The Thin Blue Line

This is the fourth installment of the Biddeford After Dark series that wrote for the Biddeford-Saco Courier in October 2001. This installment focuses on my ride-along with a third-shift police officer.

While the city sleeps, lost in its innocent slumber, the bad element is most likely to stir. Those who prefer the cover of darkness for their activities rise from their slumber and prowl, looking for a fight, drugs or a camera left behind in a parked vehicle.

It is the time of day when people are most likely to get behind the wheel after having a few drinks. It is a time when tempers flare, and when a jealous rage is most likely to escalate. The moon lingers over the city, and the night whispers are more audible without the hustle and bustle of daytime activities.

But while the city’s leaders sleep, another group takes over. They are the watchers of the night, the defenders of the law; and the guardians of what the rest of us so often take for granted.

Welcome back to Biddeford after Dark, and our report on the proverbial boys in blue: the men and women of the Biddeford Police Department.

Bad boys, bad boys —

As I sit in Peter Schimek’s patrol car, parked in the police department’s parking lot on Alfred Street, I watch in silence as Schimek checks his equipment. Then a song begins to echo in my head.

“Bad boys, bad boys — whatcha ya gonna do? Watcha ya gonna do, when they come for you?”

It’s a few minutes before 11 o’clock, and the downtown bars are packed. There is a kinetic energy on the streets tonight; a restless feeling that throbs only to the rhythms of the early autumn winds.

Like many other young boys, I once dreamed of being a police officer. The thrills and the excitement. The guns, a badge and the image of being the defender of truth, justice and the American Way — whatever that means.

The night’s opportunities are not lost on Schimek or his colleagues. They know that the streets are restless. And they know that they are short-staffed tonight. It’s not a good combination.

Schimek has been a patrol officer in Biddeford for more than three years, previously working as an officer in Old Orchard Beach.

Schimek, 35, is not exactly what I expected from a third-shift patrol officer. He is soft-spoken, almost a bit philosophical about his job and what he sees each night while making his rounds. He talks candidly about the city, his job and the personalities that are drawn to the call of the moon.

Absolutely serious when he needs to be, Schimek is also easy-going and relaxed, revealing a deft sense of humor and a non-cynical view about the people he encounters while working between 11 p.m. and 7 a.m.

Et porquois pas?

“You see all sorts of things during third shift,” Schimek says. “You see it all, and hear it all. Just bragging rights for anything: ‘those are my chips.’ ‘I’m stronger than you.’ ‘You spilled my beer.’ ‘This is my place to stand.’ ‘I don’t like you because you hang out with those kids.’”

Tonight, Schimek and I are covering traffic patrol, looking for burned-out headlights, speeders and drunk-drivers. There isn’t much traffic on the street, but Schimek knows that the night is still young.

It’s not long, however, before we get our first call. A bartender at Le Club Voltigeur, on Elm Street, (et porquois pas?) has called for an escort. Allegedly, according to the bartender, one of the club’s officers has had too much to drink and is now insinuating threats. Our car is the second unit to respond to the scene.

As soon as we pull into the parking lot, the bartender approaches our car. Nearby, a group of five or six men stand together, hands in pockets, trying to look inconspicuous.

“We get a lot more alcohol related calls during this shift,” Schimek explains. “Generally, a lot of people have been drinking since the early afternoon. It can make for difficult situations. Otherwise decent people lose some of their judgment and sensibilities. You have to be careful.”

The bartender goes to her car, unscathed — and Schimek talks with the group gathered in the parking lot. His mannerisms are professional, but he keeps his tone friendly, if not direct. He advises the men to head home, also warning them not to drive. The men nod their heads, trying to look casual and Schimek returns to the cruiser.

“Part of crime deterrence is to drive around,” Schimek says. “You’re going up and down streets, and the criminal doesn’t know when the officer is going to come by. You never have a set pattern. You do everything sporadically, just making your presence known.

So much for hanging out at the donut shop, but Schimek does know every establishment where food is sold late at night. “Hey, we have to eat at some point, you know.”

A fisherman’s nightmare —

Schimek and I are riding near Chick’s Hill on outer Rte. 111 in Biddeford. As we approach the Andrew’s Road, Schimek decides to turn back toward the city. Just as we make our way east, Schimek notices a commercial van that is traveling 15 mph over the posted speed limit. We turn around, and Schimek turns on the blue flashing lights. The van pulls to the side of the road quickly.

Schimek calls in the van’s license plate, and then cautiously approaches the now parked vehicle. I wait, wondering what the outcome of this stop will be.

“The two most dangerous situations for a police officer are domestic [violence] calls and motor vehicle stops,” Schimek explains before leaving the cruiser. “You never know what’s going to happen in those situations.”

After returning to the cruiser, Schimek calls in the driver’s license number. Bad news. Although the 34-year-old driver has a relatively clean driving record, he does have an outstanding arrest warrant. In 1988, this married father of two — returning home on this evening from a hard day of work — apparently made the mistake of fishing with a lure in a fly-fishing only area somewhere near Dover-Foxcroft.

Schimek shakes his head. “I have no choice,” he says. “We have to bring him in to the station and process him on the outstanding warrant.”

Thus, this man, who would have otherwise been sent on his way home with a stern warning to watch his speed, now has to be handcuffed, make bail arrangements and leave his vehicle on the side of the road to be towed.

A busted fisherman. Busted for a minor infraction that happened more than 12 years ago — more than 100 miles away, while enjoying a simple day of fishing.

Schimek is less than pleased with the situation, but he has little choice in the matter. Despite being short-staffed this evening, and the constant crackling of the police radio, Schimek and I will now be tied up at the station until the man either makes bail ($90) or is transported to the York County Jail.

Cash and carry

To my surprise, our prisoner is not that upset about the situation. Sitting in the back seat of the cruiser, behind a metal cage, his wrists chained together behind his back, he is astonishingly good-natured.

“Who would have thought?” he says, as Schimek talks with another officer who has been called in for back-up, so that the van can be moved and towed. “I forgot all about that. I thought it was a forgotten thing. I didn’t even know that I wasn’t supposed to be using lures in that area.”

On the way back to the station, our prisoner trades jokes and a casual attitude with Schimek, who has all but apologized for the inconvenience.

Meanwhile, the radio continues to alert us about other things happening in the city. A 15-year-old boy, standing on the South Street overpass, is spotted by an alert and passing state trooper. The boy may be suicidal, and another unit is dispatched to the scene.

A house party on Summer Street is causing some neighbors to complain. Schimek, however, is out of service and now assigned to little more than being a baby-sitter.

Back at the station, the prisoner is searched again, this time even more thoroughly. We find no contraband or weapons, and Schimek opens a locker, grabbing a plastic baggie. The man now must empty his pockets and verify his valuables. He must also remove his shoes. From there, in the station’s garage, our prisoner is escorted into the station. He is finger-printed and photographed, and then taken to one of several empty holding cells.

Schimek, anxious to return to the streets, seems increasingly frustrated. The prisoner calls a friend who agrees to post bail. Now, we all wait for the on-call bail commissioner. Some 20 more minutes go by.

Finally, the prisoner is able to talk with the bail commissioner. The bail is paid in cash. The police, apparently, do not take American Express — or Visa, for that matter. It’s cash or carry when you need to get out of jail. That’s the law.

Back on the streets —

It’s close to 1 a.m., and the natives, as they say, are definitely restless. Schimek parks his cruiser in the corner of the 7-11 parking lot. From this vantage point, we can see the steady stream of munchie-hungry customers pour forth from the downtown taverns.

Schimek recognizes many of the faces in the crowd, and he smiles when some tough guys walk past the cruiser, muttering derogatory remarks about the police.

“Not everyone appreciates our presence,” Schimek explains. “Third shift has less calls for service, but we typically have more arrests. I have arrested some of these people before.

“Quite often, people you’ve dealt with earlier in the night, you can see them a few hours later, walking home around 6 a.m.”

The moon is nearly full tonight, and Schimek has his own personal theories about why police and medical calls seem to increase during a full moon.

“During bad weather, calls also increase,” he explains. “My own personal theory is that when there is a low-pressure system, people’s brains swell because there is less pressure upon the body. It’s the only explanation I can think of.”

It’s not long before we have to respond to anther call. Two juveniles have stolen a flag from a residence. The perpetrators are apprehended quickly. Three units converge on the suspects in a quiet and poorly-lit neighborhood near Mason Street. The flag has been recovered, and the young men are arrested on probation violations and then charged with theft.

Another officer handles that arrest, and Schimek drives to the victim’s house to return the stolen flag. He chats briefly with the middle-aged couple, who offer thanks for returning their flag.

Another call, and we’re off again. Now, a deaf woman has accused an acquaintance of stealing things from her front porch.

The woman’s home is cluttered, and this call seems to involve a love triangle that has gone terribly astray. Apparently, the alleged victim was storing some of her boyfriend’s items at her home. The man’s other girlfriend, however, took it upon herself to gather up some of her beloved’s most cherished belongings, all of which are stacked in rotting cardboard boxes.

The man, who is the object of dueling affections, has bigger problems than locating his shaving kit, however. He is apparently spending the next several weeks in a New York City jail cell, awaiting trial on drug trafficking calls.

We’re back on the road in less than 15 minutes, but even as Schimek prepares to drop me off near my office on Main Street, something else suspicious catches his eye.

A white, pickup truck is pulled over to the side of Lincoln Street with its rear right turn signal still flashing. The driver is intoxicated and enjoying a midnight slumber. But not for long. The keys are in the ignition. The truck is in gear, and Schimek reaches for his handcuffs as he awakens the snoozing motorist.

The man seems baffled about what is happening. Before he knows it, he is cuffed and stuffed. The streets are safe again. At least for now.

This is Biddeford after Dark. Sleep well.