'BABYFACE' UNCOVERED

On a chilly December morning, a blond, blue-eyed new student drove up to
Northside High School in a black Chevrolet Cavalier Z-24, the radio
playing softly as she slid into a space in a back parking lot.

Climbing out and slinging a red backpack over her shoulder, she walked
around to the front of the school and took a deep breath.

Dressed in baggy jeans, a maroon V-neck sweater over a white T-shirt and
Nike sneakers, she felt ready.

She squared her shoulders and walked into her new life. "Is my outfit OK
to fit in?" she wondered. She looked 17, as she was supposed to. Only
thing was, Katrina Cameron wasn't 17. The junior class roster said so
and so did the driver's license in her hot pink wallet, but it was all a
sham. She was a 24-year-old Roanoke County police officer, and she was
there to catch drug dealers.

She left her gun in the car, but she was armed with a list of about a
dozen students she was looking for. Cameron wasn't even her real last
name. It's the name of her cat. But for nearly a year, no one had a
clue. The beginning In October 1999, Katrina Moulton, then a Lynchburg
police officer, applied for a job with the Roanoke County Police
Department. She began going through the long interview process, taking
agility and psychology tests, a polygraph exam, written knowledge tests.

At some point during the process, Police Chief Ray Lavinder spotted her.
He noticed how young she looked, and something clicked. On Oct. 29, Tim
Miles, the school resource officer at Northside, had submitted a report
detailing rumors of drug dealing.

The report was handed off to a detective, but Lavinder had been toying
with the idea of putting someone into the school undercover. The trick
was finding someone who looked young enough to pull it off. Moulton
looked young.

It was unlikely anyone in the county knew her. No one on the police
force knew her. She was already trained as a police officer. "This just
might work," Lavinder thought. "Why not put her in the school, and we'd
certainly find out if there was a drug problem." The chief called Sgt.
Chuck Mason, who supervises the vice unit, and told him to take a look
at the interviewee. Moulton was sitting on a bench outside the polygraph
exam room when Mason nonchalantly walked by. "Shazzam!" Mason thought.
"This girl could pull it off." Moulton hadn't a clue about what was
going on. She only knew that people were acting strange around her. She
asked for a tour of the building - they changed the subject.

She asked to do a ridealong - they found a reason not to. But she was
also going through the interview process with the Roanoke and
Charlottesville police departments. Roanoke was looking all the better.
Then she was offered conditional employment. Two days later, on Nov. 15,
just two weeks after Miles had submitted his report, Lavinder offered
her a job and told her what he had planned.

He and Mason had already met with the school superintendent and gone
over the plan. She was going undercover as a student at Northside High
School. Looking young, always a pet peeve for Moulton, had finally paid
off.

The Setup

Within days after she was hired, Moulton was sworn in by then-Roanoke
County Circuit Judge Roy Willett. It wasn't the regular, formal ceremony
in the courthouse, though.

Willett met Moulton behind a convenience store on Starkey Road - far
away from prying eyes. He got in the driver's seat, turned to Moulton in
the passenger seat, and asked her to raise her right hand. "Not that
high," he cautioned when she stretched it high and proud.

They didn't want to attract attention. The next few weeks were a flurry
of activity. Moulton went on the payroll - as a budget supervisor in the
county's finance department. Vice detectives rented an apartment on
Carefree Lane. She'd sleep at her own apartment, a place in Southwest
County she shared with her cat, but her deals would be arranged from the
undercover apartment. That meant the apartment had to look lived in,
especially if Moulton was going to have any teen-agers over. So she and
the detectives went to work. For furniture, they used items that had
been seized from various police operations, including a stereo, a
telescope and a bedroom suite.

Moulton bought some smaller items - an alarm clock, a laundry basket, a
shower curtain. Detective Ed Henning borrowed some dishes from his own
home, begging his wife not to ask him any questions.

Moulton's mother supplied her with food to fill the shelves - as well as
some of her clothes so it would appear that a mother lived there, too.
Moulton hung some of her own clothes in her bedroom closet.

On the coffee table, she kept an assortment of magazines that a mom and
a 17-year-old girl might have: Reader's Digest, Good Housekeeping,
People, Mademoiselle, a few romance novels.

She left empty Coke cans on the coffee table, towels on the bathroom
floor - anything to give a "lived-in" feeling. Her story was nailed
down: She had moved from Northern Virginia, her father was dead, and her
mother worked all the time. That way if anyone came to visit, Moulton
could explain why she was alone. When it came time for Moulton to enroll
in school, a mother was needed.

A retired Henry County deputy filled the part. Later, Mason would sign
the "mother's" name - Connie Cameron - to notes Moulton needed for
school. "He had the most mom-like handwriting," Moulton joked. It was
all ready.

Operation Babyface was about to begin.

The first day Moulton started school Dec. 20, three days before
Northside was set to break for the holidays. That morning, she left from
her "real" apartment and drove the Cavalier - also seized by the Police
Department - to Northside. She parked, grabbed her new backpack and went
to find the guidance office. She already had an idea of who she was
looking for. She was carrying a list - a target list - of the names of
about 12 students Miles had identified as possible drug dealers.

Before the operation began, one of the main suspects had dropped out of
school, but police still decided to go forward. Moulton was assigned
some aides to show her around.

Her first break came when one of them took her to the wrong classroom -
Algebra I instead of Geometry. She sat down anyway, and almost
immediately noticed a name on a homework assignment she passed forward.

It was one of her targets. Bingo! Then a boy passed her a note. "Do you
party?" it read. She answered yes. "Do you do drugs?" he continued. She
said yes again. "Inside, I was laughing," she said later. "That's
exactly what I needed."

Fitting In

By the end of the third day, Moulton was exhausted. "It was
overwhelming," she said. "Just adjusting to sitting in a classroom all
day, having to act 17 again.

I had to pretend.

I had to worry about homework and whether I'd have enough money to go to
the mall." But she was already making strides in figuring out who she
needed to be closer to. By the time she came back from break in January,
she was raring to go again.

One of the first things she had to do, though, was pull away from the
"good" kids. For the first few weeks, Moulton ate lunch with a group of
girls introduced to her by a guidance aide 17-year-old Kathryn Wymer.
She had met Wymer her first day, and the two joked how their nicknames
could both be "Kat." Wymer thought she seemed like a nice girl. A little
young, but nice. Then Moulton began to make excuses. "I kept inviting
her to got to the mall shopping with me, but she didn't go," Wymer said.
"She obviously distanced herself from me. She went off with her own
friends.

The people she was hanging out with, I didn't want to be associated
with. I figured, if that's what you're into . . ." Moulton, meanwhile,
was reinventing herself. During her own high school days at Robinson
Secondary School in Fairfax, Moulton was shy. She and her identical twin
sister, Kim, spent much of their time together.

Moulton studied hard, got average to above-average grades and played
sports, but was generally known as a quiet student. That had to change
at Northside. She couldn't be shy anymore.

The job wouldn't allow it. Still, at the beginning, she kept a fairly
low profile while she got used to being in high school again. "I was
real quiet at the beginning on purpose," Moulton said. "I wanted to
absorb it. A lot of kids seemed interested in me because I was new. I
felt like all eyes were on me, but I blended right in." No one doubted
she was a student.

She tried to dress the part, wearing baggy jeans, cargo pants, tie-dyed
T-shirts and clunky shoes.

The Police Department gave her a $175 clothing allowance, which she used
to pick up clothes at Goodwill. Her mother got into the act, too,
finding things for her at yard sales. Some students later said they
thought her clothes were kind of square, as if they'd come out of the
1980s.

Katrina: The Student

Whatever her wardrobe, Moulton excelled in classes.

She did so well - continually getting A's and extra credit - that vice
detectives often had to tell her to miss a few homework assignments or
skip class once in a while. That was very unlike her. "In real life, I'd
never be late for class," she said. "I'd get upset if I was late. I
wouldn't back-talk a teacher.

I'd never walk in the halls without a pass. [At Northside,] I cut in the
lunch line. I'd never do that in real life." But even missing a few
assignments didn't keep her from doing well. Of course, she was the only
Northside student armed with a bachelor's degree in sociology (with
concentrations in criminal justice and pre-law) and on her way to a
master's degree from Longwood College. So she breezed through. She
participated in classes, reading from plays in English, cooking in foods
management and chiming in with sociology discussions. A classmate,
17-year-old Josh Mason, remembered Moulton as being quiet in sociology
class until law enforcement topics came up. "She'd stay really quiet,"
he said. "But when we started talking about police sections, like drug
trafficking, she'd be real talkative.

She'd say something if someone was wrong.

We thought she just knew a lot." She ended up with a 100 percent average
in sociology.

At one point, she made the all-A honor roll, and her name - Katrina
Cameron's name - appeared in the Neighbors section of The Roanoke Times.
She loved physical education - she was involved in basketball, soccer
and track at her own high school - and her enthusiasm prompted a coach
to ask her if she wanted to try out for something.

But that wasn't possible.

What if she made a team that was later forced to forfeit because an
adult had played? She had a blast in academic classes, though.

For a science class, she crafted a skeleton of a vole (a small rodent)
out of regurgitated owl pellets and mounted it on paper.

On a report card for her foods class, the teacher wrote that she was "a
pleasure to teach.

Is cooperative, demonstrates leadership." The cop in her came out when
she wrote an English paper on serial killer Charles Manson. For her
grade, she got 284 points out of a possible 300. On the paper, the
teacher wrote: "Very nice, but a little scary."

Close Call

Only a handful of people knew about Operation Babyface. Not even the
whole Police Department knew - only the top brass and the detectives in
the vice unit. In the schools, only the former and current
superintendents, the principal and a guidance counselor knew. There were
a few close calls. Linda Curd, the secretary in the guidance office, was
going through immunization records one day when she noticed Katrina
Cameron didn't have a set of shots.

When she registered, Moulton said she had been home-schooled. That meant
she could get away without having a lot of records like grades and test
scores. But shot records were a necessity, so Curd questioned Moulton
about the missing set. Moulton was flustered, and told her she thought
the shots were taken care of. Curd pressed on, opening a phone book and
telling Moulton to show her the name of her doctor so she could check.
Moulton, panicking, told Curd she thought the doctor was in Vinton. Curd
pointed to a name, asked if he was it. Moulton nervously said she
thought so. Curd called, but was told someone wasn't available to talk
just then. Thank goodness, Moulton thought, rushing to tell Esther
Johnson, the one guidance counselor who knew about her. Johnson told
Curd to leave it alone - that everything with the records was fine. That
was the first red flag. Another flag shot up when Curd noticed the time
the new student was spending with Johnson. The girl had instant access
to Johnson, any time of day, Curd noticed.

If the girl came in the office, she was immediately ushered in, the door
closing behind her. Curd didn't know that Johnson was rearranging
Moulton's schedule, switching her classes around to better help her
mission, and serving as a confidante when Moulton got stressed. "I knew
there was something," Curd said. "I didn't know what."

Finding Drugs

Katrina Moulton was posing as a student, but she had a job to do. She
had to find drugs.

To do so, all she had to do was listen. "If you listen carefully, you
can hear deals going on," Moulton said. "Maybe most people tune it out.2
Moulton listened carefully.

She heard a lot. She heard talk in the lunch line, during class, in the
hallways.

A lot of it, she believed, was just talk. Teens bragged about drugs they
tried, what it did to them, what else they wanted to do. Some got their
highs off over-the-counter weight loss pills.

Others bragged about doing drugs in school. One day in the hallway, a
girl told Moulton she had just taken a hit of LSD. Another day, in foods
management class, a boy cut up mushrooms that were being used to make
pizzas and told classmates he was going to sell them as "shrooms" -
hallucinogenic drugs. Moulton watched the boy put the diced mushrooms
into a baggie.

She later recorded the incident. After lots of watching, Moulton began
buying.

Study hall, she found, was an especially good place to make deals.

So was sociology class.

After a few failed deals, she made her first buy in February ? some
marijuana from two boys off school grounds.

She later bought more pot from them. A girl Moulton befriended - the
same one who bragged about taking a hit between classes - sold her LSD.

"When she knew I could get it for sure, she kept asking, 'Can you get
it? Can you get it?'" said the girl, now 17. "I didn't know anyone else
sold her drugs." But others did. Besides marijuana and LSD, Moulton
bought ecstasy and OxyContin, a prescription painkiller. Some students
tried to pass off ground-up aspirin or ibuprofen as stronger drugs.

One boy offered her acid on gummy bears. Moulton hooked up with one
17-year-old boy through Shaena Hicks. He had doubts, but Hicks, now 17,
told him not to worry.

By that time, Moulton and Hicks were good friends.

They went to the mall together.

Moulton once ate dinner at Hicks' house with her and her family.
"There's something weird about her," the boy told Hicks. "No, she's just
different," Hicks told him. "She's not a narc. She's OK. You can sell to
her." Hicks set Moulton up with a few other teens, too. Moulton often
told her she wanted the drugs for her boyfriend, who was still in
Northern Virginia. Hicks shrugged.

Whatever, she thought. "Once she knew I was a good hook-up, she came to
me," Hicks said. Sometimes, when Moulton bought drugs, they came with a
warning. "Don't do it in school," the seller would warn. "Do it at home,
or it'll mess you up."

Reaching Out

Moulton's association with certain teen-agers caught the attention of
guidance counselor Louann Naff. Naff worried the new student wasn't
mixing with the "right" crowd. "That's a shame," Naff thought. "She
seemed really nice, like a nice student." Other students noticed, too.
"She associated with people who were doing drugs, so we assumed she
did," Josh Mason said. Naff suggested Katrina Cameron be made a guidance
aide. "I thought maybe we could pull her in and take her under our
wing," Naff said. Johnson shot that idea down immediately. She didn't
provide Naff with an explanation, which struck Naff as odd. Naff didn't
question it, but continued to worry on her own. She hoped the new girl
could fend for herself. Strangely enough, one person who didn't notice
anything amiss about the new girl was Officer Tim Miles - the one who
put together the report that started the operation in the first place. A
few times, Miles noticed the girl staring at him. One time, he
introduced himself because she was new. And he ran into her in the
computer lab while she was working on her Charles Manson paper. "Being a
police officer in a school, funny looks are pretty common," Miles said.
Moulton knew she was probably staring at the officer too much. She
reminded herself to be careful. "He was the closest thing I had to a
co-worker," she said. "I think I was saying subconsciously, "I'm one of
you.'" Miles, meanwhile, was wondering why he never heard anything back
from vice detectives about his report.

He chided one of the detectives about not doing anything.

Eventually, he figured they weren't interested.

Guilt Katrina Cameron had established herself as someone who liked to
buy drugs.

Outwardly, though, she looked and played the part of a normal high
school junior. She shopped at the mall and at Happy's Flea Market. She
sat in a crowd at a basketball game and went to a few parties.

She carried a cellphone and a pager - both forbidden at Northside - and
that impressed kids. She was offered the chance to participate in a
Spanish competition, but turned it down. A Spanish minor in college, she
knew the language well. But she didn't want to take a slot away from a
"real" student. Hicks and the 17-year-old girl wanted to turn Moulton
"freak" - streak her hair blue. She was all for it. "I wanted to do it,"
she said. "It was a chance to be someone I had never gotten to be
before.

But then I thought, when the real me goes to the grocery store, did I
want to have blue streaks?" Moulton even went shopping for prom dresses
with Hicks, but turned down two boys who invited her to go to the prom.
That would be just too dangerous, she thought, so she just told them she
had a boyfriend back home. "I used to get caught up in the role," she
said. "I'd think I was really a 17-year-old." There were little
annoyances, though, like having to work on resumes in English class and
learn how to write a letter to ask colleges for information. Stuff she
had done long ago. For an assignment, she wrote one to Virginia Western
Community College. She tried to keep from rolling her eyes when she
heard girls moan about their love lives or not being able to get a car.
"I forgot the stresses a high schooler has," she said. "They worry about
grades and homecoming. I was more worried about car payments and paying
my rent." Then there was the guilt, especially surrounding the
relationships she made with Hicks and the 17-year-old girl. The girl had
even invited her friend "Kat" to spend the night at her house, which
Moulton declined. "That was really hard," Moulton said. "They considered
me their friends.

Sometimes, I almost avoided the kids I liked." When deals with the
17-year-old girl didn't work out, Moulton secretly gave a tiny cheer. "I
didn't want to buy from her," Moulton said. "I didn't want to get her in
trouble.

I was almost thankful every time deals fell through because she wasn't
in trouble yet." In the end, Moulton's duty as a police officer was
stronger than the friendship. The girl sold LSD to her, and Moulton
jotted it down.

Real Life

Moulton's life didn't stop at the end of the school day. When the bell
rang at the end of last period, she went to the undercover apartment.

She checked in with detectives and wrote reports detailing the day's
activities. Only a few times did friends come by. In the evenings, she'd
do some homework, then get online and chat with students, further trying
to create friendships and trust.

She'd watch TV for a bit, then usually head back to her own apartment to
feed her cat and fall into bed. She was getting up at 6:30 a.m. and not
stopping for 12 or 13 hours.

Some days, she had to miss school to take care of her "real life," like
dentist appointments. She once had to go to a meeting to go over the
county's benefits package.

A few times, she had to drive back to Lynchburg to testify in court
cases left over from her old job. She never turned off her cop radar.
Once, while shopping with Hicks at Valley View Mall, she watched a boy
in Gadzooks grab a pair of panties and drop them into a girl's purse.

Then he grabbed more, shoving them into his pocket. Moulton couldn't
help herself.

She went up to the manager and told him. Hicks was amused.

She figured her friend was just being a good citizen.

Plus, the two of them got discount cards. To give her some adult social
contact, vice detectives would often take her out. After all, she
couldn't have friends that weren't in high school.

She didn't really want to try, because meeting other adults would mean
lying to them, too. She didn't want to do that. "The toughest thing is
the isolation," she said. "Anyone I met I had to lie to. I really didn't
have any friends.

And you can only hang out with 17-year-olds so long." So the guys became
her big brothers, taking her to dinner and to the movies.

They went bowling.

Still, the places had to be out of town - they often chose
Christiansburg or Rocky Mount. She couldn't risk being noticed. One
time, they braved having breakfast at Famous Anthony's on Crystal Spring
Avenue when they ran into some city cops. Moulton sneaked out. At times,
she got lonely.

She talked to her parents and sister, who knew what she was doing, a few
times a week. She often visited the star on Mill Mountain, where she
could gaze out over the Roanoke Valley, breathe the air and try to lower
the stress that came with living a secret life. "It was my escape from
the world," she said. When at her own apartment, she kept to herself, so
as not to attract too much attention.

She figures her neighbors just thought she was reclusive.

One day in the spring, though, she ran into Northside's band director
while washing her car. Danny Galyen didn't recognize Moulton as a
student.

He thought she was just a young woman who lived in his apartment
complex. Moulton told Galyen she worked as a financial planner, which he
easily believed.

He thought it odd, though, that she had two red sport utility vehicles.
By that time, the Cavalier Moulton had been driving had died, and a
white Mercury Sable didn't work out either.

So she had a red Nissan Pathfinder. But she also had her own car in the
parking lot - a red Rodeo. "Weird," Galyen thought. "She said it [the
Pathfinder] was her company car," he later said. "She said it was a real
nice company."

School Year Ends

As the school year came to an end, there were still deals Moulton
thought she could make, so the operation was extended to summer school
at William Byrd High School. She signed up for two classes, Earth
Science and English. On June 8, 2000, she said goodbye to her friends.

She didn't tell them she wasn't coming back in the fall. Throughout the
summer, she made a few more deals and heard more drug talk. "They'd joke
about how to hold a steering wheel and hold a blunt [marijuana
cigarette] at the same time," she said. Hicks tried to reach her friend
a few times.

She tried to call Moulton's cellphone, but there was no answer.

She tried to page her, but there was no return call. Once, Hicks drove
by her apartment. She wasn't there. Moulton disappeared two days before
the end of summer school.

She planned to finish, but then she learned she was going to have a
substitute teacher the last few days ? and it was someone she knew. He
had lived on her hall for two years while she was at Longwood. Rather
than risk being found out so close to the end, she stayed home. After
summer school ended and the new term was nearing, Curd got suspicious
again. It was her job to organize summer school grades.

She couldn't find Katrina Cameron's permanent record. She told Johnson.
Johnson gently told her to back off. She didn't tell Curd the record had
been destroyed. "Don't worry," Johnson told her. "Trust me on this.
You'll like it."

It All Comes Out

When the school year started in late August, Katrina Cameron wasn't
there. Kids noticed, especially those who had sold drugs to her. Hicks
noticed. So did Moulton's other girlfriend. "We started to think she was
full of s--," she said. Then, on Sept. 29, Northside teachers were
called to a meeting.

They weren't told the reason.

When they got there, they saw a young, blond woman dressed in a police
uniform.

Louann Naff, the guidance counselor who had wanted to keep her out of
drugs, recognized her as a student. "She can't be a police officer
already," Naff thought.

Then Moulton introduced herself and told them she had been Katrina
Cameron. Jaws dropped.

"So that's it," Curd thought. "I knew I had been taken for a ride,"
Galyen said. The School Board had found out the night before; Officer
Miles about a day before that. Moulton told the faculty what she had
found.

She also told them how much she appreciated the caring teachers and how
she was made to feel welcome from the moment she stepped into the
school. "The kids really took me in - the jocks, the brains," she said.
"The school didn't have signs of violence.

I never felt unsafe.

I walked out thinking this high school didn't have too bad of a drug
problem." In the end, nine students were charged with selling drugs to
Moulton. Two of those were indicted and charged as adults.

The names of about 50 more - those Moulton knew or highly suspected to
be doing drugs - were suggested to the school's voluntary substance
abuse program. Hicks never sold to Moulton (she declined to talk about
any drug use on her part, and she says she's clean now), but she knew
most of those charged.

At first, she felt betrayed.

She was angry.

She was hurt. "Everyone who's locked up was my friend," Hicks said.
"They got their name rubbed in the mud. They never would have sold if it
hadn't been for me." Hicks never got in trouble.

She's still not sure why.

Life goes on Roanoke County vice detectives used Moulton in a few more
undercover operations - at a fast food joint and a restaurant - before
she became a patrol officer.

She hadn't realized how much she missed it. There was constant
recognition once she hit the streets dressed in her blue uniform.

At restaurants, on patrol, in the mall. In December, Moulton was working
a traffic accident when the tow truck driver realized who she was.
Despite the cold, he pulled up his shirt, revealing his bare belly, and
chortled: "You're the prettiest cop I ever saw. Can I have your
autograph?" In March, she was eating lunch at Famous Anthony's on Route
419 when an elderly couple began smiling at her. "You've been going to
school, haven't you?" the man asked slyly. "Learn anything?" Meanwhile,
the cases of the nine students were progressing through court.

The first time she came face to face with one of the students, she had a
hard time looking her in the eyes, she admitted. Yet she doesn't believe
any one of them was ever really her friend. "They weren't true friends
of mine because they never went to the school resource officer and said,
'This girl needs help. She's into drugs,'" Moulton said. She said she
appreciated the kids, like Wymer, and the faculty, like Naff, who did
try to steer her in the right direction. She's pleased with what she
did. All the students charged pleaded guilty or no contest.

Some pulled jail time, some got probation, but just about all of them
told Roanoke County Juvenile and Domestic Relations Judge Philip
Trompeter in court that they were turning their lives around. Parents
have thanked her. "In the end, she helped him and she helped this
family," said father whose son, now 18, was charged with eight counts of
selling drugs and imitation drugs.

The teen spent six weekends in jail. "Hopefully, it scared some kids
straight," Moulton said. The sole girl charged in the operation - for
selling LSD - said it did. Now living in Georgia and finishing high
school, the 17-year-old said she's cleaned up her act. If she saw
Moulton again, the teen said she'd shake her hand. "There are times when
I'm sitting at home on a Friday night thinking, damn, I wish I was
partying," she said. "But I don't want to. My life changed when I
flushed the acid down the toilet.

I have a better time now sober than I did high." Moulton, now 25, still
runs into Northside students from time to time. She got whispers when
she worked security at Battle of the Bands a few months ago. She gets
fingers pointed at her if she visits the mall. Every now and then, Hicks
sees Moulton driving her police cruiser.

She does not wave. She has not spoken to Moulton since the end of last
school year. She thinks she'd like to. Maybe. "She did a good job, I'll
give her that," Hicks said. "But it hurt a lot of people.

My outlook on people - my trust - a lot has changed.

I've tried to put it behind me. But it's hard to accept the fact
Katrina's not going to call me and want to hang out. Katrina's not a
real person." For her part, Moulton said she's a different person now.
She has more confidence in herself.

She feels good that she might have helped teen-agers. And she admits she
likes the little bit of fame that came with being Babyface. For her
master's thesis, she even wrote about the undercover operation; she
earned her graduate degree in sociology, with a concentration in
criminal justice, from Longwood on May 12. She hopes high school
students across the Roanoke Valley will think a little more carefully
about getting involved in drugs.

If the operation did anything, it put teen-agers on their guards. Not
long ago, two boys approached Moulton and wanted to know if she was
working undercover at Cave Spring High School. A new girl there
supposedly looked like Moulton, only with a different hairstyle. "Are
you going to do this again?" the boys asked. Moulton answered: "How do
you know we're not?"