their real name is.

This device is easy to use and works wonders. The device communicates with my work laptop computer and the internet. Both of the person’s index fingers are placed on the device and it captures the prints. The prints are then sent to the computer via Bluetooth. A search is then done through our police department records, the Department of Justice and the FBI. The results usually come back within a minute. If they have been arrested before then the prints will come back with a name.

If the person had been booked at our department then their picture, name and birth date will appear on the screen. If their fingerprints are in the DOJ database then just their name and date of birth will appear. Finally the FBI might alert on the prints.

Here are a few examples when the Bluecheck alerted us to LLPOF:

I responded to a car stop on Saturday night and was asked to Bluecheck someone. I walked up to the suspect and asked him what his name and birth date were. After he answered, I asked him if he had ever used a different name. He replied he had not. After he answered, I captured his fingerprints and let my computer do the work. Within a minute it gave me an FBI hit, along with a different name and date of birth. After looking at my computer I walked over to him and asked, “Who is Joey?” He just stared at me like he was trying to figure out what to say. When he opened his mouth, all he could do was stutter as he tried to get the words out. I then said to him, “This is my favorite part.” The suspect could only say he had been stopped by the police department in a neighboring city and they had checked his name and let him go. I pointed to the Bluecheck and said, “I bet they didn’t have this.” He only shook his head in defeat and said, “No.”

He finally admitted to using his brother’s name and birth date because he had two warrants. He also had warrants in another state. I think this guy was feeling pretty confident with the information he had given before the Bluecheck was used.

Another time I used the Bluecheck at a traffic accident scene was when one of the drivers was unlicensed. My gut feeling was the driver wasn’t telling me the truth about his name so I brought out my LLPOF detector. Before checking his prints, I asked him the same basic questions about his information and I asked if he had ever used a different name before. Of course, he said he was telling me the truth and he had given me his true name. Within a minute his picture appeared on my screen with a different name and birth date.

The picture on my screen was from twelve years ago and he looked considerably younger. A little research showed he had been arrested twelve years earlier for driving while unlicensed. I’m sure he failed to appear on that charge, but it didn’t matter now because here we were over a decade later. I took my lap top over to the suspect and showed him his picture. The look of surprise on his face was awesome as he said, “That was a long time ago.” As he went to jail, the suspect said, “I’m telling the truth now.” Whatever.

One of my favorite Bluecheck stories involved another traffic collision. There had been four people in the suspect vehicle that had crashed at 3AM. One of the people lied to us about being the driver and was arrested after witnesses came forward and pointed out who the real driver was. The real driver went to jail for DUI. That left two other passengers. They both gave false names and birth dates to the other officers. The Bluecheck revealed their real names and they both had warrants. Four occupants. Four arrests. Good thing they didn’t have a minivan full of people.

And finally, I was sent to a car stop one night for the Bluecheck. The officer had already written the ticket for the driver, who was unlicensed, but he hadn’t signed it yet. There was a sergeant and another officer from a different department on the car stop with our officer. They had never seen the Bluecheck before and I explained to them what it did before I captured the prints of the suspect. Within five minutes the suspect was in custody for lying about his name. He also had a DUI warrant for his arrest.

There are times when the person is telling the truth and the Bluecheck confirms their information. Other times there is no record of the person’s prints because they had never been arrested before. This device is pretty cool to see in action and it always amazes people when they see it used. Every department should invest in this technology.

The bad guys in our city never know when I’m going to call out “Liar, Liar, Pants on Fire.”

It was a summer afternoon when I was dispatched to a non-injury collision on the west side of the city. It was just past 6PM and the call information made it sound like a simple traffic collision. When I pulled up, both drivers were standing by their cars in a residential area just off the main highway. Both vehicles had minor damage from the rear end collision. One car had its hood pushed up a little bit and its front bumper damaged. The other vehicle’s rear bumper was slightly damaged.

The first driver, who we will call Tom, was 19 years old and looked like a hippie from the late 60’s. He had brown shoulder length hair that was unkempt and parted down the middle. He also had round prescription glasses and a mustache that were right out of the hippie handbook. I was just surprised he wasn’t driving the Mystery Machine from Scooby-Doo.

After checking to make sure there were no injuries, I asked Tom what happened. He started to tell me how he had been driving northbound on the street when he rear ended the other vehicle. As Tom told me his story, a strong odor of alcohol was blown toward me by the afternoon breeze from his body. It was about as powerful as a fart in an elevator on a hot and humid day. While I spoke with him, I noticed his eyes were a little droopy and he had a slower than normal speech pattern. Tom had rear ended the other vehicle so I figured he was possible a DUI driver. I focused my questions toward that direction and asked him what he had to drink.

He denied drinking, so I asked Tom what was the odor that I smelled. He replied, “Deodorant.” I told Tom that there was something other than deodorant and I asked him again how many beers he had to drink today. Tom was adamant he had not been drinking. I again told him the odor I smelled wasn’t deodorant.

Tom hesitantly said, “It’s Lysol.”
“Lysol?”
Tom went on to say, “I put Lysol on.”
I was now curious why someone would put Lysol on their body. Since people usually tell me crazy stuff, I decided the Lysol part of this story was much more important than this silly crash. I asked, “You sprayed it on?”

“No, it was Lysol wipes,” as he pointed to his armpits. He then explained, “I wiped first and then sprayed deodorant on.”

Tom then told me he doesn’t take a shower sometimes and his mother gave him the Lysol wipes to help freshen up. I couldn’t resist, so I asked Tom when he last took a shower. Tom thought about it for a moment and then started to say three, but then said, “Two days.” I asked Tom why he didn’t just take a shower instead of using the Lysol Wipes. He told me he was in college and he was busy. I pointed out to Tom I used to go to college and I still managed to take a shower every day. I asked Tom if he had ever used baby wipes. He said he had, but he didn’t like them. I asked Tom if a Lysol wipe was something that should be used on the body. He replied it probably wasn’t.

I then started to wonder if Tom was a few cards shy of a full deck. I explained to him why I had asked so many questions about what he had to drink. Tom was very nice about it and told me he understood. One of the last things he told me was that it was embarrassing to tell people he used Lysol. Really?

I figured it was time to ask him about the collision again because I wasn’t sure what other household cleaning products were going to come up. T.M.I.

Just another normal day at work.

You never know what’s going to happen next at this job.

One night I was dispatched to a simple non-injury traffic collision. Should be easy, right? What could go wrong? I walked out to my car, started it up and headed toward the call like normal.

I started driving eastbound when I saw two bright flashes in the sky. The first thing that came to mind was that someone had just struck a pole. Most people would think a transformer blew, but I’m a little more pessimistic and assumed a pole had been struck by a car, because it happens a lot where I work. It’s like the poles in my city are giant magnets and the cars get pulled into them like a tractor beam pulling in a space ship in Star Wars.

A minute or two later, I came up to a railroad crossing that had its red lights flashing and arms down across the street. I sat there for a little bit, but there was no train. I figured the railroad arms had something to do with the flashes I had seen in the sky. I knew of a way to get around the railroad crossing so I made a U-turn. I then took a side street so I could get to the next major east/west street because I still needed to get to my call. This particular street I was about to travel on was in an industrial area and had two turns.

I drove into the pitch black of night, with the only light coming from my head lights, which reached out to the darkness ahead of my car. The street turned left and then right before straightening out again without a car in sight. I cruised at about 30 miles per hour when I suddenly saw something hanging across the road. It looked like a ghostly gray rope that had been strung from one end of the street to the other. But it wasn’t a rope or something I imagined, it was an electrical wire! The wire was only five feet off the ground and it had blended into the night like a camouflaged fish in the ocean.

I slammed on my brake as hard as I could and said, “S@$#%$!!” My patrol car then struck the wire, which then got stuck underneath my light bar. I pushed as hard I as could on the brake, but the car wasn’t stopping as fast as I wanted. As it slowed to a stop, I could feel the tension from the wire on my car. The car was stopping, but it just felt different. At the time I did not know the top of the wood pole had just snapped also.

When the car finally stopped, I saw a wire that was now wrapped around the top of my car to the bottom like a Christmas present. The only difference was there wasn’t a red bow on top of this package and there was no Santa Claus.

My driver window had been down and I was surprised how big the wire was. Maybe it looked bigger because it was only inches away from my head. The wire went straight across the middle of my window, which meant I couldn’t crawl out even if I wanted to. Not that I would’ve because electricity should be respected and feared at the same time. I looked over at the passenger window and saw the same thing.

Of course, this was not exactly what I had been expecting when I took my detour. In fact, I never imagined this ever happening to me and it’s safe to say most people wouldn’t either. I needed to get on the radio and tell dispatch I was stuck, but this wouldn’t be a normal radio transmission. This sort of thing doesn’t happen every day and I started to wonder if it had ever happened to anyone.

I picked up the microphone and I had to make sure I sounded cool on the radio because that’s what guys worry about, right?

With nerves of steel (just kidding) I said, “784.”
“784?”
“784, I just hit a wire.”
“A wire?”
“Yes, a wire. I’m stuck.”

I gave my location and I asked for the power company to respond. A sergeant got on the radio and asked that the fire department respond also. I said to myself, “Good idea, but we better not need the fire department.”

Other officers arrived on scene, along with the sergeant. I think everyone wanted to see what I had been talking about. What a sight I must’ve been, sitting in my car with this electrical wire wrapped around me like a fly caught in a spider web.

About 30-40 minutes later, the utilities worker arrived and told me there was no more power going through the line. I had used the time wisely and wrote a report while sitting in the car. I might was well kill two birds with one stone.

The worker wanted me to back up a little, so I reversed a few feet and stopped when he told me to. He then used bolt cutters to cut the wire. The utilities worker then had me back up again so he could get the rest of the wire untangled from the rear tires.

There was a large warehouse across the street from the downed wire I had hit. This was a distribution center with trucks coming and going all the time. After I had gotten out of the car, a man identified himself as the driver of a semi truck and trailer that had collided into the pole. The driver told me he had been backing up to park along the west curb, which was across the street from his work. That was when he felt the collision and then that the power went out.

The driver, who was now a hit and run suspect, knew he had struck the pole and decided to move the truck to a different spot. The driver unhooked the trailer and left it. He then let another person drive the semi truck away to a different job. After the power went out, all of the workers from inside the warehouse went outside. He decided to blend into the crowd as he stood in the parking lot. He did not tell anyone about the collision, nor did he call the police about it either. A few minutes later I struck the wire. He claimed he had no idea the wire had been hanging across the street. I’m not sure if I believe him or not.

As for the car I was driving that night. The light bar had been damaged on top of the police car. The wire had also scratched and smeared the decals on both front doors. Not too bad considering what had just happened.

Immediately after it had happened, I felt safe because I had been in the car. But it was a weird feeling knowing I had an electrical wire wrapped around me and there really was no way to get out. Of course, this isn’t something most people have to worry about when they go to work. Up until that night, I never worried about it either.

This just goes to show you that anything can happen on this job.

Driving with lights and siren is one part the job that has become second nature after all of these years. As a traffic officer, it’s not uncommon to go Code 3(lights and siren) numerous times in a shift. It’s just part of my work day.

The first time I drove Code 3 was something I will never forget. It’s not for the reasons you’re thinking though. It wasn’t about driving fast, going through red lights or even driving on the wrong side of the road.

I remember it because of what I saw after I arrived at the call……….

In the spring of 1995, I was in the fourth week of my training, when I was given the key to the police car for the first time as an officer. It was one thing to be a new officer in the passenger seat, but it was an entirely different experience to be in the driver seat as a Boot (new guy).

One morning at about 7AM when we were dispatched to a 901T (injury traffic collision) in the southwestern part of the city. I don’t remember the exact call details, but I knew it was my chance to drive Code 3 for the first time. This was a big deal because kids dream of this and adults wonder what it’s like to be the one going through the intersection with the lights and siren, whether it’s a police car or fire truck.

I turned to my FTO and asked, “Do I go Code 3?” He was an older officer in his fifties, who had been on the job for thirty years. He nodded his head approvingly and replied, “Go ahead.”

I activated my lights and the sound of the siren wailed as I started toward the call. I remember thinking to myself how cool it was because this is what police officers do and I was finally doing it.

I tried not to drive too fast since this was my first time and I didn’t want to make a mistake in front of my FTO (field training officer). I can’t remember how far I drove, but I got to our call in one piece.

I parked my patrol car and saw three vehicles in the middle of the street, which looked like they had been thrown into the middle of a playroom by a two year old. The cars were smashed up and I couldn’t figure out how they had ended up like that. The damage to all three vehicles didn’t make sense and it looked like a war zone.

That’s when I saw a man and woman lying in the street. The man’s entire face was covered in blood, which dripped off of him like a rain soaked plant in the Amazon during a downpour.

With a pleading look, he extended his bloody hand up to me as he begged for help, but not a sound came from him. It was as if he had just been punched in the stomach and there was no air left for him to give.

Time seemed to stand still. There was not a sound around me as I stood helplessly over his bloody and broken body, as he gazed up to me with eyes that I can still see after all these years. It was at that moment I remember saying to myself, “What did I get myself into?”

I then looked at the lifeless body of the woman lying in the middle of the street. I thought to myself, “Wow, this is horrible.” One of the drivers was a 17 year old girl, who stood on the sidewalk with her arms crossed as she cried. She had the look of disbelief as she took in the scene that was in front of her. I remember feeling bad for her because this was shocking to see and she was part of it. Her car had struck these people, who were now lying in the street.

The morning sun had been low in the horizon when this girl had driven upon a collision scene while on her way to school. She had not seen the original crashed cars or the people standing in the street.

After things had settled down, I assisted with traffic control while the traffic officers arrived to investigate the collision. I remember wondering how they could make sense of the carnage and chaos that was in front of me.

Four years later, I would be that traffic cop at the collision scenes, trying to make sense of the chaos, while handling the call with the confidence that comes with experience. With that experience, I’ve gotten used to what once shocked me on my very first Code 3 run. Back then I was an idealistic, wide-eyed, 23 year-old Boot, who didn’t know anything about this job.

Now each night, I load the patrol car with my gear, wondering what chaos the next Code 3 run will bring me. With certainty, I can fondly look back on how far I’ve come in the last twenty years, in this journey and adventure called police work.

My academy experience literally took a wrong turn before it even started. I tremble at the thought of what might have happened to me if luck had not been on my side on academy orientation night.

The plan for orientation night was to be there early. My goal was to get there and be a blade of grass among the rest of the lawn that was made up of the 52 recruits of class #119 at the Orange County Sheriff’s Academy.

I left with plenty of time from my apartment in Tustin Ranch. What could go wrong since I had been to the academy before on one prior occasion. I knew where it was and who could get lost on such an important night? ME!

I knew how to get there from my police department, but I had never driven there from my apartment. No problem, right? Surrrrrrre.

Twenty years later, I still don’t know how I got lost. The old academy location was off of Newhope south of the 22 freeway in Garden Grove, CA. What a terrible location compared to where the academy is now.

I still can’t tell you which way I went. I couldn’t even tell you which streets I had been on. All of that extra time I had from leaving early was ticking away with every wrong turn, along with my career because there was no way I could be late to this.

If I was late, there was no way of being that blade in the grass anymore. I’d be that dead patch of grass the sprinklers don’t water with a gopher hole in the middle. My ass was grass if I didn’t hurry.

Normally I don’t stress out. I like to think I can keep my cool in any situation. Not this day. Not this moment. I was in panic mode as each minute got closer to the start time. My mind was racing and it was filled with thoughts of being late and getting blasted by the academy staff. Being late to the orientation night of the police academy was unacceptable.

Each red light made things worse. Then, as if a police angel had been sent to save me, I saw a motor officer on a car stop. When do you ever see a cop when you need one?

What I sight I must have been. I was 23 years old with an academy haircut, who was wearing a shirt and tie. In a hurry I asked, “Where’s the academy?” He was a Garden Grove officer and I’m sure he had a good laugh about me after with his friends, but it didn’t matter right now. He was nice about it and I’m sure he saw the urgency of my question. He gave me directions and I ran back to my car. Orientation was at 6:30PM.

I raced into the academy parking lot and parked. I got out of my car and walked as fast as I could because every second counted. It was 6:28PM and I had made it. My heart was pounding as I walked in just ahead of another recruit. The entire academy tactical staff was in the hallway against the wall between me and the room I needed to be in. That hallway looked ten miles long at that point.

I had two minutes to spare, but it felt like I had a huge target on my chest, back, head, legs and every other part of my body as they looked at me with menacing eyes and fist that seemed to be clinching with every step I took.

They stood there moving side to side like football players on the sideline during the national anthem at the beginning of the Super Bowl. They probably had just gotten done watching the opening scene from the movie Full Metal Jacket too.

After a quick introduction with the families of the recruits, we were sent to our classroom. One by one we filed into the room and stood at attention. There was a phone number written on the board. I ended up sitting on the right side of the class, about the fourth row back. Not bad. At least I wasn’t in front. The only problem was the guy sitting next to me. He was the same recruit who had walked in behind me when we were almost late.

The door closed and the category 5 storm hit. Someone from the staff yelled out, “Who was late?” Should I raise my hand and single myself out? I had two minutes to spare and we all know the last two minutes of a football game take forever. That should count for something.

Then we heard, “Who called for directions?” For a moment, I thought the motor had called the academy to tell them about me. Then the recruit, who was next to me, raised his hand. Within seconds, every Tactical officer was around us and yelling at him. They went on and on, which made me glad the heat was on him and not me. Good thing I hadn’t put my hand up.

One of the Tac officers then told all of us to write down the phone number that was on the board. Every head looked down and we started writing on the notepads that each and every one of us had brought. Everyone, except the recruit next to me. The same guy who had called for directions.

He whispered to give him some paper. I tore off one piece from my notepad and gave it to him really fast like a note being passed in high school. The only difference was certain death for being caught.

As we started to write the phone number down this Tac officer yelled, “This is the phone number to the academy. Call it on Monday to quit!”

As our orientation went on, the Tac officers yelled at different people for different things. They told us to write various things down, which we did. The guy on my left still had that single piece of paper I had given him and he was running out of room fast. He was writing in the margins and on the back. It was almost comical how small he was writing.

At one point, a Tac officer walked up and said, “Let me see that.” The recruit handed him the paper, which was starting to curl on all four corners because it had soaked up so much ink. They then found out he forgot to bring a notepad like we had been told. All the attention was then on him again and I was able to survive the rest of the orientation night.

Later on in the academy, I had plenty of chances for the heat to be on me, but not on this night.

Looking back, it’s funny how things ended up working out, but I also know how I lucky I had been because of the cop with the motor wings, who had been there when I needed him. Next time you get a ticket from a motor, give them a break. You never know when you might need him or her.

And finally, I have a message for that Station 32 motor, if by chance he ever gets to read this…..

THANKS! I owe you Starbucks.