SNITCH

The (Involuntary) Confessions of a Confidential Informant

Snitches. Rats. Turncoats. Squealers. There's no shortage of names for
people who start their criminal justice career on one side of the law,
and then, through a series of self-preserving acts, find themselves
working on the opposite side as confidential informants. Police
informants get evidence, they help make cases, and they put themselves
in danger to do it. Cops and prosecutors call them
indispensable.

Not every person who gives information to the police is a criminal.
Many are just concerned citizens who report suspected crimes in their
neighborhoods. And many people who testify in court are simply
witnesses to a crime. But many people who turn informant for the law
have motives that are a far cry from justice or community activism;
they are, themselves, criminals working off potential charges or even
getting paid to inform on other law-breakers.

People who oppose the use of criminal informants argue that offering
money in exchange for information may actually lead informants to seek
out and encourage crimes that would not otherwise happen. And even
police acknowledge that reducing criminal charges for informants, who
are willing to participate in or set up other illegal events for law
enforcement, can seem to trivialize the initial crime.

For many professionals in law enforcement it comes down to weighing
greater and lesser evils against each other. Weighing, say, the value
of trading the prosecution of a small-time drug dealer against the
prosecution of a medium-sized drug dealer, and maybe eventually an
entire drug ring. The identities of these informants are almost always
kept secret long after the cases are over. This is both to protect
their health and keep them useful. The practice of using criminals as
confidential informants is widespread, but at the end of the day is
the public really safer, trading one criminal for another?

This is the story of a man who made a short career as a confidential
paid informant for the SLO County Sheriff's Department. Despite the
short length of his service, he became a key figure in one of the most
notorious recent cases originating in this county, the federal
prosecution of medical marijuana dispenser Charles Lynch. His name is
Daniel Victor Lee, and over the course of seven months he worked on
ten cases, being paid a total of $8,185 for his participation,
according to correspondence from the district attorney's office.
Despite following tips that led to three different states, New Times
was unable to find him to seek his side of the story. For that matter,
court records show a defense attorney who sought to depose him for a
case couldn't locate him either. Nonetheless, court documents
collected from several cases tell Lee's story.

The first case Lee worked on for the sheriff led to a search warrant
on a house where less than an ounce of marijuana was recovered. The
defendant in that case was put on probation. Lee's final case was to
set up the delivery of 20 pounds of marijuana. One of the defendants
in that case killed himself.

Four days after Lee's last job with the sheriff, SLO County court
records show he was arrested for impersonating a police officer. When
the courts tried to bring him back to the county as a witness in
another case, he was kicked off a commercial airline flight. Who is
this guy?

Meet Daniel Victor Lee

Lee is someone whom Sgt. Rick Neufeld of the SLO County Sheriff's
Department's Narcotics Task Force would call a mercenary: an informant
who works numerous cases, setting up drug deals and getting paid for
his work. Court documents include a picture of Lee smiling wide, red
hair and light eyes, about 30 years old. He worked on at least two
prominent cases locally--both of those involving drug deals arranged
by the sheriff's department as part of their investigation of Charles
Lynch, the owner of Central Coast Compassionate Caregivers. He
appeared in police reports and the Lynch indictment as a "confidential
source." Those documents provide detailed accounts of his missions,
including dates, names of several individuals who would be charged
with crimes, and the amounts of contraband involved, but not his name.
When his name was released with a list showing the cases he worked for
the sheriff, several details and dates matched up. Lee was that
ubiquitous confidential informant.

Records don't say exactly where he got his start as an informant. But
Lee's own criminal history goes back years before he snitched in SLO.

Orange County court records show he was arrested several times in
2002. Though he faced three felony charges that year for possession of
a controlled substance and possession with intent to sell stemming
from two separate incidents, he wound up walking, pleading guilty to
one misdemeanor charge for possessing a switchblade knife. All of the
felony drug charges were dismissed.

Records aren't clear about how Lee got in touch with SLO sheriff's
deputies either, but federal documents from Lynch's indictment said he
was "a person who approached the sheriff's department and offered his
assistance." The indictment also said Lee has a criminal history with
narcotics-related offenses and the police-impersonation incident.
Neufeld would not comment on the specifics of Lee's informant career,
though records show he oversaw Lee's work. Lee worked from April 2006
until November that year on drug cases that ranged from very minor to
very big. He was taken to Los Angeles County twice as an informant and
sent on several trips to buy marijuana from the Morro Bay dispensary.
Records do not reveal how much he was compensated for those missions.

SLO County court documents show that Lee eventually left the area. He
stayed in contact with SLO officials and remained cooperative, despite
several threats made against him by defendants in cases he helped make.

Lee's very first case involved a "controlled" buy of five grams of
marijuana, worth about $50. Based on that transaction, sheriff's
deputies obtained a warrant to search a home. They found about 20
grams of pot as a result of the search, an amount so measly that if a
sale had not been involved, possessing that quantity would not carry
any jail time, only a $100 fine. Normally a person charged with
possessing less than an ounce would not even be arrested. But the sale
made the man's crime a misdemeanor or possibly a felony with the
potential for incarceration. He was arrested, pleaded guilty to a
possession charge, and was put on probation. Lee was paid $200.

Lee's next three cases went like this: He would arrange the delivery
of between 230 grams (about 8 ounces) and 450 grams (close to one
pound) of marijuana. Deputies would do a traffic stop while the car
was en route to a meeting place. The busts sent four people to county
jail, and Lee was paid a total of $1,100.

This is where Lee was proving to be a reliable informant. Neufeld said
informants have to establish themselves, have to show that information
they give is real and will lead to arrests. Most important, he said,
the information must be corroborated with evidence. Lee proved himself
and soon began working on bigger cases, including the investigation of
medical marijuana provider Charles Lynch.

In June that year, sheriff's deputies drove Lee to Los Angeles County,
where he was given $200 to pay for a questionable medical marijuana
recommendation, provided by a physician who was later indicted on
federal marijuana charges. Court documents show that Lee said he
smoked pot with the doctor during that visit and introduced the doctor
to an undercover sheriff's deputy. Lee bought the recommendation,
which he later used to purchase marijuana from Charles Lynch's
dispensary several times. Lee and the deputies returned to San Luis
Obispo County where he was paid $725 for the trip, according to court
documents.

It was during the sheriff's investigation of the dispensary that Lee
met one of Lynch's employees, Abrahm Baxter. The two arranged to
consummate a sale of marijuana outside of the dispensary. Lee set up
the deal in the Big 5 parking lot in San Luis Obispo. Lee, with an
undercover agent in the passenger seat of his car, bought 362 grams of
marijuana from Baxter for $3,200. Baxter made the front page of New
Times when the district attorney bungled this case, offering him a
plea meant for someone else, then taking it back after the mistake was
discovered. Baxter was sentenced to 120 days in jail. Lee was paid
$300.

The rest of Lee's cases were similar; he would arrange a sale and
deputies would arrest drug dealers while they transported the
contraband. One case involved 120 grams of cocaine. Lee was paid
$1,500 for that one. The last case was the most ambitious, in which
Lee set up the sale of 20 pounds of marijuana. Police seized 25 pounds
of marijuana and four pounds of hashish from four men. One of them,
Elbert Shoemate, committed suicide, according to county records. Lee
was paid $3,660.

What's Wrong With This Picture?

Ironically, Lee was called to testify as a witness on behalf of Abrahm
Baxter, one of the people he set up. It was in this case that the
details of Lee's informing became known; they became accessible to the
public probably because of a mere oversight. A series of
correspondence from the SLO County district attorney's office outlined
all the cases he worked on with the sheriff, including dates, some
defendants' names, and the outcomes of those cases. Lee was described
as having always provided reliable information and having been
cooperative. Still, Deputy District Attorney Jerret Gran, who speaks
for the prosecutor's department, in an interview wanted to make clear
that Lee was the sheriff's informant and was not engaged by the
district attorney. Court documents show that the DA opposed a defense
motion to summon Lee as a witness.

In Baxter's case there were several points on which the defense
disputed details presented by the prosecution. For example, police
reports say that Baxter sold the marijuana directly to the undercover
officer. Photographs of the transaction, however, reveal at least part
of the exchange happened between Baxter and Lee. It was an illegal
transaction nonetheless, but an important detail because both Baxter
and Lee were medical marijuana patients.

Lee was called to be a witness for Baxter. He could potentially have
cleared up those and other conflicting details, but he never appeared
at the courtroom to tell his side. According to correspondence from
the DA, Lee boarded a plane--paid for by the county--that would take
him to San Luis Obispo for an in-camera hearing but was kicked off for
allegedly stealing from another passenger's purse. No charges were
filed.

Who's A Rat?

Chris Bleicher runs the website whosarat.com, which allows people to
post photos and information about informants. He's a critic about the
ways in which informants are used. He said paying for information
creates a conflict of interest for the informant.

"It creates incentive for these people to go out and commit crimes,"
Bleicher said in an interview. "You offer money to an informant to
bring back information on criminals, and these people are going to go
out and create scenarios to bring back information. It's like job
security for them."

Bleicher said that's exactly what happened to a friend of
his.

"The informant created a drug deal that never would have happened
otherwise," he said.

Bleicher didn't start the website, which he said has become equivalent
to a full-time job; his friend did. The site's creator, Sean Bucci,
has been in jail for two years for selling marijuana to a mercenary
informant. Bucci claimed the men barely knew each other and hadn't
seen each other for a decade when the informant approached him about
making the sale.

During his trial, Bucci set up the website and outed the informant.
Two years ago, Bucci was found guilty and sentenced to 12 years in
jail. He's appealing the severity of that sentence on the basis that
it was punishment for starting the site.

There are now more than 5,000 profiles of alleged undercover agents
and formerly confidential informants on the site. The one who Bucci
said brought him down is featured as the permanent "Rat of the Week."

Distasteful, but Widely Used

Neither the cops nor the district attorney like working with
informants. Neufeld said as a person charged with upholding the laws,
he struggles with the bargain of forgiving the crimes of one criminal
to catch (and presumably punish) another.

"One of the hardest things a new detective has to learn," Neufeld
said, "is how to handle informants. It's not pleasant, no one enjoys
it, but it's part of the way we do business. If you didn't have
informants, then a lot of major case would go unsolved."

When it comes to the criminals and the mercenaries, he said,
"Generally, these people are druggies.

"Everybody that comes through here as an informant has to be approved
by me, and I don't approve everyone." He added, "Sometimes I see
someone, and I say, 'No way.'"

So what makes a good informant? Neufeld said there is no archetypal
squealer, merely someone who can infiltrate a criminal organization
and is willing to do so. Druggies, it seems, make good mercenaries
because they need money. Felons guilty of such violent crimes as rape
or murder are generally excluded from working off their crimes,
leaving druggies as the population most available to be turned by law
enforcement. When a person decides to work for the DA or law
enforcement, they can't legally get a guarantee the information they
provide will result in a reduced sentence. Still, Neufeld said he's
not surprised what an informant will do or who they will snitch on.

"If someone has prison hanging over their head," Neufeld said, "if
they know something, and they know they're facing prison, that's
pretty good incentive to be an informant."

Mercenaries do it just for the money.

Gran said the district attorney works differently than the sheriff.
His office does not pay people for information, though they may pay
for travel expenses, or the cost of relocating a witness. As
prosecutors, they are concerned more with compelling people to testify
and organizing available information, than building cases from the
ground up, the way cops do. Gran said he sometimes cuts deals to get
one gang member to testify against another member, for example, but
wouldn't pay someone to testify. Unlike Neufeld, Gran said he is still
shocked by some people's willingness to turn witness, when one family
member testifies against another member of a family, for example. The
scenario leading up to the squeal is typically something like this:

"Usually the person already has a case," Gran said, "or they're on
probation and they get picked up for some offense. Then they'll go to
whoever arrested them and say 'OK, I'm dirty, but I can give you four
people dealing drugs.'"

Once a person is on the hook, they might work off their crime helping
the cops or receive a reduced sentence for assisting the district
attorney, Gran said. In either scenario, the person has to perform
before they can be rewarded.

"I wish all my witnesses were Boy Scouts and went to church and were
upstanding citizens," Gran said, "but they're not. The important thing
is to corroborate what they say with evidence."

Bleicher said an informant is only as valuable as their connections to
illegal activity. Informants, he said wind up telling on their friends
and acquaintances when they get in trouble.

"How do you get information about a drug crime?" Bleicher asked. "By
being part of a drug crime."

There is no reason to think that Lee is unique or extraordinary as an
informant, except that his work became public. Gran said it was
probably an oversight that left Lee's record in the public domain.
There was a motion by the district attorney to seal several documents,
but for some reason, it was never followed up with an order to seal,
or a motion to deny sealing; it was just left hanging in public space.
Now Lee's records are squealing on him.