For one 8-hour night, writer Meghan Walla-Murphy and photographer Tony Verebes rode along with a L.A.P.D. Topanga Division police officer to witness the raw truth on The Beat.
Sergeant Jeff Collado with the LAPD, Topanga Division, swung the patrol car around and parked behind another police car that had been waiting for his assistance. Half an hour prior he had been called for support. He got out of the car and gathered with two officers he supervised. They stood beneath a street light on the corner of a Chatsworth residential neighborhood, darkness surrounded them. Someone had called 911 and reported an incident of physical assault. The three men discussed the situation
PHOTOS BY ANTHONY VEREBES  Sergeant Collado (center), waits with Officers Ramirez (left) and Coffey (right) as they wait for officers who serve juveniles to arrive and take the 16-year-old teenager into custody after she beat up her roommate and pushed her through a window at a halfway house. Her record will be cleaned when she is 18. |
The door of the house opened and the officers walked out with a young girl, no more than sixteen, with her hands cuffed behind her back and her face puffy and swollen from crying. She shivered in the cold night, only wearing pajama pants and t-shirt, fuzzy slippers covered her feet. The police opened the back door of the patrol car, and one man put his hand on the top of her head to guide her into the back seat.
"Don't we need to wait for the juvenile division to show up?" one of the officers asked.
"Yeah," the sergeant responded.
They stood the girl up again and she waited on the sidewalk. Tears began to flow again. An officer asked the girl if she wanted a jacket. She shook off any assistance. Collado stood beside her and questioned her. She answered in monosyllables. The questions turned to a lecture about anger management. She interrupted and asked, "Where am I going to go? My mom kicked me out. I can't go home, that's why I was here."
"I don't know," he answered.
The young girl looked miserable and forlorn as the reality of her situation hit her. Collado returned to the patrol car. "This is a halfway house for girls," he said. "She beat up her roommate and then pushed her through a window. She's already on probation, so there aren't too many more options for her. She'll be part of the system. But her record will be cleared when she turns eighteen. Maybe she'll be okay." But he sounded dubious.
Another call came through the radio: cars drag racing near the Chatsworth reservoir. Collado had recently been transferred to the Topanga Division of the LAPD from a special task force dealing with gangs. He was not familiar with the area so he plugged the cross streets into his GPS system. Ten minutes later he reached the location, but if there was a race, it had finished long ago. On a cold Tuesday night in January, not much was happening.
Collado stopped at Tommy's Burgers for dinner. As he walked into the fast food restaurant, the body language of other customers visibly changed. People sat up and every head turned toward the man in uniform for a moment. He ordered his food and then made sure he sat facing both doors that opened to the outside. "I always want to see what is coming at me."
"Are you wearing a bullet-proof vest?"
"Yeah, you have to. You might think that the uniform brings more respect, but not really. Sometimes it causes more trouble. People want to test you, push you to see how far you will go. I've learned you have to choose. Sometimes you let things slide and sometimes you have to stand up to the challenge."
After eating, Collado patrolled the area; he drove up and down deserted streets and looked for unusual patterns. A truck with an out-of-state license plate cut in front of Collado. He immediately typed in the license plate numbers into the mobile digital computer (MDC) that sat in the front seat. The record came up clean. "I check all the cars that are out of state or drive erratically."
"Hey, let's check my plate," said Tony.
 Sergeant Jeff Collado of LAPD's Topanga Division, checks license plates on his mobile digital computer as he patrols deserted streets looking for unusual patterns. This car's record came up clean. |
A voice came over the radio followed by an instant message on the MDC. "Car accident on the corner of Canoga Ave and Martinez." For the first time that night, the sirens sounded and Collado raced to the incident. The Fire Department and another patrol car were already at the scene when he arrived. Skid marks from Canoga Avenue sideswiped a parked car, ran up on the sidewalk, and then across the lawn of a private home and stopped in the front yard. A Lexus sports car was stalled at the end of the trail. An older woman sat in the driver's seat holding her head between her hands, elbows on her knees. Medics treated the woman while a patrol officer scattered curious gawkers. The woman's car had swerved out of control when she had a diabetic seizure while driving. She also had a pacemaker. Collado said, "There's an unmistakable smell when someone has a diabetic seizure. You can't mistake the odor. You don't need to test for alcohol in these situations." Another patrol officer deterred the photographer from taking pictures. "She's a famous singer/songwriter. Back off and give her privacy. She doesn't want anyone to know."
In one quick moment, this woman's health issues had been made public. Her fame exacerbated the situation. Neighbors came out of their houses. One man continued to cross the police line and encroach on the scene. An officer approached him, "Sir, if you come close to here again, I'll have to arrest you." The man scurried back and responded, "I just want to get my jacket back. The woman is wearing it. I gave it to her when she crashed."
The traffic patrol arrived to investigate the scene and Collado returned to his patrol. On De Soto Avenue he tailed a speeding white station wagon. It turned left on a side street and Collado paced the car to see how fast it was going. Sirens whined and lights flashed. The driver, a young man with a shaved head, pulled over to the curb. Collado got out, turning on a small voice recorder which he carried. "You never know what people will say when the incident is over." He approached the driver's window with his palm on his gun. You never know. The young man showed him his license. Collado asked him something and the driver reached over to the passenger seat, picked up a brown paper grocery bag and opened it. Collado looked inside. Nothing unusual. Collado signaled to Tony who jumped out of the car and began snapping photos.
The young man began to swear at Collado and the photographer, "Come on asshole, take my picture. What the fuck." He flipped off both the sergeant and the photographer. Verbal abuse floated across the night, over the sounds of traffic. Here on the northeast side of the Topanga Division, in the land of apartments and barrios, photographs were permissible. Collado took his time writing out the speeding ticket and did not take this battle any further.
Collado left the angry driver and turned the corner to assist two female officers. They had pulled over a vehicle for a traffic violation and the driver insisted on speaking to their supervisor. Collado walked up to the driver, again with his hand on holster. The two female officers stood on the sidewalk chatting while Collado appeased the driver. The policewomen never returned to the car they had pulled over. Upon returning to the patrol car the sergeant said, "The driver, a guy, didn't want to take anything from two women. He wanted to get it from a guy, to complain to a man."
 Officer Edwards searches belongings of parolees (seated); another officer, not shown, searched the car, dumping everything into the parking lot. The two parolees were later released but another suspect was arrested for possession of Crystal Meth. |
"Sit down. Right there on the curb. You're going to be here for awhile," the officer told them. He opened the woman's purse and emptied its contents onto the trunk of the patrol car. Out came tampons, deodorant, a hair brush, underwear, and a cell phone. He dug deeply until the bag held no more and the trunk displayed the contents for all to see. The young woman had forfeited her privacy.
With attitude in her tone she asked, "Can we at least move out of the exhaust of the car?" The officer had sat the two handcuffed next to the exhaust pipe. "Oh, yeah. Sorry. Move over there," he said, "I thought you'd be warmer near the car."
They scooted over on their rear ends. It was too difficult for them to stand with their hands behind their back. A different officer searched their car and rummaged through wallets, backpacks, trunk and under seats. He turned on a cell phone and a photo of a little girl came up. "Who's phone is this?" he asked.
The young man claimed his phone. "Who's the little girl?" the officer asked.
"It's my daughter," he answered.
"When is the last time you tweeted?" the next question fired.
"Two days ago," he responded.
The search continued and miscellaneous detritus piled up in the parking lot, suitcases, random cables, clothing, half-eaten food and trash. Collado walked over to the handcuffed pair to learn more of their story. The young man was on parole for possession of meth and intent to sell. He had been released from prison a year ago. The young woman had just been released from prison two days ago for the same charge. She was also on parole.
Collado asked her where she lived.
"Ventura," she answered.
"Do you know you are past your limit of parole? What were you thinking?"
"I didn't know the rules. I didn't know there was going to be meth here. We didn't do anything wrong. We just came to see our cousin." She pointed to the friend who had been trying to speak to the man in the back of the patrol car. Her story rang hollow and desperate.
The officer who had been searching the car walked over to Collado, pulled him aside, and said, "There is enough evidence to arrest them both and bring them in, mostly for breaking parole, but I'm not going to. I'll probably get grief for going into overtime. It's not worth it." Collado stayed silent, letting the officer he supervised make the decision.
The officer walked over to the handcuffed pair and said, "I'm going to do you guys a big favor. You should thank me because I could arrest you, but I'm going to let you guys go. Next time, think about what you're doing."
The girl jumped all over the officer. "I didn't do anything. I didn't know anything." The officer was just about to release her handcuffs. She kept talking, oblivious that she was digging herself deeper. The young man with her scolded "Shut up! Shut your mouth. He's letting us go." The woman scowled but stopped speaking. The officer waited a second or two before unlocking her handcuffs. "Get your bag off my car and your stuff out of the parking lot. Get out of here," he spat.
Collado got back in the patrol car and drove back to the Topanga Station. Thankfully, it had been a slow night.
