Читать книгу LIFE AFTER RUSSIAN ROULETTE: REDEMPTION - Michael Kaminski - Страница 11

“Anne Arundel County Police. Officer Kaminski, badge number 424. How can I help you?” Those words sounded different, even strange, to me as I answered the phone in the radio room.

After publicly being welcomed as a new police officer to the county, but privately warned by Chief Vickers, the sense of insecurity about my position and appointment unsettled me. There was no room for mistakes.

I was a police officer and yet I did not feel like one. I was aware I was being watched. I was outwardly friendly with everyone on my shift but inwardly, remained guarded with what I said. Besides, I never really asked anyone on the streets in Western, “How can I help you?” And I never gave anyone my badge number in the city.

I was fortunate to have been issued a fairly new 6” Smith and Wesson .38 caliber revolver from supply. The other guys received old Colts. However, I could not carry a gun on duty. I was a police officer but I felt like a civilian.

Everyone on my shift appeared to be very friendly but I still had trust issues. I held back from telling war stories about what I did in Western. I lived on the inside looking out, like inside a protective bubble. The motto of the Baltimore City Police Department etched itself in the back of my mind – “Ever On The Watch.”

By the end of September, I adjusted to life in the radio room. Although I was still very aware that all the calls were recorded, taking calls for service felt more comfortable.

Answering the phone was an easy assignment and it was safe. It was also very boring in the beginning but I was determined not to quit. I would not allow the chief or the command staff to win at this game.

Eventually I realized and understood that the radio room was a very interesting place. It was the nerve center, the heart of the department. The activity was constant. Although there was no formal roll call, we were always informed by the shift we relieved about anything critical that was going on within the county. We knew everything that was happening.

I felt a sense of anticipation as I waited to answer the next call. I realized the importance of our role in getting all the information possible and accurate from each caller. We were the initial point of contact between the people calling in and the police officers that responded. What we heard, what we wrote, what we recorded, many times, involved the safety of the police officers responding to the call. Although most of the complaint calls were routine, every conversation was potentially important.

Many times, I thought about the false call I made to the Baltimore City Police Department about a man with a gun inside the Oxford Tavern during my final days in Western. I did it just to pass the time on a quiet Saturday afternoon but now I realized how seriously the person on the other end of the phone took my information. This was not a game to be played lightly. Lives depended on what you heard and recorded.

One Friday night, near the end of October, I had an unexpected surprise. As I was busy on the phone answering incoming complaints and requests for service, the officer on the front desk notified me that I had visitors.

When I walked to the front lobby, to my surprise, I saw Sergeant Tim Florey and Glenn Russo. It was an emotional reunion.

Sergeant Florey was notifying our department, out of professional courtesy, that they were going to make a drug raid in Brooklyn Park in case something went wrong. Brooklyn Park was just over the city line where I lived. They heard that I was with the department now.

We talked for a brief couple minutes but it felt good to know they were still on the police force. And they were happy that I was picked up by the Anne Arundel County Police Department.

Sergeant Florey wanted to know if I would like to assist in the raid. As much as I wanted to be part of this action, I also knew what Chief Vickers warned us about in making waves and that we were not city police officers now. Besides, I did not have a gun. I knew that I would not be allowed to leave my assigned post, my telephone.

For a brief moment, the adrenaline rush of my addiction to narcotics work came back and I was hooked again. If I went with Florey and Russo, I knew that I would violate my probation. Sadly, I thanked them and declined their offer.

In a way, it was a bittersweet reunion. That night was the last time I would ever see Sergeant Florey. Later, I learned he was committed to a psychiatric facility. The shooting and killing of one of his squad officers in a stake out was enough to push him over the edge.

That night, in the lobby of the Anne Arundel County Police Headquarters, for a brief time, I was homesick again for Western. Yet, I also knew it was time to let go of the past and say goodbye.

With the coming of January of 1975, I rotated as a dispatcher for Northern District. This new responsibility created more anxiety but it fashioned events that led me into the Vice and Narcotics Unit in about eighteen months.

Now I was the person getting the complaint cards from the people answering the phones and assigning calls for service to the post cars. I connected voices with the names of the officers on my shift. Before this, I had no tie with the officers out there. Now, I lived vicariously through the calls to which they responded and the action in which they were involved. I understood how it felt to be on the other end of the radio transmission. I had to gain their respect and trust.

Now I heard their transmissions. I was responsible for their safety and their lives. I knew I must listen intently to what was going on and be aware of each call in case something went wrong and a police officer needed assistance. I was their lifeline. I was their connection to other police officers and to headquarters.

The department had a small Vice and Narcotics unit, which consisted of two squads. When they conducted raids, investigations, wiretaps or specific operations they used a secure channel that could not be picked up by people with police scanners. Most of the time, they worked in teams. However there was one Narcotics detective that usually worked alone, except when he needed backup to close investigations. His name was PJ Werner.

Werner, apparently, was a maverick, a loner. I never saw him in headquarters but from what I heard, PJ gained a reputation for not always following the rules. He was both respected and criticized. Moreover, he was fascinating to listen to over the radio when he came on the air. I never realized then how PJ Werner would change my life.

On a warm evening in April, although I did not realize it at the time, my future assignment in Narcotics was born out of inexperience, miscommunication and lack of awareness involving a situation with PJ Werner. All of which were potentially serious as a police dispatcher.

While working Northern Dispatch, Detective Werner came on channel four, the secure radio frequency.

“275 to radio,” Werner called in.

“275. Go ahead,” I responded.

“I am out at Glen Park on route 178. I am going to meet with a subject and make an arrest,” Werner advised.

“10-4, 275. Keep in touch,” I responded. However, I failed in my response by not asking for a description of the subject or any potential vehicle used by the person Werner was about to arrest.

After acknowledging Werner’s location and activity, I returned to other calls for service on the normal police frequency and failed to keep in contact with him. The drug deal went bad and shots were fired. Finally, Werner came back on channel four, advised radio of the situation and requested assistance.

“What is your name?” Werner asked me in a very unfriendly tone of voice.

“Officer Kaminski,” I replied with apprehension.

“How long have you been working dispatch?” Werner asked.

“A couple months,” I sensed the anger in his voice.

I did not hear from him again on the radio. Shortly after, I met the police officer that impacted my short career and even more so in the years after I left the police force.

After the incident, PJ Werner came into headquarters specifically to meet me, not to thank me. Instead, he confronted me and criticized my lack of professionalism. As I apologized for my lack of experience, I studied this detective I only heard about. He reminded me of Serpico. He portrayed every typical image of the undercover Narcotics detective you could imagine. He fascinated me.

I made a very serious mistake that day. A lesson learned that would be very important in the future. Werner did not trust a lot of police. But he never forgot about me.

The months of summer were hectic and active on dispatch. I became more proficient in my role. The responsibility was very demanding but the reward was worth it. I also became very comfortable with my assignment. It was safe and predictable now.

Finally, in September, the transfers were posted. I was leaving the security of the radio room for the uncertainty of patrol again. I was being transferred to Northern District. My shift commander was Lieutenant Parker, a rough former Baltimore City police officer.

I had not been a police officer for a long time. My fears surfaced again. Would other members of the squad accept me? Would I be judged? How would I react in critical situations? Could I regain my courage again? So many questions led to the many feelings. I was going on patrol again, no matter what. I could not expose my insecurities to the other police officers on the shift.