There are few people in my division more useless than the officers in the cell room. Yes, they are always busy, and yes, they process a lot of prisoners in a tour, but they chose the job not because they cared, but because they didn’t want to work the street.
On Thursday, the turnkey came upstairs with paperwork for a prisoner. The prisoner was arrested in another division, but the Chinese Wuhan Virus shut down their cell room. The turnkey sits by my desk and says, “This guy doesn’t have an FBI number attached to his paperwork. We need you to go downstairs, talk to him, and see if he is who he says he is.”
This guy and I have gone round and round for years now, so I had to re-explain the procedure to him for the umpteenth time.
“Actually, I don’t have to talk to him, because the policy says any sworn officer can ask the subject questions to confirm his identity. So you, specifically, can ask him that question, since you work in the cell room. Or better yet, you can call the FBI office downtown, and they’ll give you his number!”