By Gerard King | Cyber Analyst | www.gerardking.dev
The idea that a cyber analyst with integrity and a backbone could be threatening to a law enforcement agency says a lot — not about the analyst, but about the agency.
The reality is, it shouldn’t take more than two hours behind a secured terminal to identify which officers are repeatedly bending policy, abusing power, or falsifying reports. The tools exist. The data exists. The question is: why don’t most agencies want it used?
Here’s why.
Every patrol, arrest, dispatch, and use-of-force report generates data. Cross-referencing these with GPS pings, bodycam timestamps, and RMS logs reveals patterns—like officers routinely shutting off cams or circling poor neighborhoods longer than others. Most command staff don't want that level of visibility—because it exposes favoritism, racial bias, or policy breaches.
I can use behavior modeling to identify officers with aggression spikes on shift, excessive force clustering, or selective enforcement. This isn't opinion—it’s math. And math doesn’t play politics.
Who reviewed which incident report? How many misconduct cases are buried in “informal coaching”? Internal affairs is often more “internal shielding.” A qualified analyst knows where these gaps are — and that internal noncompliance is as telling as public abuse.
I analyze systems, not personalities. When I see a deputy chief over-represented in cover-up memos, or a sergeant repeatedly signing off on falsified data, that’s not leadership—it’s liability.
Officers sometimes initiate undocumented detainments, “informal” stops, or off-books interactions. But with digital trails (CAD records, AVL logs, shift activity), those ghosts leave footprints. Analysts can catch them. Command staff knows it.
Some officers rack up dozens of complaints without discipline. Unions stonewall reforms. I don’t care about your contract — if the data shows a pattern, I follow it to the source.
With machine learning, we can predict which officers are at highest risk of escalation, excessive force, or wrongful charges—using the same predictive tools they use on civilians. The irony? They don't want the mirror turned.
How many closed cases—like deaths in custody or suppressed evidence—could be reverse-analyzed using log access patterns, case-edit timestamps, or silent data deletion windows? More than they’d admit.
Unlike internal culture built on loyalty and silence, cybersecurity ethics demand disclosure of systemic failure. I won’t stay silent if I find misconduct hiding in logs or databases.
There’s almost always a causal pattern between an abusive precinct and weak leadership. I don’t just surface frontline failures—I trace them to the command levels that allow it.
If internal systems ignore red flags, I know which provincial, federal, or watchdog agencies will. This threatens internal cover-up mechanisms. I know how to escalate through proper secure channels.
I believe in ethical officers, not unchecked power. Good cops want bad ones exposed. It’s the ego-driven, outdated, or corrupt who see me as a threat. And frankly? They should.
Any police agency threatened by hiring someone like me isn’t worried about ethics. They’re worried about exposure.
Because when you bring in someone who can read server logs like an X-ray, behavioral flags like symptoms, and access patterns like forensic trails, you stop being part of the protection racket and start becoming a force multiplier for truth.
And the system? It doesn't fear criminals. It fears accountability.
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