Snap out of it fellas. You’ve got to work past your feelings of imminent danger when it comes to conducting a frisk of someone of the opposite sex. I can’t single out the men though, since lady cops are violators too. To help things along, I’m going to tell you about a couple of incidents I was involved in. Since I work in the deep South, the names and situations might be colorful, but change those names and the places and I’m sure you could tell the same stories.
Scenerio: I’m cruising the vastness that is South Jackson County, Mississippi — patrolling fun areas like “The Alligator Farm” and a little strip of pavement nicknamed “Body Bag Road.” During this eventful evening, I heard my area partner go out on a traffic stop with a “hoopty” — a car with no tag, no lights, no bumper, busted side view mirrors — you get the drift.
I start rolling his way to back him up since our beloved rednecks like to rumble sometimes. Mind you, I have to travel for approximately 30 minutes to reach him. Where I work is akin to the Dukes of Hazzard in the rural areas. Many times you are on your own for 15 to 30 minutes waiting for backup.
Here’s where I get all agitated. I get there, and Deputy Jackleg is standing there with two men from the set of Deliverance and a female who hasn’t seen a bath or evidently, a morsel of food in many a fortnight. She’s fidgeting off to the side, sporting stringy hair and furtive eyes. Can you see it? Deputy Jackleg ?ambles over nonchalantly and asks me to search her, as he hasn’t yet. He’s patted down the men, but left her for me. Alright, I’m sure many of you are going … “And your point is?”
My Point Is
First, he had probable cause to stop them. He also articulated knowledge of facts that reasonably led him — and me — to believe the suspects were involved in some criminal activities, to include possession of methamphetamine precursors. The officer had seen parts of the lab in plain sight, had noted bulging cut-off short pockets on the shirtless men, and all parties involved were nervous, anxious and moving about hyperactively.
Deputy Einstein had everything he needed to frisk the men, and he had all the bases covered to frisk the female as well. He found a knife on one male that could gut a deer, and the female had an obvious bulge in the waistline of her dingy shorts that wasn’t from a cute tummy.
Deputy “I-just-got-shanked-by-a-Tweak-Freak” didn’t pat her down because he feared she would claim he touched her inappropriately. Frankly, any touching of her would have been inappropriate! He alleged he just kept a good eye on her until I arrived. Folks, they were committing crimes and armed and dangerous. Which should he fear more — being accused of something by a criminal avoiding arrest; or being stabbed in the throat by a Meth Monkey? He obviously didn’t consider his safety important enough, or worth the risk of complaint.
More Stupidity
I was savoring the last bite of my “Oaks Grocery” hot dog. You know the kind — chili, cheese, onions, mustard and a nice steamed bun. There I was parked under the oak trees watching the “Hole.” This is a nice secluded recreational place for the coolest of dope boys to learn their trade. Two streets come together in a heavily wooded area with a clear path right smack in the middle. I’m sure you’ve got a place exactly like it where you work. I’m waiting for the Hole to swallow its next customer.
I hear the base booming, it gets louder and louder and my car’s mirrors start to rattle. Is it an earthquake? Here in Mississippi? There it is, a nice, pretty lavender Caprice with gaudy rims spinning. The Hole just sucked the car right on in. My bad guy rises from the tree stump to say hello. Cash goes out and the dope goes in. The Hole spits the car out and down the road it goes.
My adrenaline is up, the hot dog is sitting like a greasy lump in my stomach, and all I can think is, “When I get him out of the car — please God, say he won’t run.” Maybe he has one leg, though. I could catch him then and ?nobody will see me hurl. I call for another unit to back me.
I’m near the city limits now so maybe a P.D. unit is close. Lights, sirens, camera, we’re rolling. He stops and I approach the passenger side. He’s got both legs. There’s a box of .40 cal ammo on the floorboard and homeboy is nervous and fidgety. I ask myself, where’s the weapon to go with that box? Then I manage a good chili burp.
“Mr. I-Got-Weed, step out of your car, back slowly toward me and keep your hands where I can see them,” I say encouragingly. Burp. He does this as if he has somehow been trained since birth. I see a piece of plastic sticking out of the corner of his front right pocket and I notice something heavier in his left pocket, sorta pulling his shorts down sideways. I make the approach, spread him like butter on the back of his car. Where’s my backup?
Ladies Pay Attention
I did not wait for another officer to begin my pat down. I had developed enough reasonable suspicion to believe a crime had been committed, enough probable cause for an arrest, and could articulate these facts at report time. I began with the weighed-down pocket and found a Glock .40. The cuffs go on. I have the dope in hand and find another small bag of cocaine that drops from his crotch as I pat his “boys” during the frisk. Yes, his crotch, and yes, his “boys.”
I was filling out the custody form when my backup finally arrived. Mr. “I’m-going-to-jail” said he wanted to talk with the male cop who arrived. I motioned for the officer to approach. A few minutes later the red-faced officer began laughing hysterically. I figured Mr. Weed had pissed himself in my car, because it was that kind of laugh. The male officer came up and told me, in between snorting laughter, “The guy wanted to make a complaint against you for groping him and not waiting for a male officer!”
Go ahead, complain. I couldn’t care less — but this was a first. He never did make a complaint, maybe because I shamed him when I asked him, “Would you rather a man touch you or a woman?” I did my job, I couldn’t wait for a male to arrive, that isn’t how it works. If I hesitated I could have risked an assault by the lovely gentleman, or found myself in a foot pursuit with a hotdog-hurl finale.
Law Says Okay
“The law allows a pat-down search for the officer’s safety and makes no distinction between a constitutionally permissible search of a man or a woman,” said Jackson County, Mississippi District Attorney Tony Lawrence. “ He added, officers should always follow the policies of their individual departments to minimize any potential civil legal issues.”
For the love of goodness, pat these folks down as soon as you have your requirements for a frisk covered. The law protects YOU too. Don’t let the very small number of complaints in the history of policing inhibit you from protecting yourself.
We are constitutionally protected to conduct a carefully limited search of a suspect’s outer clothing to discover any secreted weapons TO ENSURE OUR SAFETY and continuation of breathing. The job we do is dangerous, many times unappreciated, and full of pitfalls. Why create more by our own carelessness?
Lt. Kimberlee Versiga, Homicide Investigator with the Jackson County Sheriff’s Department, is second in charge of the Criminal Investigations Division. Versiga has been in Law Enforcement 16 years, working a cross-section of assignments, including undercover narcotics.
Tamara Mims is a Criminal Investigator with the Jackson County Sheriff’s Department. After joining the department, she deployed to the Middle East twice with the U.S. Coast Guard and was promoted to CID as an investigator shortly thereafter.
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