for ice and decide where I choose to walk.
The legal questions abound when one steps into another sovereign
nation:
"State police Master Sgt. John C. Drumm was ready to tackle the
underbelly of Connecticut's liveliest little city, where up to 60,000
free-wheeling gamblers party around the clock every day.
Within a year's time on the beat at Foxwoods Resort Casino, he says,
he was immersed in investigating enough alleged wrongdoing to pack a
noir thriller: prostitution, narcotics abuse, poker chip
counterfeiting, illegal kickbacks, sexual assault coverup and lurking
mobsters. After less than 18 months on the job, Drumm and another
detective, Richard Perron, were abruptly transferred in 1996 by top
police brass in a case that attracted statewide headlines. Drumm's
lawyers say he was forced out by pressure from the Mashantucket
Pequot Tribe that extended all the way to Gov. John G. Rowland -- but
they offer no clear evidence of this.
Now, in a little-noticed case before the small Mashantucket Pequot
Tribal Court, Drumm and Perron are suing the tribe, painting a
picture of a gaming enterprise more worried about adverse publicity
than working with police investigators and upholding the law.
"It's despicable," Mashantucket lawyer Jackson King said of the
charges in the lawsuit. "We have as much interest as the state of
Connecticut in making sure there are no corrupt influences here.
There is no organized crime. There is no stealing. We are all in the
same boat."
Drumm, a highly decorated state police officer who is now the
executive officer in the Westbrook barracks, says he's only out to
clear his name. A former selectman in East Haddam, he is known for
his penchant for speaking up. In 1993, he successfully sued in
federal court after he was passed over for promotion.
Through his new lawsuit Drumm has pulled aside the curtains that
shield law enforcement and gambling regulation at Foxwoods, a
sovereign nation largely closed to scrutiny by the outside world.
With the state growing more dependent on slot machine revenue from
Foxwoods and Mohegan Sun -- and more Indian casinos in the pipeline --
Drumm and his lawyers say their case is a critical test of whether a
federally recognized tribe and its prosperous casino can operate
above the law.
"Who is running the show, them or us?" said John R. Williams, a New
Haven civil rights lawyer representing Drumm and Perron, who is a
state police detective.
"If they were allowed to get away with avoiding [a lawsuit] for
something like this, then they would be above the law. This is about
going off the reservation and going into the governor's office and
lobbying to hurt somebody," Williams said.
Two weeks ago, a tribal judge handed down a ruling rejecting Drumm
and Perron's suit, which charges that the tribe and casino executives
libeled and targeted them for prosecution. Williams said Drumm and
Perron will appeal in tribal court and also seek to have the case
moved back to state Superior Court.
"It's two people with hurt feelings," said David Williams, who
represented the Mashantuckets in tribal court, referring to Drumm and
Perron. "They have made all sorts of claims. They can testify to
anything they want."
In stacks of court documents, Drumm and Perron offer the sort of
behind-the-scenes details rarely revealed about Connecticut's
casinos, including describing an "illusory" relationship between the
state police and the tribal gaming commission, which oversees
gambling on the reservation.
In one case, the suit says, police were watching a known felon, a
burglar from Old Lyme, who was a regular at the casino. With no
apparent means of income, he was rapidly accumulating casino "comp
points," which are awarded to patrons for each dollar spent and can
be used to purchase meals and drinks.
Working with informants from casino staff, police determined he was
running up thousands of points and tried to investigate further. When
they went to the tribe's gaming commission, state police were told
the man had no points in his account. Eventually, police
investigators realized they should never ask for information from the
gaming commission unless they already knew the answer, Drumm says in
his suit.
"We would get information on a crime," Drumm said in testimony, "and
we would then go and ask [the tribal gaming officials] for the
information to build the state's case and we would get the
information back and it would be washed ... that's the phrase they
use -- washed, cleansed."
Drumm said investigations were thwarted by the tribe's gaming
commission to avoid anything that could lead to "an embarrassment to
the casino operation."
"You had to negotiate for information. You had to negotiate for
[something] as simple as photos taken by surveillance cameras," Drumm
testified.
"The gaming commission started a pattern of [saying] 'the information
is not available.' We weren't able to obtain certain evidence. Every
foot of that place is photographed. Ironically, we would not be able
to get video surveillance," Drumm said.
In another instance, Drumm describes a case where a casino
entertainer allegedly committed a sexual assault in a hotel room. By
the time police investigators arrived, management had the room
cleaned, including changing the sheets on the bed.
'Extremely Cooperative'
As a federally recognized Indian tribe, the Mashantuckets have
a "government-to-government" relationship with the outside world.
A "tribal-state compact" as thick as a phone book details all
permitted gambling activities on their reservation, from technical
standards for slot machines to the licensing of casino employees.
Under it, the Mashantuckets' gaming commission has primary
responsibility for supervising tribal gambling.
Virtually none of the casino oversight is available for public
review. The state's gaming agency, the Division of Special Revenue,
is prohibited by the compact from releasing virtually any
information, including audits it conducts to make sure the state is
receiving 25 percent of all slot machine revenue.
"The state is doing an excellent job" overseeing the casinos, said
Susan G. Townsley, executive director of the Division of Special
Revenue, an agency largely concerned with making sure the state gets
it fair share of slots revenue, which totaled about $370 million for
the most recent fiscal year.
"The [gaming] commissions at both casinos have been extremely
cooperative. Our relationship with them is very good. We have a
system that is working very well," said Townsley.
The compact is also clear about the role of state police at Foxwoods.
"Law enforcement officers of the state of Connecticut shall be
accorded free access to any gaming facilities," it states, including
access to "locked and secure areas of the gaming facility."
In court documents, Drumm and Perron describe relations between the
gaming commission and the police as "icy at best and downright
dysfunctional at worst."
King, the Mashantuckets' lawyer, said the tribe has never stood in
the way of police doing their job. "The compact provides that the
state police have a presence in the casino. It gives them unfettered
access," he said. "They have an absolute right. They don't have to
knock on the door."
Sgt. J. Paul Vance, a spokesman for the state police, said there is
no indication that problems described in Drumm and Perron's suit
exist at either Foxwoods or Mohegan Sun casinos.
"We do have a very active unit at the casino. They do a lot of
criminal investigatory work. We've had everything from armed robbery
to larcenies," Vance said. "They have a full contingent of manpower."
Order From The Governor?
In court documents, Drumm and Perron weave an incendiary tale of
conspiracy: A wealthy Indian tribe with growing political influence
and a fabulously successful casino succeeds in forcing the transfer
of a hard-charging, no-nonsense cop.
The tribe says there's no proof of this, as well as no evidence that
illegal activities occurred -- or are occurring -- at the casino.
Drumm and Perron's lawsuit, among other things, charges that the
tribe libeled them when it alleged the two were involved in an
illegal break-in on the reservation in 1995. New London County
State's Attorney Kevin Kane later found that Perron and Drumm
violated no laws and were assisting tribal security officers when
Perron entered casino offices as part of a confidential investigation
into an alleged double-billing scheme.
When Drumm and Perron were transferred, the state police commander
said it was by "mutual agreement." Drumm and Perron argue that the
order to transfer them came because of a demand from the tribe, whose
political donations and growing slots revenue contributions to the
state treasury have made it a powerful force in Connecticut.
"Someone in the governor's office ordered state police 'higher
ups' ... to 'get Jack Drumm the hell away from the casino,"' Drumm's
lawyer states in documents filed recently before the tribal court. In
his testimony in the case, retired state police Lt. Col. William T.
McGuire -- who ordered Drumm's and Perron's transfers -- stated that
Drumm was "somewhat targeted" by the casino because of his aggressive
police work. He also said the two men were moved based upon
the "needs of the department."
Rowland spokesman Christopher Cooper declined to comment on the
allegations Drumm and his lawyers have made. Cooper noted that the
tribal judge rejected the charges levied in the lawsuit.
"The governor would not ever have any kind of business or political
or personal relationship interfere with the administration of his
office," Cooper said.
Drumm's case, meanwhile, raises more fundamental questions about
whether the state police have had much of a role at all beyond
background checks on prospective employees and arresting drunks and
small-time felons on the casino floor.
The allegations date to the mid-1990s. Since then, the casino has
only grown larger, bringing in more money to both the tribe and the
state. The leaders of the tribe, the casino and the gaming commission
have also changed since then.
Hartford Courant, 7/25/02
···
--- In vpFREE@yahoogroups.com, "Quad Zilla" <quadzilla666@e...> wrote:
Can I really blame the property owner? Isn't it up to me to look
I