American Scandal - Police Corruption in Baltimore | Zero Tolerance | 1

Episode Date: January 23, 2024

In 2017, seven members of an elite Baltimore police unit called the Gun Trace Task Force were arrested and charged with robbery, extortion, fraud, and selling drugs seized during police operations. While some were quick to dismiss the arrests as a case of a few bad apples, a subsequent investigation revealed a culture of corruption within the Baltimore Police Department that had allowed rogue cops to flourish.Need more American Scandal? With Wondery+, enjoy exclusive seasons, binge new seasons first, and listen completely ad-free. Start your free trial in the Wondery App, Apple Podcasts, Spotify or visit wondery.app.link/IM5aogASNNb now.See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

Hi, this is Lindsey Graham, host of American Scandal. Our back catalog has moved behind a paywall. Recent episodes remain free, but older ones will require a Wondery Plus subscription. With Wondery Plus, you get access to the full American Scandal archive, ad-free, plus early access to new seasons and more. Join Wondery Plus in the Wondery app or on Apple Podcasts. podcasts. It's March 2016 in Baltimore, Maryland. Sergeant Wayne Jenkins sits behind the wheel of an unmarked police car, scanning the sidewalk as he drives down a residential street in the northwest section of the city.

It's mid-afternoon, and outside Jenkins' window, all he can see are local kids walking home from school while some older folks in the neighborhood sit on porches watching the cars go by. It all looks perfectly quaint, but Jenkins knows that in the city of Baltimore, things aren't always what they seem. Jenkins is the leader of an elite plainclothes unit within the Baltimore Police Department. Unlike most cops, Jenkins and his team don't have to wear uniforms or respond to 911 calls. Instead, they go out into the streets looking for signs of illegal activity. And when Jenkins is leading the mission, the team usually finds what they're looking for. And after a couple of blocks, Jenkins spots something. Up ahead, a black man in his mid to late 30s is getting into a minivan

with a backpack slung over his shoulder. In Jenkins' experience, any man over 18 wearing a backpack is suspicious. So Jenkins radios to the other officers on his team. It's go time. Trailing behind Jenkins is a second car filled with the other officers on his team, it's go time. Trailing behind Jenkins is a second car filled with the other officers on his team, and at the sound of Jenkins' signal, they speed toward the minivan and block it in from the back. Jenkins follows, blocking it in from the front. Officers spring out of the second car, swarming the minivan while Jenkins watches from the sidelines. Within two minutes, two officers signal they've got a hit. One officer holds a giant bag of cocaine in the air. The other holds up thousands

of dollars in cash. Jenkins grins. They've clearly picked up a major dealer. Now it's his job to pressure this dealer into naming his supplier. Jenkins loves his job. Jenkins walks over to the minivan, his broad shoulders straining against his T-shirt. He's in his mid-30s, with a wide face and close-cropped brown hair. He nods to one of the other members of his team, indicating for him to put the driver in the backseat of the van.

Another officer hands Jenkins the man's wallet and car registration. Jenkins studies them as he climbs into the back seat next to the dealer. Jenkins slides the door of the van shut and pulls out the driver's license from the man's wallet. Mr. O'Reese Stevenson, am I saying that right? Yes, sir. Oh, good, good. Mr. Stevenson, my name's Wayne Jenkins. I'm a federal agent. Jenkins isn't a federal agent, but he frequently tells drug dealers that he is to pressure them into flipping on their suppliers.

I thought you were BPD. No, I'm a fed. I knew this deal was going down today because it came across on a wiretap. But here's the thing. We don't really care about you. You're not the target of our investigation. We want you to connect. Oh, I'm no snitch. Yeah, everyone says that at first. You're looking at

serious time. How about I ask you a different way? If you were going to rob a drug dealer, who would you choose? Oh, no, I'm not playing this game. Okay. All right. Fine. Don't want to help yourself out. That's your choice. Let me ask you something else. What's your address? You don't want to help yourself out? That's your choice. Let me ask you something else. What's your address? 4100 Heathfield? Did you just lie to me? Because that's not what the car registration says.

Huh? Huh? Fine. Alright, don't answer me. It doesn't matter because we have your house keys. We're going to go over to your house, your real house, and we're going to search it. Oh, my child's mother is there. Don't arrest her. Is there a reason we would arrest her? There's probably some coke at the house. And how much? A few kilos. What's a few? Three? Four? I don't know. Seven or eight? Jenkins' eyebrows raise. That's a serious amount of cocaine. Any guns? Cash? Yeah. And the safe? All right. Well, thank you for that information.

I'm going to call my supervisor and we're going to execute the search warrant. Jenkins steps out of the van and pulls his cell phone from his jeans pocket, but he does not call his supervisor. As Jenkins walks away from the car, he scrolls through his contacts until he finds the number for Donnie Stepp. Stepp has been a friend of Jenkins since childhood. He also moonlights as a drug dealer. So when Stepp answers the phone, he and Jenkins agree to a scheme,

one that's going to yield a lot of money for both of them. This isn't the first time Jenkins has done this, nor is he the only one in the Baltimore PD with the same idea. A lot of guys in his department have been making a lot of money with side deals like this, and they've even gotten department commendations along the way. But Jenkins feels confident that as long as they all play it safe and continue to produce arrests for the department, there's nothing that can take them down. In the past decade, Boeing has been involved in a series of scandals and deadly crashes

that have dented its once sterling reputation. At the center of it all, the 737 MAX. The latest season of Business Wars explores how Boeing allowed things to turn deadly and what, if anything, can save the company's reputation. Make sure to listen to Business Wars wherever you get your podcasts. From Wondery, I'm Lindsey Graham, and this is American Scandal. In the spring of 2017, the city of Baltimore was rocked by the news that seven members of its police department had been arrested. These highly decorated veteran officers were charged with robbery, extortion, fraud, and selling drugs seized during police operations.

While some were quick to dismiss the arrests as a case of a few bad apples, a subsequent investigation revealed that a culture of corruption was systemic within the Baltimore PD. Decades of bad policy had created an environment where criminal cops could flourish. These policies sprang from a well-intentioned effort to revitalize a city in decline. In the years following World War II, Baltimore had flourished with a strong manufacturing and shipping economy. But by the 1970s, it was struggling. The manufacturing jobs had all moved overseas, and wealthier white residents had fled to the suburbs

following the desegregation of public schools. As a consequence, the city's tax base declined, leaving it struggling to provide decent schools and other services. With few economic opportunities, drug dealing became one of the more reliable ways to earn an income for impoverished residents, and violent crime proliferated. By the 1990s, Baltimore was averaging over 300 murders a year, far more than other cities of its size. A young city council member named Martin O'Malley

offered hope when he ran for mayor in 1999. He promised to implement a new style of aggressive policing, cracking down on all manner of criminals in order to clean the city up and make it safer for everyone. But instead, O'Malley set in motion the policy changes that would lead to the creation of the Gun Trace Task Force, an elite unit composed of criminal police officers. At the heart of that unit was a cop named Wayne Jenkins. This is Episode 1, Zero Tolerance. It's October 17, 2002. Mayor Martin O'Malley strides into Baltimore City Hall, his footsteps echoing on the hard floors.

For years, O'Malley dreamed of making this walk into the mayor's office, but this morning he's full of dread. He woke up to reports that a house in East Baltimore was firebombed the night before, and that several people, including children, are dead. The photos in the morning's newspaper were gruesome, showing just the charred frames of the row house and a child's bike out front, melted from the flames. As O'Malley walked into his office, he praised that those early reports are wrong, that this was an accident, not arson.

Not just for the sake of the people involved, because if it was arson, there could be profound consequences for the city as a whole. When O'Malley took office three years ago, he had just one goal, to lower the city's crime rate. Drugs were everywhere, and the city's murder rate was one of the highest in the country. So O'Malley hired a new police commissioner and implemented a zero-tolerance approach to crime-fighting. The changes haven't been universally beloved in the community. Many residents, especially the

city's Black residents, say that aggressive policing is code for harassment. But for O'Malley, the ends justify the means. As mayor, he's taken a statistical approach to policing. And the numbers show that serious crime is down by 26%, the third largest crime reduction of any city in the country. And O'Malley feels hopeful that as the crime rate continues to drop, so too will Baltimore's health and unemployment rates. But if this incident last night was really arson, if an innocent family was firebombed to death in their own home, then O'Malley has far more to do to make the city truly safe.

O'Malley's assistant stands up as he walks in the office, smoothing her blazer. O'Malley greets her tersely and asks if the police liaison is here yet, and she tells him yes, he's waiting in O'Malley's office. O'Malley nods. It's good the liaison is here. He needs to know exactly what happened at that house. As O'Malley walks in, the liaison stands and hands him an envelope. O'Malley sits behind a desk and opens it. It contains crime scene photos, which are even more gruesome than the images in the morning paper. He grimaces as he flips through them. Oh God. All right, what's the latest? Tell me everything you know. Well, sir, it's still early, so there's not a lot to tell yet. Seems the fire broke out at 2.30 this morning, trapping Angela Dawson and her five children inside.

All of them are confirmed dead. The husband, Carnell Dawson, managed to escape by jumping from the second-story window. He's been transported to the hospital, but he's in critical condition. And you really suspect it's arson? Like I said, it's too early to know for sure, but this was not the first time this family had been attacked. Only about two weeks ago, someone threw a couple of Molotov cocktails through the kitchen window. Somehow, Mrs. Dawson managed to extinguish the flames before they got out of control. I don't understand,

why is this family being attacked like this? Well, apparently there's a group of drug dealers who've been running the neighborhood, and Mrs. Dawson was trying to get them to leave. She called the police on them, so they started threatening to kill her. And was the family offered any kind of police protection? Please tell me yes. Well, they were, but the Dawsons declined. O'Malley shakes his head. All this woman wanted was to make the neighborhood safe for her children, and instead, she and those children are now dead. O'Malley thanks the liaison for coming in and asks that he be kept updated on the status of the investigation. And as he flips through the crime scene photos, O'Malley sets his jaw. He promised to make the

city safe for people like the Dawsons, and he's not going to give up now. If anything, he's going to double down and do whatever it takes to put an end to this kind of violence. The day after the fire, police arrest the arsonist. 21-year-old Daryl Brooks lives in the neighborhood and works as a lookout for the local drug dealers. But after Angela Dawson started calling the cops on them, Brooks decided to take revenge. He kicked in the Dawson's front door, poured gasoline all over the floor, and lit a match. The arson shakes the city. Despite what O'Malley's statistics show, it feels like proof that crime in Baltimore is still out of control.

But it also validates O'Malley's view that drugs are at the heart of Baltimore's violent crime problem. So if the city wants to lower the murder rate, its police need to focus their efforts on getting drugs off the street. To do that, the Baltimore Police Department makes two policy changes. First, they start training more undercover cops to bust drug dealers in the act.

Second, they start encouraging uniformed officers to go after anyone they suspect even might be a drug dealer. So if a police officer sees a teenager hanging out near a vacant building, or a middle-aged man drinking beer on his stoop, the officer would be instructed to cite them for some minor infraction, like loitering, and then search them for drugs. It's in this environment that a young man named Wayne Jenkins decides to join the police force.

Jenkins grew up in the Baltimore suburbs, and he'd always been a member of a team. In high school, he played football and lacrosse, and then he followed his father's footsteps into the Marine Corps, where he served three years before being honorably discharged in 2001. But after the Marines, Jenkins' life felt rudderless, so he signs up to join the Baltimore Police Department. Turns out to be a good fit for him. Because while Jenkins can be polite and subservient with superiors, he's also tough and highly competitive.

A boxer since childhood, muscular and broad-shouldered, Jenkins has a natural aggression that he can tap into with ease. It's an attribute that's highly valued by the Baltimore police in the early 2000s. Because at the nightly roll calls, commanding officers instruct their underlings to clear the street corners of drug dealers by any means necessary. Officers who rack up arrests are praised for taking initiative, and officers who take initiative are the most likely to get promoted. So when Jenkins graduates the academy in fall 2003, he knows what he needs to do in order to rise through the ranks, and he quickly

succeeds. In only his second year in the department, he's involved in over 400 arrests. But often his approach to policing leads Jenkins into ethically questionable interactions with the community. One night in January 2006, nearly three years after graduating from the police academy, Jenkins is out on patrol with his sergeant, Mike Freeze. It's a cold night and there aren't many people out, so the shift has been slow and Jenkins is feeling antsy. He recently got married to his high school sweetheart

and just last month they purchased a house. So he hopes for a promotion soon to bring him more money. And as a sergeant, Freeze's word would go a long way. So Jenkins had hoped they'd have a good night out on patrol, but so far, there's been little chance to impress. Then, as they round the corner and head down a tree-lined block, Jenkins spots two black men sitting on the stoop of a brick row house, drinking beer. Even if they don't get any arrests tonight, Jenkins still wants to show Freeze that he takes initiative. So Jenkins approaches the two men and tells them to go inside. One of the men asks if there's been complaints.

There haven't been, but Jenkins doesn't say that, and just repeats that they need to go inside. The men roll their eyes, seemingly annoyed that the police are getting on their case for something so innocuous as drinking on their stoop, but they nod and turn and go inside. Jenkins and Freeze continue walking their beat, but when they circle back around the block, Jenkins is incensed to see that the two men are back on the stoop. This is blatant disrespect, which means Jenkins might get to see some action

tonight after all. He strides over to the men in bellows, saying that he tried to be nice and give them a chance, but since they deliberately disobeyed him, he has no choice but to take them to jail. He reaches for his handcuffs, and seeing that Jenkins is serious, one of the two men springs to his feet, muttering that they're going already. Rage pounds through Jenkins is serious, one of the two men springs to his feet, muttering that they're going already. Rage pounds through Jenkins' body, humiliated at this display of insubordination. And as the man turns to go into his house, Jenkins charges up the stairs and grabs him out of his entryway, tackling him to the ground and sending them both tumbling down the steps. The second man gets pulled down with him, and Freeze jumps in to help Jenkins. The four men tussle and yell, punching and elbowing each other in a pile on the sidewalk,

until suddenly Jenkins notices flashing blue and red lights. Another cop has arrived on the scene, Robert Cerello, and as Jenkins continues to wrestle with the men on the stoop, he hears Cerello yelling at someone in the other direction. Jenkins turns and sees that Sorello is addressing a man across the street who's been watching the altercation. Jenkins yells at Sorello to take down the bystander, so the bystander begins to sprint, and Sorello pursues him. Seconds later, Jenkins hears a loud thud, followed by Sorello shouting that the man is under arrest, and then soon Jenkins and Freeze manage to get the upper hand over the two men they've been scuffling with. The officers slap

cuffs on their targets, and Jenkins stands up, panting from the exertion, but smiling triumphantly. But as Jenkins' heart rate slows down again, a sense of worry settles over him. There's a line between aggression and brutality, and he may have crossed it. There's also a good chance that sending Sorello after that bystander wasn't justified. But Jenkins knows there are ways to paint their actions in a flattering light when he goes to craft his report. He was hip-hop's biggest mogul, the man who redefined fame, fortune, and the music industry. The first male rapper to be honored on the Hollywood Walk of Fame, Sean Diddy Cone.

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right now on Wondery Plus. Following the altercation with the two men on the stoop, and the third man who witnessed it, police officers Wayne Jenkins, Mike Freeze, and Robert Cerello write a report that fully justifies their actions. Jenkins claims that the bystander, George Sneed, wasn't merely watching the action unfold, but throwing bottles at the officers. Freeze adds that the bystander was swearing at them and screaming that he would kill all the police. But Sneed, who suffered a broken jaw when Sorello tackled him to the ground, sues the Baltimore Police Department over the conduct of the three officers, and his lawyer finds video from a security camera on the street corner where the scuffle took place.

It shows that Sneed did not partake in any of the actions the police officers described in their report. He's seen calmly watching as Jenkins and Freeze fight with the two men on the stoop. So the jury finds against Sorella, who broke Sneed's jaw, but Freeze and Jenkins are cleared since they weren't involved in tackling Sneed. Even though both officers were caught lying in their report and sworn testimony, their personnel files remain clean with no mentions of their perjury. Not only do Freeze and Jenkins walk away from the incident without consequence, within a year, both are promoted. Freeze gets placed on an elite task force and Jenkins is made detective. And soon, Jenkins is placed in a position with greater power and less scrutiny,

thanks to a new mayor who overhauls the Baltimore Police Department. Sheila Dixon had served as the city council president under her predecessor, Mayor Martin O'Malley. She had seen firsthand how O'Malley's zero-tolerance approach sowed deep distrust between the community and the police. It also didn't do enough to deter violent crime. Baltimore's murder rate was still one of the highest in the country. So when O'Malley gets elected to be the state's governor and Dixon gets promoted to the mayor's office,

she immediately starts making changes. Dixon hires a new police commissioner who emphasizes the need to start making fewer but more impactful arrests. So instead of arresting low-level criminals for minor infractions, the police are now instructed to focus on repeat violent offenders, those who commit serious crimes. To do this, the BPD reassigns their most effective officers to a number of so-called plainclothes task forces. Unlike patrol officers, plainclothes officers operate with greater autonomy,

and they're granted an immense amount of discretion in how they pursue crime. And in 2007, less than a year after the altercation on the stoop, Jenkins is assigned to one of these plainclothes task forces. His unit is called the Violent Crimes Impact Division, and its goal is to make big busts that will lower violent crime rates. Jenkins takes to the new assignment immediately, and in no time at all, he establishes a reputation for being one of the most productive detectives on the force. Some of Jenkins' busts become legendary. In 2009, he finds 41 kilos of cocaine in the back of a truck.

It's the largest seizure without federal assistance in the city's history. Jenkins earns a bronze star and the respect of his colleagues. He takes on a near superhuman status with both top brass and the rank and file. So when Jenkins walks into the evidence room at the end of one of his shifts, the other officers practically swoon. They watch him stroll up to the check-in window, carrying two guns he's just taken off the street. There's a long line of other officers waiting to submit evidence, and technically Jenkins is cutting past them, but nobody seems to mind. While Jenkins registers the weapons at the check-in window, one of the young officers in line turns to the guy behind him

with an expression of awe on his face. Man, how do you think Jenkins does it? Makes all these busts? I have no idea. Some of the stories I've heard about him sound like they're from a movie. Right? Did you hear about the one time he flipped three or four drug dealers in a single day and arrested the guy who was getting the imported raw drugs? It's practically top of the food chain, man. Yeah. And the time he was

driving a car going like 30 or 40 miles per hour and still spotted a guy carrying a stack of cash. How does someone do that? I don't know. It's like Jenkins is some kind of super cop. Yeah. I'd love to be assigned to his squad. Oh, he's in a different league. No, no, I mean, he's just a guy. He went through the same training we did. There has to be a way to learn it, to hone those instincts. Up ahead, they see Jenkins finish submitting his evidence. And as he struts back down the line, the younger officer moves to hide the tiny bags of cocaine that they pulled off the street today,

so Jenkins won't see them. They feel like t-ball players standing in the shadow of Babe Ruth. Once Jenkins leaves, the two younger officers give each other a look, resolving to do whatever it takes to be the next Wayne Jenkins. Wayne Jenkins is revered by many, but not everyone is impressed. Some detectives question whether or not Jenkins is playing strictly by the book. With all of his high-impact seizures and busts, Jenkins seems to get a little too lucky a little too often. Many suspect that the reason he's putting up such high numbers is because he's ignoring probable cause,

stopping and searching people without reason in clear violation of their civil rights. But if anyone has proof that Jenkins is overstepping, they're not willing to come forward. Instead, officers who don't like Jenkins do what they can to avoid him. But civilians on the street don't have that luxury, and that includes a man named Umar Burley. At age 13, Burley took the fall for his favorite uncle, kicking off a lifetime of going in and out of prison for drug possession. Burley would be the first to admit that many of the charges against him were warranted, but he's also experienced the police overstepping their power. In 2007, Burley and a friend were pulled over because the tint of their car windows was too dark. When the police officer looked inside the car,

he spotted the butt of a handgun. Burley told the officer he did not know the gun was there, but the officer didn't believe him. So he charged both Burley and his friend for possession of the same firearm. Ultimately, Burley's friend took responsibility and the charges against Burley were dropped, but not before he spent close to a year in detention

because he couldn't afford bail. Three years later, Burley has another run-in with police, but this time they're led by Wayne Jenkins. On the morning of April 28, 2010, Burley drives down a tree-lined street in the Grove Park neighborhood of Northwest Baltimore. He pulls his black Acura in front of his friend Brent Matthews' apartment and texts to let Matthews know he arrived. The two of them are headed to the sentencing hearing of a man who's been convicted of killing Burley's cousin, and Burley doesn't want to be late. Matthews texts back. He'll be down in five minutes. Burley sighs, knowing that the court's not going to wait for them. And finally, Burley spots Matthews heading toward his car, a backpack slung over his shoulder. Matthews opens the passenger door and slouches into the

seat. He apologizes for making Burley wait, and Burley grunts in response. Then Burley turns the wheel away from the curb and eases his foot off the brake. It's then, all at once, that two sedans zoom up the street, one screeching to a stop in front of Burley's car and the other behind it, boxing Burley in. Men in jeans, t-shirts, and tactical vests jump out of the vehicles, brandishing guns. One of them yells for Burley and Matthews to put their hands up and not dare move. Burley's heart pounds and his palms grow sweaty. He doesn't recognize these men, but they're not in uniform, so Burley thinks he's being robbed. Burley's also been shot twice before and has no intention of getting shot a third time.

So Burley keeps his hands gripped on the wheel and stares straight ahead. It occurs to him that there might be just enough room to get around the car in front, boxing him in. Burley tells Matthews to hang on and then floors it. His Acura lurches forward, narrowly missing the car in front of him, but he gets out. He hears the men yelling behind him, but Burley doesn't look back. All he can think about is getting away from the robbers. He blows through stop sign after stop sign, barely pausing to look for oncoming cars. He's operating on pure adrenaline. Matthews clings to the grab bar above the passenger side window. And once he's a few blocks away,

Burley sneaks a glance in his rearview mirror. He doesn't see either of the sedans, but he's not going to risk slowing down. He zooms out into an intersection, but there's traffic. Burley slams on the brakes, but it's too late. His car collides with another, lifting it off the ground and sending it tumbling into a line of bushes. Burley's car spins out and smashes into a fire hydrant. Water gushes into the street. Burley's heart is racing and his head is spinning. Then he hears the two sedans screech to a stop behind him, and he knows they have to run. He looks over at Matthews, who nods. hears the two sedans screech to a stop behind him, and he knows they have to run. He looks over at Matthews, who nods.

Then the two men fling open their car doors and bolt. Burley runs as fast as he can. He hears footsteps pounding behind him. Then a voice behind him that yells, Police! Stop! You're under arrest! Burley hesitates, wondering if the guy shouting is telling the truth. The men who boxed his car in didn't look like cops or say they were police. But before he can think about it anymore, someone knocks him to the ground.

Whoever tackled Burley grabs his arms. Then Burley feels handcuffs sliding around his wrists and hears a voice rattling off the Miranda rights. These guys really are police, and Burley knows now he's going to be charged with resisting arrest and God knows what else. The cop gets off Burley and hoists him to his feet. Burley stares into the young officer's face. He's a young black man with pudgy cheeks and a pencil-thin mustache, watching nearby as an older white man with broad shoulders and close-cropped brown hair.

Neither is wearing a police uniform. The black officer glares into Burley's eyes, his chest heaving from the chase. The officer asks Burley why he ran. Burley says he didn't know they were police. He thought he was being robbed. He doesn't understand why they didn't flash their lights or identify themselves as cops. The officer doesn't answer. He marches Burley back towards the wreckage of his car and sits Burley down on the curb. EMTs arrive, and Burley watches as an elderly couple is extracted from the car he hit and put into an ambulance. They look seriously injured.

Burley closes his eyes in shame. Then the two officers search Burley's Acura, and after a moment, the broad-shouldered white officer announces that he's found drugs in the car. The young black officer looks inside the vehicle and emerges holding a baggie of heroin. Burley's shame turns to rage. He starts stomping his feet on the pavement and yelling that those drugs aren't his. There were no drugs inside his car. But the broad-shouldered officer shrugs and tells him that evidence is evidence. Burley continues to protest, explaining that he and Matthews were on their way to court. It doesn't make sense that they'd have drugs on them. He accuses the officers of planting the

drugs, of setting them up. But the officer doesn't rise to the bait. He just says that's up for the jury to decide. Burley seethes. He knows what a jury will think. He's a black man with a lengthy record for drug possession. It won't matter that the police had no reason to stop him or that they didn't identify themselves, which is what caused him to run in the first place. The jury will assume that the police did their jobs and that Burley is a lying drug dealer who resisted arrest. Burley bites his lip in fury. Cops in Baltimore can do whatever they want. People like him are completely at their mercy.

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It was his team from the Violent Crimes Impact Division that tried to stop Burley and his friend, and Jenkins himself, who ordered the stop without probable cause. And because the resulting chase ended tragically, the actions of Jenkins and his team could be under more scrutiny than Jenkins was expecting. The 86-year-old driver of the car Burley hit died as a result of the collision. So Burley is now facing a charge of vehicular manslaughter in addition to drug possession. And if Burley decides to fight the charges and takes his case to court, Jenkins could face his own legal troubles. Jenkins tells his commanding officer if the case goes to trial, he can't testify,

implying that he doesn't want to get caught lying under oath. Jenkins also starts listening in on calls Burley makes from prison to keep close tabs on the case. Ultimately, Jenkins' paranoia is unfounded. Burley, too broke to afford a good lawyer, and knowing that a jury would likely fine against him anyway, cuts a plea deal. He won't go to trial, and Jenkins won't be called to testify. Burley is sentenced to 10 years in federal prison for drug possession and vehicular manslaughter.

Jenkins comes away from this incident feeling like he has little to fear from the people he targets. But not everyone Jenkins goes after has as few resources as Umar Burley. Some are able to pay for defense attorneys, and one of those attorneys is Ivan Bates. Bates started his career as a prosecutor before switching sides to become a defense attorney. But in both positions, he's heard many stories of police violating people's Fourth Amendment rights against illegal search and seizure. Their victims are usually black men, and it's usually hard to prove their cases. It's often the word of the police against the word of his client, and jurors tend to believe the police. But one day in 2010, Bates goes down to the detention

center to meet a new client and discovers that this man has more than just his word. He has proof. As Bates sits in the visitation room behind tempered glass, he watches as the guards escort Jamal Walker in, dressed in a prison jumpsuit. The guards seat Walker down in a chair, and he picks up the phone on his side of the glass. Bates does the same. Mr. Walker, my name's Ivan Bates, and I'm your attorney. All right. Thanks for coming. These charges are BS. Your charge sheet says you were picked up for a half a gram of marijuana and $20,000 in cash.

Yeah, like I said, total BS. Okay. Well, why don't you tell me what did happen? I was sitting in my car doing nothing, about to head to my friend's house to watch football when these two cops roll up, knock on my window, and say they smell weed. But I wasn't smoking anything. Okay, then what happened? Dragged me out of my car, put those plastic zip tie handcuffs on me, and then searched my car. And they find my cash, but not $20,000 like they said. I had $40,000 in there. Bates looks up. So wait, you're saying they stole half your money? Yeah, they helped themselves to a nice little bonus, don't you think? And this one cop,

he was carrying on about how I had nothing to worry about because he wasn't dirty. Over and over, he was like, I'm not cruddy. I'm not cruddy. This cop, did you get his name? Yeah, Jenkins. His partner's name was Gladstone. Jenkins and Gladstone. Okay. And they found a bag of weed, too. Yeah, but I wasn't smoking it. They should have never searched my car at all, or my house. Wait, they went to your house, too? Yeah, they went straight to my house, walked right in without a warrant, found this old shotgun we have in the basement, and then charged my wife with illegal possession of a firearm. But they had no right to go inside in the first place.

Bates sighs. He's heard numerous stories just like this one. The problem is always proving it, though. Well, Mr. Walker, look, I want to be clear. I believe you. It's my job to believe you, and I do. I want to be clear. I believe you. It's my job to believe you, and I do. But a jury is a different story. If it's down to your word against the police, a jury is going to side with the police almost every time. So do you have any evidence that backs up what you're saying? I sure do. You do? Really?

Yeah, when my wife saw two white men she'd never seen before standing on our porch, she hit our silent alarm. You get those logs, it'll prove that they lied in their report about what time they entered my house. They did get a warrant, and that's what their report says, but they went in and searched long before that warrant came through, and that's illegal. Bates nods. It sure is. I'll put in a call to the alarm company as soon as I get back to my office. And if what you say is true, you might have a strong case here. Walker nods and is then escorted out of the visitation room. As Bates packs up his briefcase, his mind races. Helping Walker is one thing, and the evidence helps.

But Bates wants to do more, and he thinks he knows how. The behavior Walker described from Jenkins and Gladstone sounded practiced. Bates is positive that these police officers have been pulling these kinds of tactics with numerous other victims. So Bates is going to keep an ear out for other people who get arrested by officers Jenkins and Gladstone and see if there's a pattern here. her as Jenkins in Gladstone and see if there's a pattern here. Ivan Bates is not the only attorney who's started to have doubts about Wayne Jenkins. Other lawyers have been also hearing his name from their clients, who claim he's using dubious tactics and sometimes engaging in criminal behavior while making arrests.

But within the department, Jenkins is still a star. He continues to make big busts, getting drugs and guns off the streets. Jenkins is quick to act and unafraid to take risks, whether it's pulling a woman from a burning car or protecting his partner in a confrontation with a suspect. He's known as a hard charger, an accolade within the department. And when he charges too hard and gets caught up in a jam, there are higher-ups who are all too willing to look the other way. So with a reputation for big busts and a clean personnel file, Jenkins is promoted to sergeant

in the fall of 2012. And with this promotion, he becomes even more brazen in his behavior. Jenkins often seizes many thousands of dollars worth of drugs every week. He knows that if he were to sell just some of it, he could become a very rich man. But to pull that off, he would need help. He'd need someone who knows how to move that kind of product. And luckily, he knows the perfect person, his old family friend, Donald Stepp. Stepp has known the Jenkins family for nearly four decades, but for close to two of those, he's been in and out of jail, mostly due to charges stemming from his drug and alcohol addictions. Starting in 2002, Stepp finally turned his life around, getting sober and landing a job

as a loan officer with a mortgage company. He bought a home and had a child with his fiancée. But after the housing market crashed in 2008, Marilyn passed a law that required loan officers to be licensed, and Step's criminal background made him ineligible. To keep his job at the mortgage company, Step had to agree to let them cut his salary in half. Desperate to support his family and make ends meet, Step started dealing drugs on the side.

But despite Step's criminal activities, he often attends poker nights hosted by Jenkins' brother, where several cops, including Jenkins, are frequently in attendance. It's at these poker nights that Jenkins and Step start to cultivate a friendship. So in late 2012, not long after Jenkins is promoted to sergeant, he invites Step on a trip to Delaware to spend the weekend at a casino. The two men have a blast at the tables, and between hands, Jenkins regales Step with stories about how good he is at getting drugs off the street

and how much product he comes across. Step enjoys the stories but doesn't think much of it. He just thinks Jenkins likes to brag. But on Sunday night, when they're headed back home to Maryland, Jenkins shoots Steps a look from the driver's side and then asks, if something was to come Steps' way, would he know what to do with it? Step frowns. It sounds like Jenkins is asking if he would be able to sell the drugs that Jenkins gets from the street. And for a second, Step wonders if this is some kind of trap. But he pushes that out of his mind. They're outside of Baltimore

and out of Jenkins' jurisdiction. Still, Step's not ready to commit to anything. He just shrugs and looks out the window, mumbling maybe under his breath. Jenkins then speaks a little more urgently. He tells Step to think about it. Any money would be split down the middle, and for Step, it'd be pure profit. Step raises his eyebrows. When Jenkins frames it like that, it's hard to say no. Step has a hefty mortgage and a child to support, and as he contemplates it more, he realizes it's relatively low risk. His provider is a cop. He's sat around the poker table at Jenkins' brother's house, and he's heard how cops talk, the things they get away with. Seems like police officers in

Baltimore can do whatever they want without consequence. So Stepp tells Jenkins he's in. Jenkins pounds the steering wheel in excitement. He looks over at Stepp and tells him they're going to make so much money together. There are plenty of big-time drug dealers in Baltimore that Jenkins can steal from. The best part is the dealers can't complain without incriminating themselves. Step laughs. He has to admit it's genius. And he can't wait to get started. From Wondery, this is Episode 1 of Police Corruption in Baltimore for American Scandal.

In our next episode, Wayne Jenkins grows even more daring in his crimes, leading to some close calls. But turmoil at the Baltimore Police Department gives him even more power and autonomy. If you're enjoying American Scandal, you can unlock exclusive seasons on Wondery Plus. Binge new seasons first and listen completely ad-free when you join Wondery Plus in the Wondery app, Apple Podcasts, or Spotify. And before you go, tell us about yourself by filling out a survey at wondery.com slash survey. If you'd like to learn more about Baltimore's Gun Trace Task Force, we recommend the books We Own This City by Justin Fenton and I Got a Monster by Baynard Woods and Brandon Soderbergh. This episode contains reenactments and dramatized details.

And while in most cases we can't know exactly what was said, all our dramatizations are based on historical research. American Scandal is hosted, edited, and executive produced by me, Lindsey Graham, for Airship. Audio editing by Christian Paraga. Sound design by Molly Bach. Music editing by Katrina Zimrack. Music by Lindsey Graham. This episode is written by Austin Rackless. Edited by Emma Cortland. Fact-checking by Alyssa Jung-Perry. Our senior producers are Gabe Riven and Andy Herman. Executive producers are Stephanie Jens, Jamie Lauer Beckman,

and Marshall Louis for Wondery.