A DAY IN THE LIFE OF . . . me.

A DAY IN THE LIFE OF . . . me

I wrote this because the folks I’d been working with for several years wanted me to write an article for their Crimewatch newsletter about a “typical” day in my new position as a Detective in the Sexual Offence Squad (SOS). Well, that got me started, and, as you will see, resulted in a full-fledged rant in spots.

It takes me approximately an hour and a half to have my tea and re-construct myself so that I am—at the very least—recognizable from the previous day - then into my car and off to take my place in the parade of lemmings on their way into the big city.

The trip is usually pretty predictable - until I stop at the red lights located in the heart of city's skid row. I can't avoid checking out the street action in the miserable little world of the drug addict.

Here’s an education everyone should have. Everything that moves in that part of town is twitching. The skid row just keeps getting worse - if that’s possible. It is not difficult to figure out who is in control. It certainly is not the police anymore. It's the swarthy dudes on the corners, in their droopy-drawer pants and bandana-wrapped heads. Everybody wants to look like a gangbanger these days. Gotta be cool. These guys don’t have to play by the rules like the police do. They do what they want, and we let them do it because to try to stop them has become a waste of effort.

The skids are not a nice place to be. Sure, police could get tough and chase them all away - but to where? Do you want all that ugliness moving into your neighbourhood? I don’t think so!

I sure wish I knew all the answers, but I’ve been around long enough to know I don’t.

Police are hamstrung and defeated in their efforts by our impotent justice system - a system that is so caught up in toadying to the costly and seemingly frivolous machinations of lawyers that the Court appears to have no concept of basic “right” and “wrong.” There is no such thing as justice.

Pontificating judges deal out slaps on the hand and sage comment, but rarely demand punishment that is appropriate for the crimes that come before them for judgement. Crimes that have caused absolute devastation in some innocent person’s life - even though maximum punishments are available and clearly set out in the Criminal Code of Canada.

It is all about “rights” now. If you are at all like me, you are probably confused about all the “rights” the wrong people seem to have. Poor Joe and Jane Normal just muddle along, going to work, paying their taxes and trying to keep the antics of their offspring off the front page of the newspaper.

“Rights!” Civil rights, human rights, immigrant’s rights, teenager’s rights, religious rights, ethnic rights. Rights that are turning our way of life and our communities over to the other side - the lawless side that is not required to play by the rules. They have a RIGHT to do as they please and to hell with you and your boring old traditions Joe and Jane!

Okay, okay, so I got that off my chest! I guess I would feel better if I knew someone was minding the store - know what I mean? Like, who is in charge here? Why do we just roll over and let things run amok? Why is our skid row full of foreign drug pushers who have managed to pull the wool over the eyes of our pathetic immigration system and walk into our precious country? Answer: Because they are smart enough to destroy their documents and convince the bored bureaucrat behind the desk that they are poor, helpless refugees that would be in grave danger if we put them back on the boat! HELLOOOO OUT THERE! A LOT OF THESE GUYS ARE CRIMINALS FOLKS! THEY WERE CRIMINALS IN THEIR OWN COUNTRIES AND NOW THEY ARE CRIMINALS IN OURS!

Of course, we Canadians are so “nice”. We open our loving arms to the world. Clean up the streets in your country! Send your criminals and dissidents to Canada! Joe and Jane Normal will house them, feed them and clothe them. No need to concern themselves too much about finding a job. Canada has this marvellous system that will keep them safe and warm . . . as long as Joe and Jane keep paying their taxes that is! Heck, they get themselves into a little trouble with the law over some lousy drug deal or stabbing, or . . . whatever . . . not to worry! We will provide them with the best darn legal advice available. Those clever lawyers of ours will keep their dirty little file just a-spinning on appeal after appeal so that they can continue to feed the addictions of our lost souls with crack and heroin, and whatever else they hide in their hell-filled pockets.

Oh boy, here I go . . . vent, vent, and vent.

You know, it just slays me when I think of all the fine individuals and their families who want to come and live here in Canada and be a productive part of our communities. Try to visualize this concept: They actually want to add something positive and even give something back. Well folks, these people are waiting politely in line for their turn to come in. They have filled out all the forms and signed on the dotted line, but we make them wait.

What is wrong with this picture?

Ah yes, my typical day . . . I digress . . .

. . . I park my car and tiptoe my way carefully through the flotsam and jetsam along the two blocks I have to walk to my office. I scan the garbage filled alley before I cross it, stepping carefully around the spit, vomit, blood, condoms, needles, and sometimes even human excrement. There is the occasional lost soul sleeping in a doorway. Wherever I look I see human shells that once were men and women, reduced to searching and picking in dirty corners, looking frantically for the poison of their choice.

I am fully awake now. Very aware of the body language of anyone who gets near me.

I always seem to be the last one to arrive at my desk. I am convinced the others actually live there. SOS is a busy place. There is no such thing as having nothing to do. It never stops.

The work has no glamour attached to it. There are no car chases or street action. It’s just one ugly story after another. You learn very quickly, that to maintain your perspective, you must shut down your emotional side and concentrate your energy and attention on finding the truth. My workmates and I all seem to be blessed with a silly side and a sense of humour that keeps us balanced (well, sort of).

When the door to the interview room shuts . . . the silliness stops cold.

I have learned a lot since joining SOS. Not a day goes by that I do not think to myself, “I wish I’d known this yesterday.” The more education I get, the more I want. The more investigations I do, the more I ponder what I might have missed over the years, simply because I didn’t know what to look for. Hindsight is such a great thing isn’t it? Always 20-20.

Our section investigates two things: Sexual assault and child abuse. You wanted to know about some of my “successes”. Well, I wrote several vignettes, but I deleted them all. When I start to tell my story, I do not want to sanitize it. Unfortunately, what is left is just too much information to share with "nice" people.

I tried to tell you about the precious three-month-old infant with the spiral fracture to her thighbone. Mom's latest significant other was baby-sitting while Mumsy was out doing her thing. He got annoyed by the child's hunger cries and decided to let her know about his right to peace and quiet. He only had to swing her around a couple of times before the bone snapped.

As you can imagine, it's darn hard getting a statement from a three month old that will hold up in Court.

Then there’s the never-ending parade of once innocent little girls and boys who have finally decided to “tell” what Daddy, or Mommy’s latest boyfriend, or Uncle, or Grandpa does to them when he baby-sits. Statements from this group are not likely to hold up in Court either.

A “success story” you say . . . well, I suppose I could call our identifying and ferreting out the two savages who went for a drive with the Bi-polar woman in manic state, a “success” story. In her aggressive state it was easy to entice her into a local park, where they took turns sexually assaulting her, beating her and kicking her until they were confident she was dead—just for fun. Once they had tired themselves out, they threw her broken and battered naked body over the edge of the bank under a bridge and left her to die.

She did not die. A pair of early morning hikers, who thought she was a discarded store mannequin, found her. She still had a pulse. She lived in coma for a long time . . . her brain forever damaged. She is out of hospital now, blessedly devoid of any memory of her destruction.

The two savages—I will never call them men—had their day in Court. I wont bother telling you how much time they spent in jail. They are no longer in there. One was a juvenile, and you already know that we don’t believe in punishing our juveniles . . . after all . . . they’re only kids and have a “right” to be protected.

We meet all the foolish young women who join strangers at the bar for a few drinks and wake up in a bed that is not their own, without any memory of leaving the bar. They wait anxiously for a few days and wonder if they may have been drugged, because they have never lost their memory when drinking before. They worry for a few days and then decide they should go to the hospital to get checked out.

Of course, it is now too late to obtain the evidence police so desperately need to prove a case of sexual assault. As kindly as we can, we remind them how important it is to never leave their drinks unattended when they are out partying. We encourage them to tell their friends too.

Every file is different and every file is filled with pain and sadness.

Sometimes we get lucky and are able to gather enough evidence to go into court with a high probability of conviction. Most of the time the evidence we need is simply not available. Tiny children usually do not have much to say, and all those well-meaning parents and teachers and social workers who talk to them before they are brought into my office have completely corrupted their evidence and the court can't even consider it. Sometimes, even with older victims, all we can do is listen sympathetically to their stories, and tell them as gently as possible that we believe them. Unfortunately, we have no way of proving anything in a courtroom.

It is disheartening when you know that a crime has taken place and there is no way you will ever be able to prove it.

People always say to me, “What an awful job. How do you stand it? Doesn’t it keep you awake at night?” The answer is: No, it doesn’t keep me awake at night. I am able to leave what I know at the office and come home to tranquillity.

Some days are not as easy to wash off me as others; like the day spent interrogating the man who had broken the baby's leg in his fit of rage. We were desperately trying to get enough evidence to put him behind bars. He was a long-time violent criminal. He was used to lying. He’d been lying all his life. He was very tough and exhausting to deal with; but we knew he was guilty as sin.

We couldn't prove it.

That was a bad day. I was burnt out by the time I drove home to my little sanctuary that night. The elderly couple in the parking stall next to me got out of their car as I pulled in beside them. They demanded to know what I was going to do about the oil drops under the courtesy car I was driving while mine was being fixed. I must have stared at them like they were straight from Mars. It was one of "those" moments. Do you know what I mean? One of those moments when you realize that you live in a completely different world than your neighbours. It's that "us" and "them" stuff you hear police refer to in their conversations with each other.

In the neat and tidy little world of my neighbour, drops of oil on a parking lot floor matter! I could not relate! I had to bite my tongue to stop from saying the words I really wanted to say to them.

Nope, some days you don’t want to say things like that to me. Nope, some days it’s best you don’t.

Enough of sad stuff. Let’s face it, the world is full of it. I feel so fortunate to work with the guys and gals I work with. They care about what they are doing. None of us has any illusions about being able to make much of a difference . . . but none of us intends to stop trying either.

I retire in a year. I cannot believe it. My career has gone way too fast. I am still learning every single day. It takes a long time to develop all the skills one needs in this job. Seems like you no sooner get it all together and they tell you it is time to find yourself a rocking chair. Hmm?

I will be looking for a “new” career at this time next year. Keep your ears open for me will you. You know, something that pays really well, has no stress, minimal work involved, perhaps a nice company car, lunches with interesting people in lovely restaurants . . . you know what I mean . . . something in a kinder, gentler world.

It has been a blast folks! Loved working with you – I admire you - don’t ever stop trying to make a difference in your community . . . because you DO make a difference.

Love to all,

MM