By Ed Meckle, Retired LAPD
One day you will look at the clock and it is 1:00 pm and you realize you are still in your underwear. You may struggle for a moment to recall the day of the week or God forbid, the time of year. You are in California and can’t just look out the window. Hey, you’re retired.
Slowly your appearance will begin to change. I don’t mean to imply you will sit around in a torn t-shirt, eating Cheetos, drinking beer and watching golf on TV.
A stubble, perhaps? Why shave every day if you don’t have to? Moustache, beard, longer hair—you had to maintain your appearance for so long, take a break.
Behind the wheel you still read “plates” and look down alleys. Your wife says you drive like you are on patrol.
Eating out? Can’t sit with your back to the door.
You argue with the evening news.
While shopping, your wife deposits you in a good spot for people watching.
Then came that one chance comment that put everything in perspective.
We were at a large social function and a lot of mutual introductions are going on.
I usually defer to my wife. She says my name and “retired.”
A very sharp middle-aged woman I had been speaking to interrupted and said, “You don’t have to tell us what he retired from. He’s got cop eyes.”
And some things never change.
This is in the heart of Watts, an area of extreme violence. There was still some daylight left on arrival and we find a male on the sidewalk, deceased of gunshot wounds. His gun surprisingly was still in his hand. About 8 to 10 feet away was a considerable pool of blood indicating the deceased probably wounded his killer. The blood trail, heavy therefore very visible lead north on the sidewalk.
If only it were that easy and glamorous.
Telling the lieutenant, “That’s not my field/specialty/responsibility/job,” earns the response, “There is nobody else available, handle it. Like it or not, you are a good soldier. You do what you must.”
What does the average citizen know about detectives? I would imagine those raised on a diet of TV, movies, books, would with some confidence state they knew quite a bit.
At a crime scene, they can examine a bullet gash in a tree then look back along line of sight and announce the shot was fired from the 7th floor, 3rd window from the right. “In that building across the park, you will probably find an empty shell casing for a 22-250 with a 9-power scope. That is the weapon used.” (Apologies to Hal)
By Ed Meckle, Retired LAPD
We cleared the area and settled in for a long wait which was about ten minutes. Our first “client” only hesitated a moment before smashing the front passenger window. He took his pinch like a man and even stated “it just looked too good to be true.”
I was in one of the chase cars and did not witness this but was told one thief soiled himself (the transporting radio car did not see the humor) and the second made a high-pitched sound you might expect from a 12-year-old girl who has just seen a large, hairy spider. He then froze unable to move.
By Ed Meckle
Working with a regular partner, someone you know and trust can make life so much easier. Frank and I had an easy relationship, same age, both former Marines. He was one of the best street cops I ever worked with and believe me I knew some really good ones. He was a natural and we were good together. We laughed a lot, finished each other’s sentences and had an almost “spooky” unspoken communication
Late night, officer approaches parked car, strange noises emitted in darkened area.
Many years after retirement, I was at a dinner party seated across from a young woman probably mid/late 30’s and a psychologist. I’m looking forward to some interesting conversation. Seated to her left is her male companion, a federal agent with the “ATF” (Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms), with possibly 2-3 years on the job. He is seated directly across from my wife, Susan who is on my right.
Before she could recover I hit her with the clincher. “And wife number three died of a broken neck when she fell down the stairs.” At this point, the psychologist was losing color and had the deer in headlights look.
Nothing more than “playthings.”
He worked mostly alone but sometimes with a small select crew. He ranged from San Diego to Bakersfield but preferred the San Fernando Valley plus Bel-Aire, Brentwood along with Beverly Hills.
Anyway, the real subject matter of this piece is the sexual predator they named “The Remorseful Rapist.” The name attached to the will-o-the-whisp had sexually assaulted in excess of 50 women over several years. He was small in stature, wispy thinning hair, horn-rimmed glasses, every bit the Casper milk-toast character. Inoffensive in appearance, virtually invisible, ghost of a man, barely noticed. His hunting grounds were within three large LAPD divisions: Hollywood, Wilshire, and West LA; and one sheriff’s area: West Hollywood area. He would accost the victim as she entered her home displaying a small handgun. His actions indicated that he spent much time on surveillance. He earned his nickname due to the fact that after the assault he would be overcome with guilt, apologize to the victim, beg her forgiveness and vow, “Never again.” 
