All personally identifying information on this site discovered utilizing resources readily available to the general public. All publicly-obtainable court documents, media reports, and any content of similar nature, provided herein or linked to were pre-published elsewhere by parties other than myself. General images along with my personal photographs are garnered via publicly accessible sources through legal means. The purpose for republishing or otherwise publicizing the information is simply to support the content contained herein.


Sometimes They Don’t Come Back

That redneck-cartin’ rust-bucket I call The Beater could often be found parked at the Ix building. After several weeks of abu… uh, use by the Task Force, it inexplicably disappeared. While I don’t much care what pasture it’s been put out to, I am a shade curious why it was driven away never to return. I have a lot of memories attached to it.

That is the Monte Carlo from one of my (cough) finer (cough) pursuits. I hadn’t seen it prior to that gaucherie -- obviously, or I would’ve known better than to use it for cover -- and I haven’t seen it since.

That was supposed to be Rasmussen’s Chevy. Wound up being another Law Enforcement guy’s vehicle. Chalk it up to wire-crossing; fortunately the electrician in me fixed the short before I got zapped.

That belongs to Spare Spot, a Virginia State Policeman. Spare Spot came flying out from the JADE office like a Superhero, grabbed blue tights, a red cape, and assorted gizmos from his car, then took off in The Beater with a trusty pair of sidekicks. While he was still off defeating evildoers, I snapped several shots of his Camry. It may have been the only day I got a look at the Man of Steel but, hey, now I know what Clark Kent drives.

That is a dead ringer for another one of the eleventy jillion others just like it congesting the City of Charlottesville and Albemarle county. Maybe I should’ve saved it for a “Sometimes They Multiply” entry. Anyway on the afternoon this photograph was taken, the Ford was dispensing police like Pez does sugar squares.

There are mega-lots more. Would you believe the Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement Task Force is tied to no less than half the autos in Virginia? Almost for realiously.


Alt 0149

  • Jon Seitz has a brother who’s also in Law Enforcement.
  • Joe Hatter flies a Marines flag.
  • Some of Brian O’Donnell’s history as a policeman can be found here.
  • Don Campbell’s badge number is CP6.
  • Paul Best is literally the best detective in all of JADE Charlottesville.
  • John Baber’s surname was once misprinted in a media article.
  • That vest thingie Jon McKay wears looks like this.
  • John Stoltz worked the Katherine Danielle Howard case.
  • Joe Fleming has a Jamis.
  • Jimmy Bunch passes by the homes of three other TFOs on the way to his own.
  • Granville Fields carries hinged handcuffs.
  • I have to reiterate Granville Fields is Hot. As. Hell. Especially in these pants.


The Answer Is "Seclusion," The Question Is Orthogonal (Part 2)

(Part 1)

Behind my eyes Clint Black drawls.

This killin’ time is killin’ me
Drinking myself blind thinkin’ I won't see
That if I cross that line an’ they bury me
Well I just might find
I'll be killin’ time
For eternity

His drinking part doesn’t coincide with the occasion. Latent drug bust. I switch my mental station to the opening tune of Weeds -- two different versions. That one girl on youtube performs it so pretty. I guess the song’s anti-suburbia… anti-conformity… clones of each other cookie-cutters… cookies… no, cheez-its… yummy! Yes, folks, this is the same mind that devised a successful scheme to net Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement case files and Operational Plans.

From my unhiding place near Task Force headquarters I watch the assailants roll in, one at a time, and park their rides. A couple of vehicles I’ve not seen before come, and go. They’re connected to JADE one way or another so I document some of this and a lot of that about them. Final Drug Enforcement Officer to pop up is Longhead.

I sit tight.

When they swagger out en masse, they don’t look or act any different than before but the shift in ambiance is incredible. You can feel the energy effusing from these men. It’s like being asphyxiated by ropes of submerged adrenaline. I think I express myself fairly well, but I’m just not coming up with words here that can explain the sensation properly. Let’s just go back to “incredible” and leave it at that.

The guys pile into the green G20 I’d dreamt of midday, last one in pulling the door shut behind him. The conveyance heads out. I witness it turning right; I count to ten, and then I go after it. As I’m passing by the main stairway the TFOs use, something catches my eye. Ah, man! Should I stop? No. I came for the raid, that’s what I’m sticking with. But I am so coming back for that. I press on the gas and speed away.

Following a full-size van in the blackness at a time when no one else is on the road doesn’t take a heck of a lot of skill. I can, and do, hang back enough to obviate their getting suspicious of me. Somewhere along the line I coast up right behind them because they’ve been halted by a surprisingly lengthy red light. The twin back windows of what they occupy have white blinds dented up all strange. Maybe they can see through the things but I doubt they’re looking. I let some distance build again when the signal changes. Once they segue to the street Herb and Truck took in their previous visit, I get anxious -- in both good and bad sense of the word. I have no idea where they’re going from here on in.

When I tar-slow make the same turn seconds later they’re nowhere to be seen. I gradually move forward down the pavement, coming to rest at an intersection. I can make a right, a left, or continue without deviation. Holy jeez, the choices. I see a good portion of asphalt in either side directions. Straight has a gradient; it appears the road just drops off into the belly of Earth. I wasn’t that far behind. I think I would notice some signs of them if they had made a turn here. I advance the way in front of me.

And jerk my steering wheel to the left then right as fast as I can holler out an obscenity.

Like 60 yards beyond me had been the JADE van, parked, and only until I crossed the crest of concrete could I see it. My headlights lit up the rear of it so dandy it resembled a colossal flaming emerald. Standing near its driver’s door was Spot, who’d also been blasted into visual percept by my front lamps. His body was square with the assaultmobile, his face aimed expectantly at my car’s illuminating orbs cascading down on him.

I think between the way I veered smoothly, the incline, and it being dark enough, it would appear to anyone down the slope observing that I made a normal left. I assure you it was anything but. It was a crazy curvy move only I or a drunken serpent could pull off.

Oh yeah. I am so swift it shatters precedents.

(Part 3)


Wat I Iz Thinking Abowt @ 01:35

How would Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement know when photographs on I HeArTE JADE were shot?

I mean, if I toss up a picture of the TFO’s automobile that got a helluva tint job:

And exhibit the raindrops on its rear windshield:

And bumper:

The facts that a) I referenced the vehicle’s change in appearance more than two months ago and b) the local region has been drizzly and wet for the past two days, aren’t enough for much more than a vague estimate of time frame (especially given that the latter may or may not be relevant).

If it’s that indeterminate for cars which have datable distinctive alterations, it has to be even harder to timestamp ones which don’t:

jade charlottesville
That could’ve been taken three days ago or three years ago -- who’s to say?


Put Your Lips To My Ear And Blow; I Need A Refill!

Do people know I remove information contained in Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement documents prior to publication? Alas, I thought they did. I can be so purblind.

There I was, believing my method of data modification was kinda sharp, pretending I’m all clever and junk to not let the Task Force know how I might’ve managed to smudge my fingerprints all across their stuff, having the impression I’m gaining credibility with readers by intel. supplying, when somebody went and rerouted my parade on a detour under the flow of Niagara Falls with his sentence “Oh. I thought it was, like, an empty form.”

OMG. You thought I… I… go through all the trouble of getting… that I’d show off the fact that I… nothing more than… BLANK PAPERS? Aha Ha Ha Ha haha

Ohhhh kaaay. Guess that’s what I get for disfavoring the look of flagrant redaction:

I fervently swear on my superpowers (that I wish I had) that items in my JADE collection are loaded with content:
jade charlottesville

‘Course some might be of the opinion none of these objects are even for real, much less actual JADE material, but since I’m onto the possibility they think that, I now return to fancying myself smart as a pistol-whip.

The Answer Is "Seclusion," The Question Is Orthogonal (Part 1)

In the colorless wee hours of the morning the JADE Van clandestinely pulls in near the edge of the lawn across the street from me. Seated by an ajar window upstairs I watch as, one by one, five shadowed figures spill out of the behemoth they came in. They cautiously and quietly glide in a row across the grasses up to a residence, one house away from where they parked, and settle at its door. The robust man at the lead (I think it’s Pringle) raps on the entrance with his fist. To supplement his striking he boisterously announces their presence and intentions to the surely slumbering occupants inside. I decamp from my spot at the glass to go have a better look.

Boom! I’m halfway down the steps when I hear the battering ram making contact with the fatal funnel the Task Force is about to go through. They’re already inside by the time I get outside. I sneak across the pavement, pause at the sidewalk leading up to the ingress and plot how much closer I can get without being snagged. From behind me there’s a tap on my shoulder. In super-slow motion I rigidly rotate around and see a suited man standing there. “Your car insurance is due” he says, thrusting an AIG envelope at me. Wha…?

My eyes pop wide open -- first in the dream, then in reality.

The last thing I remember before fading into my catnap is the inner echo of a sole word out of a twine of them tattled to me over an earlier phone call. Tonight. Tonight. Tonight. I guess once I was out cold it conflated with serious elements on my mind. Dreams are funny like that.

Tonight Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement is serving a search warrant and I intend to track the boys and observe.

I arrive in the vicinity of the Ix building and scope out the parking areas. Plenty of signs I’ve learned to look for indicate the tip-off I’d received was right-on. Woohoo! I love me some hot sources.

X amount of time elapses. I make good use of it counting the sparkles on my nail polish, belting out Pink Floyd songs a capella, and ruminating if Freon really will do the same thing as See-Through. Kidding. I kid. Moving right along…

It’s evening and the sky is gently exhaling leftover light from the set sun. Herb and Truck come out of their workplace and get in Truck’s car. I bet they’re gonna go scout the area they’re searching tonight. I trail after them to earn myself an edge for later.

We navigate the local roads, and pass by the Federal Courthouse. The signal up ahead turns red. I see Truck get into the left turn lane; I also see the passenger window is lowered, Herb’s arm resting in the open space. I pull up amid the painted lines next to them as I spin the volume down on Vaï. Shoot. Kind of hard to listen in when they aren’t talking to each other. Herb pivots his face to me. The sides of his lips curve up pleasantly and I smile back at him.

They make their left. I’m committed to going straight, but I’ve improved with this cloak-and-dagger stuff; I swing a tight U-turn, take a speedy right and catch up to Herb and Truck faster than Travis Tomasie reloads a weapon. We continue for a ways with no additional turns. When they finally head down a side street -- one that definitely leads nowhere else but a neighborhood -- I vacate my stint and let them go conduct their last-minute surveillance alone. It’d be dumb of me to cavort after them and expect to be overlooked when they’re, presumptively, soon to be under the influence of vigilance. I got what I wanted anyway: the general location of their impending raid.

Now I have nothing to do except hurry up and wait.

(Part 2)


Police Beat

The Daily Progress has added a fluffy article about the Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement Task Force to their Home > News > Local > Crime section. I'm not sure if it's supposed to be a puff piece or if it's just page-filler, and it doesn't offer me any new insight, but because it's JADE-related I'll link to it.
jade charlottesville
When crack epidemic overtook Charlottesville



Ring… Ring…
“Hi. I don’t know if y’all are interested in this sort of thing or not, but the JADE Task Force just raided a house out here.”
“Yeah -- we knew they were out tonight; we just didn’t know where.”
“Ah. Well, they’re on […].”
“[…]? Spell that.”
“Sure. It's […].”
“Where is that?”
“Not too far from where you’re located. GPS it.”
“How long have they been there?”
“About 15 minutes.”
“Great, thanks!”


And The Dish Ran Away With The Platoon

So what does Porn Star do with paper plates?

He shoots at 'em:

At this place:

(Psst... That target up there is one of mine;
the Task Force Officer hangs on to his.)


From Brain To Bullet List

I’ve been mulling over the recent Grand Marc Meth story.

Earlier this week local Charlottesville media reported an apartment in their city was a “suspected Meth lab” or “possible drug lab.” The allegation gained support when Lt. Don Campbell, speaking on behalf of JADE, said upon inquiry “we think it’s possibly some type of drug lab.” The Lieutenant also stated that the chemicals discovered had been sent elsewhere “to find out what exactly we have.”

Though there are conflicting accounts regarding whether two people were found inside the apartment or had returned to it at a later time, one thing that seems to be certain is no arrests were made.
  • Forget the media, let’s get right to JADE. “Think” it is? “Possibly”? What kind of low-level nitwit-filled Narcotics Task Force are we talking about here that doesn’t know if what it stumbled into is a drug lab?
  • Perhaps actually Lt. Campbell and his team know exactly what it is, they just don’t want anyone to know they know. They’re being shrewd. After all they haven’t made any arrests yet.
  • Maybe they can’t charge anyone without confirmation from the place they sent the chemicals to. Red tape and all that jazz.
  • No matter if JADE can or can’t identify drug-making grounds, those two suspects connected to the apartment would know if they'd been operating a drug lab. Come. On.
  • If I was running a Meth lab and I hadn’t been arrested when Drug Enforcement uncovered it, I wouldn’t hang around waiting for them to get back the results of their lab tests. Voy a Tijuana! Or at least Florida.
  • Is the Drug Task Force hoping to flip someone in this -- you know cultivate informants? JADE wouldn’t be able to function without informants. Take away their snitches and they got nothing. I’m just sayin’.
  • Could it be the “suspects” already are JADE informants?
  • A Meth lab, it may not even be.
  • Media have altered initial coverage. That makes it more challenging to get to the bottom of things.

It Might Not Stay There But, Oh Snap, It Got There!

If you
haven't been briefed on my jade charlottesville Google project, read this and this.


Ya Didn't Really Think I'd Let This One Slide By, Did Ya?

Dear Police Chief Longo,

I can’t help but notice that while you’ve ordered me to not do the same, other media appear to be permitted to publicize images and personally identifiable information of your Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement (JADE) Task Force Officers with impunity.

Surely you would concede that a major televising Charlottesville news station and its subsidiary website have a larger audience than my individual Internet blog. If that's indeed the case, I would think your prior communications with me about the aforesaid matter would not only apply to them, and similar mainstream mediums, but so much more so.

I don’t expect you to rescind your order -- especially in lieu of the fact that I’ve ignored it (on the grounds that I believe you have no authority to issue such a command) -- but I would be interested in hearing your justification for the divergence.

If you would like to discuss this with me, you may call anytime; feel free to get my number from any one of the several officers who has it.



March, 2009.
jade charlottesville

Charlottesville police believe someone may have been running a meth lab out of the Grand Marc Apartments on 15th Street northwest near the UVA corner. Fire, hazmat and police crews were all called to the scene because of reports of a suspicious odor.

Police say they received information Tuesday around 10:00 p.m. about strong chemical odors coming from apartment 301 15th Street northwest. The initial call was received by the Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement task force.

"I'm glad they called us because it could have been a dangerous situation," said Lieutenant Don Campbell with the Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement task force.
jade charlottesville



A Hint Of History


Every day, when he arrives at work, Herb parks his sand-or-maybe-it’s-gold-colored Impala in the same lot, in the same row, in the same space. And there it remains until hours later Herb leaves in it all by his lonesome, presumably to go home. Maybe that’s an overstatement -- there are episodic deviations -- but it does seem to be the general rule. So much so, that whenever I’m not around, eyes and ears for me don’t bother mentioning his or his car’s presence at JADE; the information is axiomatic.

But on this particular night I am around and Herb’s vehicle is predictably and neatly tucked inside its stock three white lines. Herb himself is in the 965 office. All of the other Drug Enforcement fellows and their rides are absent. It’s dark, and quiet.

As far as I know the Task Force has no plans of making a drug bust or anything later but I’m keyed up almost as much as if they do.

In less than an hour I’m supposed to meet with my very favorite JADE source. I mischievously call him Boomslang, which, because he incorrectly thinks other people are as smart as him, makes him extremely paranoid someone will figure out who he is. It’s not been beneath him to implore earnestly that I don’t write the anonym down, and it’s not been beyond me to be dismissive of him about it. I comply with every-single-thing else he asks of me so, hush!

Herb comes out of the Ix building carrying his trusty briefcase and strolls by me in my car. He doesn’t exhibit quintessential law enforcement attributes but I’m versed with his background. His can of whoop ass is as full as the rest of the JADE guys’.

Herb is the only Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement member left whose home address I haven’t yet confirmed. The place I’m almost for sure must be where he lives is not more than a few miles away.

I get to thinking a good way to burn up some time and this wild energy! energy! energy! in me would be to tail Herb. So I do. Only…

He isn’t going to the location I assumed he would. Not even in the same direction.

I follow him on various familiar streets before the two of us eventually merge onto the Interstate. I don’t know why -- could be wishful thinking -- but I take it for granted we aren’t going far. Huh-uh. We travel so long down I-64 I start looping the refrain from that song by The Who in my head. For miles and miles and miles and miles… I watch the numbers on the clock grow higher.

I get to thinking I’m going to mess up meeting with my spy and, bent on that not happening, plan to get off at the next exit, dropping Herb, and reverse direction. Only…

Forever passes with nary a turnaround to be found. Not even one of those pretentious “Authorized Vehicles Only” places.

Herb and I have been cruising at a moderate speed this whole way. I know how much time it’s taken to get us here where we are, therefore I know how much time it’s going to take to get me back where we were. In other words I’m sorely aware that even if I go all out race-car-driver, if I don’t get spun around in the next couple of minutes I’ll miss Boomslang. Aside from the fact that I overall adore the man, what we go through to manage these get-togethers of ours would make one hell of a plot line for Mission: Impossible. Zealously I plaster the gas pedal to the carpet.

All of a sudden I’m going so much faster than Herb, it looks like he isn’t moving. Exactly like one of those painted white dashes on the highway, he is. As I overtake him I narrowly slice back into the lane he’s in. No sooner do I do this that an exit ramp appears. I shoot up it like Rocky Hardcore about to hurdle an airplane. In the mirror, through the nocturnal air behind me I notice Herb’s blinker. He’s taking this exit too. I muse whether he’s purposely coming after me or does he often travel this road?

On his way up the incline, Herb’s signal goes out then flashes on again. He intends to turn right. Having neglected to get the exit number, I turn right, as Herb will, and scan for any road signs to tell me something about my surroundings and where this run of asphalt leads. I don’t want the trip to be an entire waste but since the green lights of the clock promise that’s exactly what it’s going to be, I resort to busting a U-ie in the middle of the vacant street. As I bolt from the environs, I unenthusiastically watch Herb wend by on the opposite side to I know not where. I use aspirations of “next time” to make peace with the abortion.

With few seconds to spare I arrive back and upon seeing him standing there on the sidewalk, hands crossed on biceps, looking all tough and authoritative-like, I uncharacteristically fling my arms around my very favorite JADE source and my failure with Herb evanesces.



This is my 100th entry on I HeArTE JADE. As if that wasn’t cool enough, lookit:

Hell yeah, buddy! That’s what I’m talkin’ about. I’ve been hootin’ and hollerin’ and jumpin’ up and down for the past two minutes. I think Google deserves a couple of Carnations and a link back in honor of the big jade charlottesville BUMP of my blog.

Makes Sense To Me

I got to thinking (‘cause I can’t. stop. doing. that.) I HeArTE JADE might appear to be a chaotic mess of entries put up indiscriminately by a person stricken with Aclutteredosis Mindoma. Now my brain definitely has its quirks but disorganized it is not. I swear it’s as clear as Rakia up there. Um, right, maybe comparing what’s in my head to fermented fruit brandy is not the best way to make my point.

Contrary to the look of the place, I carefully consider what I incorporate here. Everything is suitable for a general audience, though some components are lightsomely tailored to needle the Task Force Officers a bit. I heard a pair of specific pictures I put up were a big hit with a certain detective. Too cute. Every now and again I intentionally make obscure references and wonder if the Drug Enforcement men they were directed at get them.

There are things that I deliberately don’t post about until mucho tiempo ha pasado. Typically the reason for this is to avoid scorching a source or myself. Often all that’s necessary to protect people is a dent of deferral, after which information and experiences can be shared with impunity. Even the Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement guys will let the clock roll over after one of their informants asserts drugs are in a residence before they go tearing into the dwelling -- same principle.

There are things I’ll probably not be able to write about ever. Most hilarious freaking JADE story I’ve got will never make it to print and the cruddiest part about it is I can’t even hint as to why. Another one that I’ve already put into words is interesting except its ending has bad news for someone. It’s the kind of news that will mutilate a heart and, since I don’t want to be responsible for that kind of damage, it doesn’t need to be here. You ask: Why not just alter or omit portions in cases like that? Changing minor details and fessing up to them with a * or by comment in (these) is where I draw the lyin’.

While I try to compose my material in a way that I hope others will find attractive, I repress embellishment. My escapades, my thoughts and perspectives, my screw-ups extraordinaire, JADE documents, JADE pictures and audio, JADE complacency, if people don’t believe the content here is honest-to-goodness real, that’s A-OK. This blog is supposed to be entertaining and informative. Accepting what you find on it as true? Entirely up to you.

I guess the most disorderly part about is the unsystematicness… systematicless… unsystematiclessness… whatever… of the entries themselves. There are no prearranged Tactics Tuesdays, or Shadowing Saturdays (which would be ironic in view of the fact that JADE TFOs don’t work weekends). But that’s what the post labels are for.

Now that I’ve cleared a whole lot of nothing up, Rakia anyone?


A Dish And A Detective

Good God, y’all. I periodically saw Porn Star carrying around paper plates and I actually dedicated a portion of my mind to figuring out what he was doing with them. I’ve spent brain cells on disposable dinnerware, people.

I’ve got the answer, too, and a crummy (yet, satisfyingly artistic) picture of the Task Force member holding one of the things, to boot.

But I’m going to wait before I tell iHeArTEjade readers what he does with them because I know at least one of you will wonder about it. And then we’ll both be neurotic.

Never Look A Gift Source In The Mouth

On the front porch sat three black males. On the sidewalk in front of the residence another black man paced to and fro like a scuttling ghost crab. As I drove by, he was the only one out of the four who seemed to pay me any mind. He stood still just long enough to stare at me like I was riding in a hovercraft then went back to his chore of wearing down the concrete.

What had brought me to their neighborhood was an address of someone whose house had gotten hit by Hurricane JADE. Least that’s what I’d been told a week prior; I was only getting around to nosing into it right then. I was charting Task Force search warrant activities (for reasons that deserve a blog entry of their very own) and didn’t want to stick a pushpin in the corresponding Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement map if it didn’t belong. I was also ever-looking for any sources -- which is why I squared the block and came back. Those fellows I’d passed were the kind that see everything.

Two of the porch-sitters had disappeared to parts unknown, the remaining one looked like he hadn’t moved a muscle except to tilt his chair back on two of its legs. I aimed for the curb and before I’d rolled to a stop, the tall, gaunt, street patroller was hanging on the doorjamb, ducked down, his face centered at my open passenger window.

He had a sickening sweet smell about him -- a mixture of smoke and candy. He was wearing a sweatshirt and had a dirty ball cap on backwards. What should’ve been the whites of his enormous pug-like eyes were a unique marbleized combination of tan and bloodshot. I couldn’t even begin to guess what age he was.

In the amount of time it took him to get out the words “can I he’p you?” I knew being direct was the only approach. Trying to be cagey with someone who couldn’t even keep his darting eyes from going in opposite directions of each other would’ve been superfluous. “Do you know who JADE is?” I asked.

“Jade? Sho’ do. She work Mickey Dees. Naw. Jade? She don’t work. I ain’t seen her.” While the tweaking lunatic in front of me argued with himself, the man on the stoop dropped his chin and looked down at us from his balanced chair. I raised my hand at him. It passed as a wave; he nodded once in response. I turned my attention back to the man I’d been talking to. “The JADE Task Force. What do you know about them?”

“You a repo’ter. I knowed it!” He grinned wide. What few teeth he had left matched the color and pattern of his eyes. Meth mouth in all its rotten glory.

I pulled out a handful of photographs and splayed them like playing cards. “Do you know any of these guys?” He frantically tapped one of the pictures. “Yeah yeah yeah. Yeah.” The man was now halfway through the window of my car -- his butt in the air on the outside, and his upper body suspended over the seat on the inside. “You got change, miss? I been kind a down on muh luck.” He stuck his mammoth bottom lip out and I could almost hear his buddy in the background smile.

I pulled cash out of my back pocket and with my thumb and forefinger held it under his nose. “This is coffee money.” He reached for it and I jerked it away. “You want lunch money, you tell me every place you’ve seen any one of these guys.” I circled my hand over the images that were on the seat. He gave me a tidy list and I gave him a couple more bills.

On the spot I believed what he told me, if for no other reason than that he included “down there, on Market.” I guess he thought I meant it when I said I wanted to know every place he’d seen them. I double-checked the rest of his information nonetheless; it had all been true and correct.



This one time I went to watch JADE serve a search warrant and, before I could get close enough for it to be interesting, my presence was caught by a dog. A friendly and excitable big dog by the sound of it. I’d have to get by it if I wanted to see what I’d gone to see. Shhh… I’d whispered hoping its hearing was as good as its sense of smell. I’d kept furtively slinking through the neighborhood of darkness, a thunderous Wuhooof! in echo to my every soundless footfall.

Silent pleading for the animal to shut up shut up shut up shut up in the name of all unholy hell SHUT UP didn’t work and I unlike badge-endowed pros couldn’t very well draw out a fire extinguisher with which to inhibit the grand barking beast. A stick-thin, skin-the-achromatic-color-of-maximum-lightness, giggling female cutting through a yard blasting CO2 out of a canister at someone’s pet might kind of counteract the objective of not attracting attention. Although I knew if Bowwow didn’t knock it off, there wouldn’t be anything living under the stars that wouldn’t know I was there anyway.

As I’d moved around the block, the clamoring canine moved around its yard -- everywhere equidistant. It was pretty clear it wasn’t going to relent. Any creature that persistent deserves to get its way once in a while; I figured that night it was the dog’s turn.

What -- you thought I was going to tell you some stunt I pulled to thwart the dog or I’d claim I’ve been carrying around raw meat in my pocket ever since, in case of a similar situation? Surprise! No and Eww... NO.


Title: (See Last Comment In List)

Memoir From My Embryonic JADE Reservoir

(I wrote this shortly after it happened. To give you an idea of how long ago it was, I still hadn't figured out who a third of the men in the Task Force were and I was trying to find a female member of JADE that it didn't even have.)


I watch the man I think of as Rasmussen mosey up the parking area, a worn, fully crammed red backpack slung over his shoulder. Sometimes he walks kind of funny, like now. I swear his legs are longer than a nautical mile. I take a few pictures of him, both before and as he gets in his car. I don’t know how well they’ll come out because the lowering late-afternoon sun is blazing and every automobile in the lot is reflecting its rays like a prism.

I’m parked two rows away and two spaces down behind him. I think about how nice it is to see the back of him inside his vehicle -- I am so sick of tinted windows! Not sure what he’s doing in there but a few minutes go by before he backs out.

Rather than leaving via the top exit of the upper lot, he goes out the gap at the bottom. I think it’s actually the entranceway but I’m not entirely sure. I don’t want to lose his Impala so I follow it out the same path. If they don’t want people driving out the “in,” it should clearly say so. Humph!

We both bypass the speed bump, drive beyond the newsplex building, and pull up to the stop sign. We sit here a loooong time. Maybe he’s waiting for a car to pass. None does before he eventually turns right. I’m startin’ to think this guy’s a strange one. I, on the other hand, do have to wait for a vehicle to go by before I can get in motion again. Happily the driver of it is a lead-foot so it’s almost like a non-pause.

The signal at the top of the hill is red and Rasmussen is lazing in the left turn lane. I stop behind him. I see parts of him in his driver’s side and rear view mirrors and I study the exposed portions of his features. I think his face is interesting-looking; it’s chiseled and fierce.

So who is this guy? I have the cell phone number of one of the JADE members I have yet to identify programmed into my phone. That guy’s supposedly from Staunton. Based on some other details, there’s a high chance Rasmussen could be him.

The light is taking forever to change. I pick up my cell and hit a single number to speed dial the one that belongs to the Staunton man. I listen to the ringing and watch for indications of Rasmussen getting a call. There are no such motions from the man in front of me, and when the ringing in my ear changes to voice mail I disconnect.

We make our turn and, with green lights all the way, travel smoothly down 5th Street. By the arrangement of his arm it looks like Rasmussen may already be on the phone. That could be why he didn’t answer me.

At I-64 we go west. Perhaps he lives in Ivy, or Crozet. Or… maybe he’s a JADE detective whose name I never got. It’s a possibility for sure but I tend to doubt it. This is the direction to Staunton. This is the direction to Staunton!

The exit to Ivy comes and goes, and I’m fastidiously comparing what I know about the man in front of me to information I have about the Task Force person I suspect he is. Methodical reasoning makes me more certain about his identity. I don’t care if he doesn’t answer his phone; if we don’t take an off-ramp to Crozet, I’m going to declare it’s him. We pass by Crozet like it doesn’t exist.

Rasmussen still sort of looks like he’s on the phone but I try the cell number I have one more time anyway. Nothing. There oughta be a rule that for every time these guys don’t answer their phones, a corpulent, Russian woman named Ustinya gets to yank ten hairs out of their nether regions with tweezers.

Even though I believe I now know who he is, I’ve followed Rasmussen this far without a problem and I reckon I might as well go the rest of the way. My odometer keeps spinning over the 5… 9… 100… miles.

We drive at a sensible pace and I maintain a comfy distance. We progress across the mountain; the scenery is incredible. God, I think I would love to be an eagle.

We're nearing Waynesboro and, because traffic is picking up, I shorten the space between us. Perfect timing since Rasmussen happens to take the next exit. I break out one of my trusty notepads intending to jot down the names of the roads as we take them.

The drag we’re on right now is all built-uppity and the heavy congestion of motorists reflects it.

A moment later we’re on a side road that obviously leads back into a neighborhood. I’m neither too close to nor too far from Rasmussen and after another turn or two, I instantaneously sense he’s suspicious of me. I can’t explain how I know he’s wondering if I’m here because of him -- he’s done dead nothing out of the ordinary -- but I feel like my spine just got set on fire and electrical sparks are playing leap frog on my shoulders. Rasmussen slows and with no turn signal makes a sudden left. A semi could’ve made that turn better.

I’m heeding my warning sensations. Rather than follow after him, I drift by and eyeball it instead. Yep. There he is. The silver sedan is pulled over on the right side. Gee, what are the chances that’s his house he’s in front of and he just didn’t feel like pulling into the driveway? I chuckle.

I roll a tad further, make a U-turn in the middle of the lane, pause for a sec to add the name of the street Rasmussen’s sitting on to the notepad, and head back out the route I came. In the process of leaving I give one last gander out my passenger’s window down the side street. The stopped Impala is several hundred feet further than where it was and judging by the severity of the brake lights, its operator is still inside.

Later I learn the street Rasmussen took is only one away from the address of the Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement Task Force Officer “from Staunton.”


Search Research

Oh my gawd. I must not be using the Charlottesville city name enough here. I did a search on Google for jade charlottesville -- presumably one of the more obvious word combinations the kind of person who would be interested in this site would type in -- and is so far down the line of results, it’s on the might-as-well-not-exist page. That. Is. So. Zpht!

In contrast, look up jade task force (with or without quotation marks) and this blog is -- has been for months -- second only to the City of Charlottesville website. I couldn’t pay for better than that!

I refuse to have I HeArTE JADE sitting in the nose bleed section of the Internet. Therefore, with the help of my lovely assistant, Google, I’m gonna get groovier tickets.

Charlottesville : About the Task Force
The Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement (JADE) has been in existence since 1995 as a regional narcotics task force made up of officers from the Charlottesville ... - 33k - Cached - Similar pages

Charlottesville : JADE Task Force
JADE Task Force. Printer Friendly. About the Task Force · Hotline ... 605 E. Main St., Charlottesville, VA 22902. Phone (434)970-3333. ... - 29k - Cached - Similar pages

Charlottesville : Hotline
The Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement Anti-Terrorism Task Force request your help in the war on drugs and terrorism. Drugs have long been a problem for the ... - 30k - Cached - Similar pages

Charlottesville : Police Department
Our department is also responsible for the administration and operational control of the multi-jurisdictional, Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement (JADE) task ... - 39k - Cached - Similar pages

Charlottesville : Police Department
Charlottesville Police Department Accredited Agency Logo. OUR VALUES ... Learn more about the Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement Anti-Terrorism Task Force . ... - 39k - Cached - Similar pages

Needa ‘nother nom de guerre...

‘cause while “That Transfer From The County” is fitting for a new JADE person, it’s tedious. I’m drawing a blank. Any suggestions?


Six Things I've Learned Since Starting The JADE Project

1. That three thousand pound battering ram Law Enforcement uses to breach entranceways? No one carries it room-to-room inside the residence once it’s been used to bust down the doors. Okay I did not ever think someone actually lugged the thing around after it’s served its purpose but neither did I think someone didn’t do that.

2. There are officers that will remain outside their target house when it’s being raided. I didn’t gather this highly critical piece of information while being a secret spectator of searches and seizures, oh no, I heard it viva voce long after I’d witnessed, uhm, more than one of these events in person. I wish I could’ve seen the look on my face right before I said to the nice Charlottesville policeman, in the course of our conversation, “you mean… you… leave people outside?!” then mentally flat-palmed my forehead seventeen times and silently thanked luck for every instance that the men assigned to guarding the perimeters apparently sucked at it.

3. The intense sensation you experience when you suspect you’re being followed and the intense sensation you experience when you suspect the man you’re following suspects you’re following him are identical. ‘Nuff said.

4. Cop Clothing: More Than A Fashion Statement. Shirts and pants with hidden pockets, reinforced stitching to hold the weight of duty gear, linings intended to conceal weapons or wires, invisible Velcro and hooks and loops and D-rings, it’s amazing! Professionally designed attire with practical reasons -- and all this time I thought these guys were just decked out in an ugly pair of Khakis.

5. There are things we don’t know we don’t know. Circumstances and opportunity sometimes cause me to learn things I otherwise might not have thought about, or realized I wanted or needed to know. Well, technically this isn’t a new concept to me but I've been reminded of it many times over during this JADE Task Force interest of mine. Like, aside from big leaguers or cops and their snitches, who thinks about communicating à la baseball hats? I didn’t, until I found out JADE does it. Now I shriek “that’s the signal -- that’s the signal!” and point while doing a hopscotch dance whenever I see someone move, touch, adjust, or basically do whatever to, a cap.

6. Swinging out of the back of a moving F-series truck being driven by a cool crackhead and rolling under a parked vehicle, merely to observe JADE activities without being seen, hurts but is worth the bruises. If you’re a regular reader of iHeArTEjade, or you know me personally, the look on your face after reading that shouldn’t be described as anything other than “vapid.” Nothing I do should surprise you at this point.

She Who Has The Most Cars Is The Big Winner!

From time to time what’s on your agenda may require you to be stealthy. When the crowd you’re trying to investigate has caught on to what your primary automobile is and they can spot it from six miles away, you may be forced to get creative in order to conceal your surreptitious activities. What better way to overcome your transportation challenges than to obtain an infinite supply of vehicles?

If you have a little cash or the ability to sweet-talk your way into free rides, taxis are great for meeting many of your needs. The drivers don’t object to being idle for long periods, and they ordinarily don’t give a darn what you’re up to. The best part is that, completely in defiance of its conspicuous appearance, a hack no matter where it is never looks out of place. Charlottesville has some rockin’ cabbies.

If you don’t mind them making a temporary photocopy of your driver’s license, car dealerships will let you take just about anything on their lot out for a spin. With the used car market being as sad as it is, a lot of dealers don’t even care about getting a copy of your permit; seeing that you have one and that it’s not expired is satisfactory enough. A promise to bring it back with a full tank of gasoline, or not flip more than a hundred miles on the odometer, can make a charming coupe yours for a few hours. If you really know how to play it, you can get what’s called an “extended test drive” which gives you a set of wheels for the better part of a day to overnight.

If you’re concerned about picture ID issues or interacting with salesmen doesn’t float your boat, private party sellers are another way to go. All it takes is you finding and answering a classified ad. Most people don’t give a second thought to letting a stranger drive away in the sedan they want sold -- especially when the unfamiliar person leaves his or her own vehicle with them. Concoct a clever (read: believable) story and you can keep their car for a good chunk of time.

If you’re willing to be scammed, pay an exorbitant cost of basic rate, plus tax, in addition to the leasing surcharge the insurance surcharge the anti-theft surcharge the mileage surcharge the because-it-has-a-cupholder surcharge, and shell out one of your kidneys, I recommend rental car companies. They also keep records of your rental agreement with them on file for two hundred years at which time they’ll burn it for a fee.

Vroom Vroom!


JADE blog

Dear TF Jade,

My name is Tasha Kates, and I'm a reporter for the Daily Progress. I came across your blog this afternoon while looking for information on another crime.

I would like to speak with you about your blog. If you're interested, please e-mail me back or give me a call at 978-7265.


Tasha Kates
The Daily Progress

I'm Tossing Around The Idea Of Starting Another Weblog

Occasionally I HeArTE JADE readers have brought up the issue of time -- as in it must’ve taken a lot of it for me to do what I’ve done with Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement Task Force. A couple of JADE detectives themselves have remarked on it. Enough people have referred to it that I’m inclined to write about not just how but how fast information can be gathered. Plus, whereas one Charlottesville detective prompted my interest in JADE, JADE prompted my interest in trying identical lines of investigations elsewhere and, hey, now I’ve got anecdotes to air about them.

If you haven’t guessed yet, I’m heavily Law Enforcement focused. I’m sure there’s a deep pseudo-psychological reason someone can devise for me being this way, but let’s not go there. Anyway, on top of the eleven JADE TF members I’ve uncovered, I’ve updated my résumé to include:

One DEA Agent
Two FBI Agents
Two SWAT Officers
One Uniformed Policeman
One Virginia State Trooper
One Undercover Roanoke Investigator who appeared blur-faced on the dreadful show COPS

I haven’t written about any of them here because they aren’t JADE and iHeArTEjade is devoted to JADE. Swoon. But I thought given that I credit the JADE Task Force as being largely responsible for my newfound, uh, hobby, I could give an example of how I operate and perchance prove that in limited time one can learn all about smart men of various Law Enforcement agencies.

I admit I’ll use the Internet for tidbits of info but I favor finding intelligence the old-fashioned way, out in the real world. Sitting in front of a monitor is nowhere near as enjoyable as going to actual places like courthouses or police stations. Or raid sites. However, for a change of pace, and a new learning experience, I thought I’d take a stab at confining one of these frivolous pursuits of mine strictly to the ‘net.

I semi-randomly selected the author of a cop blog to unearth. I say semi-randomly because though I had no particular reason to pick this officer out of a hundred others, there were some prerequisites. For one, anybody who could play the scarecrow in the Wizard of Oz was a definite no-no. For another, a man who provided too much information about himself obviously would make my mission as easy as Jenna Jameson and, as such, also a no-go. C’mon, it had to be challenging!

The report is as follows.

I start at Google. There’s more than twenty thousand results for “cop blog.” I scroll down through my “100 results per page” and arbitrarily click on ten URLs. I X nine browser windows shut as only one out of the ten links actually fits my keywords; it is a blog and the fellow making entries to it is a cop. A cop who lists the city and state where he works, and his age, along with his name, rank, and serial number. Not all of that really but you get the idea. TMI squared. I’ll pass. But he has links to blogs belonging to his fellow boys in blue. I go to the top two.

Before I proceed any further I should let you know that I speed read. As in 1,010 words per minute with a 93% comprehension level. I’m not telling you that to boast; I’m telling you that because I believe it’s relevant. Speed reading helps in some of my endeavors like this. Plainly the faster I read, the faster I accumulate information. Just think, in the time it takes someone to move an opened full-page document across a desk in front of me, I’ve not only read the entire thing, I’ve retained almost all its data too. That was bragging.

On the first site, I peruse the front page. The guy in control of it is marginally literate with all the competence of a squished tomato. He also apparently has a grudge against anyone who doesn’t drive under a roof of colored bubbles and have the ability to whip out a badge while simultaneously Tasering small children. I carefully duck around the boulder on his shoulder and nix him as my unwitting playmate.

At the next site, I immediately see potential. Officer. Male. Writes in a coherent manner. Sense of humor. Making an effort to be anonymous. I look at Patrolman Potential’s profile. He does state what state he’s in, but it’s one of them big ones so maybe it doesn’t matter. I decide he’ll be a fun subject. From here on out I’ll call Patrolman Potential just plain ol’ “Pete.”

Back at Pete’s main page, I read a few more entries and begin plucking out anything I think may help me identify him. Striving to remain incognito he consistently refers to the city he lives in as Petetown. Interesting. Adjacent to Petetown is Petefield, the city he works in. I know that’s pertinent stuff and keep it in mind for later.

Aww… he’s got a cute story up about a trip he made to an apple orchard. He gives the name of it and, amazed that it’s not “Pete’s Orchard,” I hit Google and plug it in. In the whole United States there are four apple groves with the name. All four of them are located in the same state. Guess which one. Because of the information I think that, yeah, it didn’t matter that Pete’s provided his state’s name on his blog. Those Golden Delicious will get ya!

I transfer the search from Google to Google Maps which shows me exactly where all four orchards are. Thesetowns and Thosefields are in abundance around them. That’s not a coincidence.

Another post of Pete’s. In it he talks about a certain dining establishment. I look it up. It’s a chain, so that’s probably why he figured it was safe to give its name -- there are thousands of them across the country. But according to Google Maps, there are less than thirty of them within reasonable driving distance of three of the four orchards.

Return to In an exciting tale, Pete casually mentions he was flooring his Charger down the Interstate. Check. In another (non-duty-related) story he writes about a mountain-biking trip he took. He fails to say as much but I detect he left in the AM, was back by the PM. The mountains have to be close. At Google Maps, I see no major highway or any mountains handy to one of the aforementioned woodlets. Terrific. That leaves two apple orchards and a dozen Applebees.

Again to the blog skimming. I stop in the middle of Pete’s narrative because another food chain is brought up, this time a grocery store. Back with Google Maps. Finally! Only a single apple orchard is close to everything -- the restaurant, the grocery store, the mountains, and the freeway. Now let’s type in to Google Maps… p-o-l-i-c-e d-e-p-a-r-t-m-e-n-t. Eeks! Too many; I kill them from the map.

I should’ve finished Pete’s post sooner for he goes on to say that, despite the fact that there is one 5 miles from his home, he prefers to shop at the grocery store with the same name that’s 20 miles away from the convenient one.

I go back to Google Maps and eliminate any grocery stores that aren’t within the mileage of each other that Pete gave. There’s quite a few cities left on the map but just one of them is a wee, petite, cute Something-town. Petetown, I presume. I note it’s 15 miles north of the apple place. So if that’s home base, where’s work?

I test the police department search again. There are two cities that seem promising, each approximately a mere 30 miles from Petetown. One, to the south, is Something-field and the other, to the east, is Somethingelse-field. Not a surprise. But momentarily I get sorta stuck.

I spend five minutes mostly rereading portions of Pete’s adventures in the hopes that a giant fluorescent orange arrow will jump out at me to help me pinpoint which is the right place -- not could be the right place but is the right place. I drum my fingers rapidly on the keyboard and scrunch up my lips. I feel graveled, at a loss.

I abandon his written material and stare at the miniscule pictures Pete has of himself and his patrol car in the upper left corner of his blog. Patrol car. Patrol car. That’s his patrol car. I scrutinize it. Yes, his body is blocking an important part of the vehicle and it is a small picture but maybe, just maybe…

I Google the website of the Somethingelse-field Police Department. I turn up what I’m seeking: a decent photograph of one of their black and whites. Its paint job is clearly not the same as the one on Pete’s. I Google the website of the Something-field Police Department. I compare cop car details. Pete is, without a doubt, one of the Something-field officers.

Cool. I pinned down the workplace and residential area of a man I never, until this lark, knew existed in less time than it takes to watch an episode of Burn Notice. 54 minutes.

I occupy six more minutes sizing up the dates and times of Pete’s blog posts and from them I think I’ve got a hunch what his work schedule is. Having spent an even hour on this, I opt for Pete and I to part ways.

Naturally it would’ve taken a longer spell to do all that in-person but I hope my account served to demonstrate the processes I go through, how I get the outcomes I do, and, more to the matter at hand, in a modest amount of time.

By the way, considering I can see from an acorn-sized picture of Pete what kind of sunglasses he wears -- an LEO will wear the same pair of shades for, like, life -- I’m passably confident I could find him in the flesh if I had to and learn as much about him as I have any one of the Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement Task Force Officers.

Now if only I had a brain and could find some way to turn this avocation of mine into a vocation…

(Minute details in the above report have been altered to prevent the subject, Pete, from being alerted to my actions and going ballistic. Cops, regardless of all their bravado, are fairly sensitive souls.)