Page 84 - NIXBOOK

911 is called. I’m dispatched. I go to the complainant’s house. Guy there explains he was working in his garage/shop. A weirdo
walked in from the street, came into the guys’ garage, and asked “Do you have a daughter?” Turns out the weirdo was the car
thief I had been looking for. When we found him a short time later in his car, he ran from us and we had to chase him.

One time I went to superior court for a criminal case where a burglar we had caught in a homeowner’s storage shed one night
was going to try and convince a jury that he was not actually a burglar, he was just out walking one night, it started to rain, and
he wanted to keep dry for a bit. He had got caught by the police after the homeowner and a neighbor had cornered him in the
shed; the homeowner had just happened to have video surveillance in his back yard and just happened to notice the bad guy
lurking around on the screen, at 2 in the morning. So bad guy went to jail. A few months later at trial time as I as was leaving
the station to go the courthouse, I casually mentioned to my sergeant what the case was. “Harley? That guy?” the sergeant said.
“Bainbridge Island police are looking for that guy! He recently did a burg in a house and came face to face with the resident in
the kitchen, and then ran out. Resident picked him out of a photo lineup. BIPD has been looking for him!” “Well he’s going to
be in court in about an hour,” I replied. The sergeant picked up the phone. “I’m calling BIPD and letting their detectives know
about this,” he said with a grin. I went to court to prepare for the trial. The Bainbridge detectives also showed up and had a
meeting with the suspect’s lawyer and informed him that his client was clearly guilty in another residential burglary and they
were going to pass this along to the prosecutor. The prosecutor was ecstatic. The bad guys’ lawyer was stunned. I was then told
to standby, a big plea deal was in the making. Ten minutes later the prosecutor comes back to her office where I was quietly
waiting and she was beaming. “We just made a deal with Harley,” she said. “He’s going to prison for ten years.” I was stunned
now. “What? He’s pleading guilty to the burglary?” She was gathering papers up from her desk in a rush. “He’s pleading to TWO
burgs in exchange for a slightly lighter sentence. His lawyer doesn’t want either of these cases to come in front of a jury.” She
found the forms she was looking for and ran out again. “The judge is going to approve and sign this now.” And I sat back and
thought how hilarious this was – this bad guy probably thought he was going to be able to beat the shed burglary charge. The
jury would believe him, or have enough doubt to acquit him, and he’d be home in time for dinner. He certainly wasn’t expecting
to get hit with another burglary case today; that really threw his world upside down. The prosecutor came back several minutes
later for some more paperwork. “He asked if he could go home for a couple days to get his affairs in order.” She laughed. “I said
no way. Go directly to jail.” She left again and I reveled in the moment- it was just about the best way to end a day in court – I
didn’t have to testify on the stand and face any kind of a cross examination, and the bad guy pleads guilty. I really liked the part
about how he was going to prison instead of going home. This led to a lot of questions, like: What happens to all of his stuff?
What’s it like to suddenly be deprived of one’s liberty for ten years? No good hamburgers, no alcohol, no women, no movie
theatres, no video games….for…ten….long…years….! I imagined him calling home, or one of his friends: “Hey, um, Joe. Listen,
can you do me a solid, I need you to take care of my stuff for uh, a little while. Like, um, ten years or so. Maybe you could just
box it all up for me and store it in your garage?” And I imagined Joe saying “Yeah, sure man no problem” and Joe would then
immediately announce to all his dirtbag associates “Yaaaaard sale at Harley’s place! Everything he ever stole and still has is now
freeeeeeee!” And Harley’s place would have been cleaned out within hours. Joe would get a call a couple days later: “Hey man,
Harley here. I’m getting transferred to the state pen tomorrow. Say, did you get my stuff taken care of? Hello? Hello?”