On Aug. 26, 2024, in Fort Myers, Florida, I answered a knock at my door to find a police officer waiting to arrest me. My first thought was my 12-year-old daughter, whose room was nearby. “Can she hear this?” I wondered. “Does she know what’s going on?” I had answered the door in my flip-flops, T-shirt and shorts, not realizing it would be all I had to keep me warm as I was thrown into an ice-cold jail cell, then into a steel cage in the back of a police van and finally locked up in a second jail. They told me I was being arrested for attempting to lure a child — roughly the same age as my daughter — from a McDonald’s in Jacksonville Beach, a town 300 miles away that I had never been to.
The whole time, I couldn’t stop thinking about when I would see my wife and daughter again. How would I explain why I was under arrest for a crime I didn’t commit in a city far across the state? Especially when I didn’t even understand what was going on myself.
The police ran my two vehicles through a database of license plate readers, which didn’t show my car anywhere in the entire county, much less near the restaurant. Yet based on the say-so of glitchy AI, they ruined my life.
After pledging the title to my truck for bond, I left the police station completely traumatized. I later learned that the Jacksonville Sheriff’s Office uploaded a picture of the McDonald’s security footage into an artificial intelligence facial recognition system, which erroneously flagged me as a possible match. Jacksonville Beach Police then conducted a photo lineup not with the victim, but with a McDonald’s employee who was not an eyewitness.
Meanwhile, the officer leading the investigation ignored a mountain of evidence of my innocence. I have a prominent scar on my face that the suspect didn’t have. The same employee who picked me out of the photo lineup also said the suspect was a “regular customer,” but I live more than five hours away. The police ran my two vehicles through a database of license plate readers, which didn’t show my car anywhere in the entire county, much less near the restaurant.
Yet based on the say-so of glitchy AI, they ruined my life.
Until I was arrested for a crime I did not commit, I was a successful commercial crabber. I’ve loved crabbing since I first tried it as an 8-year-old kid hanging out on the Maryland docks. In the 40 years since, I’d built a beautiful life. I had a fulfilling career on the water, and an incredible wife and daughter and great friends. Anyone who knew me would tell you that I was a family guy. I was happy. All that changed after the police hauled me to jail and posted my mugshot online.
Weeks later, the Florida state attorney’s office dropped all charges. Now, I’m suing the officers, the city of Jacksonville Beach and the Jacksonville Sheriff’s Office. In addition to damages, I am asking the court to order the city and the sheriff’s office to overhaul their procedures for using facial recognition technology.
It had taken two months to prove my innocence and my mugshot stayed on a police department website for nearly a year. At first, I could barely leave the house, terrified that someone would confront me for this revolting crime or see me with my daughter and call the police. Even when I was with people who knew I had been falsely accused, I couldn’t stand them looking at me and wondering even for a second, “Maybe he actually did it.”
I fell behind on rent, and when I was finally able to get back out on the water, it was too late. My seafood buyers had moved on. I was hemorrhaging cash. I had to turn my back on the ocean and start doing lawn care to provide for my family. Even harder than finding the money to rebuild my business is rebuilding the trust and credibility I lost because of the government’s colossal screw-up.
if there is one thing I am not, it’s a quitter. I will not quit until I get justice and the government makes amends.
When I told my daughter about the reason for the arrest, something I’d waited to do until after I had proven my innocence, she couldn’t stop laughing. To her, the accusation was that outrageous. While she laughed, I cried, just grateful to know that she was still in my corner and saw me for the person I was: her loving, caring, happy-go-lucky dad.
I am the first to admit that I am no angel. I’ve done stupid stuff in my past — gotten in some fights, spent some nights in jail. Any of my friends would agree that if there’s a loudmouth at the bar, I’m the one to tell him off. But I would never hurt a child. Ever.
When I’ve gotten in trouble, I’ve paid my debt to society. But the government doesn’t want to pay theirs. When I got into a bar fight, within a day I was hauled in front of a judge. Yet more than two years after my wrongful arrest, no one has even apologized, much less been held accountable in any court of law. And nothing has changed. I am still suffering. All because some cops used shoddy AI facial recognition, ignored contradictory evidence and, instead of protecting little girls in Jacksonville Beach, arrested an innocent guy in Fort Myers.
The government keeps trying to sweep what they did to me under the rug, hoping that I will give up and move on. But if there is one thing I am not, it’s a quitter. I will not quit until I get justice and the government makes amends. That’s why I have turned to the courts. They must hold the police accountable for altering my life forever. The record is clear. Justice should not take years to impose.
(Editor’s note: The Jacksonville County sheriff’s department told Wired Magazine, “Due to pending litigation, we would be unable to comment further on the incident.”)
The post Florida police ruined my life with a false AI match. Now I’m demanding justice. appeared first on MS NOW.
Paul Skalnik was one of the most prolific jailhouse snitches in American history. A new best-selling book, Catch the Devil, chronicles Skalnik's career helping prosecutors secure dozens of convictions—despite being a serial liar and criminal. His cartoonishly long rap sheet included elaborate frauds, multiple grand thefts, and sexual assault of a child; at various times, he passed himself off as a Southwest Airlines executive, a high-powered attorney, and a Vietnam War hero. In July, Reason's Billy Binion interviewed author Pamela Colloff, a staff writer at The New York Times Magazine and reporter at ProPublica.
Q: How is it possible for someone with such an intense history of dishonesty to still earn the state's trust for decades?
A: I think you hit upon the big question of the book, right? Skalnik was a former police officer himself, so he sort of knew how the game worked. When he got to whatever county jail he ended up in, he could size up whoever it was that prosecutors most wanted a conviction against. And he would produce these incredible quote-unquote "confessions." And in return for his testimony about those confessions, he would usually be let free.
You can imagine how there were police and prosecutors who bought this. I think what becomes more difficult as he's used more widely in [Pinellas County,] Florida—where he helped send upward of 40 men to prison—at what point does someone say, "What are the odds that this guy in the jail has a better batting record than our best detectives?" No one ever says that.
Q: The book covers a lot of disturbing cases, but the one central to it is a murder case in Florida. Can you set the scene?
A: There was a 14-year-old girl named Shelly Boggio who was found in a body of water. She'd been stabbed over 30 times, and the assumption was that she'd been sexually assaulted.
The investigation quickly narrows down to a man named Jack Pearcy, who had a long history of violence against women. He was the last person seen with Boggio. When he's interviewed by investigators, he realizes they know too much. So he pivots to saying that he had his housemate—Jim Dailey—with him that night, and that it was Jim who committed this crime. Jim did not have that kind of record, and there's no physical or forensic evidence tying him to the crime, or any motive whatsoever.
Skalnik is brought in very shortly before the trial starts. He is moved in the jail to be close to where Jim Dailey was. Within 24 hours, he says he has procured Dailey's confession—a total stranger who's awaiting trial. It was a story that really played upon jurors' sympathies. He talked about how Jim Dailey had supposedly told him about stabbing Shelly Boggio to death and how she'd been staring at him in this pleading way, but she wouldn't die. It's this horrific image, and he is sentenced to death.
Q: What makes you think Dailey is actually innocent?
A: There have been over 200 people in the U.S. who were sentenced to death who have since been exonerated. We know that jailhouse informants—who are notoriously unreliable—are a factor in 25 percent of those wrongful convictions.
As far as Jim's case, there's no there there. When you see a case with three jailhouse informants, no physical evidence, no motive, and your quote-unquote "eyewitness" is the main suspect in the case? There are a lot of questions.
Q: To me, the secondary theme was that when credible evidence may exonerate someone after a jury has rendered a verdict, it is depressingly difficult to get another chance.
A: I am obsessed with this idea that the system is built to compound its own errors. When new evidence comes out—and there's a lot of new evidence that comes out over the years that really points toward his innocence—you would think that would be enough. For some very good reasons, a jury verdict is sacrosanct. But what you see is that courts really look backward at precedent and jury verdicts rather than forward at new evidence.
Jim gets terrific attorneys in this case—too late. They do incredible work, and it doesn't matter. Too many judges have rubber-stamped this testimony by Paul Skalnik. There's no way for the courts to essentially say, "Hey, let's go back and look at this holistically and see if any of this makes sense." It was shocking to me to see that.
This interview has been condensed and edited for style and clarity.
The post Pamela Colloff on America's Biggest Jailhouse Snitch, Wrongful Convictions, and Criminal Justice appeared first on Reason Magazine.
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