LAPD EXPOSED-A Whistleblower Lives to Tell the Tale

By Bradley Kuhns

Bradley Kuhns was a regular guy who happened to be very good at his job. That was the troubled --- he was too good. Even worse, he was honest.

A smart, exceptionally skilled polygraph examiner (lie detector examiner), felt honored to enter the ranks of the elite Los Angeles Police Department.

He soon discovered, though, that by the 1980s when he joined LAPD the polygraph section was coasting on its reputation, filled with marginally competent examiners who routinely manipulated and falsified the results of lie detector exams in exchange for gifts of cash and liquor. Promotions were handed to those who played  along, while the few who didn't might find themselves on the losing end of an "unfortunate accident."

Brad Kuhns offers a disturbing  memoir that details the intimidation, threats and attempts on his life. With his heart on his sleeve, he chronicles the toll the stress took on his health and weighs the heavy burden of fear and torment suffered by the women close to him. Kuhns ultimately went into hiding for two decades with only a select few trustworthy souls knowing the full extent of his chilling, touching story -- until now.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bradley Kuhns
• Release date: Jul 21, 2021
• ISBN: 9780944647554

Bradley Kuhns

Brad graduated through three colorful careers during his life. From the entertainment world, to the law enforcement profession, and eventually working as a professional in the alternative medicine field. Brad has authored numerous books and manuals sharing his knowledge, skills, and expertise with others worldwide.Brad had an incredible career in the entertainment world and quickly shot to fame. Between performances, he was rubbing shoulders and becoming friends with the likes of America's biggest stars: Elvis, Frank Sinatra and the Rat Pack,Nat King Cole and daughter Natalie, Frankie Laine, Lucille Ball, Dinah Shore, and many other celebrities. Brad's music group, the "Encores," their electrifying stage presence, and his talents as a studio musician made him a Las Vegas staple.His second career in law enforcement allowed him to work alongside the elite ranks of the Los Angeles Police Department (LAPD), Scientific Investigation Division. He utilized his acquired skills of investigation, interrogation, polygraph (lie detection), and forensic hypnosis, clinical hypnosis to assist not only the LAPD, but other federal agencies as well, to solve some of the most heinous crimes perpetrated in America. He eventually turned whistleblower to clean up areas within the LAPD.By Brad's third career change, he had earned two professional doctorate degrees, one in clinical psychology and the second as a licensed doctor of Oriental Medicine. He maintained a private marriage family therapy practice while continuing to use his unique skills as a consultant in assisting federal agencies in resolving crimes nationwide.Dr. Kuhns is an internationally recognized forensic hypnotherapist, psychotherapist and motivational builder who has used and shared his unique approaches and techniques both in private practice and as an adviser and consultant to many professionals, stars, entertainers and well-known personalities throughout the world.

Book preview

PROLOGUE

Mr. Kuhns, please take the stand.

This wasn’t the first time I’d found myself in front of the Honorable Judge Andrew Goodman, but I sure hoped it would be the last. The 1980s were coming to a close, and I was trying to settle a worker’s compensation lawsuit my psychologist had filed on my behalf against the Los Angeles Police Department (LAPD). The case had been dragging on for years; I assumed that was because LAPD was putting pressure on the court system to deliberately slow down the process. Meanwhile, the City of Los Angeles was not paying my medical bills and, as a result, I was paying them out of my own pocket. The bills were piling up each month, and it was a monumental task to keep up with them. My savings were dwindling.

Do you swear to tell the truth and nothing but the truth? Judge Goodman asked me. My hands were trembling as I looked around the courtroom. I was out of my element and afraid to be in a courtroom right across the street from LAPD’s Parker Center headquarters.

Yes, sir, I do, I answered.

Judge Goodman continued: Let the record show that present in this courtroom today are City Attorney William Foxworthy, Attorney Craig Tappan and Bradley Kuhns. He looked out over the courtroom and added, Also present is Dr. Joseph Simms. Is that right, Dr. Simms?

Yes, Your Honor, my therapist responded. I’m here in the event that Mr. Kuhns would need support or treatment during this proceeding.

Judge Goodman nodded in agreement and directed his comments to me. Mr. Kuhns, this is a closed courtroom. Only your attorney, the city attorney, your doctor and I are here. I hope limiting the number of people will help you get through this matter as easily as possible.

Thank you, Your Honor, I said. I appreciate that. Judge Goodman directed my attorney to begin questioning me. Tappan stood, thanked the judge and gazed at me as I sat in the witness chair.

Now, Mr. Kuhns, let’s go back to the very beginning of this matter, he began. For the next 90 minutes, Attorney Tappan walked me through my entire story—the threats, harassment and wrongdoing by LAPD. All the while, my eyes would dart toward the courtroom doors to assure myself that no police officers were entering. Judge Goodman saw me fidgeting, trembling and flashing quick glances toward the doors.

What’s the matter, Mr. Kuhns? he asked.

I turned toward him. I’m checking to see if anyone is bursting into this courtroom, Your Honor. LAPD said they would get me, and here we are, in downtown Los Angeles, across the street from LAPD, on their turf.

We’re just about finished here, he assured me. Do you require a break?

No sir, I said. I would like to finish this up as quickly as possible, Your Honor.

Tappan took over. Let’s get to the day you were driving home from the Van Nuys Police station. You left work at Valley Division at 4:30 p.m. Is that correct?

I began to stutter. Yes…yes…, sir.

It was a nice day. You had your car window down and you were listening to music on the radio, enjoying your trip home, and then you approached the freeway ramp to your street. Tell us what happened next.

As I looked toward Tappan, I began to shake uncontrollably. Tears welled up in my eyes. I tried to get the words out. My…my…my win…win…windshield blew up in my face. My tears turned to sobs as I tried to continue. There was blood, glass. I cupped my hands around my face, trying to stop the sobbing, but I couldn’t regain control. I couldn’t compose myself. I dropped my head atop my arms on the table and continued to cry.

Attorney Tappan exclaimed to the judge, Your Honor, this happens each time Mr. Kuhns is asked about this incident. He tends to relive this thing over and over again in his mind, and apparently he can’t shake it off. In fact, he may vomit. He gets sick to his stomach every time he tries to deal with it.

A look of surprise crept over the face of City Attorney Foxworthy. Judge Goodman spoke up. Mr. Tappan, take Mr. Kuhns out of this courtroom, he said. Tappan put his arms around me and helped me up from the table as he steadied me on my feet. He and Dr. Simms guided me out of the courtroom and into the hallway, and then Tappan returned to the courtroom. After another 10 minutes, he came back out into the hallway.

We can leave now, Tappan told us. The judge has had enough of this case today.

PART ONE

LIFE BEFORE LAPD

1

GROWING UP

I was born in southwestern Pennsylvania and brought up by a divorced mom on the streets of New York City and in the home of my Aunt Tres and Uncle Louis in Pitt Gas, Pennsylvania, a small coal town located about 70 miles outside of Pittsburgh. In the 1940s, growing up in a little coal patch was a hard life—but a good one.

The men in Pitt Gas worked deep in the bowels of the coal mine, breathing in the soot and dust from the coal, while the women generally were homemakers. In the summers, we kids would run barefoot all summer long through the nearby woods, hills and creeks. Like most families in Pitt Gas, we struggled from day to day to survive, to put food on the table. There was one coal company store where coal miners would generally buy on credit from payday to payday.

In addition to my Aunt Tres and Uncle Louis in Pitt Gas, I had a half-sister, Grace, in nearby Belle Vernon. Grace was born to my mother and her first husband, whom she married when she was just 17 and divorced before marrying my dad in 1926. Grace’s daughter Lana was seven years younger than I was,

We lived in a cozy, two-bedroom house that we later expanded to three bedrooms. I used an outhouse until I was 15 years old; we had to wipe our butts with pages from Sears and Montgomery Ward catalogs. My baths were a once-a-week thing when we kids would haul a large, round, metal tub from the cellar to the center of the kitchen floor. We’d fill the tub with hot water that we heated in pots on the stove. The first kid who used it had the pleasure of clean water; the rest had to endure the used water, but at least we rotated week to week as to who had first dibs on the clean, hot water.

I also never had a meal in a restaurant until I was 15, when I left Pennsylvania to join my mother, who had relocated in Oregon. Growing up, I didn’t know places like restaurants existed. I ate all my meals at the family dinner table. Most of the meat was wild game. We had meals of raccoon, squirrel, groundhog and rabbits, which we brought home from our hunts. We had fish, too—mostly bass, bluegill catfish and crappie that we caught in the local creeks and rivers. We raised a few chickens for Sunday dinners, and each year we raised a hog that we butchered for additional meat. My cousins and I had the responsibility of growing and tending to crops, which provided most of the vegetables on our table. The kids would pick the veggies and fruits, and the women would can them. Our breads and desserts were all homemade by the women in the house.

Sometimes on the table there was nothing but a platter of catfish or bass. Other meals might offer just a tray of roasted corn ears from our crops, or only a large bowl of soup set in the middle of the table—if the pot contained a soup bone, that was a treat. In those days, we had to depend on government handouts in order to have powdered eggs and powdered milk, which tasted bad but we knew we couldn’t be choosy. Although our family was poor, we didn’t know it. I thought the way we were living was the way all people lived.

I learned a lot from growing up in that small coal mining town—from the town’s solid family structure where hard work, self-sufficiency, responsibility and independence were the watchwords. I think my belief in people was molded there, strongly set in the faith of all of those regular, down-to-earth, nose-to-the-grindstone German, Polish, Irish and Italian coal miners in Pennsylvania. As I made my journey through life into my adult years, those deep-seated values of a strong family foundation only strengthened my faith and trust in people—even when facing the events of my life that severely challenged that faith and trust.

2

EARLY JOBS

My first career was in the music and entertainment business. After 20 years, I left that industry to begin a career in law enforcement. I started at a small-town police department in southern California. When I got injured on the job, the state sent me to polygraph school in Arcadia, California, for retraining.

Fast forward to 1973. I’d just broken up with my live-in girlfriend, Linda. After our three-year relationship she found someone new, and we went our separate ways. I accepted an offer to work as a criminal investigator for San Joaquin County in northern California.

I worked out of the city of Stockton, near Sacramento. The position was funded by a federal grant paid to the county. I was one of four criminal investigators in the county office. My duties included criminal investigation, polygraph examinations, question document exams and photography. I also was assigned to give lectures on lie detection at local schools and colleges.

Our team had three investigators plus a supervisor. We worked for 28 attorneys, doing the legwork as the attorneys handled the criminal cases brought before them. My supervisor, Paul, was a retired highway patrol officer who took this job to keep himself busy and work toward a second retirement.

Paul was a short, stocky, gruff-looking guy who sported a gray-haired crew cut like the ones a lot of highway patrolmen wore in the ’70s. He was married with a couple of grown kids, one of whom worked for the California Highway Patrol. I’d guess that Paul was pushing his early 60s, near Social Security age. As a supervisor, he didn’t go into the field to work investigations. Instead, he assigned the cases to the rest of us investigators, and he’d review our findings as we’d work the case. I liked the guy. He may have looked gruff, but he was helpful and cooperative.

Then there was Ed, one of the other investigators. Burdened with chronic marital problems, Ed seemed to have a lot going on in his life. He was a tall, lean, crew-cut, pale, sickly, frail-looking person. Like me, he’d worked in law enforcement in a small town. He did a competent job as investigator, but he missed a lot of work days and let the rest of us know that he had multiple medical problems but would not be specific about them.

After being on the job a few months, I found out why Ed missed so much work: Ed was an alcoholic. I saw him go out on investigations and stop to drink as he was working a case. He had his head in a bottle; it was not unusual to see booze in his car. Paul used to tell him that it was unfair for the rest of us to pick up his slack at work while he was out sick so much. He even threatened to fire Ed if he didn’t shape up. But it was an empty threat, because Paul and Ed had been friends for years, and Paul was probably carrying the guy to keep him on the job.

Jim was the third investigator. He was also an ex-police officer from a small town near Sacramento. The guy was in his early 30s; he was squared away and did a very good job in his investigations. He didn’t plan on staying in the investigator position for long. Jim was studying to be a lawyer at a nearby college of law. When he was on his lunch break or had some extra time, he had his nose in a law book. He even carried the books around with him in his car so that when he was between assignments he could be reading the law. Jim finished his law studies, sat for the California bar exam and passed. He quit his investigator position and opened a law practice in a nearby town.

Polygraph School Graduation, 1973: I’m in the back row, second from right.

3

A NEW LADY

While I was working for San Joaquin County I began seeing a young, cute thing to fill my social life. Selena was a mixed-race Hispanic and Asian 23-year-old who worked as a clerk in a dry cleaning business near my county building office. We met when I began taking my clothes to the cleaners. On our first date, we had dinner at a popular steakhouse in Stockton. We seemed to click right away and began seeing each other on a regular basis. I didn’t drink any alcohol at all and, I don’t know why, but Selena was impressed by that. She told me she could see that I could have fun without the drinking. I didn’t question her about her comment, but I thought that possibly some of the guys she’d dated might have had an alcohol problem, and maybe they gave her a bad time.

It wasn’t until our fourth date that we became sexually involved. That evening when we returned from dinner, I threw my sport coat over the back of a chair, but my gun was still on my waist. I had a habit of wearing it, even at home. I loosened my tie and collar, turned on the radio to my favorite music station and settled in on the couch.

As she walked to the kitchen, Selena asked, How about some coffee? I can still picture her wearing that yellow sun dress with daisies on it—my personal ray of sunshine. A few minutes later she called from the kitchen, Coffee’s ready, honey! When I walked into the kitchen, she stepped right in front of me, took my face between her hands and kissed me. Part of me fought, but she slid into my arms and softly said, Just go with the flow, baby, just before she attached herself to my mouth. I relented, knowing that I couldn’t break away from one of Selena’s kisses. The kiss deepened as she pressed her body against me. When she felt my gun press into her body, she backed away somewhat.

I’m sorry, honey, I said as I removed the holster and gun and laid them on the kitchen counter.

That’s much better, she said with a smile. I wrapped my arm around her, pulling her against me. She let out a small giggle. I felt the happiness of the giggle bubble through my body and found myself smiling. She pulled back and set our coffee cups on the table. Then she inhaled a slow, deep breath and waved her arms. She moved with a fluid motion and unsnapped the straps on her sun dress with ease. The dress dropped to the floor. She waved her arms again and spun and danced around in a small circle wearing nothing but her red panties and bra.

I looked at her standing there in those red panties and bra. I looked around at the countertops and glanced at the table, smelling the fresh aroma of the coffee and wondering what she would think if I were to haul her up onto the counter top and take her, right then and there.

Instead, I pulled a chair away from the kitchen table, at the same time unbuckling my trousers and stepping out of them. I sat in the chair and motioned to my dancing, whirling lady to dance over to me and sit on my lap. She nodded her head yes and slowly approached me, bending over to kiss me. I quickly maneuvered myself so that I sat beneath her on the chair, and she was on my lap. I didn’t stop my bombardment of her senses for several minutes, using mouth, tongue and hands in an effort to confuse her thoughts. I was quite successful—but then, I usually succeeded when it came to handling women. I’d spent years perfecting my techniques, after all!

Our first sexual encounter satisfied us both, and from then on we built on it to explore new horizons. I would meet her after work and we would go to my apartment, where we spent a lot of time together. She didn’t want her parents to know that she was running with a man 14 years older than she was. The relationship wasn’t serious for either of us. We both knew it was only for sex and, with that understanding, we got along very well.

4

HAPPY ON THE JOB

On many a night, I was called out to photograph a crime scene to provide evidence for the attorneys to present in their court case. The same applied to my polygraph and question document examinations.

I investigated felonies—rape, sex crimes, physical assaults, burglaries, kidnappings, robberies, murders—you name the crime, and I probably investigated it. The job called for long hours, and there were many times I would meet with the attorneys at night, at their residences, to work on a case that was scheduled for trial. We would analyze all the evidence and kick around options and strategies. On some of these long nights, we had pots and pots of coffee, cigars, cigarettes and pizza keeping us going until the wee hours of the morning.

While working on these cases, I enrolled at University of the Pacific to take additional courses in criminal justice. I also studied question document examination under the tutorship of Sherwood Morrill, who was at that time retired and living in Sacramento, a few miles up the road from Stockton. Sherwood had been the chief of the question document division with the California Department of Justice for years. He was known worldwide for his skills with document examinations. One of the most famous cases Sherwood worked on was the Zodiac killer case. Sherwood taught me a lot, and I felt I could always call him for help. Sometimes when I had a problem with one of my cases, I would run up to Sacramento so that he could look over my findings.

About a year into my job, I was sent to Sacramento to attend a mandated, two-week continuing education course for advanced investigation, which was presented by the California Department of Justice. Attending were investigators from different cities in California. We were required to attend a number of autopsies. We also were brought up to date on rules and regulations surrounding criminal and crime scene investigation, fraud, legal matters, ethics and other topics pertaining to investigation.

California Department of Justice Investigator School, 1974: I’m at far left in the back row.

I was featured in a 1975 news item on lie detection.

I’m pictured here in 1975 lecturing on Voice Stress Analyzer (VSA).

5

MOM’S ASSAULT

As I went about doing my job, I always kept in contact with Mom in southern California. I normally wrote to her or called her at least once a week. During this time she moved from Bell to the city of Huntington Park a few miles down the road. She preferred the new apartment and liked being closer to many stores.

One afternoon my supervisor Paul told me to stop by the office of our boss, the director of the county office. Sticking my head in the door, I said, Hey boss, you want to see me? He was on the phone but waved me in. Pointing to a chair, he motioned for me to sit down. When he finished his phone conversation, he said, Brad, I just got a call from your sister in Bell, California. She was trying to get in touch with you.

What happened? I asked.

Your mother was mugged outside a bank and was taken to the hospital, he told me. Call your sister. If you need time off, take it. Take all the time you need. I told him I would leave for southern Cal as soon as I spoke with my sister Mona. I thanked him and returned to my office.

On the phone, Mona told me that Mom was coming out of the bank on Main Street in the middle of the afternoon when a Hispanic teenager came up behind her, hit her and knocked her to the sidewalk, kicking her to make her give up her purse. The kicking broke mom’s hip. This scumbag broke Mom’s hip for a lousy $6; that’s all she had in her purse. Mom had recovered from back surgery just a year or so earlier and now, at age 74, she gets assaulted in the street. She’s had some really tough breaks.

Brad, Mom’s asking for you, Mona said on the phone.

Mona, tell Mom I’ll be there later today, I said. I’m going to get the next plane out of here for Los Angeles. When I get in, I’ll come by your place.

I explained to my supervisor what had happened, adding that our boss had told me to take time off and handle the situation. There was no argument from Paul. All he said was, I hope your mom’s okay. Call me in the next couple days.

I went to my apartment, packed a small bag with some clothes and drove to the airport. I scheduled myself on the next available flight out. As always, I notified the airline attendant at the gate and the pilot that I was carrying my weapon, a .38 caliber Smith & Wesson. In the ’70s it was common for anyone carrying a weapon onto the plane to notify the crew so that the crew would know where the person was sitting.

Upon arriving in Los Angeles, I took a cab to Mona’s house in Bell, where she lived with her common-law husband Ronnie. Mona, Ronnie and I then drove to Downey Community Hospital, where mom was being treated. As I walked into the room I saw a small, frail, pale woman lying in the bed, wearing a hospital gown. She looked like a little child. When she saw me she began to cry. That was a first for me; I’d never seen Mom cry in my entire life. She had always been a tough cookie. Her tears grabbed at me.

I can’t understand how someone could knock me down and take my $6, Mom said through her tears. It was 2:30 in the afternoon with a lot of people in the street. Why?

I comforted her the best I could. After she calmed down, I left her room to speak with the doctor. He told me that he would have to put a few metal pins in mom’s hip.

Your mother’s 74 years old, he said. The leg and hip will never be the same, Mr. Kuhns. I returned to Mom’s room and told her what the doctor had said. She said she understood but wanted to go home.

Mom, I’ll get you out of here as soon as I can, I responded. I’ll stay around until your surgery and wait until you’re home before I leave town, okay? She nodded, agreeing with the plan. I kissed her goodbye and told her I would be back to see her the next day. The next morning I went to the Huntington Park Police Department to check in with the officers who were handling the case. They knew from Mom’s statement that I was a criminal investigator and indicated to me that they wanted to cooperate as much as possible.

Thanks, men, I said. Do you have anything?

No, nothing, one of them replied. The perp assaulted you mother and got away. I looked over a copy of the police report.

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