CONFIDENTIAL FILE

It Happened Here, Believe It or Not

In big cities, little dramas are born every minute.

This one happened a few Wednesdays ago.

Its protagonist was a dark-haired lady, barely 5 feet tall, with a very soft voice. She was, I’d guess, somewhat ungallantly, just past her mid-40s.

She
had married young, raised her family, and now — well, there was time
on her hands. To fill it, she went back to work and among other things,
participated in a weekly ritual known to millions of American women as
the visit to the beauty shop.

Her beauty shop was in Bellflower.

At 7 p.m. sharp, she stepped out of the rainy night, into the same salon she’d been patronizing for years.

She greeted the girls and was led back to her regular cubicle by her regular operator. Just like always.

But halfway through her shampoo, she jerked up her head.

"Did someone call me?" she asked.

The
operator said yes, she thought someone did. They were paging someone to
the telephone. Quickly, the beautician rinsed the customer’s hair and
draped a towel across her shoulders.

The small lady hurried to the phone. She picked up the receiver, which was lying on the counter.

"Hello," she said.

A man’s voice answered. "You can’t see us," it spoke gruffly, "but we can see you. We’re outside."

"Is this a prank?" cried the woman.

"No," was the reply. "It’s no prank. You can come out quietly, or we can come in after you."

The woman paled. "What’s this about?"

"You know what it’s about," answered the man. "It’s about a little manner of grand theft."

Now
the woman was really frightened. She stared in disbelief into the
phone. Nervously, she hissed, "You’re crazy." She slammed down the
receiver.

But as she turned away from the phone, she saw two
men staring at her. There were standing outside the salon’s entrance. A
tall one and a shorter one. The tall one beckoned to her.

Still
slightly dazed, she moved toward them. She was wearing a shampoo cape
and the towel across her shoulders. Her hair was dripping wet.

Cautiously, she pushed the door open a few inches. "What do you want?" she demanded.

One man flashed a badge at her. "Long Beach Police Department," he said.

His
partner grabbed her arm, pulling her halfway out of the shop. "Get that
stuff off you," he snapped. "You’re coming with us."

"What did you do with that furniture?" asked the first man.

"The furniture you stole out of the apartment where you lived," added the second.

"Apartment?" cried the woman. "I’ve been living in the same house for 12 years."

Produces Identification

Suddenly, she jerked her arm free. She ran to the owner of the beauty salon. "Tell these men who I am," she pleaded.

The men were right behind her.

The
small woman grabbed her purse and fumbled through it. "I’ve got
identification," she cried. "I’ve never been in trouble in my life."

She
was so nervous that finally the owner had to help her find her wallet
with the identification cards. He handed it to the plain-clothes
officers.

Carefully, they studied the cards. Then one of them thrust the wallet back at the terrified woman.

"Sorry," he grunted. "You’re not the one we’re after."

Together, the pair turned. And they walked back out into the rainy night.

To
me, it’s a shocking story of injudicious police work. But, fortunately,
it’s a story that Long Beach’s tough Irish city councilman, Pat Ahern, is taking a close look at right now.