Meet Dave Case

I have a creative vein; I always have. Art has always been a constant in my life. After many misstarts in college, I eventually earned a bachelor’s degree in fine art, oil painting. Before that, I had been stumbling from major to major, unsure of my direction—until I took a drawing class. It was the first formal instruction I’d ever received in art, and it was as if a blindfold had been removed from my soul. I fell in love with drawing, and for a time, painting as well. Though, I have recently been toying with watercolor, a challenge in its own right.

I had discovered reading in high school and went nuts in a creative writing class, churning out page after page of a Dumas-inspired adventure. Soon after I discovered reading, I wanted to write. Creativity, for me, is as essential as breathing—a basic need to express and make sense of the world.

Though I dabble in drawing and painting, I’ve settled comfortably into writing as my primary form of expression. Once I became a cop, the creative need sharpened into something more focused: an obsession with portraying the streets honestly and accurately. To do less, would be a disservice to the men and women serving in police departments across the country.

Victims.

Victims aren’t sexy. They’re real, usually sad, sometimes naïve and occasionally even funny.

Our society, and certainly the justice system, attributes much more in the way of rights and privilege to the offender, the bad guy, the villain, or asshole as I like to say, than they do to the person who has been harmed. Just go and watch court proceedings one day. The accused is represented, sometimes at no expense, by an attorney, who will explain every step to our erstwhile villain. Meanwhile, the victim will be left standing in the middle of the courtroom wondering what just happened as their antagonist is led out of the courtroom’s door a free man. Maybe, just maybe, the overworked, underpaid assistant state’s attorney might take the time to explain to our perplexed victim what shenanigans had just transpired, which further victimizes our victim.

Paperwork. Paperwork. More paperwork. And then even more paperwork.

When I first became serious about writing, my writing group would critique my writing with the same comment: “You write like a cop.” It’s a habit I still struggle with. Cops write constantly, but none of it creative.

“On Monday, at approximately 1100 hours, Jane, carrying her purse on her right shoulder, walked westbound on the sidewalk when she was approached by the offender who was eastbound on foot. The offender, NKA Dick, grabbed the purse from her shoulder and fled eastbound on the sidewalk before turning northbound down the alley . . .”

That’s police writing—precise, factual, stripped of emotion and interpterion. Creativity has no place there. The job requires facts, not flair.

For a working cop, creative writing and report writing must live in separate compartments. Keeping them apart, however, has never been easy for me as I’d like.

Quite simply, truth takes time. It takes time to sift through the debris—both physical and emotional—to look beyond the surface of events and uncover real motivation, especially when intent is a critical element of criminal prosecution.

I remember a case in the news years and years ago where the head of the police department went on TV accusing officers of wrongdoing while crime scene tape was still up, and detectives were actively canvassing the area for witnesses. The issue wasn’t merely that the boss had made a public declaration—it was that the investigation was still on-going. At the very least, have the patience to allow the facts to emerge.

The FBI allows their agents involved in a shooting to go through two sleep cycles before eliciting a formal statement, recognizing the psychological impact of such incidents. Yet street cops are expected to give detailed statements within hours of the incident, despite the substantial evidence showing this practice can undermine accuracy and reliability.

The relentless demand for immediate information—driven by political pressure and financial incentives—have created an environment where the immediacy outweighs thoroughness and the ability to do a quality investigation. We’ve seen this play out in the media time and again, the Ferguson Missouri incident standing out as a particularly striking example of irresponsible reporting, misinformation and speculation fueling further unrest and violence.

I believe the police departments across the country generally do a good job identifying and removing problematic or criminal individuals from their ranks, even if the process is sometimes slowed by contractual obligations. Those contracts, however, exist for good reason. Historically, police departments were heavily influenced by politics, and officers’ livelihoods could hinge on the whims of those in power.

It’s often said that most crime comes from desire—someone wanting what they don’t have and being willing to take it from someone who does. The reasons behind that lack, and the willingness to take from others, are complex and have filled volumes of analysis and debate. But wanting something, even taking it, is not always framed as inherently evil.

Or is it?

According to Webster’s Dictionary, evil is defined as:

1. Morally reprehensible, arising from actual or perceived bad character or conduct
2. Inferior or disagreeable, causing discomfort or repulsion
3. Harmful, or marked by misfortune

With this definition in mind, much of what we call crime can, in fact, be classified as evil. Yet the concept itself has evolved. Over time, social and cultural pressures have encouraged us to contextualize wrongdoing, often providing the offender with explanations—or excuses—for harmful behavior.

When I think of evil, however, my understanding is shaped less by dictionaries and more by entertainment. Like many, I am a product of the stories I’ve absorbed—especially those told on the big screen. There, evil is depicted as something darker and more absolute: a relentless impulse to injure, to cause suffering—emotional or physical—and, ultimately, to destroy.

And I have encountered those people, and believe me, the hair on the back of my neck stands on end, pardon the cliché. It is no surprise that, “these people,” have driven much of our entertainment today, including my own contributions. I continue striving to accurately portray all sides of my antagonists and protagonists.