On August 6th, 1945, the first atomic bomb was dropped on Hiroshima. It was an act of violence that changed the world and the way people thought from that point on. 48 years later to the day, I was involved in an act of violence on a much smaller scale that nevertheless changed me and the way I thought from that point on.
The chief and I walked into the police department. This building must have been built in the 60s, I swear. It had orange counter tops and yellow chairs that had the foam padding showing through the worn out material. The desks were hundred pound steel army surplus things where the drawers squealed in protest when you opened them and sometimes had to be kicked shut. The whole place was handmedowns. Other departments would order new equipment and we would take the old stuff that they were going to throw in the dumpster. The chief was proud that he was always able to come in under budget though.
We went to the interview room where I sat on the plastic chair reserved for criminals. It was from the 60s as well but had no cushion so we were able to sanitize it after some drunk that had pissed his pants sat on it. The chief got the seat where the cop always sat.
Out of everything, this one thing bothered me more than anything.
It had been pretty clear from the beginning of the investigation that this was a legal use of force. My statement, the eye witness, and the big ass knife in the trunk of my car all matched up. This happened on Friday night. Saturday was my scheduled day off. This case was so clear cut that they gave me Sunday off as well and I was back to work on Monday. That just doesn't happen. Any less time off and I would have been living in a Hollywood movie.
So why treat me like a criminal?
We could have gone to a different office or to the conference room or anywhere else in the building. Hell, I could have been given the cop chair and the chief could have sat on the criminal side. He could have offered me a drink. Anything to make me feel more comfortable.
I don't blame him. He didn't know what to do. This had never happened. This was the room where interviews were done and the person doing the interview sat in the cop chair.
I talked to the chief later about the incident and we discussed better options and had it happened again before he retired, I know he would have done it differently.
He turned on the tape recorder which only he had the magical touch to do. It was a finicky machine that required adjusting the jack at just the right angle so that the microphone would work. Most of us went out and bought our own recorders rather than try to learn the secret of how to use this dying machine.
He read me my rights.
I told him what happened.
I will never do that again. If a cop ever reads me my rights ever again, I'll request an attorney.
Here's a little lesson for those of you that don't know about Miranda.
"Do you know Miranda?" "Never heard of the bitch." - Red Heat
Two things have to happen before the cops need to tell you your rights. They have to take away your freedom and they have to be asking you about a crime that you may have committed. If both of these things aren't met, they don't need to tell you your rights.
I used to have people ask me to read them their rights when I was taking them to jail.
"Don't you have to read me my rights?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"I'm not asking you any questions."
"I still want my rights."
"You have your rights. You always do." Like cops hand out constitutional rights to people. They might have to if the president keeps taking them away but that's a different story.
"I want you to read my rights."
"Okay. You have the right to remain silent . . ." Blah, blah, blah.
"You didn't read them."
"I don't have to read them. I just have to tell you what they are."
"You have to *read* me my rights." Umm, no cops don't have to which is good because many of them are barely literate. They memorize the dang Miranda rights from watching movies. If you go to advanced interview classes, you find out that it's a very bad idea to actually *read* the rights. Too rigid. Too formal. Almost encourages people to use them.
"Look. You have the right to remain silent so shut up!"
There I am, sitting in the criminal chair having my rights read to me. A crime has been committed. A homicide. It's a homicide that falls into one of the defenses to the crime so it will be justified but it's a homicide. One part fulfilled for Miranda.
Was I free to leave? Was I being detained as a criminal?
Administratively, no I wasn't leaving anytime soon but was I under arrest?
If it happened today, I would find out because as soon as they were done reading me my rights, I would tell them that I wasn't going to answer anything until I had talked to me attorney and ask to leave so that I could contact him. If they don't let you go at that point, you have your answer.
Here's a tip for my readers. Never invoke your right to silence. Always invoke your right to an attorney.
After I had told my story, I went to the patrol officer's office while everyone did their work. I did a little bit of work too, which lead to something a bit weird.
. . . to be continued
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