THE ENFORCERS

After the Bust: From the Grow-Op to the Street

Toronto lawyer Peter Zaduk knows a thing or two about illegal
marijuana grow-ops - at least defending those charged when the pot
operations are busted.

In a 22-page paper written about four years ago for fellow defence
lawyers, he details the many ways a case against an alleged pot
producer can go off the rails for police and prosecutors.

"It is a fact of life in some jurisdictions that the drug squads are
overwhelmed by the number of grow houses they uncover," he writes.

Resources are spread thin.

"This leads to corners cut and mistakes made, probably many more than
in other investigations."

Drug prosecutions are a special challenge, reporter Randy Richmond
writes. For one thing, everyone involved tends to clam up, making the
legal battle often as clouded as a room full of pot smokers.

In the largest grow-op bust in Ontario history, involving 9,500
plants in a warehouse, all four defendants got off because police
didn't label the keys to the warehouse that were seized or determine
which person had which key, Zaduk writes.

"It's remarkable how many cases collapse of their own weight as long
as you don't plead guilty."

Since he wrote that paper, police have learned a few tricks and the
courts have come down tougher on marijuana operations, Zudak says in
an interview.

Even so, he adds, defence lawyers also have a few tricks up their
sleeves. "I have infinite faith in the police to screw up," he quips.

On the other side of the court, federal Crown David Rowcliffe in
London says drug prosecutions present an interesting challenge.

Drug prosecutions rarely have the luxury of witnesses and must often
proceed without people caught in the act.

Assault charges, Rowcliffe says, often become a "he-says, she-says, argument."

Drug charges, on the other hand, become cases where "nobody says anything."

It appears that in a legal battle over a grow-op, the outcome is
often as clouded as a room full of pot smokers.

That makes the initial work on the ground key in the battle against
grow-ops, says Det. Supt. Ken Heslop, head of the criminal
investigation unit for London police.

Police still get most of their tips about potential grow-ops -- often
hidden in ordinary houses -- from neighbours, he says.

It takes weeks of surveillance and investigation just to get a search
warrant to go into the grow-op.

"It's a bigger package than just getting a warrant, showing up and
arresting whoever is inside and charging them."

Police have to determine who is doing what in the grow-op, then time
the search for when an owner or worker is inside. That can take weeks
of continuous surveillance.

"It's not as if you can do surveillance for two days and then leave
it for two weeks and come back," Heslop says.

Years ago, the application for a search warrant was a page.

"It's a chronology now of everything you know about the
investigation, the house, the people. It's a substantial amount of
time to investigate them, dismantle them and package all the exhibits
for court.

"It's not a quick process."

Once the legwork is done, police face a series of dangers when
heading into a grow-op. Rarely does the danger come from the actual
owner-operators.

"There's little resistance most of the time," says a veteran London
street drug officer. "They know the deal. Most of the time they
aren't violent."

The dangers come from the operation itself. Officers often have to
dress in full-length "bunny suits" with gloves and respirator masks
to fend off the mould and fumes that come with grow-ops.

Amateur wiring for dozens of lights and heaters and fans is always a
concern, the drug officer says.

"I've been in one house that caught fire while I was in it."

Now and then, police face a booby trap, such as electrified doors and windows.

The traps are usually set for drug rivals, not police, but police and
fire crews are the ones who suffer, Heslop says.

"These people want to protect their investment. There is a lot of
competition out there," Heslop says.

Despite the dangers and lengthy investigations, "very seldom do
people get serious jail time, unless it is a major grow operation or
they have a past record," Heslop says.

Sentences depend on a range of factors, some of them specific to
grow-ops, says Rowcliffe.

Crowns will consider the number of plants and evidence of
long-lasting operations, such as bags of used soil or lengthy hydro
records, in seeking longer sentences, he says.

Because of fire hazards, Crowns may also push for longer sentences
for grow-ops in residential areas as opposed to rural areas.

Rowcliffe has brought forward evidence showing how much a home has
been damaged, and the cost to the mortgage holders.

"Sometimes the courts aren't aware of the serious economic
consequences of the grows inside the home," he says.

In 22 recent Ontario Court of Appeal cases involving marijuana
production, the court -- the province's highest -- upheld stiffer
jail sentences because of violence associated with grow-ops, fire
risks and the size and sophistication of the operations.

The sentences ranged from three months to two years less a day in
jail, with most around the one-year range.

As expected, defence lawyer Zaduk thinks sentences are far from
lenient, and have gotten longer in the past five years, now
surpassing those given for some assaults, robberies and thefts.

"Police have a propaganda machine that exaggerates the severity of
the problem."

Canadians used to have a benign view of marijuana grows.

Now, thanks to the federal Conservatives' law-and-order push,
"they're seen as a plague on society," Zaduk says.

In the 250 grow cases he's defended, only one involved a violent
arrest and only a handful of fires caused by bad wiring, Zaduk says.

The sentences are bad enough, but now courts and municipalities are
going after the houses of the accused, he says.

Cities such as Toronto slap expensive work orders on any houses used
as grow-ops, and some banks call in their mortgages as soon as
someone is accused, he says.

In many of his cases, the accused have agreed to let "bigger players"
use their homes for growing marijuana, Zaduk says. Police and the
courts nab the bit players and take their houses and cars, while
letting the operators who run the "franchise" get away.

But Rowcliffe and Heslop argue the seizure of houses, cars, marijuana
and cash are key deterrents in stopping an illegal and dangerous activity.

"The only way you are going to hurt people that do this is attack
them in the pocketbook," Heslop says. "They're operating grow-ops to
make money and that's what you have to stop."