From: an12070@anon.penet.fi
Date: Wed, 23 Jun 93 22:58:48 PDT
To: cypherpunks@toad.com
Subject: A Long, Personal, and Tedious Anecdote on Police Warrants & Searches
Message-ID: <9306240456.AA13161@anon.penet.fi>
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I considered bringing up this little anecdote that happened to me in
`real time' but decided against it, but now can't resist while the
subject is in the list's psyche and nanosecond attention span:

karn@qualcomm.com (Phil Karn)
>I wonder how many have
>actually seen any search warrant affidavits. I read the one for Steve
>Jackson Games, and you certainly wouldn't know from that that they weren't
>all guilty as sin. Too bad it was completely defective.
>
>Do I sound like I don't place much faith in the warrant requirement acting
>as a meaningful safeguard? You bet!

I write the following with some hesitation and reservation.  This
happened about a month ago. If anyone wants to forward this message
elsewhere please check with me first.  Anyway, after a long and tedious
exposition I will tell you how this personal experience affected how I
think of search warrants and police work.

* * *
SEARCH ME

I had the misfortune to be in a computer lab on the night a computer
was stolen.  I admit the following with sheepish embarrassment: there
is some possibility it happened while I was in the lab!  Yes, I was
writing one of those characteristically rabid letters of mine to this
list, and was quite oblivous to anything outside of cyberspace.

Anyway, I get a call from Officer Burke the next day. Were you in the
lab? Yes.  Do you remember what was going on? No.  He thought the
computer was stolen on Saturday night based on a `highly reliable
source'.  `Are you absolutely sure?' I told him I didn't remember
seeing it all over the weekend (we're talking about a particular souped
up 486 with the works, color monitor, huge RAM, everything but the pickles).  

My vague memory surely sounded less than convincing (I had been in
there at various times on Friday, Saturday, and Sunday, in the period
that he was considering).  The lab has key card entry, and I told him
his job must be easy since he knew everyone who came and went. He says,
To the contrary! The doors were `propped' and friends let in friends. I
told him that I didn't let anybody in and the doors were emphatically
not propped (I had to use my card) all nights I went there.

The system adminstrators of the lab, in their infinite wisdom, had
given the officer a massive list of logins that include all *remote*
logins to machines *anywhere* on the entire network (as opposed to
console logins from a single lab). The cardreader logs they had were 19
and some odd minutes out of time, and the officer was trying to
synchronize them with the login times.

The night of his call I went back through and looked at the logs of the
computer I had used to try to jog my memory. I remembered somebody *in*
the lab on one of two machines who let in some other people, who may
have snuck to the dastardly spot, all on a night that was very busy. 
The logs showed that Friday night was the busiest.  This all happened
after his phone call when I was able to better reconstruct what
happened on given nights.  I compiled and hand-edited lists of console
logins from all the 5 Unix machines in the lab based on the `last' records.

I called Officer Burke and told him of the person I thought let in some
other people during the night (assuming he had logged in), and some
vague physical descriptions of all (it all happened mostly just in my
peripheral vision and awareness).  Officer Burke was a bit hazy on
assimilating and recording the information, and didn't seem to be able
to get it all written down.  He was trying to simultaneously cross
reference everything I said with the reams of computer printouts in
front of him.  I was really surprised that he didn't seem to have been
supplied with the critical information I was giving him.

Why was going through all this trouble? I really wanted him to catch
the culprit because this was a perfect opportunity and excuse for the
local illustrious computer administration to shut down the computer
labs to after hours because `someone had spoiled it for everyone' (the
slimiest excuse for intolerable restrictions that is widely accepted). 
I suppose there were visions of Perry Mason episodes dancing around in
my subconscious.  Computer geek helps campus police nab computer thief.
 I was really convinced that there were enough `leads' to track down
the computer and all that was needed was somebody clever and
discriminating to piece them together.  Judging the severity of the
matter (the only thing I'd heard taken prior to this in the labs was
hundreds of pages of paper for redundant printouts), I volunteered to
stop by the police office on campus to bring along the printouts.
Officer Burke agreed that it would be a good idea.

So I trudge to the police office and give them a lot of helpful
information on what I thought went on.  I gave them excellent records
which showed *console* logins (not remote logins from e.g. modem lines
he had from the extremely meticulous and helpful Administration) on all
the Unix machines in the lab (surprise! the Banyan Vines network was
down!).  Officer Burke's Sergeant was there scrutinizing my comments
(his name I forget). I told them I was pretty sure the computer was
stolen Friday night, despite their opinion, because I recalled being
surprised by its absence on Saturday. Officer Burke reveals that they
are convinced based on `other sources' that they agree with that and
that the earlier source pointing to Saturday turned out to be `unreliable'.

I went through a lot of trouble to draw pictures of the arrangement of
the computer lab and describe the basic operation of the network for
local/remote logins.  Apparently I was *too* helpful. This is where it
all turns from the unpleasant to the grisly. Officer Burke announces to
me `You've been extremely helpful...' and I'm waiting for some lame
reassurance like `we're doing the best we can'.  But instead there's
that ugly tone underneath that turns to `BUT if everything here is as
you say it is, you won't mind us searching your residence...'

Gad, my stomache lurched and my expression paled.  I didn't expect to
be rewarded but on the other hand, I didn't expect to be punished! I
have a Mac IIsi and an ancient 286 and I had horrid visions of them
carting them BOTH off because they didn't know the difference between
them and a 486. At first I mumbled some shocked statements about `well,
I just sort of oppose searches in general' and asked if they would be
able to get a warrant. Officer Burke looked at his Sergeant and it was
his turn to mumble some rationalizations.  Oh, we surely could get a
warrant if we needed one. No, we don't have one for this instance *but*
you wouldn't and shouldn't mind *if* (that `if' was unspoken but understood!).

So at this point I realized that if I said `no' I would probably not
hear anything else. They also told me that they had been doing a lot of
searching of other's apartments based on their voluntary submission. I
got the impression this was a fairly routine process for them. In fact,
they probably deal with this kind of thing all the time, with missing
computer equipment all over campus. I asked them if they had pursued
all their other leads (I was thinking, I would like them in my
apartment as an absolute last resort). They told me they were waiting
for someone to `call them back'.  I had this absurd vision of the thief
absconding out of town, snickering among his black friends, saying `I
told him I would call him BACK! HAHAHAHA!'

After a bit more of this extremely awkward back-and-forth for everyone
involved, I asked them if they had any warrants they could show me. I
was trying to turn this into as much as an educational experience as
possible (others will recognize that truly educational experiences tend
to be painful).  They pull out massive file full of  warrants right out
of a file cabinet. I would have liked to study them very closely, but
of course I had no such privilege.

In the few brief instants that I peered at them I was able to make out
some details. First, they were extremely specific in their wording.
They named exact addresses, people, and articles that came under the
search. They named the reasons for the search, the chain of evidence
and suspicion that was to justify it, and all the formal legalese
required.  Each was a few pages long.  They were printed out on a
dot-matrix printer.  The one I saw in particular was drug related. I
can't make any quotes.

I asked them what percentage of warrants were approved by the judge.
Mr. Burke looked at his Sergeant and did the `well (er) we write very
fine warrants' bit.  (How many have been turned down?) Oh, we put a lot
of effort into them to get all the details right, and we're good at it,
we have a lot of experience. (In what cases have any been turned down?)
We don't waste our time writing warrants that wouldn't be granted--we
don't submit weak ones. (Have you *ever* had one turned down?)

Finally, Officer Burke reveals to me, in however many years of his
police work, that he has (ahem) never had the experience of having a
warrant turned down, but that was solely evidence of his masterful
warrant-writing aptitude and had no other significance.  Maybe it was
just my imagination but he referred to the judge involved in a way as
if they were personal friends--perhaps they even played golf on
Tuesdays. Ah, well, it's a small town.

But the warrant spectacle was for me only a sideshow--this whole time I
had uneasy visions of Steve Jackson Games dancing through my head. 
Finally, after telling them of my fear of them carting off my
computers, Officer Burke reassured me that he had a 386 or something at
home and could tell the difference between brands.  They were extremely
persistent. I had no idea why after all my cooperation. What thief
would have the audacity to walk into the police station and talk about
the night he stole it?

So Officer Burke and his Sergeant stick me in the back of their police
car (since I had walked) and cart me off to my apartment complex.  I
find it quite a surrealistic experience to be making uneasy and
intermittent small-talk on 386's with Officer Burke behind a
steel-and-plexiglass divider.  I'm hoping that most of the neighbors
have their venetian blinds drawn today.  I take them to my apartment
which as usual, to say the least, has that `strewn about' look (perhaps
one of my deep Freudian reasons for being reluctant in the search).
Upon entering the Sergeant says `Oh, my place looked a lot worse than
this when I was living alone.' Officer Burke notes with some strange
irony that Yep, Sure Enough, there's a Mac IIsi and a cheap 286 in the
corner.  I open up some of the computer boxes I use as stylish computer
nerd furniture tables and settings, to show they are empty. 

After about 5 minutes of this they are clearly unimpressed and
disappointed at the same time.  While Officer Burke is looking under
the kitchen sink and in the kitchen cabinets, the Sergeant says to me
`so what would be your dream computer? a Mac or an IBM?' It seemed like
a simple query just to distract me from the unpleasantness of two
police officers breathing down my space and eyeing things such as dirty
plates on the floor and dirty clothes in the corners, and disordered
stacks of manuals and magazines in various stages of undress.  I
hesitated to think but was completely straightforward and honest in
saying that I probably would prefer a Mac, namely a Quadra 950, and
made some vague noises about how one's computers reflect how much money
one has!  Later I realized that the question could have been hardly
innocent, but a way of judging whether I was lusting after a juicy 486
like the one stolen, and was glad I didn't say anything suspicious.
Then again, maybe my response *was* suspicious.

Officer Burke says `I guess that's about it unless...' (with a sort of
dangling irony from a Perry Mason episode just before a sudden,
surprising, damning revelation) and looks inside the oven, which has
never held anything but two thawing pizzas and is empty at the moment. 
Finally, they leave, and I'm encouraged that they take the handcuffs
with them without me in them. At least I had *proven* (to use their own
terminology) that I wasn't guilty...

I was hacking away in the same computer lab on the next night (I forget
when--Tuesday?), and officer Burke and another officer came in to
survey the area for the first time.  They talked to some people in the
lab and looked around. Officer Burke had brought with him all the logs
he had been given including mine.  It was at this point that I realized
his version of the logs were vastly superfluous.  I thought I probably
got some brownie points for the extremely tight hand-edited ones I gave
him (listing only the console logins to all Unix machines in the lab). 
I found out about his haystack versions only because he let me see them
after asking rather simplistic questions of me about the network (where
can people log in from?), and I realized that *he* had just realized
for the first time that the Adminstration-supplied logs were far more
raw data than was necessary--in fact, it was highly misleading because
it listed logins from *anywhere* (modems, off campus-sites, internet
connections, etc.)

He talked to me some more to ask me about the details I had gone over
of the people I saw let in.  He sat down at the desk where the computer
was stolen and went through them as I banged away on a remote computer.
 Finally the pair are about to leave.  Officer Burke reveals that the
people he talked to today and residences he searched didn't help at
all, and has a very emptyhanded tone.  I told him, `well, at least you
have a lot of other things to look at' indicating the printouts. `No,
we've hit a dead end. In fact, at this moment, I'd have to say that
you're our prime suspect.'

Yeeks. I was completely crestfallen, and turned away from looking at
him, having a queasy replay of the gut-wrenching feelings of the
earlier Residence Search Initiative.  He told me that he had a 3 day
vacation starting that night (as I recall, it was about 5:30 then) and
hopefully some new `leads' would pop up afterwards.

He and I traded some more of that halting, eerie small talk about
campus computer politics and network administration jobs, and there's
the brief illusion that we're just two human beings yacking. But then
just before he left he said, `say, by the way, just check everything
up, do your apartments have any storage facilities?'  I assured him
they did not, shaking my head and looking away for the third and final
time.  I went back to the computer and tapped the keyboard, brushed the
mouse, and tried to lose myself in cyberspace.

* * *

In pondering the whole episode I have come to various conclusions.

1) A supremely delicate balance exists between the ability of the
police to conduct meaningful investigations and the preservation of the
rights of people they are investigating.  It would be possible to argue
based on this experience that the warrantless search is critical to
their role, but on the other hand it would be equally possible to argue
that it is completely useless.

2) Police do not need warrants to make searches.  Probably most
searches are done without them.  Many people submit to them voluntarily
with only the slightest hesitation.  Was I perpetuating a dangerous or
cavalier approach by assenting to the search? I don't know. I felt like
I could remove suspicion by doing so and that their assurances were adequate...

3) I didn't gain any tangible benefit from cooperating fully with the
police.  To the contrary, it chewed up my time and emotions with only
the effect of drawing greater suspicion to me and for all I know I am
still a `prime suspect'. Your mileage may vary; I certainly don't
advocate this experience as a complete disillusionment in `the process'
or want it to be referred to in that way. If you do cooperate with
police I urge you to have a rock-solid alibi and be absolutely certain
of your facts.  Lacking either makes you suspect. For me the sentence
`if you are innocent you can prove it' now sounds as warped and cruelly
hollow as `if you loved me you'd prove it.'

5) I certainly don't envy the job of being a policeman. In an
investigation they don't know who to trust, and have to tiptoe around
revealing details to get more information and not revealing details
that imperil the overall investigation. Under this scenario, solid
information and its knowledgeable interpretation is absolutely invaluable.

6) The policeman does not always have a great incentive to solve a
case. There is no change in his salary in doing so or any other basic
reward. There is probably a vague hint of promotion in consistently
solving cases, but in many other cases there is probably greater
incentive *not* to solve a case--the tedious legwork is diminished.

7) Probably most of the cases that *are* solved are mostly based on
rock-solid information such as  confessions and informant tips and not
inspired sleuthing and searches.  The argument could be made that this
is the major legitimate role of investigative police work--following
existing leads, not going on `fishing expeditions'.

8) Warrants, like any other bureacratic tool, can become meaningless
under the variations of local circumstances.  My impression was that
they do seem to be used, but they are only used in extreme
circumstances and do not form the basis of routine police work. I think
the critical message is that we have to judge law enforcement
techniques not by their *intent* but their actual use and effect in *practice*.

9) I still wonder if the officers would have been able to get a warrant
under my circumstances. At the time I was convinced that they wouldn't
have without additional evidence (of which there assurredly is none). 
I had in the back of my mind that I would rather have them search when
I didn't expect it or through my landlord when I wasn't there.  In
other words, as ugly and unpleasant as it was, it could have even been far worse.

Thanks for listening to all this, it is immensely therapeutic for me
and hopefully some insight is contained herein to minimize a burden for you.


P.S. Even though elements of this note make my identity exceedingly
obvious, in interests of preserving my privacy, please refrain from
speculating publicly or privately on it.  Just sign me: SEARCH ME

P.P.S. As of this writing, neither the thief nor the computer have been found.
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