Pubdate: Wed, 01 Nov 2000
Source: Washington Post (DC)
Copyright: 2000 The Washington Post Company
Contact:  1150 15th Street Northwest, Washington, DC 20071
Feedback: http://washingtonpost.com/wp-srv/edit/letters/letterform.htm
Website: http://www.washingtonpost.com/
Authors: Manuel Roig-Franzia and Ian Shapira, Washington Post Staff Writers

VICTIM WAS 'THE BEST OF THE BEST'

They are the actors of any police department, adept at coolly assuming the 
role of a street punk, a desperate addict, a bloodless drug peddler.

The best undercover officers have an uncanny ability to blend seamlessly 
into even the roughest landscapes. It is an instinctual skill, former 
undercover agents say, an art form beyond the grasp of officers who cannot 
shed their own personalities to play a role. And Edward M. Toatley, the 
Maryland state trooper killed Monday in Northeast Washington, was 
remembered yesterday as one of the best.

"You always have to be acting," said Stephan Dembinsky, president of the 
International Association of Undercover Officers and a former undercover 
policeman in Miami Beach. "You're living a lie; sometimes it's hard to come 
back to reality. It takes a special kind of officer; not every cop is cut 
out for it."

An undercover officer's most important tool is his mouth, former undercover 
officers say, and Toatley used his exceptionally well. He perfected the 
language of the streets and larded his speech with phrases that made him 
sound like an insider.

Trooper Cynthia Brown remembered marveling at Toatley's style when she was 
a rookie in 1988. Toatley took her to a sporting goods store suspected of 
being a drug front, she said.

"He told them I was his baby's mama--that's street [talk] for his 
girlfriend--from New York," Brown said. "The drug dealers really liked him. 
. . . And the whole time I was in the store, I honestly felt like I was 
with drug dealers. That's when I knew I was with the best of the best. You 
would never know that he was a police officer."

A 16-year state trooper, Toatley was killed during a joint undercover 
investigation with federal agents that targeted a cocaine distribution 
ring. The job called for close contact with suspected dealers, including 
hand-to-hand drug deals. It was work Toatley knew well--he had conducted 
undercover investigations for 12 years--and enjoyed despite its relentless 
nature, troopers who knew him said.

Success in undercover work comes in bursts separated by hours of grinding 
labor that can wear at the fabric of home lives.

Andy Lee, a former undercover officer in the District who is now sheriff in 
Benton County, Ark., recalled a withering schedule of night arrests 
followed by day court appearances.

"It's one of the areas in law enforcement that you become burned out on 
quickly," Lee said.

Toatley was not immune from the pressures of the schedule, but he handled 
them better than most, said Trooper Michael Hawkins, vice president of the 
Coalition of Black Maryland State Troopers.

"They're always on the go. The hours are inconsistent. They could be gone 
20 hours a day. It's a strain on the family," said Hawkins, who had worked 
with Toatley. "That's what he loved to do, though. And no one could take 
that away from him.

"He wasn't a straight-road dog," said Hawkins, invoking a term troopers use 
to describe officers who prefer routine jobs.

The popular image of undercover officers, fueled by Hollywood depictions, 
is one of sullen loners who eschew social contact while fixating on their 
jobs. But neighbors say Toatley didn't fit the stereotype.

He was remembered yesterday in his Halethorpe neighborhood, south of 
Baltimore, as an open and affable person.

Neighbor Kitty Foice said that Toatley was close to her 19-year-old son, 
Joey, and was advising him about applying to become a state trooper. "Ed 
told him he'd do whatever he could to get him into the state police. He was 
a mentor to him," Foice said.

Toatley also took an active role in the black troopers association, serving 
as president at the time of his death, and other police groups.

At a fundraiser last month for the Concerns of Police Survivors--a support 
group for the families of officers killed in action--Toatley roasted Col. 
David B. Mitchell, the state police superintendent. An imposing man, 
Mitchell is known for his straight, immovable hair, which made him a target 
for Toatley's wicked sense of humor, said officers who attended the event.

"Ed got up there and gave a great roast, and everyone was still reeling," 
Hawkins said. "Then he walked up to him and mushed his hair around. 
Everybody--175 people--erupted. No one would ever do that."
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