Cop Out

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After the raid, people started talking. There were whispers of problems with "the paperwork," meaning the warrant might be erroneous. Then came the questions. Had Wallace, the SWAT supervisor, properly investigated their informant, one of Davis' relatives? Did the police chief, Tom Shockley, look the other way as Wallace presided over an unsecured crime scene? And was Hill telling the truth about being confronted by an armed Troy Davis, or was he covering up for his alleged "cowboyish" tendencies?

And why was Hill--a guy whose SWAT nickname was "Peenie" because of his propensity for exposing himself--the point man? Above all, did the North Richland Hills SWAT team have any right to break down the Davis family's door that morning? When Hill and his wife had time to sift through the events of the day, they realized that Davis had died in a raid that uncovered three drooping, dying pot plants.

Two weeks earlier, a family member had informed police that he'd seen marijuana growing in Davis' closet. The SWAT team had a warrant to confiscate "substantial amounts" of the drug from the Davis home. According to the informant, Troy's cousin Chris Davis, Troy was also known to answer his front door armed with a 9 mm pistol. But a search of the Davis house didn't turn up any living marijuana plants, just three dead ones in the backyard. GHB, commonly known as the "date rape" drug, was recovered from the refrigerator; it had only recently become illegal and Barbara Davis would later claim she used it as a sleep aid.

To this day, the events of the Davis raid and its aftermath hang heavy in the memories of those who were involved. Allen Hill says his life's dream to work as a police officer has been devastated by a department eager to make him a scapegoat for the shortcomings of his supervisors.

Though he was no-billed by a grand jury, exonerating him from any criminal liability, Hill says he resigned in 2000 from the North Richland Hills department after five months of being given only menial tasks. Hill says his department never sought his account of what happened inside. After seeking law enforcement jobs in other cities, he was unable to find employment in any public safety capacity because his record makes him a high-risk employee. Hill says he had nowhere to go but into the Army. At 44 years old, Hill will ship out to Iraq on July 28.

If it weren't for the Davis raid, Hill might still be clocking in at the city he calls "North Hills," instead of leaving behind a wife and two kids for the Army. Despite it all, he says he has no regrets. Hill says he was just doing what is in his blood to do: serve and protect. After recalling the story of how he believes his department betrayed him, he still contends: "I had the privilege of being there that day."

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Hill's side of the booth at an IHOP off Highway 820 would seat three average-sized people comfortably, but he manages to take up nearly half all by himself. With his square jaw, intense gaze and meaty arms, he looks every inch the soldier and speaks like one too. It is just after 9 a.m., or as Hill would say, "0900 hours." He couldn't meet the night before because he'd have too much to say before "lights out." He says these things without a hint of affectation.

He has an array of breakfast condiments splayed out in front of him: miniature creamer cups, Sweet'N Low packets, and salt and pepper shakers. The demonstration is of a SWAT entry--any SWAT entry--and why it's OK to have the medic as the point man, as he was on the Davis raid. He guides the Sweet'N Low packets across the table in pairs. These are the team members, and as they split up and round the salt and pepper shakers into different rooms, each may run into an armed target.

"Everybody's first obligation was as an operator," he explains. "A shooter."

There is no question in Hill's mind about what he saw that December morning. Davis was armed. Indeed, a cocked and loaded 9 mm pistol was found between the cushions of the Davis' white and blue floral couch, but the Davis family's forensic experts would later suggest it was planted there, opening up a whole host of questions as to whether the scene was set up by police to make it look like Davis was armed when he was not. Regardless of the evidence in dispute, Hill will take his image of an armed Davis with him later this afternoon to Fort Hood; it is, after all, the reason he'll be there.

It won't be his first time in the Army. He dropped out of high school as a junior in 1979, deciding that the Army had more to offer than a diploma. Hill eventually got his GED, left Army active duty in 1982 and became a roofer. That was when he met his wife, then a junior in high school working as a carhop at Sonic in White Settlement. As petite as her husband is burly, Linda Hill still remembers 23 years later what he ordered: a double No. 1 burger. She does not want to see him go to war, but she says she knows why he feels he must.