Criminal Justice: Concern About Confessions

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dock-walloper—with the police ever tagging his footsteps. Danny's first job was arranged by Grace's new husband, Mitsura ("Mits") Wakita, a warmhearted Japanese-American and longtime credit manager for a wholesale drug house. Danny worked in the cosmetics stockroom for $1.65 an hour, quit to find more pay in January 1965. In April, Danny was braced on a street corner by a drug addict who was also a paid police informer. By odd coincidence, the cops swooped down just as the addict shoved a bagful of barbiturates into Danny's hand. Blared Chicago's American: MURDERER NABBED ON DOPE CHARGE.

To Be Alone. Without a warrant, the police broke into the Wakitas' apartment and car, "found" two small bottles of sleeping pills that Mits said he had never seen. The pills were of a type not to be sold without prescription, and the Wakitas were booked for drug possession. By the time a judge dismissed the charges, Mits and his wife had been fired from their jobs, kicked out of their apartment, ordered to remove Grace's daughters from their school. When Danny argued entrapment and was found not guilty last June, Judge Walter Kowalski denounced the jury for "a travesty of justice."

One night last February, Mits had a flat tire while driving his family home after visiting Grace's relatives. As he got out to fix it, another car drew up and hovered nearby. When he opened the door to get back into his car, automatically turning on the inside lights, Mits became an easy target and was shot dead. Danny, who had lived with Mits and "loved him like a brother," was immediately pulled in for questioning by the police.

Grace and Danny claim that they have been constantly threatened since the murder of her first husband. Whatever the connection between those threats and Mits's murder, the police have yet to find Mits's killer. Twice police have stopped and searched Danny's car while he was driving Grace and her children. Last month they stopped him again, found a pistol, arrested him and impounded his car. Facing trial next month, Danny groans: "I just hope that great court in Washington makes a new law greater than mine. Then maybe we'll be left alone."

Sharper Sleuthing. Chicago's is not the only U.S. police department suffering an "Escobedo syndrome"—and most of the others blame Chicago for their troubles. "Anybody would have known that guy had a right to see his attorney," snorts a Seattle police lieutenant. "If they hadn't messed up, we wouldn't be stuck today." To get unstuck, more and more police are handing out impeccable warnings. "We warn, warn, warn," says Denver D.A. Bert M. Keating. "It may hurt to stop the guy in midsentence," adds Miami Beach Police Chief Rocky Pomerance, "but what's the use if we can't use what he says?"

In Cincinnati, Prosecutor Melvin G. Reuger is lecturing every single cop on the meaning of Escobedo, and sharply advising them to "do a more effective job before you start talking to a defendant." Adds Atlanta's Detective Superintendent Clinton Chafin: "People now realize they've got to get out and dig up the evidence." Detroit's Detective Chief Vincent Piersante recently revealed a significant set of statistics. In prewarning 1961,

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