We were all pretty enthralled to read about the Buckfield gangsta who led cops on a chase through two counties before trying to dash off running back-style with nearly two kilos of blow.
Of course, he’s innocent until proven guilty. But if the information from police and in court affidavits paint the full picture, the dude is hard core. Driving around with that much product sitting in his lap, imagine what the parties were like at his crib. The cat was OG for real, yo, fresh out of the joint and already slinging dope in bulk. Respect, dawg.
So, surely a player like him knows how to carry himself in a police interview, am I right?
As it turns out: no. According to the police affidavit, as soon as the alleged Candy Man found himself on a hard chair in a tiny room with two glowering detectives hovering, the accused coke peddler gave it up right quick.
The connection he’d made in prison. The contact down in Connecticut that was providing the product. The what, the when, the where and the how much — all of it came gushing out of our bad boy’s mouth in spite of the Miranda warning read to him just moments before. Says the affidavit.
It breaks your heart a little bit, doesn’t it? In spite of the fine schooling these frequent flyers get in the college of the prison system, they never seem to figure out that “anything you say can and will be used against you” means exactly that: You talk, police dig a nice deep hole to drop you in.
And it’s not just our allegedly coke-rich friend from Buckfield. He’s the rule rather than the exception. By and large, every crook that swaggers across the radar ends up singing like Streisand as soon as a couple of suited detectives start putting the questions to him in that fancy way they have.
“Make it easy on yourself, son. Tell us all about what you did and it will go easier for you.”
And my, how they grasp at it like the drowning men they are. Even some of the most seasoned gang bangers, with their long rap sheets and sleeves of prison tattoos, tend to forget all about the four most important words they can utter in a police interrogation: “I want a lawyer.”
When the detectives start rolling up their sleeves and talking about how cooperation is the way to get out of this mess, son, the bulk of our alleged outlaws will start gushing forth everything they know as though everyone in that tiny room were on the same side and talking could only result in good things.
It disappoints me a little, you feel? If these alleged crooks didn’t pick up this useful tip on the streets or during the long empty hours on Cell Block C, they could have at least been schooled by watching a few episodes of “The Wire” or “Law & Order.” Hey, even “Dragnet” would do it.
It’s the Fifth Amendment, yo, straight outta the U.S. Constitution. The founders knew that the right to keep your trap shut was an important one for the guilty and innocent alike. You should know it, too. Love it. Embrace it. Take it into the jailhouse shower and scrub your face with it. Sleep with it under your pillow at night and when you wake up in the morning, stuff it in your mouth until such time that your lawyer is there giving you the nod to take it out.
At the newspaper, in big cases, the court reporter and I are always curious to find out whether the suspects stood tall during interrogations or crumbled like old cookies when the detectives got to rolling up their sleeves.
“Did he lawyer up?” I’ll ask the court reporter when he arrives with police affidavits in hand.
“Nope. Broke before he was even stuffed into the cruiser.”
So, in October, an Auburn man was accused of knocking over a Big Apple and making off with the ever popular “undisclosed amount of cash.” The court affidavit states the dude, 27 years old, at least had the right instinct when it came to the ol’ “we know you dunnit, why not make it easier on yourself” routine from the po po.
The suspect “initially denied any involvement in the robbery at the Big Apple and requested to speak with a lawyer,” according to the court document. “I honored his request and stopped asking him questions.”
Fast forward five minutes or so. The alleged stick-up man is now headed to jail and thinking, gee whiz. Maybe those nice detectives really WILL help me out if I tell them a thing or two. Maybe they’re NOT just building their case against me and digging that hole a little deeper. Lawyer? I don’t need no stinking lawyer.
“While sitting outside waiting for a marked police car to arrive to transport Franklin to the Androscoggin County Jail, Franklin told me he wanted to talk with me,” goes the affidavit.
So close, brother. Maybe before taking on your next big project, you should watch a few more episodes of “The Wire” just to get your mind right.
Mark LaFlamme is a Sun Journal staff writer. All you wannabe OGs can email him at mlaflamme@sunjournal.com.
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