Badge of Honor : The LAPD’s Rosemary Sanchez and Rachel Canchola are reluctant role models in the male-dominated world of homicide investigation. They just want to catch killers.

FLASHLIGHT IN HAND, DETECTIVE ROSEMARY SANCHEZ EXAMINES A SMALL POOL OF BLOOD, searching for clues in an early morning slaying. The site, a fog-shrouded corner in South-Central, is near the scene of a drive-by killing two days earlier that is being investigated by Detective Rachel Canchola.

In the rough-and-tumble world of homicide investigation, Sanchez and Canchola are exceptions--minority women in a profession traditionally dominated by men. The Los Angeles Police Department does not break down its homicide detective rosters by race or sex, but Sanchez and Canchola are believed to be two of only three Latina homicide detectives on the 7,600-member force.

Though Canchola and Sanchez downplay the significance of their gender and ethnicity, saying they want to be judged by the quality of their work, they acknowledge that the dearth of Latina detectives on all investigative squads has made them role models on a police force under intense pressure to open its ranks to women and minorities. There are burdens--including greater scrutiny by their male colleagues and comments from some who say they obtained their detective shields only because of their heritage and gender. But they say the job is worth it.

“There is pressure as a woman, but we’ve done a good job and proven that this (job) is open to women,” said Sanchez, 33, a 12 1/2-year department veteran who has worked the busy South Bureau homicide detail for three years.

Spanning an area from the Santa Monica Freeway to San Pedro and from Watts to Windsor Hills, the South Bureau is one of the bloodiest stretches of turf in the nation--a 57-square-mile zone where there have been more murders than days so far this year. If it were a city, the bureau’s 323 homicides--including five on Thursday alone--so far in 1993 would rank it among the 10 deadliest in the nation.

The pace can be grueling for even the most experienced detectives. It is not unusual for investigators in the South Bureau to work 18-hour days and juggle up to a half-dozen cases at once, only to be interrupted by yet another murder.

Still, both Sanchez and Canchola enjoy the challenge of tracking down a killer. “Murder--it’s the ultimate crime,” said Sanchez.

A native of Santa Maria off the Central Coast, she decided she wanted to be a cop after attending a career fair in seventh grade. Sanchez said she was attracted to the job because it was a chance to help people. And although she has achieved that goal in many ways, she has also become hardened.

“I work in homicide, and murder is something I’m going to be exposed to,” she said matter-of-factly. “It’s always tough to see a face or a head blown away, but it’s part of my job.”

Canchola, a tough-talking, no-nonsense investigator from South El Monte said she enjoys nothing more than “sweating” a confession from a suspect.

“A confession is a high,” said Canchola, 34, a 10 1/2-year department veteran who has been a homicide detective for two years. “It’s just very euphoric.”

Though death is never easy to deal with, she too has become used to the violence.

“I’d go nuts if I took it personally,” said Canchola, who, as a child was a member of a Charo troupe, Mexican cowboys and cowgirls who perform rope tricks at festivals and carnivals. “I’ve always been sort of a tomboy,” she said.

So far this year, Sanchez and Canchola have made arrests in eight of the 14 murders they have each investigated with their partners--a clearance rate on par with the detail’s average.

For Sanchez, a recent case began with a 3 a.m. telephone call at home. There has been a shooting at 80th and Hoover streets. Within an hour, she and her partner, Michael McPherson, are at the scene, which is illuminated by a street light glowing through the fog. The two detectives immediately take charge.

“What do we know?” Sanchez asks two uniformed patrol officers. They reply that a neighbor heard a man and a woman arguing, followed by a single gunshot and a moan from the woman.

The unidentified victim, hit in the head, has already been taken to the hospital, where she is on life support. The only remnants of the crime are a strip of yellow police tape surrounding the area, a pool of blood and a crumpled pile of blood-stained towels.

As McPherson pencils a diagram of the scene, Sanchez hunches over, flashlight in hand, slowly scanning the ground for clues--a shell casing, purse, anything that could shed light on a motive. She finds nothing.

Meanwhile, the early morning silence is broken by five or six gunshots crackling several blocks to the south, followed almost immediately by a single burst of fire from the opposite direction.

“Just another night in 77th,” says Lt. Paul Mize, supervising officer at the scene, referring to the violence-plagued 77th Street Division, one of four precincts in the South Bureau.

With no clues, Sanchez and McPherson decide to go to UCLA-Harbor Medical Center to fingerprint the victim. “It’s all we have to go by now,” Sanchez says.

The prints lead to the identity of the woman, who has a history of prostitution arrests. Neighbors later that day tell the detectives she is a “strawberry,” someone who trades sex for drugs.

Successful homicide investigators must be part sleuth, part psychologist, able to elicit information from unwilling suspects and witnesses. They must be able to analyze evidence such as gunpowder burns or the pattern of shell casings on the ground to build the physical evidence of a case.

“You have to try to bring all the art forms of investigation together, and that’s not an easy task,” said Lt. Sergio Robleto, commander of the South Bureau homicide detail.

He called Canchola and Sanchez thoughtful, aggressive investigators whose “individual abilities outdistance a good portion of my squad room.” He said they have proven that they belong in the demanding homicide unit, where competition and pressure to succeed have broken many a detective.

“Everybody who comes into this place has to prove themselves. And as long as you’re capable of investigating a murder, everybody backs off,” Robleto said.

A third Latina, Miros Diana Flores, is a detective trainee in the bureau who is studying for the department’s upcoming detective examination. If she passes, she will be assigned to a detective squad in another division when there is an opening and will have to work her way back into a homicide detail. Generally, homicide investigators are chosen from other detective squads based on an interview.

For residents of South-Central Los Angeles, one of the fastest-growing Latino areas in the nation, the presence of Spanish-speaking detectives such as Canchola, Sanchez and Flores is reassuring, community leaders say. Latina detectives not only serve as role models, they say, but also provide a link to residents who, for years, have felt alienated from the police.

“For women, especially if you’re talking about new immigrants, it helps sometimes for them to be approached by other women who have the same cultural backgrounds,” said Jose Trujillo, president of the South-Central Hispanic Advisory Committee, which was formed by officers at the 77th Street station as part of their community-based policing program.

Although more women are joining the nation’s police departments, experts say, they are only now beginning to be promoted to detectives. This is especially true in homicide squads, which are among the most coveted detective assignments.

Nationwide, 20% of new officers entering police departments are women, according to a 1990 report by the Police Foundation, a Washington-based think tank that analyzes law enforcement issues. As more women are promoted, the detective ranks will become more diversified, said Hubert Williams, president of the Police Foundation.

But so far, that process has been slow in Los Angeles. Of the department’s 1,259 detectives, 114--or 9%--are women. Of the women, only 24--or 2% of the total number of detectives--are Latinas. There are 19 black women detectives and one Asian woman. The City Council last year passed a resolution--supported by Police Chief Willie L. Williams--to increase the percentage of women in the department from the current 14% to 44% by the year 2000.

The Christopher Commission, in its sweeping report on the department after the March, 1991, beating of Rodney G. King, found that women officers were more likely to use verbal communication skills when dealing with suspects.

Such skills are especially useful in homicide investigations, for which a detective must rely more on persuasion than brute force, said Detective Ben Lovato, head of the homicide detail in the Eastside’s Hollenbeck Division. Sometimes a suspect will be less confrontational with a woman, he said. Other times, if a suspect or witness is a woman, she may be more willing to talk with another woman.

Canchola said her male colleagues have asked her to make telephone calls to suspects or witnesses whom they believed would be less likely to hang up on a woman. “A lot of times, a female voice tends to get an answer,” she said. “It sometimes opens doors and sometimes doesn’t.”

Women on the force also inspire other women interested in law enforcement careers.

“Whenever I’ve seen any woman police officer or detective, it’s always been a great inspiration,” said Angie de la Trinidad, 23, who took the Police Department entrance exam last year and is now on the waiting list. “If they can do it, so can I.”

Still, the influx of women in departments throughout the country has been resented by some male officers, who believe that women lack attributes such as strength and aggressiveness and are being hired and promoted just because of their gender.

As she read a suspect’s arrest record, Canchola recalled verbally challenging a detective supervisor who said the only reason she was in his unit was because of affirmative action. She asked him to show her the documentation stating that she was there solely because of her gender and ethnicity. He backed down, she said.

“There are times when you have to speak up, and I do,” she said.

Her partner, Detective Oscar Lamarque, said Canchola is the first woman he has worked with who has been able “to pull her weight on an even keel.” He said other women detectives and patrol officers he has worked with have lacked aggressiveness, been unable to make split-second command decisions and been intimidated by gang members or tough-talking parolees.

“If all hell breaks loose, you want someone who can back you up,” Lamarque said, as he and Canchola cruised past rows of businesses on Crenshaw Boulevard. “Rachel can definitely hold her own.”

As a detective-trainee three years ago, Canchola was awarded the Police Star--the department’s second-highest heroism medal--for rescuing elderly tenants from a burning building in Van Nuys.

Lamarque recalled how Canchola was recently confronted by a verbally abusive potential witness. She remained composed, however, not only calming the person but persuading him to divulge information.

“Situations like that get very tense and can get completely out of hand. Then you have a problem,” Lamarque said.

McPherson, too, has complete confidence in his partner. In fact, Sanchez is training him. “I sort of ride on her coattails,” he said.

On a recent afternoon, Sanchez clearly took the lead in firing questions at a potential witness. During the 45-minute session, held in a small room with a single bright light fixture, Sanchez alternated between probing examiner and compassionate listener.

“Nobody should have to die that way,” Sanchez tells the woman, referring to a 24-year-old man who was gunned down in his home. “You want us to catch whoever did it, don’t you? You gotta give us some direction.”

The woman says she knows nothing.

“Did anybody have a beef with him? . . . What are people in the neighborhood saying?” Sanchez asks.

The woman, looking at the ground, begins to say something, then pauses. “It’s just the rumor mill,” she says. “People are just talking.”

“What are the rumors?” McPherson asks.

“In between all those rumors is a tiny bit of truth. Give us a hand,” Sanchez adds.

Finally, the woman offers the names of several individuals who might have had a dispute with the victim. The detectives take her home.

“I knew she knew more than she wanted to ‘fess up to,” Sanchez said later. “She just didn’t act right.”

For Canchola, her most gruesome case was a man found wrapped in canvas with his hands tied behind his back. He had been floating for about two weeks in the Los Angeles Harbor. “Now that was a murder,” she says.

Like most of the killings she has investigated, one of her cases on a recent night was a drive-by.

The victim, another 24-year-old, was shot several times as he stood near his South-Central home. With his last gasps, he asked his father to remove his shirt because he couldn’t breathe, witnesses said.

When Canchola and Lamarque arrive at the scene at 1:40 a.m., the victim had already been taken away. Bloody clothes piled on the street were the only reminder of his death.

For the next 18 hours, the two detectives interview witnesses, canvass the neighborhood for information and forward a description of a getaway car to police agencies, car rental companies and garages.

By the time they call it a day at 8 p.m., they have established a motive for the killing--the victim was an alleged gang member, and his slaying was a retaliation for a killing by his gang the week before.

“It looks like it’s a pay-back,” Canchola says.

Witnesses are talking, she says, which is a positive sign. “There’s a good chance that this one’s going to be solved.”