Pressing Charges

Ralph stood, arms crossed, as his ex-boyfriend broke down in tears.

“I’m so sorry!” Zachary sobbed. “I shouldn’t have stolen your wallet. I shouldn’t have used your cash to buy five hundred bucks’ worth of free weights and protein powder. I shouldn’t have used your credit card to buy plane tickets to Cabo for me and that guy I met at the gym. Please forgive me!”

Not in a forgiving mood, Ralph shook his head. “Too late. I’ve already filed a police report. I bet there’s a warrant out for you.”

Zachary wailed and fell to his knees. “I’m begging you, Ralph! I don’t want to go to jail. Please don’t press charges!”

Ralph just smiled.

Why is Ralph smiling? Because he knows something his cheating, stealing ex does not: it’s too late for what Zachary is asking.

Victims of crime generally have a choice whether to report it. And they can later make some decisions about how cooperative they want to be in aiding the police investigation. But the only one who can decide whether to press charges is the prosecutor.

This rule has two implications. First, even if a victim decides he doesn’t want the perp to go to jail, he can’t stop the prosecutor from bringing charges. And second, if a prosecutor decides for any reason not to bring charges, there’s nothing the victim can do about it. I know you’ve heard otherwise on a zillion TV shows and probably read otherwise in a zillion books. Ignore all that. The power to bring a criminal case belongs exclusively to the prosecutor. Not to victims, not to cops, not to judges.

Why? This goes to something I’ve blogged about before: the CJ system is intended to act on behalf of society as a whole. Not on behalf of victims. And the prosecutor is, essentially, representing society. You can guess this when you look at criminal case names, which often look like People v. Smith or New Jersey v. Jones. The inhabitants of that state as a whole are one of the parties, and they’re represented by the prosecutor. The victim is not a party to the case.

Now, victims do have some options. As I said, it’s often up to the victim whether to report the crime to police. If Ralph never told the police about Zachary’s misdeeds, the prosecutor would probably never have known that Zachary broke the law, and therefore no charges would have been filed. The victim can also decide how fully to cooperate. Technically, the prosecutor could use various legal means  (such as deposition and subpoena) to force Ralph to answer questions and testify in court. But in practice, if the victim is uncooperative, it’s often tough to get a conviction, so prosecutors may drop the case.

Regardless of what happens with the criminal case, Ralph can also choose to bring a civil lawsuit against Zachary. If he wins, Ralph can try to reclaim his monetary losses. But dragging it into court may not be worth it if the dollar amount is small or if attorney fees will eat up most of it. Or if Zachary is a deadbeat and has no way to pay the judgment.

The takeaway for you as a writer? Victims don’t press charges; prosecutors—and only prosecutors—do.

And Ralph needs to have better taste in boyfriends.

 

There’s a New Sheriff in Town

Curly Bill Cutter and his band of outlaws rushed out of the Perseverance City Bank, pistols in hand and pouches of gold nuggets and greenbacks stuffed into their clothing. But as they raced toward their horses, a man stood in their way. He was tall and lean, with a white Stetson on his head and a thousand-yard stare in his squinty pale eyes. “Hold on there, partners,” he drawled.

Laughing derisively, Curly Bill and his compadres pointed their weapons. But the tall man moved with preternatural grace, unholstering his weapon faster than an eye could track and taking down an outlaw with each bullet. When he was done, five bodies lay still in the dust, and one bullet remained in the chamber. The tall man blew on his weapon before settling it smoothly back in its holster. Then he tipped his hat slightly at a young woman in calico. “Howdy there, ma’am. There’s a new sheriff in town.”

Okay, I may have a bit of unhealthy interest in bad westerns. But we’ve all seen this scene or one like it. Have you ever wondered where that sheriff came from? Turns out he wasn’t a product of the Wild West at all—our sheriff had his start long before that, in Merry Olde England.

Back then, counties were called shires (yes, like where the hobbits live). In an era when travel was rare and dangerous, kings had trouble keeping control of the local population. This state of affairs didn’t improve after the Norman Conquest, when the nobility might not even speak the same language as the locals. So the king would appoint a man to represent him. Depending on the time and place, this man was responsible for a number of things, including collecting taxes, keeping prisoners until the judge rode into town, and generally keeping the peace. His title was reeve. Shire reeve, to be exact. Sheriff.

Sheriffs were often corrupt and often not very popular—like Robin Hood’s nemesis, the Sheriff of Nottingham. Some of these problems were later addressed with a different royal appointee, the coroner. I’ll blog about coroners some other time.

English colonists brought the sheriff system with them to America, where it was used primarily in rural areas. (Urban areas developed a different system based more on the English constable). Since the western United States remained rural for a long time—and, in fact, much of it still is—sheriffs stuck around.

Nowadays, sheriffs are usually elected officials who hire deputies to conduct their work. Wild West sheriffs had deputies too, although often those men were volunteers and worked only for a short, specific time to round up particular bad guys. Sheriffs today provide most of the law enforcement duties in rural areas, including the running of the local jails, just as their counterparts did in England a millennium ago. They may also be charged with other duties such as serving warrants or housing the local coroners office.

An interesting thing about the policing system we inherited from the English is that is takes place mostly at the local rather than national level. I’ll blog about this later too.

Maybe it’s due to their long history, but a lot of enduring legends and archetypes are attached to sheriffs. Think Roscoe P. Coltrane from Dukes of Hazzard. Andy Taylor. Sheriff Bart from Blazing Saddles. Rick Grimes. Bat Masterson. Wyatt Earp. And our old friend, the Sheriff of Nottingham.

Incidentally, don’t get sheriffs confused with another Old West staple, the marshal. There were both town marshals and US marshals. More on them later!