Drop the Pen! What Every Writer Should Know About Real Police Work: Six Terms Writers Tend to Get Wrong About Police Work

By D.L. Williams

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There are terms in films and novels that are used interchangeably, despite the fact they actually refer to different things. For example, in Stephen King’s novel, “The Green Mile,” death row inmates occasionally refer to The Cold Mountain Penitentiary as “jail,” and in the Sylvester Stallone film, “First Blood,” the tiny local lockup in the fictional town of Hope, Washington is referred to as a prison. This is not a big deal, especially when it comes to dialogue. Fictional characters flub, either because they don’t know better or, perhaps, because the writer is inserting irony. 

If you want your hardened criminal to refer to his maximum-security prison as “jail,” or you want a naïve person in your story to refer to his two-hour confinement in a local holding cell as “my time in prison” for comedic purposes, I say rock on. However, it is often evident the writer plugged in an incorrect term, not for style or characterization purposes, but purely from a lack of information or research. It’s far better to be a well-informed writer who can tweak dialogue and descriptions artistically than an author who throws out incorrect terms due to not having done their homework. Let’s take a look at the six most common terms I hear or read that are used incorrectly: 

Misdemeanor or Felony

Misdemeanors are lower-level offenses for which a person can only be sentenced to a maximum of one year of confinement. Felonies, on the other hand, are more serious and can carry an incarceration sentence of anywhere from a year to the rest of the convicted person’s life and/or the death penalty. 

Every state has its own definitions of what constitutes a misdemeanor versus a felony. Each state’s statutes clearly differentiate between the two based on the severity of the offense, how many times the person has been convicted of a crime, or the dollar value of a stolen or intentionally damaged piece of property. 

For example, shoplifting is a misdemeanor, but many states also have theft statutes that bump the misdeed up to a felony if the item or items stolen are valued above $1,000. Driving While Intoxicated (DWI) is a misdemeanor unless the driver hurts someone in a crash or if the arrestee has been previously convicted multiple times for DWI. 

There are other significant differences: People arrested on a misdemeanor are often allowed to leave jail after posting bail without first having seen a judge, whereas many states mandate a person arrested for a felony-level offense is seen by a judge who will set the bail amount before release. Convicted felons are not allowed to vote or own a firearm in many states, oftentimes for life, whereas most misdemeanors can be expunged (legally erased) after a period of time.  

Jail or Prison

Jails are holding facilities used to detain people accused of a crime or who have been convicted of a misdemeanor offense and sentenced to less than one year of confinement. Prisons, on the other hand, are only for people who have been convicted of a felony and who have been sentenced to at least one year. 

Things can get tricky here, so tighten your hat strap. People arrested for felonies will be held in jail until they are convicted. Remember (and I don’t say this lightly), people are innocent until proven guilty in a court of law, so what they’re initially arrested for may be quite different than what they’re sentenced for at trial. Thus, potential felons will be held in jail until trial (or until they agree to a plea bargain). Many jails segregate those accused of violent felonies from misdemeanants, but this depends on state statues, local policies, the physical size of the jail, and manpower resources. Thus, someone arrested for stealing a loaf of bread could well be in the same jail cell as someone arrested for murder. 

Probation or Parole

Probation and Parole are terms used to describe the condition of release from confinement following sentencing. They are used so interchangeably that they have become colloquial synonyms. They are different, however. Someone on probation has been convicted of a crime, misdemeanor or felony, but was not sent to prison. They may serve jail time, pay fines, do community service, but they never set foot in a prison for the crime they committed. Parole, on the other hand, is exclusively for convicted felons who have spent some time in prison. 

The difference between probation and parole may be insignificant in a conversation between two characters in your WIP, but it is significant in terms of the conditions of release. People on probation may be court-ordered to do certain things such as keep their probation officer apprised of where they live or work, take an occasional drug test, or do community service in lieu of jail time. 

People on parole, however, are only allowed to leave prison based on good behavior and an agreement to give up certain rights upon release. Most significantly, parolees generally give up their Fourth Amendment protections against government intrusions into their privacy. Thus, a parole officer can search a parolee’s house, demand an immediate drug test, require a detailed list of friends and family members, and insist on being privy to just about every move a person recently released from prison makes. 

The street lingo for someone on parole is that they are “on paper.” Your fictional detective will want to know if a parolee she’s interrogating is on paper, and she may want to get access to that person’s “chronos,” the written reports filed by prison and parole officials documenting how that person behaves, if they were often in trouble or were a model prisoner while incarcerated, if they’re going to their court-mandated therapy sessions, or if they’re making progress with drug rehab, etc. 

Police officers do not have the authority to intrude into a parolee’s private spaces (home, car, bodies, etc.). A common scenario when a cop is investigating a person on parole is for the detective to contact the parole officer and detail why their parolee is a suspect in the latest crime. The cop can’t order or even ask the parole officer to perform a search, but the parole officer can offer of his own accord. Generally, the parole officer will then invite the detective to come along and help out on the search. This is an end run on the Fourth Amendment. This is, by definition, a warrantless search, and, in my opinion, should only be used as a last resort and only if the crime being investigated is especially egregious. 

Bail or Bond

Bail and bond are probably the most confused terms I see in prose and in screenplays. Bail is the amount of money set by the court as a condition of release prior to trial. No one wants to sit in jail for weeks or months awaiting a court date, and the Eighth Amendment requires that the bail amount not be excessive. People who complain that judges are “soft” for allowing an accused person to pay bail and leave jail before their court date simply haven’t read or don’t understand this section of the Constitution. 

People who do pay the bail amount will get a refund when they show up for trial, but they forfeit the money if they “Fail to Appear” (often referred to as FTA), at which point the judge will issue a warrant for their arrest. 

Bail bonds, on the other hand, are posted by a bonding company or an attorney. It’s like a loan, only with heavy interest. Most bail bond companies don’t actually have to pay the court anything unless their client doesn’t show up for court. If that happens, bail bond companies will go looking for the person who burned them, and they’ll set a bounty hunter on the accused person’s trail. 

All of these terms are interchangeable in most people’s minds, which means you have wiggle room when it comes to how your fictional characters use them. Write your dialogue based on what you imagine your good guys and bad guys would know and say, but always do so from a position of insider knowledge.

Drop the Pen! What Every Writer Should Know About Real Police Work

Stop Making Real Cops Cringe

By D.L. Williams

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I met my wife at a murder trial. She was a journalist covering the hearings of a man who’d blasted a guy and his girlfriend for stealing his favorite gun, and I was a detective who’d worked on the case. I wasn’t the lead in that investigation, but I’d found the bullets matching the caliber fired from the murder weapon, along with a picture of the suspect holding his treasured “street sweeper” shotgun in his best gangland tough-guy pose, while helping out on the search warrant. 

I remained composed during cross examination when I spotted her from the witness stand, but she was flipping gorgeous. It took concentration to testify about the laundry-piled, old shoe-smelling closet where I’d found the ammunition and photograph, all while thinking about those eyes and the cute way her hair was tucked behind her left ear. Police work can be so rough.

Hollywood makes it seem like detectives hang out after their testimony to watch the drama through the remainder of the trial, but reality is that caseloads generally demand we go back to work on that stack of other cases waiting on our desks. That day, however, I stuck around, hoping for a chance to meet the woman taking notes in the second row. She was the consummate professional, however, and would have little to do with a cop involved in a case she was covering. It worked out, though. Sometime later we had lunch…and grandkids. 

Recently we were watching a mystery on one of the streaming services. It was more cozy than thriller, not our usual fare, but we like the lead actress from previous series and decided to give it a try. The storyline follows a civilian employee working for a metropolitan police department who solves a murder case by scrutinizing a conspiracy board when all the cops had gone home for the night. Think of a brilliant but flawed Matt Damon staring at a wall of math while holding a push broom, the only one able to solve the equation in Good Will Hunting. 

The show was fine until the middle of the second act when the protagonist was chastised by her detective mentor for taking items out of an evidence locker without permission, ferrying them to her own home so she could have a closer look, and then allowing her precocious ten-year-old son to help her sift through said evidence to get his take on things. The only question for my wife and I at that point was who was closer to the remote. 

Last year I was asked to read an Advance Review Copy for a mystery/thriller author. The story involved a street-savvy investigator, yet the protagonist routinely performed in ways that made him appear naïve. One glaring instance had him realizing his gun had been stolen, and he presumed the murderer was now in possession of his one and only available weapon. Despite this, he continued on to confront this shadowy menace without backup or a weapon of any kind. We get it; he’s a tough guy who doesn’t need any help and moves faster than bullets. He’s also an idiot. 

That kind of decision is counter to any logical response, yet the character had been nothing but disciplined and well trained up to that point. He was not thinking like a cop anymore, and many regular readers of mystery or real-life criminal justice professionals would raise an eyebrow and move on to the next book in the To Be Read pile. 

Readers and viewers may suspend some disbelief over iffy police or investigative practices for a cozy mystery, less so for darker thrillers, and not at all for police procedurals. It’s perfectly fine to fudge a bit while creating red herrings and crafting unusual characters. What is not okay is to simply omit or obscure good procedure for lack of research or to spackle over a plot hole. Frankly, it comes off as lazy, unimaginative, or a bit desperate. 

Oftentimes this creates work that feels like a copy of a copy, as if the writer learned all they know about police work from other writers of mystery or from watching old cop shows—lots of “just the facts, ma’am,” and “ten-fours,” but very little in terms of well-researched practice. 

This would never fly in historical fiction. Readers of that genre demand well-researched details in novels and films, and they tend to be something of experts themselves when it comes to a specific historical period. Writers of mysteries and procedurals should rise to at least that level of expectation when it comes to their own projects. 

You don’t have to be a beat cop or detective to write good mysteries, but you owe it to the story, your readers, and your own reputation to better understand the culture and practices involved. Unconstitutional searches and seizures, derivative suspect interrogations, and clueless practices by experienced professionals scratch across prose like a record needle bouncing over vinyl tracks. 

Of course, that may be exactly what you had in mind if you’re developing a sinister or incompetent cop character. You may want to portray a detective as inept or corrupt, in which case folding an unconstitutional search or an abusive interrogation into the storyline may be just the direction you need to take. Even then, I encourage writers to cultivate an understanding of how cops think, the mindset of predators, and basic victimology. The result will be more nuanced and compelling character arcs.

I hear from writers across the country asking questions about specific passages in their stories, and I’m always honored to discuss ideas on how they can generate more authenticity into their works in progress. They often lament what they perceive as a lack of resources for learning more about police practices and culture. Many have a great premise but no clear direction on how to make the story ring true. 

There are many books on the subject of professional police work and best practices in criminal investigations. My suggestions for getting started include Criminology Goes to The Movies (Nicole Rafter and Michelle Brown), Walk the Blue Line (James Patterson), and Malicious Intent: A Writer’s Guide to How Murderer’s, Robbers, Rapists and Other Criminals Behave (Sean Mactire). 

Additionally, I encourage you to explore writing conferences offering speakers on topics related to the mystery genre. Time and finances for travel don’t need to hold you back. There are several online seminars devoted to teaching real police work for authors. Writers’ Police Academy, for example, offers an online version of their in-person conference. Better yet, go directly to the source. 

You may already know a cop or have access to one by a degree or two of separation. Set up coffee or lunch and pick that officer’s brain about scenes you’re crafting. Certainly, ask them questions pertaining to your plot, but I encourage you to take things a step further once you’ve developed some rapport. At that point you can try to open them up about their scariest day, a case they’re most proud of, or how they came to the profession. You’re likely to be amazed, and your notebook is going to be filled with new, adventurous ideas on where your story or series can go next. 

Consider riding along with a local police or sheriff’s department. Many agencies welcome members of the community to ride out with a patrol officer or deputy, allowing you to see, hear, smell, and sense real police work up close. The officers picked for such assignments tend to be more experienced, and most have demonstrated a willingness and ability to talk about their profession in vivid and frank terms.

Explore a citizen’s police academy if you want an even more immersive experience. This is a modified version of a real academy where you get hands-on experience with forensic techniques, clarity on constitutional concerns related to policing, a sampling of various services offered by the department, and some self-defense and firearms training. You’ll have a ball, make new friends, and add experts to your writing network.

I was an English Lit major, which means I wrote good police reports (extra points if I could work in a metaphor). It also means I will forever be in awe of great writing. I feel kinship with and reverence for storytellers and want each of us to rise beyond our own perceived abilities. The expectation I hold for myself is that I will treat our craft with the same discipline as a surgeon would for medicine or a dancer for music. That means we’re in a practice, where we acknowledge we will never learn enough, yet we can never stop trying to learn more. 

Writers shouldn’t prescribe paths for other writers. Voice is all about telling our stories in our own cadence and combinations. That said, I’m asking you to honor my former profession by learning about it, then honor yourself and your work by weaving what you’ve learned into extraordinary stories we celebrate and remember. Onward!

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David “D.L.” Williams is a public safety veteran with assignments including paramedicine, patrol in high-need areas, helicopter rescue, mental health liaison, and violent crime investigations as a detective. During his thirty-year career, Williams was twice named Officer of the Year by the Fraternal Order of Police, and he has been recognized by Rotary Club, the American Legion, and the National Coalition Against Sexual Violence for his work with families and children in crisis. He now teaches criminology at the University of Arkansas, and he is the bestselling author of Fighting for Her Life: What to do When Someone You Know is Being Abused and Textbooks, Not Targets: How to Prevent School Shootings in Your Community. He and his family have settled in the Ozark Mountains where they offer a haven for donkeys and horses who previously endured a rough life.