The Fence - Dick Lehr [107]
Kimberly was put off by the whole thing. To her, the clunky surveillance equipment was a token, even patronizing response. “I didn’t think that was a serious attempt for them to find out who was doing this.” In fact, it became a symbol for how the couple now viewed the overall investigation—halfhearted, bungled, and wanting.
By early fall, Mike had seen enough. He’d always believed in the system, but he now reached the conclusion the system had fallen short. “I was failed by the police department.” Just as he was on his own when it came to the tire slashers, Mike decided he was on his own in the search for justice. “I had to do something,” he said, “regardless of what the DA’s office or the police department was going to do.” The continual harassment, rather than a deterrent, had become a prod. “I decided, along with my family, that I needed to find out, you know, who was involved, who did this.” Mike realized he was going to have to take matters into his own hands.
He hired Steve Roach and began meeting regularly with the attorney. Then, in late fall, as Bob Peabody was unsuccessfully pushing Dave Williams to come clean, and six days after Bill Bratton’s appearance at Harvard Law School, Mike sued. He sued his fellow cops, his police department, and his city. He said his civil rights were violated when Boston police officers repeatedly beat and kicked him until he blacked out. He charged that David C. Williams and Ian A. Daley witnessed the attack, did nothing to stop it, and then left him injured and unattended on the street. He took on the police culture of silence and said the two officers joined others in a cover-up and failed to report the assailants. And Mike took on the Boston Police Department. The department, he said, “fails to investigate allegations of misconduct by police officers, fails to properly supervise police officers and fails to properly train police officers and their supervisors after having prior knowledge of multiple incidents of misconduct, especially against young black male suspects, other powerless citizens and plainclothes officers.”
Mike was in metamorphosis—moving from cooperating victim in others’ investigations to aggressor in the quest to hold his assailants accountable. He’d been a punching bag that night at the fence, and he’d felt like one ever since. It was now about “my self-esteem” and “my family.” He could no longer be a bystander.
“It was humiliating what happened to me,” he said. “There’s no reason to treat anyone like that. And then to just leave them. And if they do it to me—another police officer—would they do it to another person if they got away with it?
“What’s to stop them? Who’s to stop them?”
On December 31, an estimated one million revelers turned out for Boston’s First Night activities. It was the twentieth year the city hosted a long day’s celebration into the night, featuring towering ice sculptures, a parade, puppet shows, music concerts, and, at midnight, a fireworks display over Boston Harbor. For the occasion, more than two hundred Boston police officers and ninety-one police cadets were deployed to keep the city’s record of a festive and peaceful New Year’s Eve intact. “We’re going to keep this a safe and enjoyable way for people to celebrate,” Mayor Menino promised beforehand.
Mike Cox was not feeling particularly celebratory or safe. He’d filed a federal civil rights lawsuit against his police colleagues and his department. He knew he was stepping way out of line. “I have accused them of things which I don’t necessarily know anybody else in the police department has ever done before.” The claims could cost them their jobs and monetary damages, and “it could send them to jail.”
Taking legal action may have brought some satisfaction, but Mike now wrestled with the fear factor. For Mike, it went like