A Different Kind of Bad Guy

I just dealt with the toughest case I ever had. It was tough in many ways, but mostly emotionally and psychologically. I was called to the scene of a lewd molestation. A twenty-something year-old man was caught having sex with young girl in a public place. She’s so young, she’s not even a teenager. This alone is enough to warp the average mind, but even more grueling: they were very closely related.

I arrived at the scene. Fortunately for the prosecution, the whole act was caught on video surveillance. Unfortunately, I had to repeatedly watch the surveillance recording to get the facts and make the arrest. Sure, I’ve heard all the jokes before. And having lived in Hamburg, Germany for a few years, I was exposed to some of the "broader" notions of sexual activity than those of puritanical America. But absolutely nothing had prepared me for this: watching the crime on video one minute, and then talking to the victim about it the next. Stupefying.

On tape, it seems as if the two have done this a hundred times before. Unfortunately, it didn’t seem like this was the first time. As if they were married for a dozen years and it was all routine. But in the other sense of reality, there’s a pre-teen little girl sitting in front of me cuddling a teddy bear struggling with words to explain what happened. I feel a tenseness in the back of my head. An odd feeling I never felt before. An uneasy anxiousness, some kind of agitation telling me things aren’t right, as if I’m sensing some unknown danger. Fortunately, I don’t have to spend much time with the victim. My squad mate Dave has the regrettable task of staying with her for the next several hours while she gets professional care.

I spend the next seven unlucky hours guarding the suspect. I sat next to him, staring with a scowl on my face. I sat there in silence, but fleeting thoughts screamed in my head…"how could you do this?...how could you ruin such a young spirit?...how could you be so disgustingly selfish?..." Then, I began thinking what if someone like him did something like this to my (step-)daughter. She’s about the same age. The images of the videotape had been droning constantly in the back of my mind. But now, one minute, it’s the face of the victim. The other, it’s my own (step-)daughter. The din of the fluorescent lights above are the only thing keeping me sane.

Thankfully, after hours of waiting, the door opens and the silence and the psychological turmoil break. A Sex Crimes Detective enters and prepares for his interview with the suspect. He was calm, calculated, and unnerved. He handled the matter with the ease and professionalism that a master mechanic fixes a flat tire. He’s handled hundreds of crimes like this for over fifteen years. As for me, I don’t have a speck of the same tolerance, experience, or built-up fortitude. It’s late in my shift, I’m drained, but I know that it’s going to be a long, sleepless night. I found myself wishing that I had the same ability to so matter-of-factly deal with the situation, but then I thought, maybe not. As a sex crimes detective, I can only imagine the countless sleepless nights he endured over the years. Again, I sat there and silently commended his sacrifices and those his family undoubtedly made as well.

After the interview, I took the suspect to jail. While filling out all the paperwork, I notice that I’m a bit out of sorts. I feel as if I’m somehow withdrawn from myself and the other officers around me. Then I see a familiar face, a buddy of mine who I went to the Academy with, a guy who always makes me laugh. In the time it takes him to say, "Hey guy!", I remember all of the good times we shared during our training. And then I remember something else. During the academy, one of our excellent instructors, Dr. Gentz, made a remark that stuck with me; paraphrasing, "things can go wrong with your mind, just like your body." I was well aware that things had changed in my mind. I am not the same. I don’t feel the same. So, I took some of good doctor’s advice. I started talking to a fellow officer, with whom I confide, about how I was feeling.

I told her how I’ve seen people shot, stabbed, sliced, run over by freight trains, and never ever thought about it twice. "But there’s something different about this…this case bothers me," I said.

She replied, "Well, sure it’s different. You’re dealing with a different kind of ‘bad guy’."

Suddenly, the wisdom her words hit me. She’s right. The "bad guys" I’m accustomed to chasing are dope dealers, gangsters, beggars, thieves, drug-addicts, drunks, swindlers, and the like. They’re all familiar to me. Their violence and stupidity seem almost natural.

Indeed, this was different. This was a different kind of "bad guy" who committed a different kind of crime—a crime that I hope never becomes familiar to me.

Off. Jay Chiarito-Mazzarella

To hear Jay's latest recorded story, click here:

http://www.tpdpodcast.com/2007/07/10/things-happen-street-stories-10/

Comments

[Jen]

I'm thrilled that there is one less sexual deviant running around free in Tulsa.

I know how hard it is to catch and prosecute sex offenders, so I hold no resentment toward Tulsa police officers regarding sex crimes. Nevertheless, I wish there were a whole lot more sex crime detectives. Then maybe rape/incest survivors wouldn't fall through the cracks so often. Personally, I endured more than 14 years of sexual abuse, physical abuse, and verbal abuse.

With all due respect to Officer Jay and the other members of the Tulsa Police Force, if getting very familiar with this type of crime is what it takes to catch more of these guys then I'm all for it. Another thing I am all for is some of the focus on marijuana infractions being shifted to sex crimes. I think grown men molesting and raping young girls is far more detrimental to the public than people smoking marijuana in the privacy of their own homes.

My opinion is so strong because my ex-stepfather started beating and molesting me when I was 4. He moved on to raping me when I was 6. When I was 12 I reported him, but nothing ever came of it. The part that really gets me riled up is that my mother was busted with a quarter ounce of marijuana when I was 9 and was sentenced to two years in prison. It was her first offense. Yet the man who repeatedly abused me didn't get so much as a slap on the wrists thanks to his father's money and some crooked officials.

Sorry I went off on a tangent, but this is a topic that really hits home.

[Officer Jay]

Jen, et al.,

For me, one of the best things about being able to share some of my thoughts on the TPD blog, is that I get to hear from people I probably wouldn’t meet otherwise. The worst part, is the circumstances. Some of this stuff isn’t pretty. So, in many ways, I’m glad we’re “speaking,” but I regret the topic of conversation.

I’m not going to even pretend to know anything about your suffering or how you feel. But please know, that I am wholeheartedly sorry and regretful for your anguish. As a newly married husband, and proud step-father of two daughters, your words strike me with a poignant clarity.

And please have no doubt, that I will do whatever I can to catch every rapist, molester, and abuser possible.

Likewise, I hope you can find some comfort knowing that all of my Tulsa Police brothers and sisters do whatever it takes (often beyond exhaustion) to arrest and convict such vile, despicable, and repugnant perpetrators and keep them far away from society.