The lawyers figured that such misconduct had already been recorded. In Tenaha, the police station and cars were outfitted with video-surveillance equipment. And Boatright, for one, said that on the night of her detention Washington told her that the whole thing was being captured on film. Garrigan had requested footage of traffic stops made by Washington and his partner, along with related video from the station, but got nowhere. Then, after the Tenaha lawsuit caught the attention of the national media, the Civil Rights Division of the U.S. Department of Justice launched its own criminal investigation into the alleged abuses. Several months later, in October, 2009, large stacks of optical disks were finally turned over. Garrigan and Guillory now had hundreds of hours of digital footage to sort through. Garrigan hired a colleagues adult son to sit at a large oval wood-veneer table with a laptop and a supply of Starbucks, sorting through it all. (Hes still at it.)
Curiously, most of Barry Washingtons traffic stops were absent from the record. In those instances where Washington had turned on his dashboard camera, the video was often of such poor quality as to be useless, Garrigan says. There was hardly any footage of his clients, including Jennifer Boatright and Ron Henderson.
In James Morrows case, a sliver of video was identified from Constable Randy Whatleys camera feed, which captured part of the mans detention by the side of the road. Washington could be heard instructing Whatley, Would you take your K-9? If he alerts on the vehicle, Im gonna take his mamas vehicle away from him, and Im gonna take his money.
Oh, yeah, Whatley replied. O.K.
Im gonna take his stuff from him, Washington repeated.
The rest of the video was mostly muted, and a judge later deemed it somewhat obscured by the placement of Washingtons car between the camera and Morrows car.
Some useful footage turned up that involved one of their original plaintiffs, a soft-spoken man named Dale Agostini, who was born in Guyana and was the co-owner of an award-winning Caribbean restaurant in Washington, D.C., called Sweet Mango. In September, 2007, he and his fiancée had had their infant son taken from them hours after Barry Washington pulled them over for traveling in left lane marked for passing only, according to the police report. No evidence of drugs or other contraband was found, and neither parent had a criminal record. Even so, Washington seized a large sum of cash that Agostini, who has family in the area, said hed brought with him to buy restaurant equipment at a local auction. Lynda Russell, the district attorney, then arrived at the scene, sending Agostini and his fiancée, a nursing student at the University of Maryland, to jail for the night.