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In California, the law requires that when the police are done tapping someone's phone, they must inform that person. I got a letter from the San Bernardino County Sheriff’s office (homicide division) that they'd been listening in to my phone calls for the last three months, and that the warrant for my phone had now expired. I live in Nevada, however, and I can only assume that it was easier to get a wiretap in California than it is in Nevada, especially for cellular phones. Thanks to laws passed for benefit of the mafia in the 70s, Nevada has some of the strictest anti-wiretapping laws in the nation; virtually nothing is admissible if someone heard it on the phone.
The way it worked was this: A former acquaintance/coworker of mine, I guy I'd known in high school, turned out to be a big-time drug addict. One day he was arrested for possession of methamphetamine and forging a check. Apparently this genius coworker of mine brought his dope with him when he went into the local supermarket and tried to cash a $900 stolen check altered to be made out to himself. He was sentenced to drug court, where, if he managed to complete therapy and stay sober, everything would be forgiven. Sounds fair, and I guess it is, especially since there's a higher rate of sobriety with drug court than otherwise.
A month into the program, however, the US Secret Service kicked in his door and arrested him for a variety of check frauds, including stealing SSI checks from mailboxes, altering those checks, forging checks from scratch, and God only knows what else. Much like Monty Haul, they were willing to make a deal, but only if he narced out everyone he ever knew who did something wrong. The problem was, he'd already ratted out everyone who had ACTUALLY committed a crime the FIRST time he got arrested a few months prior. So he started making shit up. Apparently including a murder that I was alleged to have been involved in (at least, I'm assuming it was a murder, since it was the homicide division doing the wire tapping).
Now, I used to take drugs. A LOT of drugs. Enough drugs to get me locked up for life. I'm not bragging, since I'm certainly not proud of it, but I'm willing to point out and accept my flaws. I've done illegal shit before. But it's been years since I took drugs, and I never hurt anyone or their property, and certainly not physically. To anyone who knows me, the very suggestion would be ludicrous. I am so law-and-order, straight-and-narrow it can seem downright scary at times. But I guess the Secret Service didn't know me very well.
Here's the catch: At the time I was being wiretapped, I was employed as an assistant probation officer (and general assistant) for both the local District Attorney's office and Probation Department. Take notes, do paperwork, initial intakes, pee in cups, that sort of thing. I was talking about crimes all the time! Constantly! And I only talk to four people on the phone, since I don't know or like anyone else: my mom, my ex-wife, and my two best friends. One of them is a deputy DA, and is as straight-and-narrow as a human being can possibly be (almost disturbingly so), and a civil engineer who discusses burying shit in the desert ad nauseum (his master's thesis has something to do with the reactivity of concrete and desert soils; I don't ever know what the hell he's talking about, but I nod sagely and politely whenever he starts ranting about watching mud dry).
The engineer and I both got letters a couple of years ago from the San Bernardino Sheriff’s office that our cell phones had been tapped, and hinting that our home phones had been as well. It was legitimate; when we called the Sheriff’s office, they would tell us that the letters were indeed genuine, though they refused to share anymore details. The FBI also has a file on at least me (though whether it was from the drug-addict days or the wiretapping days I honestly don't know -- fortunately everything posted on a message board is hearsay), though the FBI has so far declined to share the contents with me (and for good reason).
Thank God I didn't have anything criminal to hide. But the police, on the advice of a snitch, still listened to every private discussion I had. Every heartbreaking argument I had with my ex-wife over our daughter. Every private, intimate insecurity I shared with my mother. Every sensitive conversation about juvenile offenders I had with my DA buddy, conversations which are privacy-protected by state and federal statute as well as court order for the protection of children. Every discussion with my engineer friend about our respective sex lives, which included the most personal details of not only ourselves, but our wives and girlfriends, has been recorded somewhere by some government bureaucrat for posterity..
So if you hear clicking on the phone line, or even breathing, it's probably not someone listening in. It's probably an old phone line that has condensation in the cable somewhere between the phone company and your house, or maybe a nosy office-mate. But it might be the police, or the government.
What do you want them to hear? Do they have a reason to listen in? Do the dirty little details of your life deserve to be known, even to perfect strangers who will never tell anyone else? Is the paranoia at least sometimes justified? In my case, at least, it is. I know that, for the rest of my life, I can never have a moment of privacy again.
Your papers, please.
Long-winded post, especially for Christmas Eve. Thanks for reading.
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