Busted: A Tale of Corruption and Betrayal in the City of Brotherly Love
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When Benny Martinez walks into the offices of the Philadelphia Daily News in 2008 to speak with reporter Wendy Ruderman, the paper is on the brink of bankruptcy. What he tells Wendy and her colleague Barbara Laker is too shocking to ignore: his career as a confidential informant for a member of the Philadelphia Police Department's narcotics squad has drawn him into a web of corruption, and now Benny is afraid for his life.
Busted is Ruderman and Laker's riveting account of their investigation into the acts committed by powerful rogue members of the narcotics squad. By dint of perseverance, ingenuity, and good old shoe-leather reporting, the women unraveled a tapestry of lies. Starting with the discovery of fabricated search warrants, they soon find that the scandal encompasses a systematic looting of immigrant-owned businesses and allegations of brutal sexual assault.
When Ruderman and Laker produce a devastating series of articles that blows the lid off the scandal, they not only win the fight for justice. They also win a Pulitzer Prize for Investigative Reporting, an unthinkable triumph for two city reporters at a beleaguered local paper.
attorney general. I’d earned my share of scalps. At work, I wasn’t afraid to take on the law. At home, I was totally unable to lay down the law. I had never put my kids in time-out. Not once. Not when Sawyer punched me in the back and barked, “Get me something to drink, little woman,” or when he cleaned the television screen with a wet wipe and one of his many concoctions—a mixture of pancake syrup and body lotion. I breast-fed Brody until he was two and a half. He’d walk up to me and say, “I
about getting a big story. In his mind, we weren’t interested in nabbing dirty cops, not really. “You’re looking at something I’ve not seen. I’ve got a task force that’s looking into this entire matter. They need to be informed of this and they need a chance to look at it,” Ramsey said. “If we need a subpoena . . .” “We’ll give it to you. We’re putting it up on our website tomorrow,” I told him. Michael Days asked me, Barbara, and Gar to come into his office. “This video is great stuff. It’s
reference to her old soul ways. She was fiercely loyal to family and friends, a street lioness who protected and provided for her loved ones. On her Facebook page, she posted photos of herself holding wads of cash, getting high, and wearing designer Air Jordans. Shante was proud of her plum-shaped lips and poked fun at her gut, calling herself “fatboy shit.” Tattoos covered Shante’s neck, upper chest, arms, and hands. The designs were rudimentary, inked in one color, either black or navy. Some
female officer. Tolstoy ignored her request. “You know I could lock you up for the drugs we found downstairs.” Naomi knew that made no sense, but she was too scared to argue. Her hands quivered as she slowly lifted up her pink and white top. Not saying a word, Tolstoy’s meaty hands clasped her breasts with his fingers moving in a caressing squeeze. “Lift up your skirt,” he told her. Naomi again asked for a female officer, and Tolstoy again threatened to lock her up for drugs that weren’t
into a seat. He stared out the window, nursing a Scotch. The train rolled into Philadelphia’s Thirtieth Street Station, where Tierney was met by a throng of TV, radio, and print journalists—all looking for a quote to that rote reporter question, “How do you feel?” “It’s been a heck of a fight. . . . We didn’t make it. I think I’ll go home tonight and sleep like a baby, which means I’ll wake up every hour crying,” Tierney said, stealing John McCain’s line when he lost the 2008 presidential