You’re probably wondering why on earth I would ask a possible felony burglary suspect to take off his boot, right? Here he was, sitting in my office where I was going to interview him about his potential involvement in the burglary of an appliance store (where a television was stolen) and I want one of his smelly boots.
I had absolutely zero evidence in this case: no proof that he was the prime suspect, no proof that he was involved in the crime in any way. His name had come up, but that is only a lead and is not evidence. The only way that I could arrest him and that he could be convicted of this crime was if he were to confess to the burglary. And that is exactly what I hoped would happen using my trusty piece of aluminum foil. Here’s how it worked.
After the possible suspect took off his boot and handed it to me, I told him to “stay put” while I walked his smelly footwear out to the department’s copier. I lifted the top of the Xerox machine, set the rubber lug sole of the boot on top of the glass, put a white towel over it, closed the lid as best as I could, and pushed the COPY button.
“What’re you doing?” The lieutenant asked me as he came out of his office. By now I was admiring the great quality of the detail in the black-and-white photocopy of the boot sole.
“Come watch,” I answered the lieutenant as I walked back toward my office. He shook his head but complied. I handed the possible suspect his boot back.
“Put it back on,” I said. While he laced up and was looking at his feet, I snuck the photocopy of his boot print into the thick case folder that still sat on top of my desk. Then, I pulled out a large bath towel along with my roll of aluminum foil that I’d brought from home just for this case.
The lieutenant watched with curiosity as I folded the towel four times so that it made a small, thick square of cushy material. I ripped off a piece of foil large enough to cover the cloth square, placed it on the towel, and stood up.
By now the possible suspect was watching me, no doubt trying to figure out what I was actually doing.
“Come over here,” I told the possible suspect. He complied and stood right next to the foil on the towel.
“Now step on that piece of foil, with both of your boots. Rock back and forth twice, then step right off it,” I instructed.
The lieutenant and I both watched as the possible suspect complied, creating a perfect impression in the foil that contained every detail of his hiking boots’ rubber lug soles.
“Now you can sit down,” I said. As I picked up the foil and returned to sit at my desk, I made a big deal of pulling the photocopied shoe track “evidence” from the file with the possible suspect’s name on it. I used facial gestures and made “uh huh” statements as I held the photocopied shoe track up in the air next to the aluminum foil impression of his boot tracks, giving the appearance that I was making a scientific comparison. In reality, I was looking at duplicate copies of his hiking boot—the photocopy I made ten minutes prior using his boot and the aluminum foil impression he just made for me.
I said, “Wow, will you look at that?” I looked at the possible suspect. He watched with mouth open. I glanced at the lieutenant, and he was smiling. He understood what was going on.
I looked directly at the possible suspect as I held out both the photocopy of his boot print and the aluminum foil impression of his boot print so that he could see them.
“We know that you stole that TV,” I lied. “This boot print is an exact match to your boot. This is physical evidence proving that it was you who broke into that store and took the TV. Tell us why you did this.”
Of course, an innocent person would have denied my allegations. If that had happened, I would have known that I was wrong about this “possible suspect” or perhaps that he was just not going to confess. The possible suspect lowered his head in shame and proceeded to confess to the burglary. Later that day, after I had placed him under arrest and finished booking him at the jail, the lieutenant came back into my office.
“Where did you learn that technique?” he asked as he pointed to the roll of aluminum foil.
It was a fair question. Just as I had flirted an armed robbery suspect into custody and had used my twirly-bird technique to spin a bloody drunk down to the ground, I had just solved an investigation using a piece of aluminum foil. These were not established techniques.
The aluminum foil trick was actually something I had learned from a search-and-rescue educational program for small children. The program is called “Hug-A-Tree,” and in it, small children are taught that if they were to get lost in the woods, they should stop, sit down next to a tree, and “hug-a-tree” until searchers could come and find them. But before these kids were to go play in the woods, they were taught to first use a towel and a piece of aluminum foil to create an impression of their shoe track. They were to give that foil to their parents in the off chance that they became lost.
Of course, I didn’t tell my lieutenant that. I needed him to think that I was a genius, a super cop, and a smart detective. Especially if I were to ever be considered for the promotion to the coveted K-9 Handler position. But that, I was to learn soon enough, was clearly never going to happen while working for the Reedley PD.
You have just read / listened to (and enjoyed, I hope) the memoir Pet Tracker by Kat Albrecht. This was originally published and in bookstores in 2004 under the title The Lost Pet Chronicles (Kat’s co-author was Jana Murphy). It went out of print in 2015 and has as since been updated with new stories and renamed Pet Tracker: The Amazing Story of Rachel The K-9 Pet Detective. It is posted here as a free gift to all of Kat’s subscribers.
Here are reviews of the original manuscript (from 2004):
Publishers Weekly Review
In this thoroughly engaging book, Albrecht narrates, with deadpan humor and Grisham-like suspense, the story of how she came to create an entirely new career: lost pet search and rescue. As a police dispatcher and later a police officer in California, Albrecht was duty bound to give human emergencies priority over animal crises, but it wasn't until her Eeyore-like bloodhound, A.J., went missing that Albrecht saw the need for sophisticated detective and scent trail work to find pets. With humor and fascinating insight into search-and-rescue work, Albrecht continues to find innovative ways to help animals and the humans who love them, and inspires readers with her dramatic career changes. This is a must-read for animal lovers and sleuths alike. Copyright 2004 Reed Business Information.
Booklist Review
The book, which recounts several of her cases, is downright engrossing. David Pitt, © American Library Association. All rights reserved.