![]() ![]() When they asked if she had any illegal substances inside, Hoffman said yes and allowed them in to search. On her Facebook page you could see her dancing at music festivals with a big, goofy smile, and the faux profile she’d made for her cat (“Favorite music: cat stevens, straycat blues, pussycat dolls”).Ī few weeks earlier, police officers had arrived at her apartment after someone complained about the smell of marijuana and voiced suspicion that she was selling drugs. She was not a trained narcotics operative. In any case, Rachel Hoffman, a tall, wide-eyed redhead, was by nature laid-back and trusting. Perhaps what put her at ease was the knowledge that nineteen law-enforcement agents were tracking her every move, and that a Drug Enforcement Administration surveillance plane was circling overhead. “I’m pulling into the park with the tennis courts now,” she said, sounding casual. As Hoffman spoke on her iPhone to the man she was on her way to meet, her voice was filtered through a wire that was hidden in her purse. Young mothers were pushing strollers near the baseball diamonds kids were running amok on the playground. ![]() “It’s about to go down,” she texted back.īehind the park’s oaks and blooming crape myrtles, the sun was beginning to set. “I just got wired up,” she wrote at 6:34 P. On the passenger seat beside her was a handbag that contained thirteen thousand dollars in marked bills.īefore she reached the Georgia-peach stands and Tupelo-honey venders on North Meridian Road, she texted her boyfriend. A recent graduate of Florida State, she was dressed to blend into a crowd-bluejeans, green-and-white patterned T-shirt, black Reef flip-flops. On the evening of May 7, 2008, a twenty-three-year-old woman named Rachel Hoffman got into her silver Volvo sedan, put on calming jam-band music, and headed north to a public park in Tallahassee, Florida. In exchange for leniency, untrained informants are sent out to perform dangerous police operations with few legal protections. ![]()
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