I drove this morning to the Olympic Police Station to give the detective there all the information Michelle Sandoval’s family had provided since her disappearance on December 19th. The first officer I spoke to was very nice and attentive, said the detective was not in, but made a copy of the documents I brought and gave me the detective’s phone number. Then I asked if I could get Michelle’s case number for future reference.
At that point, another officer, who was manning the computer, looked for a minute on the computer screen then said, “She doesn’t have a case number.”
I explained that her mother had reported her missing on December 19th and I was certain she had done so at that police station.
“Well, she didn’t,” he said, “or it would be in our computer, and besides, where is the mother? Shouldn’t she be here if she’s so worried about her daughter?”
I repeated that she had indeed filed a missing person’s report with the police station and added, “She is heartsick about her daughter. I am here as her advocate.”
“Well, we can’t tell you anything. You’re not part of the family. Besides, if her mother really cared, she would have filed a report.”
“Don’t pass judgment on this woman, please, and I am certain she filed a police report.”
“Then the officer must have decided her case didn’t merit putting into the system.”
“How would it be possible for the disappearance of a 15-year-old girl to not merit being put into your system?”
“Obviously, something wasn’t right or they would have given her a case number.”
At this point, my voice became slightly tense. “Can you explain to me as a mother how it would be possible for this girl not to have been considered an acceptable case if she disappeared at the end of the school day on December 19th?
“I’m sure the officers had their reasons.”
“The girl is undocumented. The family said the police claimed they couldn’t do anything since she didn’t have papers.”
“There you go. That’s why she doesn’t have a case number.”
“So, a fifteen-year-old girl who has lived in the United States since she was four can disappear and the LAPD doesn’t care because she doesn’t have the proper papers?”
“If the officers didn’t file a report, then that’s what they decided.”
“So, you are telling me, an American citizen, that the LAPD doesn’t care if fifteen-year-olds are safe here in the U.S?”
“I’m telling you that the mother either didn’t file a report or the officer decided the case didn’t reach the standards needed for a report to be filed.”
“Can you tell me what I need to do next?”
“I can’t tell you anything. You’re not her family.”
“You can’t tell me general information as a citizen?”
“No.”
“Do I need an attorney to get basic information on what to do next if a fifteen-year-old girl has disappeared?”
“No, you don’t need an attorney.”
My daughter is an attorney. I can bring her up here if that will be helpful.”
“No, you don’t need to do that.”
“Then what do I do? I just need some basic guidance here.”
“Tell the mother to come in and file a police report.”
“And then you will turn her case over to a detective?”
“Yes.”
“Thank you.”
At this point, the nice officer who helped me at the beginning and who had witnessed this conversation, walked out of the room.
When I turned around, he was standing in the hall with a pained expression on his face. I walked over to him and he said quietly, “Don’t worry. I put your information on the desk of the detective who will handle the case. Just tell the mother to call him at the number I gave you.”
“It’s very upsetting that this girl has disappeared.” I said.
“I’m sure it is,” he said gently. “Don’t worry. We’re going to help as much as we can.”
At that point, I left.
As soon as I got to my car and calmed down, I texted Michelle’s mother and told her to come up and file a police report immediately.
She texted me back and said, “I filed one on December 19th.”
“Where did you file it?” I asked.
“The Olympic Police station,” she wrote.
I was parked right outside that same station.
“Did they assign you a detective?”
“Yes,” she wrote back. “His name is Ortiz.”
That was the name of the detective the nice policeman gave me in the first place.
***
I can see how the police can be intimidating. The nice officer couldn’t have been kinder, but the other man took an adversarial stance from the outset. He was not helpful. He was not considerate. He was not open to hearing my side of the story. He was spouting “policy” with not one shred of openness to my position.
It also turns out that he was dead wrong.
Michelle’s mother had filed a police report. It had merited consideration. He just didn’t taken the time to look carefully at his records. If he had, we would never have needed to have that very unpleasant conversation.
Hopefully, the detective will read over the information the family provided and move forward with the investigation.
I encouraged Michelle’s mom to call him often and check on his progress.
Dear Lord…
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