My heart rate started picking up speed and sweat began beading along my receding hairline. Was it hot in there or was it just me? Then, the nausea hit me hard like a day old beef and bean burrito. What was happening to me?
I had worked the day shift and had been assigned to cover Booking, which (like most of us) I hated. There was a prisoner who had been left over from midnights who had been locked up for drunk driving. The first order of business was to call the Bail Commissioner, finish the booking paperwork, and get this guy out of my thinning hair.
Not Supposed To Happen
English wasn’t the prisoner’s first language so there was some difficulty with communication between him and the Bail Commissioner. I stood with them as the Bail Commissioner tried to explain the bail paperwork and the fee. I watched as the prisoner suddenly understood and then reached into his pants pocket and pulled out his wallet to pay. That wasn’t supposed to happen. He shouldn’t have had anything on him except the clothes on his back.
I immediately took the wallet from him, opened the cell, and searched him. If this guy had something the size of a wallet on him, what else could he have? During the search I found nothing of consequence — except several small bags of cocaine hidden in his sock. Tremendous. Aggravated with all the additional paperwork I just bought, I put him back in his cell and started the booking process back at square one and went through his property all over again.
Dust Cloud
Next, I turned my attention to his shoes on the floor around the corner from his cell. I tipped them upside down and pulled out the insoles — maybe a little too aggressively. Because when I did a dust cloud came out and I remember smelling a rather distinct odor of what reminded me of something from chemistry class. I fanned the cloud away and found a broken bag of cocaine inside the shoe.
After the new found drug stash had been sorted out I went into Dispatch to smoke and joke. I regaled them with tales of secret cocaine bags and clouds of mysterious dust from a magical shoe. We laughed about the fact that I had gotten a free hit of cocaine and took bets if I was going to turn into an addict or not. Like a comedian landing his final joke, I waved goodbye, exited Dispatch stage left, and headed for the officer’s typing area. Forty-five minutes later it wasn’t funny anymore.
The Cop Who Cried Wolf
In the middle of typing my report my heart rate suddenly spiked and my collar got tighter. Sweating and nausea came next. I unbuttoned my shirt, pulled it off, ripped my vest off and threw it to the floor. I slid out of the office chair like a blob of pudding down onto the cold tile floor. Then I reached my rubbery arm up to the desk, felt around, pulled the phone off the hook, and slapped at the buttons until I was able to get through to Dispatch at the other end of the building.
“I don’t feel good. Something’s wrong,” I breathed, “I think I need an ambulance.” I loosely held the receiver to my ear as I lay crumpled in a heap on the floor.
“Ha, ha! Good one!” the dispatcher joked, picking up where we had left off. I could just picture him firing off his finger guns at me with a big, dumb grin on his face.
We went back and forth a few times and it took several attempts at convincing him that I really did need an ambulance. The dispatcher didn’t believe me until he grasped the sense of desperation in my voice. I could hear a sudden change in his tone and the oh-crap moment that was setting in. He believed me now. All I could do was lie on the floor in a pool of sweat and wait for the EMTs to arrive.
Good News, Bad Search
The good news is that I did not turn into a cocaine addict. And apart from the extra paperwork, everything turned out fine. But had that wallet been a small caliber handgun, or a knife, or who knows what, this could have been a different kind of story. I couldn’t have cared less about the drugs, but the safety violation was inexcusable.
There may not be a more basic yet more crucial aspect of our job than a prisoner search. The mere fact that searches are something we do so frequently jeopardizes the likelihood that we will do them well. It becomes routine and mundane and that can lead to complacency, apathy, and laziness.
Redundancy And The Rule Of Threes
When I was an FTO I tried my best to preach redundancy to the recruits to minimize the chance of missing something during a search. Here’s what I mean. There should be an initial search at the point the handcuffs go on, followed by a second search before the prisoner is placed into the transport vehicle. Finally, there should be a third search when the prisoner arrives in Booking. Ideally, there should be a minimum of three searches performed by three different officers. This is the rule of threes.
I know this can’t always be the case, especially in smaller departments. But here’s the thing: just because you searched someone once does not mean you didn’t miss something. If you work in a one-horse town, you can still follow the rule of threes. You just need to be intentional and a little creative.
One thing you can do to reduce your psychological familiarity with the initial search is to start high instead of low, or start on the left side instead of the right during the subsequent searches. Begin and end in different areas than the previous search to give yourself the mental cue that this is a new search, almost as if it were a new prisoner.
Swallow Your Pride
Ask someone else to do a secondary search — and by someone else I mean another officer, not the janitor or the tow truck driver. Don’t feel like asking for help makes you weak or incompetent. It’s actually quite the opposite. Making sure a prisoner is thoroughly searched — even if that means asking for help — is the mark of a solid officer and shows leadership.
We’ve all missed something at one time or another. I am not exempt. I remember the sinking feeling when someone found something on a prisoner that I had missed. We all make mistakes but we can always get better.
Remember: good searches are good tactics. Do what it takes. You can do it.
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- Have you ever missed something during a prisoner search?
- What did that feel like?
- Are you offended when someone else searches a prisoner that you already searched?
- What methods can you employ to ensure a thorough search?
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