Judges can order police to reveal the name of a confidential source. But usually only a detective and a supervisor know it.
Gambling source led to dozens of arrests
By Heather Ratcliffe
POST-DISPATCH
11/26/2005
The 46-year-old grandmother doesn't like to be called a "snitch."
She says she's a concerned citizen who wanted to clean up her neighborhood. A solider in the war on drugs.
No matter what you call her, police say she's the best at what she does. For more than 20 years, the woman gave police vital information that led to the arrest of dozens of drug dealers, pimps, robbers and killers. Countless times she put her life in jeopardy and never took a dime in return, police say.
The woman, whose name is being withheld for safety reasons, is a confidential source for the St. Louis County police department.
"Her word is gold," said county police Lt. James Vollmar.
The woman met with the Post-Dispatch in a recent interview to describe and reflect on her two-decade relationship with the department's drug detectives.
She said it all began the night the county police raided a gambling house in north St. Louis County.
The woman was there rolling dice, a lifelong habit that she says provided financial support for her family. Police arrested her in the dragnet that night. She, of course, didn't have any drugs. She says never touches them. But she did have something police wanted. They just didn't know it yet.
The woman said one police officer caught her attention in the raid - Vollmar, then a sergeant. He seemed fair and professional.
"There was something about his eyes," she said. "I got a good sense on who he was. He seemed dedicated for the right reasons."
The woman moved close enough to the sergeant to read his name tag. She wrote it down and called later that day.
Officers answering the phones often screen calls. She'd hang up anytime someone demanded her name. After several tries, she got through to Vollmar.
She told him he missed the dope in the bust. The dealers hid it when police busted through the door. The woman told him where to find it. The information proved true.
Over time, she called again and again. Her gambling habit took her into the criminal world, where dealers and gang members would brag about their scores.
"They're always up talking about their business," she said. "It isn't hard to catch these guys. You just got to know where to look."
The source would copy down names, addresses and license plate numbers. She would sometimes sneak off to a bathroom to call police from her cell phone. But she always managed to get out of a house before cops kicked in the door.
Never once did someone suspect her or confront her. The source almost always dealt with Vollmar, who would met her in out-of-the-way places.
"I always trusted him," the woman said. "He never put me in a position where I felt uncomfortable."
The woman has seen her own scrapes with the law. She liked to fight when she was younger. But police never helped her out of a jam. She said she never asked them.
Disgust and frustration fueled her work, the woman says. Drugs make her mad. They hurt children who don't know any better. They destroy lives and the community, she says.
A crack addict from the neighborhood once begged her for help when the two met at a drug and gambling house. A drug dealer sexually assaulted the addict because she didn't pay a debt. And he threatened more harm.
The source helped the only way she knew how. She stayed at the house for three straight days talking, listening and gambling to gather information on the dealer. The tips lead to his arrest and conviction.
Most police departments rely on confidential sources to make cases. They come in many varieties: those who just want to make a difference, those caught in the justice system who want to bargain for leniency and those who want to make money.
Police approach all three with skepticism. A confidential source must pass a background check before officers use his or her information.
"We have to be wary of their motives," said St. Louis County Police Capt. Thomas Jackson, commander of the department's drug unit. "Someone may appear to be a 'good citizen' but is really seeking revenge or, in the drug world, trying to eliminate the competition."
Police usually pay cash for tips. Typically, a good lead can go for up to $50, depending on how much money is available in the police budget.
"No one is going to get rich off us," Jackson said.
Confidential sources help police establish probable cause for a search warrant. They can point police to when and where drugs are delivered. And sources can introduce undercover officers into a criminal ring.
"It's almost impossible in drug cases to get to the big fish (without) a confidential source," Jackson said.
Judges can order police to reveal the name of a confidential source. But usually only a detective and a supervisor know it.
The woman said she didn't do much spying these days. Her life has slowed since she became a grandmother. She also stopped calling when Vollmar was transferred to another unit.
She said she found it difficult to trust new, younger detectives whom she doesn't know.
She considers the police officers she's worked with for years to be friends. Vollmar still calls to check on her from time to time. He'll bring her deer meat from his hunting expeditions.
"Police take a risk with their lives to do what they do," she said. "If more people would get involved and take a stand, they could make a difference too."
By Heather Ratcliffe
POST-DISPATCH
11/26/2005
The 46-year-old grandmother doesn't like to be called a "snitch."
She says she's a concerned citizen who wanted to clean up her neighborhood. A solider in the war on drugs.
No matter what you call her, police say she's the best at what she does. For more than 20 years, the woman gave police vital information that led to the arrest of dozens of drug dealers, pimps, robbers and killers. Countless times she put her life in jeopardy and never took a dime in return, police say.
The woman, whose name is being withheld for safety reasons, is a confidential source for the St. Louis County police department.
"Her word is gold," said county police Lt. James Vollmar.
The woman met with the Post-Dispatch in a recent interview to describe and reflect on her two-decade relationship with the department's drug detectives.
She said it all began the night the county police raided a gambling house in north St. Louis County.
The woman was there rolling dice, a lifelong habit that she says provided financial support for her family. Police arrested her in the dragnet that night. She, of course, didn't have any drugs. She says never touches them. But she did have something police wanted. They just didn't know it yet.
The woman said one police officer caught her attention in the raid - Vollmar, then a sergeant. He seemed fair and professional.
"There was something about his eyes," she said. "I got a good sense on who he was. He seemed dedicated for the right reasons."
The woman moved close enough to the sergeant to read his name tag. She wrote it down and called later that day.
Officers answering the phones often screen calls. She'd hang up anytime someone demanded her name. After several tries, she got through to Vollmar.
She told him he missed the dope in the bust. The dealers hid it when police busted through the door. The woman told him where to find it. The information proved true.
Over time, she called again and again. Her gambling habit took her into the criminal world, where dealers and gang members would brag about their scores.
"They're always up talking about their business," she said. "It isn't hard to catch these guys. You just got to know where to look."
The source would copy down names, addresses and license plate numbers. She would sometimes sneak off to a bathroom to call police from her cell phone. But she always managed to get out of a house before cops kicked in the door.
Never once did someone suspect her or confront her. The source almost always dealt with Vollmar, who would met her in out-of-the-way places.
"I always trusted him," the woman said. "He never put me in a position where I felt uncomfortable."
The woman has seen her own scrapes with the law. She liked to fight when she was younger. But police never helped her out of a jam. She said she never asked them.
Disgust and frustration fueled her work, the woman says. Drugs make her mad. They hurt children who don't know any better. They destroy lives and the community, she says.
A crack addict from the neighborhood once begged her for help when the two met at a drug and gambling house. A drug dealer sexually assaulted the addict because she didn't pay a debt. And he threatened more harm.
The source helped the only way she knew how. She stayed at the house for three straight days talking, listening and gambling to gather information on the dealer. The tips lead to his arrest and conviction.
Most police departments rely on confidential sources to make cases. They come in many varieties: those who just want to make a difference, those caught in the justice system who want to bargain for leniency and those who want to make money.
Police approach all three with skepticism. A confidential source must pass a background check before officers use his or her information.
"We have to be wary of their motives," said St. Louis County Police Capt. Thomas Jackson, commander of the department's drug unit. "Someone may appear to be a 'good citizen' but is really seeking revenge or, in the drug world, trying to eliminate the competition."
Police usually pay cash for tips. Typically, a good lead can go for up to $50, depending on how much money is available in the police budget.
"No one is going to get rich off us," Jackson said.
Confidential sources help police establish probable cause for a search warrant. They can point police to when and where drugs are delivered. And sources can introduce undercover officers into a criminal ring.
"It's almost impossible in drug cases to get to the big fish (without) a confidential source," Jackson said.
Judges can order police to reveal the name of a confidential source. But usually only a detective and a supervisor know it.
The woman said she didn't do much spying these days. Her life has slowed since she became a grandmother. She also stopped calling when Vollmar was transferred to another unit.
She said she found it difficult to trust new, younger detectives whom she doesn't know.
She considers the police officers she's worked with for years to be friends. Vollmar still calls to check on her from time to time. He'll bring her deer meat from his hunting expeditions.
"Police take a risk with their lives to do what they do," she said. "If more people would get involved and take a stand, they could make a difference too."
