Sniper Probe Spotlights Chief’s Style

He has become a household name, a daily presence on national television, the earnest, sometimes testy voice of the hunt for a killer.

In the effort to solve the sniper slayings that have sent waves of fear around the nation’s capital, Charles A. Moose is the top cop -- chief of police in Montgomery County, Md., the quintessential suburban area where peace was shattered almost two weeks ago with a spree of five lethal shootings in less than 16 hours.

“There’s a lot of pressure on him,” said Montgomery County Executive Douglas M. Duncan. “There’s a lot of people pulling on him.... He is showing emotion when the situation requires it. He is showing reassurance when the situation requires it. I’m proud of what he’s doing.”

In his polite, nonmacho style, the 49-year-old Moose is the voice of law enforcement in an unfolding national drama. Day after day, he faces the cameras, almost mechanically avoiding questions about the course of the investigation for fear that such details might help the killer. Over and over, he asks the public to call in tips on hotlines that already have generated thousands of calls.

And he urges the media to show restraint in their reporting of a chilling crime story that now overshadows most other domestic news: “I know that is very tough for everyone,” Moose told reporters who flocked to police headquarters Sunday morning for a briefing. “But that is our request.”

Moose, who dresses in a tidy police uniform rather than the suit and tie favored by some chiefs, is not anybody’s stereotype.

He holds a doctorate in urban studies and, while serving in the police department, taught college courses in Portland, Ore. -- the city where he began his law enforcement career, rising to become chief before being hired by Montgomery County in 1999.

A week ago, when the sniper shot a 13-year-old boy who was walking into a middle school, Moose could not hide his emotions.

“Shooting a kid -- it’s getting really, really personal now,” the chief said, a tear streaming down his cheek.

Soon after, his wife, Sandy, told the Raleigh, N.C., News & Observer that the moment had revealed her husband’s more private, sensitive side, not often seen in public: “That’s the real Charles. That’s the guy behind all the toughness.”

Later in the week, when word leaked to local media that the sniper had left a Tarot card and a taunting note near the school, the tougher side of the chief -- who has acknowledged some problems with his temper in the past -- exploded into public view. “I have not received any message that the citizens of Montgomery County want Channel 9 or the Washington Post or any other media outlet to solve this case,” he said, livid. “If they do, then let me know.... To date, the people in my community have asked the police department to work the case. So I beg of the media: Let us do our job.”

While he was at it, Moose tossed some barbs at former law enforcement officers and others outside of Washington who were going on television with various theories about the sniper investigation.

“We’ve got retired police chiefs out there looking for other jobs, taking advantage of this situation to get their face on television,” he complained. “How sad. How insulting.”

Moose is just one official in a growing web of local and federal law enforcement agencies involved in the investigation, including the FBI, the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms, the Secret Service and police from the District of Columbia and the neighboring counties in Maryland and Virginia where the sniper also has struck. But in a sense, Montgomery County remains ground zero, the scene of five killings on the evening of Oct. 2 and morning of Oct. 3 that introduced a frightening new killer to the world -- one who shot 10 people in 10 days, leaving eight dead and two wounded.

Often, such huge police mobilizations with multiple agencies are marred by tensions and rivalries. But publicly at least, officials award Moose high grades for handling the organizational headaches that go with the current dragnet.

“It’s very important to speak with one voice,” said Gary M. Bald, special agent in charge of the FBI regional office in Baltimore. “He speaks for us.”

Moose, who grew up in the small town of Lexington, N.C., went straight from the University of North Carolina -- where he graduated with a history degree -- to the police department in Portland, where he spent 24 years. Even as he earned a master’s in public administration and a doctorate in urban studies from Portland State University, he climbed the Portland Police Bureau’s ranks to become the city’s first African American chief. His six years in charge there were occasionally stormy -- but they also were a time of accomplishment, when the crime rate fell, community policing efforts improved, personnel standards rose and technologies were adopted.

Several years ago, Moose expressed public resentment after an incident in which Portland residents, angry over a park closing, targeted his home for a protest. During that 1998 demonstration, police fired nonlethal beanbags into the crowd, sparking outrage. On another occasion, Moose reprimanded a police officer who was reading a newspaper while the chief was giving a speech.

Despite the occasional flaps, Moose received accolades from local officials when he announced his decision to take the Montgomery County job three years ago.

“He leaves the bureau in the best shape, at least in my memory,” Portland Mayor Vera Katz said at the time.

Even as chief, Moose taught college courses, including one with his wife on “gender conflict resolution.” On the job, he espoused a broad view of public safety, often considering the roots of crime problems -- such as when he said, during a visit by President Clinton: “Public safety is more than law enforcement. Public safety is education. Public safety is jobs. Public safety is people caring about other people.”

In 1999, Montgomery County officials recruited Moose to run the police department that protects about 890,000 residents over 497 square miles that sprawl through wealthy suburbs, working-class enclaves and rustic country reaching toward the mountains.

His mandate was to help ease racial tensions following two shootings of unarmed blacks and complaints that cops in the predominantly white county were using racial profiling techniques against African Americans. So far, he has received generally favorable reviews for his efforts.

But now it seems his tenure -- and perhaps his future -- will be judged on the investigation for an elusive sniper who continues to terrorize residents throughout the region. It is a challenge to which he brings a personal style that is volatile and humble.

“Each moment that passes without further incident,” he said after the first wave of killings, “I say a small prayer.”

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Times staff writer Lisa Getter contributed to this report.