I ask because after I moved out with Bruce and Cheryl, I got a phone call at work. It was from Fairfax County police, and they wanted to speak to me. I told them they could see me at home later that day, since I was doing the morning shift.
At about 4pm, I met a female police officer at my house, who looked shocked when she saw me. She was a short woman, a little on the stout side, who showed me her badge, and when I asked her what this was about, she immediately asked if I had anything to confess. A taller and thinner police officer stayed outside. I I remember thinking in my head, "Out of all the weird things that happen to me, what would involve the law?" She took some Poloroids of me, but kept shaking her head and I heard her mutter, "He doesn't look like the description at all..."
We sat on the couch, and that's when the male came in. Both of them started asking my whereabouts on some date, and I was giving answers they didn't like; "I don't know... I don't record these things." The male seemed "suspicious" that I wouldn't remember exactly where I was on some date a few months earlier.
Dude, I am still mad about that. Ask me where I was July 11th of 2003? I have no idea. I'd have to see my journal entries, but I didn't have a journal back in 1988.
They asked if I had been to McLean (where I grew up) recently. I told them I hadn't been to McLean since I stopped working there about 8 months ago. They asked a lot of questions about if I had visited any playgrounds, or had any friends in McLean I hung out with that would have meetings in playgrounds. I said no. They they asked if I knew of some family, and showed me some random photos. I had never seen them before. They looked Hispanic, and I could tell from the types of photos, they were probably well off.
After a lot of questioning where I didn't seem to have the answers they were looking for, they told me that I was a "possible suspect" in a kidnapping. A little girl had been kidnapped, and "several people" reported me in an anonymous tipline. But they said I didn't match any physical suspect (I was far too tall, and blond), and I didn't seem to fit any other details, but I was suspicious because I grew up there, had a history of depression, had recently moved away from McLean, "lived with others not related to me," moved around a lot, and had been estranged from my family. They also heard I hung around with "unsavory characters" and fit some model profile to those who sexually molest children. Some of the questions asked about my financial status were asked because they were curious if I was part of some ransom pact with others. They asked about the science fictions conventions, who I knew there, and what I did at them.
Keep in mind, I wasn't under arrest, they just asked questions. When the whole thing was over, they seemed to give off this sense of frustration, and their parting question was, "Do you have any idea why several people gave your name in the tipline?" I guess because I totally didn't fit into the investigation at all, but I had been reported by several people. I didn't have an answer for that.
I still don't.
It irks me that "several people" reported me. And it had to be people I knew, because the police asked me questions relating to incidents that happened while I was a teen that no one knew but a handful of friends. Over the years, I have suspected a few people, but it's just idle speculation because then the motive for reporting me is a mystery. Was it some former McLean friends who wanted to get revenge? The only group I can think of were some "pals" who, in an attempt to get me laid, were obviously frustrated I didn't like any of the girls they set me up with, nor did they "approve" of me dating a girl from West Virginia. We sort of broke off our friendship abruptly when they came to me at Disclave 88, and had an "intervention" about dating takayla, because "all those inbred girls from those places have one goal: get married, have babies, divorce you, and live in their trailers off your income to spawn more girls who do the same to hapless rich folk." I told them, in so many words, to fuck off and die. Maybe the people who tipped me in were all those nosy busybodies in the Southridge Women's Club, who always saw me as "that Larson boy" because I was awkward, gothy, and my parents were the former town drunk and the father that "doesn't like anybody." Or maybe it was just a bunch of concerned citizens who combed through suspect profiles, and I hit a bunch of "hot points," as the police hinted.
The cops called me at work only once after that (about a month later), because they wanted to make sure I was going to be in town for the next few days, and they may or may not ask me to come down to the station. But they never called again, and my life went on as normally as it usually did.
So I am thinking, suppose you hate a guy, like some surly assistant manager at a grocery store who looked at you funny, and want to fuck with him. Someone gets kindapped or murdered, or a bomb blows up in some public area, and they set up a tip line. You and your nasty friends decide to independently report the guy you don't like as "a hot tip." How are these people protected?