VICTIM WAS 'THE BEST OF THE BEST'

They are the actors of any police department, adept at coolly assuming the
role of a street punk, a desperate addict, a bloodless drug peddler.

The best undercover officers have an uncanny ability to blend seamlessly
into even the roughest landscapes. It is an instinctual skill, former
undercover agents say, an art form beyond the grasp of officers who cannot
shed their own personalities to play a role. And Edward M. Toatley, the
Maryland state trooper killed Monday in Northeast Washington, was
remembered yesterday as one of the best.

"You always have to be acting," said Stephan Dembinsky, president of the
International Association of Undercover Officers and a former undercover
policeman in Miami Beach. "You're living a lie; sometimes it's hard to come
back to reality. It takes a special kind of officer; not every cop is cut
out for it."

An undercover officer's most important tool is his mouth, former undercover
officers say, and Toatley used his exceptionally well. He perfected the
language of the streets and larded his speech with phrases that made him
sound like an insider.

Trooper Cynthia Brown remembered marveling at Toatley's style when she was
a rookie in 1988. Toatley took her to a sporting goods store suspected of
being a drug front, she said.

"He told them I was his baby's mama--that's street [talk] for his
girlfriend--from New York," Brown said. "The drug dealers really liked him.
. . . And the whole time I was in the store, I honestly felt like I was
with drug dealers. That's when I knew I was with the best of the best. You
would never know that he was a police officer."

A 16-year state trooper, Toatley was killed during a joint undercover
investigation with federal agents that targeted a cocaine distribution
ring. The job called for close contact with suspected dealers, including
hand-to-hand drug deals. It was work Toatley knew well--he had conducted
undercover investigations for 12 years--and enjoyed despite its relentless
nature, troopers who knew him said.

Success in undercover work comes in bursts separated by hours of grinding
labor that can wear at the fabric of home lives.

Andy Lee, a former undercover officer in the District who is now sheriff in
Benton County, Ark., recalled a withering schedule of night arrests
followed by day court appearances.

"It's one of the areas in law enforcement that you become burned out on
quickly," Lee said.

Toatley was not immune from the pressures of the schedule, but he handled
them better than most, said Trooper Michael Hawkins, vice president of the
Coalition of Black Maryland State Troopers.

"They're always on the go. The hours are inconsistent. They could be gone
20 hours a day. It's a strain on the family," said Hawkins, who had worked
with Toatley. "That's what he loved to do, though. And no one could take
that away from him.

"He wasn't a straight-road dog," said Hawkins, invoking a term troopers use
to describe officers who prefer routine jobs.

The popular image of undercover officers, fueled by Hollywood depictions,
is one of sullen loners who eschew social contact while fixating on their
jobs. But neighbors say Toatley didn't fit the stereotype.

He was remembered yesterday in his Halethorpe neighborhood, south of
Baltimore, as an open and affable person.

Neighbor Kitty Foice said that Toatley was close to her 19-year-old son,
Joey, and was advising him about applying to become a state trooper. "Ed
told him he'd do whatever he could to get him into the state police. He was
a mentor to him," Foice said.

Toatley also took an active role in the black troopers association, serving
as president at the time of his death, and other police groups.

At a fundraiser last month for the Concerns of Police Survivors--a support
group for the families of officers killed in action--Toatley roasted Col.
David B. Mitchell, the state police superintendent. An imposing man,
Mitchell is known for his straight, immovable hair, which made him a target
for Toatley's wicked sense of humor, said officers who attended the event.

"Ed got up there and gave a great roast, and everyone was still reeling,"
Hawkins said. "Then he walked up to him and mushed his hair around.
Everybody--175 people--erupted. No one would ever do that."