Officer Herrera Goes Public

When seven of the Chicago Police Department's most elite cops were charged with crimes including armed robbery, aggravated kidnapping and home invasion- and one of them was even accused of planning a murder-the nation's second largest police force was thrown into turmoil.

They were members of a unit known as "SOS," the Special Operations Section, the department's answer to violence that once made Chicago the murder capital of the country. But what 60 Minutes has learned paints a disturbing picture of a chain of command that put such a premium on getting guns and drugs off the streets that officers felt justified breaking the law to do so.

One of those indicted officers is 30-year-old Keith Herrera. He's been telling his story in private to federal investigators. Now, out on bail, he tells it publicly to Katie Couric and takes 60 Minutes inside a world where cops who did so much good ended up accused of doing so much wrong.

"I say I was doin' my job. I went to work every day, put my star on, put my gun on and got the bad guys off the street," he tells Couric. "I was doing my job and I was told I was doing a good job."

Until a year and a half ago, Herrera was a rising star in the Special Operations Section. But his promising career collapsed when he and six of his partners were accused of terrorizing the very streets they were policing-busting into homes without warrants, making illegal arrests, and holding people hostage until they handed over guns and drugs-all at a time the SOS unit had virtual autonomy in Chicago's worst neighborhoods.

Asked what his marching orders were, Herrera says, "Get the guns, and get the drugs off the street. No matter what. At any cost. Just get 'em off."

Herrera says the mandate from his bosses was clear: the ends justify the means. SOS hauled in big caches of weapons and drugs, and across the city, the crime rate plummeted.

"Policing the way we did it, there were just certain steps that you had to take," Herrera says. "We're dealing with convicted felons, we're dealing with bad people, we're dealing with drug dealers. If you want these people to go to jail, you have to cross the line sometimes."

Asked what his supervisors thought of his techniques, Herrera tells Couric, "Keep it up. Long as you got the guns, long as you got the drugs, long as you're getting the bad guys, keep it up.' And if they tell you 'Keep it up,' you keep it up."

He says it was like making a deal with the devil. For example, if a suspect tossed a gun to avoid arrest, Herrera says it was obvious how to make the case stick: lie, and say the gun never left the suspect's hand.

"Do you want that guy that's running down the street, that just shot somebody to not go to jail 'cause he threw the gun? Or do you want him to go to jail because he never let the gun out of his hand? He knows what he's gotta do, and I know what I gotta do," Herrera says.

"I get it. But it's also making stuff up," Couric points out.

"It's not making stuff up, it's doing what you gotta do to put bad guys in jail," Herrera argues.

"Changing the story," Couric remarks.

"It happens. That's all I can tell you," Herrera says.

"So there are no Boy Scout police officers doing it by the book out there?" Couric asks.

"Maybe," Herrera says. "This isn't, you know, Podunk, Iowa. This is the city of Chicago. You gotta do a job."

And he says nobody taught him how to do that job better than Officer Jerry Finnigan, a decorated Chicago cop Herrera had known and admired since he was a child. Finnigan is now the alleged ringleader behind the raids that brought down the SOS unit.

"To me, he was like Superman. He was one of the best cops in the city," Herrera says.

Herrera says Finnigan took him under his wing. "Sometimes people called me 'Little Jerry,'" he says.

Caught on a security video, Jerry Finnigan and some 20 officers were taped during an SOS raid on a bar. They frisked the customers, and then arrested one of them, all inside the bar. But the police report told a completely different story: that the man was outside, on the sidewalk, and was arrested holding an "open bottle of Corona beer" and a bag of cocaine. When the security video surfaced, the case was thrown out.

Prosecutors have dismissed roughly 150 other cases made by the indicted SOS officers, including Keith Herrera.

"Was it a well known practice in SOS to write things in police reports that didn't actually happen on the scene?" Couric asks.

"'Creative writing' was a certain term that bosses used to make sure that the job got done," Herrera says. "I didn't just pick up a pen and just learn how to do this. Bosses. Guys that I work with that were older than I was. That had time on the job, you learn this stuff. It's taught to you. 'This is how it's done. This isn't right. Put this in there.' And you gotta listen to them."

"Nobody said, 'You need to chill out a little bit here'?" Couric asks.

"Not once," Herrera says. "I got high-fives and honorable mentions and department commendations."

And he wasn't just getting commendations: misconduct complaints against Herrera and other members of the SOS unit were among the highest in the entire department and almost nothing was done. The department's own data shows those officers were disciplined less than one percent of the time. Federal authorities are now investigating what role police supervisors and the Internal Affairs division had in letting those cops stay on the streets.

Police Superintendent Jody Weis, former head of the FBI in Philadelphia, was brought in by Chicago Mayor Richard Daley earlier this year to overhaul the department.

"Considering the low rate of disciplinary action against the SOS officers, are you concerned that an atmosphere existed where members of the department thought that they could commit misconduct with impunity?" Couric asks.

"I think there probably was an atmosphere that, 'Hey, we're above the law. We're getting great stats, we're pulling guns off the street, we're taking down drug dealers. Yeah, maybe we are breaking the rules, maybe we are breaking the laws, but look what we've accomplished.' They lost their way. And it saddens me. Because supervisors have a lot of power. And if they're encouraging their people to engage in misconduct or actually, in some instances, to even engage in criminal activity, that is horrific in my eyes," Weis says.

By the time Weis arrived in Chicago, the SOS unit had been disbanded, but he found the whole department needed shaking up.

An off-duty police officer seen in a surveillance video is facing criminal charges for kicking and beating a female bartender half his size; she claims she was kicked and beaten because she wouldn't serve him another drink. Cops videotaped in another incident have been charged with attacking a group of businessmen who were playing pool.

Over the past five years, the city has paid about $155 million to settle claims of police misconduct and brutality. One man stands to collect $4 million after a jury found two officers liable for sodomizing him with a screwdriver. The case is under appeal and is among the many incidents outside the SOS unit that led Superintendent Weis to replace 21 of the 25 top commanders on the force.

But amid all of this reform, Chicago has also seen a spike in shootings and murders.

"Do you worry that a greater emphasis on playing by the rules will result in a higher crime rate?" Couric asks Weis.

"You know, I am," the superintendent admits. "I don't ever want police officers to think that they have to be timid. They've got to be aggressive. They've got to fight crime. All we really ask them to do is don't engage in brutality. Don't become corrupt and don't compromise your integrity."

Keith Herrera says he reached a point where he went way over the line.

The first time, he says, was after he and some other cops searched a house and money was stolen. Driving back to the station, he says a few hundred dollars landed in his lap. "I looked at it and I said, 'You guys kidding me?'" Herrera recalls.

"What did they say when they threw the money in your lap?" Couric asks.

"'Shut up and take it,'" Herrera asks.

He says it was tough to justify that. "And it took a lot. You know you think to yourself, 'Alright, I'm doing good. I got to where I want to be. And now this.' Do you just say, 'Ah, I'm gonna go tell a supervisor'? No," he says. "And you just tell yourself, 'It's not gonna happen again. It's a one time thing, no one's gonna know. And if someone does find out we'll be okay, our bosses will take care of it.'"

"A one time thing. It's not gonna happen again," Couric remarks.

"Correct," Herrera says.

But he says it did happen again. Herrera says it kept on happening until one day, he admitted to Couric, he took roughly $30,000 from the safe of a suspected drug dealer and divided it among the officers he was with.

Asked if Jerry Finnigan was part of this group, Herrera says, "Yes."

"Was he in charge?" Couric asks.

"He wasn't a sergeant. He didn't have the white shirt on. But he was in charge," Herrera says.

That money was a fraction of the hundreds of thousands of dollars prosecutors say Finnigan, Herrera and other SOS officers stole - until seven were arrested for felonies that could land most of them in prison for up to 30 years. They have all pled not guilty.

But for Keith Herrera, the troubles didn't end there. Last summer, he says Finnigan approached him with a shocking proposition: he wanted Herrera's help in killing two former SOS officers who would be testifying in the case against them.

"Jerry Finnigan decided that they didn't need to be breathing anymore," Herrera says.

Asked what his first reaction was, Herrera tells Couric, "Thought he was nuts. I'm like, "This has gotta stop. Now, you're gonna take somebody's life? A guy that we worked with for years, that I know his daughters? I know his son? You're gonna kill them? You know what? You can indict me all you want. You can throw me back in jail all you want. But, right now, to me, I don't have my star or my gun. But, I'm still a cop. I'm gonna stop you from doin' this. There's no f****** way I'm gonna let you do this.'"

Stripped of his badge, Herrera says he saw a chance at redemption and did something virtually unheard of for a Chicago cop: he broke the so-called "blue wall of silence" and went to the FBI, offering to wear a wire against his mentor, Jerry Finnigan. Over the course of several days, Herrera secretly recorded their conversations.

"Who was he planning on doing the deed?" Couric asks.

"He didn't tell me specific names. He called it a paint job. And he just said some really good painters. We'd never have to paint again. That's what he said," Herrera says.

Herrera says he "petrified" during this process. "I had the FBI on speed dial on my phone," he says.

As the plan took shape, Herrera says Finnigan added two more officers to the hit list. "He said if we get take care of these first two, we might as well take care of everybody else. You know?" he says.

"So he was willing to kill four Chicago police officers?" Couric asks.

"Yes," Herrera says.

"To keep them from testifying against him?" Couric asks.

"That's correct," Herrera says.

As a result of Herrera's assistance, U.S. Attorney Patrick Fitzgerald charged Jerry Finnigan with plotting a murder for hire, an allegation he denies.

Since then, Finnigan has been cooperating with federal prosecutors, as has Keith Herrera, in the investigation of the Chicago Police Department. Meanwhile, Mayor Richard Daley has already established a new office-under his authority-
to handle complaints against police officers, which he says should help prevent future scandals.

"What troubles you the most about what's been going on in the police department?" Couric asks.

"Well, what troubles me the most is that one little incident can overshadow all the good things that the police department may do," Daley says.

"But it's not just one little incident, Mr. Mayor," Couric points out.

"But maybe it's 10 or 15. Yeah, it could be 10, or 15 or 20. But every day, we're answering thousands of calls. So you don't allow a series of things to overcome the police mission of serving and protecting the people of the city of Chicago," Daley says.

Keith Herrera still faces the possibility of prison time and is hoping prosecutors will show him some leniency for his cooperation. He knows he'll probably never be a street cop again, but he wants some day to tell his story to recruits at the academy. The police superintendent told us he'd welcome that idea.

"I'd like to put a picture of myself up on a board, when I was in the academy, smiling, thinking I'm gonna save the world," Herrera says. "And then I'd like to put a picture up of me with my mug shot, not happy, looking miserable, and I'd like to ask them 'Do you guys have any questions? Because I got a lot of answers for all those questions whatever question you have I'm gonna have an answer for.' And they're gonna learn from me. I know they would."
Produced by Tanya Simon, Andrew Metz and Michael Radutzky