POT GROW-HOUSE INVESTIGATION IS EXHAUSTING

PORT ST. LUCIE - The largest marijuana grow-house operation in the
city's history has taken more prisoners than the arrest reports tell.

Three demure women who normally keep records have been digging up 6-
foot-tall pot plants and lugging them out to dry in a secret location
at 2 a.m.

Crime-scene investigator's computer screensaver flashes between
pictures of his 5-month-old daughter and marijuana leaves.

And one day last week anyone visiting the police department was
greeted by smiling retiree volunteers at the front desk and the
overwhelming smell of raw marijuana wafting through the air.

Nearly three weeks ago, one man with a machete chased another man down
a Port St. Lucie street, launching a police call that soon uncovered
nine houses used for pot growing or packaging across the city, plus
two in northern Fort Pierce.

Since then, the tally in Port St. Lucie alone has climbed to about 25.

"I gave up counting them," police Sgt. Todd Schrader said. He and six
detectives have devoted nearly all of their time to the grow houses
since May 8 and took their first night off Wednesday.

But Schrader does not yet see an end. He said the people arrested have
shared little information with police.

"They've all been really nice," Schrader said. "But they don't say
anything."

And as expected, neighbors said the suspected grow-house operators
were "quiet" folks, the sergeant said.

Ever since the machete and the first string of homes, Schrader's team
of investigators has settled into a routine of analyzing paperwork
linking grow houses, then serving a warrant on a house in the
afternoon, taking photos and video of the operation within the house,
dismantling the operation and logging the evidence.

Crime-scene investigator Joel Smith has seen false walls and secret
entryways behind display cabinets. He has seen an attempt at growing
the plants under an elevated home. And he has seen one grow-house
resident arrive with his groceries and every intention of taking them
inside.

The evidence ladies -- June Harkins and Blanche Duval, plus records
supervisor Nancy Kelly, who was recruited to help -- hop into their
van to head to each bust. But first they change out of their uniform
blouses and into something that they won't mind if it reeks of narcotics.

They label each piece of evidence and log it into a hard-bound
oversized log they call "the bible." One house alone had 32 pieces of
evidence.

"You'd sit down and cry, but you don't have time to cry," Harkins
said.

"It burns your eyes," Duval explained.

Smith sighed. "My wife misses me."