Tick-tock of terror: My ‘arrest’ on no charges for being a criminal informant


Editor’s note: This all happened just days after I went to Metropolitan Enforcement Group, a bi-state narcotics agency, in May 2015 about some information I had (not specifically drug-related, mind you).  I then began to be questioned almost exclusively about former Davenport Alderman Bill Boom. I did not bring up Bill Boom. They did. Alderman Bill Boom was sentenced in August, more than two years after my jail incident, for lying to a grand jury over matters related to a crystal meth investigation.

You can check out Chrissy Minor’s report from Moline, Ill. ABC affiliate WQAD right here.

Shortly after waking and getting a drink of water I feel nervous, shaky, paranoid and sweaty.

9ish: I head to the bus stop to go see my dad at Amber Ridge Memory Care. A bus comes along marked “Special.” It occurs to me that a bus marked “Special” would not be my bus, even though it appeared to be the 30 Green East and passed at the proper time. I do not get on it.

Walking back to my home, a U.S. mail lady wearing a halter top and Spandex asks me why I did not board that bus. I told her that’s none of her business.

I board the next scheduled bus 30 minutes later and ride it to Cityline Plaza.

10ish: I exit the bus at Cityline Plaza and begin walk to Amber Ridge. On the way there, I think I see people from the bar where I used to hang out. I am convinced they are trying to kill me. I start running, and I also call the Amber Ridge Memory Care front desk.

The Amber Ridge Memory Care ED pretends I am mentally ill and hangs up on me. This after I ask her to please make sure I get to Amber Ridge safely, as I am within eyesight of the door.

Moline 911 laughs at me, yells at me, and threatens me for bothering them. The dispatcher was so incredibly rude I can’t help but wonder how many people have died on her watch during an emergency.

I walk into Amber Ridge Memory Care and head outside. Dad’s only words are, “It’s a beautiful home boy, better make up your mind.” I tell my dad I always intended on keeping the house and am very grateful for it. He explains that my brother John Heitz, who works for Sears Davenport in loss prevention, formerly Sears Moline (friends with all the cops) says I have decided I do not want the house and am returning to Los Angeles. Biggest lie ever told.

I later learned from the CNAs at Amber Ridge Memory Care my brother, indeed, had been telling my dad I did not want the house and was moving to California.


Later, after my brother had me trespassed from seeing my dad at Amber Ridge Memory Care with the help of the corrupt Moline Police Department and the dishonest executive director of the memory care institution, he began to tell my dad I was at summer school.

I go down to my dad’s room and see a man in a Johnson Controls uniform working on my dad’s thermostat. He looks like one of the many thugs from Mary’s on 2nd Street gay bar in Davenport formerly owned by convicted felon Bill Boom. I become very nervous, go upstairs and begin to cry out for help in a panic. The executive director’s door is closed like it always is. She hides.

I scream “Call 911” and the CNAs erupt in laughter, slapping their knees. They all had congregated in the dining room and began to videotape me with their phones.

The only CNA on duty who I could trust, and who serves as director of housekeeping (the cleanliness is the only thing that place has going for it) takes me outside. Police arrive.

Police in shades approach me, rough me up, threaten to taze me, and throw me in the back of a cop car.

I ask, “Is this because I went to MEG and am an informant? Or what? One African American female officer says, “Who did you talk to at MEG?” I throw out the name of someone I believe to be a dirty cop. She confirms she, too, worked with this cop at MEG and smiles at me.

I never had proof he worked for MEG prior to her confirming it, but I suspected it. And I now have no doubt he was sharing information with criminals. No doubt at all, especially given his connection to another man who mysteriously appeared in my life around the same time.

The name I gave this cop as I was being roughed up was not the name of the person I “officially” spoke with at MEG, Kevin Winslow, who was heading MEG up at the time. She simply confirmed a hunch.

Can you imagine if it turns out that some of these people also are related to various nursing home scandals? The authorities are working on it. Like I said, it’s going to be a great book.

In transit to the jail, a cop who seriously would show up under “Corrupt Cop” in a dictionary begins to use a very nasty tone with me, telling me I need to “trust the right people.” He also says he hears Amber Ridge Memory Care “is a terrible place, and people are yanking out their loved ones left and right.”

Noonish: We arrive at the jail and pull into the garage. The cop then says, “David, there is no camera in here, and I can do whatever I want to you right now.”

My phone rings as I am being escorted into the jail. It is my transgender friend. I ask her to  call attorney Michael Warner, Rock Island County Chief Justice Walter Braud’s former partner. Warner was my happy hour friend from Mary’s on 2nd Street and often filled me with booze.

Warner, who met my dad several times over the course of many years and watched the progression of dad’s horrid disease, paid to have my dad’s racing car trophy restored when dad went into Amber Ridge Memory Care.

My brother stole the trophy and Warner now employs my former best friend.

Warner used to joke, for years at the gay bar, that a high-ranking politician lives in the basement of the jail and is a dominatrix. The guy is funny. But he doesn’t make me laugh anymore, I can tell you that.

I am stripped naked. A jailer puts on a latex glove. I tell him I am bleeding profusely out my rectum (I was, with no explanation for it…poisoning?). He does not exam my rectum.

While being fingerprinted, a morbidly obese African American jailer tells another that I am a member of ISIS, and that I have their secret mark on my hands.

Swear to God. Yes, he said that.

I am thrown naked into a cell with “Suicide” marked over the top of it. A straightjacket is thrown in behind me.

To be continued…

2 thoughts on “Tick-tock of terror: My ‘arrest’ on no charges for being a criminal informant

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