When I first started in Asset Protection, store security, I made a lot of assumptions about who I’d catch stealing; what they looked like, what their socioeconomic status was, and why they were doing it. As is the outcome with most assumptions, I was dead wrong. The following is my account of catching my first thief after relocating with my job to a new state, with new laws and new types to cast.
“So what’s your limit?” I asked Bryce.
“What do you mean?” he replied.
“Like, what amount makes you call the police? Generally I’m subjective till $100,” I told him.
“Oh, here? I call if it’s going to be $50 or over,” he retorted.
“Why did you set that limit?” I asked.
“Because you don’t know what you’re going to run into here,” he replied, “sometimes the clientele can be a little rough.”
At this point, I’d been doing this job for 3 plus years, and I’d been in about 8 or so different stores. I knew that I had to adjust to the typical customer base in each store, and that they all brought their own challenges. Store security was a strange job, but I loved the variety and the video game-likeness of the camera watching; the wall monitors donning hundreds of store camera views, the few on my desk that allowed me to view specific cameras when I wanted to get a better view of what someone was doing, and the joystick keyboards that I used like remote controls to follow people from the comfort of my office on movable cameras.
My husband and I had just moved to this state, so I was training with one of it’s more seasoned Security personnel. I needed to understand how the laws varied and get a jump on building some of the law enforcement relationships necessary for success. My trainer was very efficient and I appreciated that, but he was also personable, which I appreciated more. If I was going to be spending my 8 hour shifts with him for however long, it would be necessary for my sanity that he could carry on a conversation. Camera watching was fun, but also incredibly boring. It was a true gamble. When it was good, it was real good, and when it was bad, it was brutal. Catching people made up the good days, and hours of watching with no thefts made up the bad.
“She’s got that shady look on her face,” I said, pointing at a slender lady, in her late 40’s early 50’s. This part was a guess. I was not always the best at judging age, but as long as the person was of legal age, it didn’t really matter, and I could say this woman was. The procedure for an adult was a lot less tricky than for a teenager or child. It meant we wouldn’t have to get a parent or guardian involved.
“Okay, why do you think that?” he asked. I didn’t really like being questioned, but I was trying to prove myself. Even though I already had a stellar track record for apprehending store thieves, this was a new division and that meant all new colleagues and bosses to convince.
“Look at the cart lean,” I replied, “plus she’s got a massive tote bag and some empty plastic bags.” Bryce nodded in agreement, these were pretty solid tells.
The woman made a stop at the pharmacy, picking up a script which she paid for with a check. She then proceeded to peruse the aisles, selecting various merchandise. She got steak, some hair care products, makeup and a few other small items, all of which she hid neatly under the plastic bags in her cart. She seemed nervous. Her hands were a little shaky and she was on high alert. Anytime someone would pass her, she’d smile and nod unnecessarily. “She’s definitely gonna take that stuff,” I said. “You sound pretty sure,” he jabbed.
It wasn’t a very long shop, which I was happy for. She finished up her selections, popped into a private aisle, and concealed all the stuff she’d picked up into the plastic bags. “How fast is your police response?” I asked. “They’re pretty quick,” Bryce replied. “Good, I want to wait to see how much the merchandise rings up to,” I told him. The woman made her way up to the front of the store, passed all of the registers and proceeded out the front exit. “Okay, let’s go,” I anxiously spat. “You alright?” Bryce asked, a humored smile spread across his face. “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” I retorted, as I banged my hip into the desk on the way out the door. Ooh that hurt my pride a little.
We bolted across the front of the store, catching up to the woman in the parking lot. “Miss,” I called. Her head whipped around and based on the look on her face, I prepped myself for some expletives.
“Oh, hello. Are you talking to me?” she asked sweetly. I did not expect that. Her original expression was one of sheer agitation, but now she wore a meek smile. “Miss, we need to go talk about the items you took without purchasing today,” I told her, grabbing the plastic bags from her cart. “Oh my God, I am so so so sorry about that,” she replied. Again, I was taken aback. I was used to confrontation from my shoplifters, this woman acquiesced immediately. Weird. “Follow him, we’re gonna go back to my office and talk about this,” I said, pointing towards the emergency exit that led to the security office. “Of course,” she replied.
On the way back to the office, I made small talk in an attempt to keep this woman too distracted to try anything. “Do you live around here?” I asked. “Yes, I’m local. I work at the hospital up the street. I’m a nurse,” she replied. Bryce held the door open and gestured for the woman to have a seat at a table positioned on the wall across from the door. He waved over an employee and handed them the bags of merchandise. “Can you ring these up?” he asked. The employee nodded and took the bags. “Miss can you please take out your ID?” I asked her. “Oh, of course. Not a problem. I don’t know how I could have thought I would get away with this,” she cooed. Something was wrong. This response was so outside the realm of what typically happened it threw me off a bit, but I put on auto drive and began the normal processing.
“Have you ever been stopped at one of our stores before?” I asked. “No, no, never,” she responded. I saw her eyeing the monitors of cameras on the wall. “Wow, you can really see everything. You guys are so good, I don’t know why I was thinking I could get away with this,” she said again. The compliments were flowing and my spidey senses were going off at full blast. When the knock on the door came from the employee that had rung up the merchandise, I was relieved that it totaled over $50. I knew the cops needed to be called, and now I had my reason. I asked the employee to step in with Bryce, while I stepped out for a minute. I called the police and reported the crime, letting them know that I had the suspect in the office and what she’d tried to walk out with.
Bryce was right, the police response was quick. I had just enough time to run this woman’s information through our store system and find out that she had been telling the truth about never being stopped. The woman proceeded to lay on the honey thick. Kind words poured out of her mouth about how good I was at my job, making me shift uncomfortably in my seat. I was relieved when the officers arrived and shifted her attention away from me. They didn’t knock. They knew Bryce well, so they just let themselves in upon arrival. I was vibrating from the adrenaline that flooded my body every time I caught a theft, so their entrance made me jump. I did my best to exude calm, but knew my efforts were futile. I was visibly on edge.
Two officers strode in. “Newbie huh?” one of the officers quipped. “So what do we have here?” the other asked. “Hi, I’m Catie,” I said, holding out my hand. The first officer looked me up and down, amused by my gesture. “That seems a little formal,” he laughed, “I’m officer Kirby and this is officer Reynolds.” I pulled my hand back in and handed them the information sheet I’d written up with the woman’s information, along with a receipt totaling what she’d walked out with. “Hello officers, I don’t know what I was thinking,” the woman said nervously. At this point it sounded like a practiced script. The woman shifted in her seat, moving her purse from the table to the floor, and pushing it behind her foot as casually as she could muster. Kirby noticed.
“Ma’am, please put your purse back on the table,” Kirby told her. Reynolds was relaying the woman’s information I’d given them into the walkie on his shoulder, but he stiffened up as the woman put her bag on the table. “Ma’am, do you have anything on you that we should know about?” Reynolds asked, sniffing the air suspiciously. “No, no, no, absolutely not. I uh,” she began rifling through her purse. “I have some mints, um, my phone, uh, uh, my wallet,” she said, her voice shaking. “Don’t fucking lie to me,” Reynolds snapped. Whoah, that was abrupt. I tried to keep my head steady and not whip around on him. I had not been expecting that and had no idea what he was so angry about. It was only about $60 worth of merchandise.
Reynolds grabbed the woman’s purse, “I’m going to give you one more chance to be honest with me. What the fuck am I going to find in here?” he asked. “Nu-nothing,” she replied, shifting back and forth in her chair nervously. She reached out for her purse. “Put your hands on the Goddamned table,” Kirby barked. She planted them abruptly, dropping her head almost simultaneously. Reynolds pulled out what looked like a copper Brillo pad. “What the fuck is this for?” he snapped. “Uh, uh, nothing,” she said, eyes glancing feverishly around the room. “Do you think I’m stupid?” he said, pulling things angrily out of her purse and slamming them on the table in front of her. He was clearly looking for something in particular, but I didn’t know what.
A look of irritated resolve washed over his face when he found it. He pulled a small glass tube, maybe 2 inches in length, out of the woman’s bag. It had brown stains on it and one side was jagged with a little of the copper Brillo stuck to the inside. “That is not nothing. Are you high right now?” snapped Kirby. He stepped closer to her and glared deeply into her eyes. “I-I’m not, I-I swear,” she pleaded. Reynolds pulled out another, almost identical glass pipe. This one was clean. Next came a small baggie of something and a lighter. “Bingo, crack,” said Reynolds, “stand up ma’am.”
The woman stood. Silent distress plastered her face, and I felt a little sorry for her. This dissipated when I realized that not only had she potentially driven under the influence of the crack she’d been carrying, but she could have been practicing medicine under it as well. I didn’t know much about crack, I certainly didn’t know it had a distinct smell, so I was mildly impressed by Reynolds nose. I knew the idea of someone administering any type of legal medication while euphorically stoned was a bit unnerving. I also knew that if I hadn’t caught her stealing, she would have continued to practice under the influence. What a scary thought.
She’d looked so normal. She was your basic white lady, relatively well-dressed, clearly had a more than socially-classified “normal” job. She was not imposing physically, she did not have the typical “criminal” characteristics often portrayed by the media, or found on the 5 o’clock news, and yet I’d caught her carrying out more than one crime. This was not the first, nor the last time I would catch the criminally unassuming. What we’ve socially determined are crimes are carried out by average people. People’s mothers, brothers, neighbors, mailmen, doctors. What we’ve socially determined are crimes have been portrayed as being carried out by a type cast “criminal element”. My experiences challenge that norm. My experiences paint a very different picture of who a criminal is, what they look like and why they do it. Stay tuned.
Catie Zimmerman 