Lawless: Indiana city still paying for past failures to hold rogue officers accountable

Indianapolis Star

29-04-2025

ELKHART, Ind. — In his first five years as a patrol officer with the Elkhart Police Department, Steve Ambrose was disciplined five times.
He racked up three reprimands and two suspensions — one for placing his foot on the head of a handcuffed man lying on the ground and the other for moving a surveillance camera so it didn't record officers fighting with an inmate. He was accused at least 14 other times of misconduct that didn't lead to disciplinary action.
In his sixth year — 1992 — Ambrose was promoted to detective.
Leaders of the police department in Elkhart, in northern Indiana, repeatedly failed to hold Ambrose and other officers accountable during the 1980s and 1990s, an IndyStar investigation found. Instead of instituting lasting reforms and ridding the agency of bad apples, they often turned a blind eye or downplayed allegations, quietly resolving claims with cash settlements and no acknowledgment of wrongdoing.
The officers — often cleared by what a former chief described as "inadequate" and "inconclusive" internal affairs investigations — were soon back on the job.
Over the last four decades, the agency of about a hundred officers has been hit with more than 200 lawsuits and tort claims alleging police misconduct. About 70% were filed from 1985 through 1999. It's unclear from decades-old records how all the cases were resolved, but IndyStar found the city settled at least 21 cases during that time — about half involving officers identified as Wolverines.
Elkhart police have also received at least 1,500 citizen complaints over the last four decades, with about two-thirds coming from 1985 through 1999. That's an average of one complaint every four days for 15 years.
It was an era of heightening tensions nationally between police and the Black community that included the police beating of Rodney King in Los Angeles in 1991.
In Elkhart, that time period coincides with the emergence of a group of young, White officers who called themselves Wolverines. According to court documents and several former Elkhart officers, their aggressive tactics here targeted citizens, especially Black residents, with harassment, unjustified force and bogus arrests.
The group's us-versus-them approach to policing helped foster a culture of abuse within the police department that fueled a distrust in the Black community. It remains years after Ambrose and the other Wolverines left the department.
Elkhart still paying for past misconduct
Since 2006, courts have exonerated six people wrongfully convicted of crimes in Elkhart. It's the highest per capita in Indiana and fifth in the United States among cities with more than 40,000 residents. The exonerees — including four Black men — spent a combined 70 years behind bars for crimes they did not commit.
Four other wrongful-conviction claims are pending in Elkhart County courts, including one in which an officer identified as a Wolverine was part of the investigation. Three of those claiming innocence remain in prison.
So far, the city's liability insurance carriers have agreed to pay nearly $27 million to settle four civil rights lawsuits alleging detectives — including some identified by multiple former officers as Wolverines — framed innocent people.
The city's annual insurance premiums have increased from $96,260 in 2021 to $148,221 in 2025, though officials did not say if it's because of recent settlements.
Mayor says police have made changes
Elkhart Mayor Rod Roberson, speaking on behalf of the city and the police department, said he can't answer for decades-old misconduct allegations involving officers no longer on the police force. But the Democrat said the department has worked to improve its relationship with residents and has, in recent years, held officers accountable for bad conduct. The city, for example, created an independent commission to oversee the hiring, firing, promoting and disciplining of officers.
"Under my administration's leadership, expectations are clear ...," Roberson said in a written response to IndyStar's questions. "If an officer violates our standard of conduct, disciplinary action will be taken."
The city and the department also have made efforts to move away from the policing philosophy that pitted its officers against citizens.
Officers are asked to get out of their cars and interact with citizens. City and police officials host and participate in events, including community walks and weekly sessions for residents to voice their concerns. The city also started a Citizens Academy that allows participants to learn about daily police functions.
In 2021, the city created a civilian community liaison position to connect police with citizens and educate the public. In 2023, it opened a community engagement office at Washington Gardens, a predominantly Black neighborhood on Elkhart's south side.
The city also has three licensed social workers who help officers on certain calls, Roberson said. Last year, they assisted more than 1,040 residents, and officers referred more than 360 calls or incidents to them.
Still, the department's racial makeup has yet to reflect the city's changing demographics. Of the department's 122 officers, only six are Black and three Hispanic. Roberson cited recruiting challenges, a trend reflected nationwide. He said a quality police force also depends on other factors, such as training and culture.
"My administration has and will investigate allegations of misconduct. I don't claim that my administration is perfect or beyond reproach," Roberson said, "but we have authentically attempted to improve policing in the City and genuinely continue our efforts in that direction."
The department hasn't always operated that way, IndyStar found.
Deny. Settle. Repeat.
Wilbur Sloop Jr. was lying in the parking lot of a bar one night in 1989, his hands restrained behind his back, as Ambrose walked toward him. Suddenly, Sloop said, he felt the pain of the officer's foot slamming against his eye.
Then, Ambrose planted a foot on one side of Sloop's head, pressing the handcuffed man's face against the pavement. Sloop remembers screaming, wondering what he'd done to deserve the assault. Records say he wasn't resisting arrest.
"Ambrose just, you know, kept going, shrugging his shoulders," Sloop said. "He didn't care."
Ambrose denied kicking Sloop, but admitted placing his foot on his head that night in 1989. He was suspended for one day.
He was suspended again for three days a few weeks later after a fight broke out between officers and an inmate in the police department's detention center. Ambrose later admitted in a deposition that he'd moved a camera to keep it from recording the fight.
"I just did it," Ambrose stated when pressed about the reason.
Between 1986 and 1992, Ambrose racked up four written reprimands: one for leaving a loaded .25-caliber pistol in the glove compartment of his squad car, another for fixing a friend's traffic citation, one for making improper comments to female cadet officers, and another after a prisoner in his custody escaped. He was suspended two more times for leaving work early without permission and for insubordination.
Ambrose, who did not respond to multiple messages requesting comment, denied in a deposition that he was part of the Wolverines. But 11 former officers stated in depositions, six of which were filed in court, that he was affiliated with the group. The depositions were taken as part of a recent civil rights lawsuit against the department.
The names of Ambrose and others identified by former officers as Wolverines were staples in complaints and brutality cases that dogged Elkhart in the 1980s and 1990s, records show.
James Perron, Elkhart's mayor from 1983 to 1999, was a few years into his term when he realized the scope of the city's problem with the police department. One day in his office, he was handed five new lawsuits. Different cases. All alleging brutality by officers.
"Not all these people can be wrong," Perron, a Democrat, recalled thinking. "There's a pattern. … This is an unacceptable pattern."
But the pattern continued, all but guaranteeing no one was held accountable:
Deny the allegations. Settle the case. The officer is cleared. Repeat.
Just a few months after the incident with Sloop, Ambrose and two other officers were accused of barging into a man's home without a warrant and beating him to the point of breaking his ribs, according to allegations in court documents.
One of the officers was Martin McCloskey. Five former officers stated in affidavits, interviews and depositions, including two filed in court, that he was affiliated with the Wolverines.
The case was settled for $10,000.
McCloskey said in an email to IndyStar that he was never part of "the so called 'Wolverines.'" He said the group began as "kind of a joke" started by another former officer who coined the name. But he said they took on a more "nefarious" and "sinister" nature after others, including Ambrose, got involved.
In 1990, Ambrose and Frank Owens — identified by three former colleagues, including in two court-filed depositions, as a Wolverine — were accused of falsely arresting a woman. Documents say another officer, who wasn't identified as part of the group, took the woman to the police station and broke her nose.
The case was settled for $50,000.
Then, Owens and another officer were accused of beating a man so severely a plastic surgeon had to piece his face back together with two plates and 14 screws. David Carte said he was sleeping in the back of the car when officers pulled it over. Owens, he said, grabbed him and slammed his face against the pavement. Somebody — he doesn't know who — kicked him in the stomach.
He sued and settled for $50,000.
Carte, who spoke with IndyStar in 2023 before his death last year, said the injuries left him with some residual damage. The plates and screws on the right side of his face made it difficult to breathe out of his nose. He also had persistent headaches.
"When I bend over," he said, "it feels like my head is going to explode."
'Who are they going to believe?'
The ongoing fallout from the Wolverines' years of abuse, legal experts say, is the result of a common pattern in local governments: City and police officials quietly resolve complaints and lawsuits without holding bad cops accountable.
"They're just settling the case to get it resolved," said Thomas Leatherman, an attorney from neighboring Goshen who has represented plaintiffs in lawsuits against Elkhart police.
In one case, Leatherman said, an elderly woman was seriously injured after an encounter with officers.
One of those officers was Bill Faus Jr., who was identified by six former colleagues, including in five court-filed depositions, as a Wolverine.
That lawsuit was settled. As in several other cases, the officers faced no disciplinary action.
"If an officer on the force is costing you as a city hundreds of thousands of dollars and they keep picking up cases, at that point, there's a lot of reasons why they would want to fire or discipline that officer," said Alexa Van Brunt, director of the MacArthur Justice Center Clinic at Northwestern University.
But that doesn't always happen, she said, even when officers have become a liability risk.
"The forces of inertia and the thin blue line are really real," Van Brunt explained. "It is very hard to hold officers accountable for even egregious misconduct."
The cases against the Wolverines also show the difficulty of going after the police in court, which experts say is often the only recourse for those whose rights may have been violated. The legal process is time consuming, disruptive and costly for accusers. Lawyers will question not just them, but also their friends and families. Every mistake or bad decision they'd ever made could be part of the public record.
And, Van Brunt said, "there's a possibility you won't win anything."
That's because police officers are protected by qualified immunity — a legal shield for government employees from civil and criminal liability — in most states, including Indiana. And jurors generally see them as more credible than those who had run-ins with the law.
"Who are they going to believe? Two police officers or one drunk guy?" Christopher Dale, a former Elkhart resident who told IndyStar that officers, including Ambrose, beat him after a drunk driving arrest.
Even when cases are settled or officers are found to have committed misconduct, their liability insurance carriers are typically footing the bill. The lack of direct financial consequences to the officers or the department means there's less motivation to reform, said Joanna Schwartz, a law professor at the University of California Los Angeles.
"Law enforcement agencies aren't doing much to learn from the allegations and lawsuits that are brought against them," said Schwartz, who wrote a book about how the legal system and local governments have made the police untouchable. "That's the general rule."
The case that almost made the difference
By the early 1990s, the city faced another lawsuit over abuse allegations — one that rocked Elkhart. Two Black men accused several officers of beating them during separate incidents.
Three of those officers were identified by several former colleagues as Wolverines.
Unlike many other accusers, Demetrius Pegues and Robert Tiggs didn't just quietly settle, even as officers denied allegations and the police department cleared them of wrongdoing.
The two men went to trial, which brought troubling police practices into public view. A jury heard evidence over eight days.
Witnesses included other officers who, under oath, broke the code of silence.
Pegues alleged Ambrose and Faus beat him during an arrest. Ambrose struck him in the head with a gun, leaving a scar near his right temple, Pegues said. He alleged he was beaten again at the police station and later at the hospital.
Tiggs alleged three officers — including Ed Windbigler, who acknowledged in a deposition filed in court that he was a Wolverine but denied brutality allegations — beat him and choked him with a baton during a confrontation inside a local bar.
Jurors found the officers violated the men's civil rights.
It was the first significant court victory against the department — and a wake-up call for the city.
Ambrose was ordered to pay $54,000. Faus, $27,000. Windbigler, $5,000. Officials suspended them indefinitely without pay. But facing backlash from the police union, officials reinstated the officers after a few days. The city and its liability insurance company ultimately split the bill by paying Pegues and Tiggs $172,000.
The Board of Public Safety issued a report, condemning a lack of accountability that permeated the police department.
"The problem is police brutality," the report said. "The goal is to eradicate it … The problem appears to be in a system that is secured in privacy and protected by a code of silence further protected by state law."
City leaders also commissioned an outside study of the policing practices. The result, released in 1994, was damning.
The police department had a reputation for brutality, especially in the Black community, the report said. And some officers were "proud" of it.
Officers "abused citizens," the report confirmed, "violated civil rights, alienated segments of the community and undercut the support the police depend upon to be effective in controlling crime and maintaining order."
Police leaders failed to hold "a minority of officers" accountable, the report said. Condoning their misconduct "had become ingrained in the agency's management culture."
The result was a police force where officers were "liberal with the stick."
The following year, the city faced yet another major controversy.
This time, Ambrose had shot and killed a Black man.
A shooting, an exoneration, more trouble
Ambrose and his partner, Owens, were driving in a south-side neighborhood when they spotted a young Black man believed to be a shooting suspect, according to the officers' accounts. When 22-year-old Derrick Conner ran, the detectives raced after him.
The chase ended with Ambrose shooting Conner five times. The fatal bullet hit Conner on the left side of his skull.
Conner's 1995 death at the hands of an officer — one who had been found liable for violating the civil rights of another Black man just two years earlier — sent protesters to the streets. His mother, Doris Miles, held up a sign saying, "The police murdered my son."
But the details of the shooting were highly contentious from the beginning.
Ambrose told investigators Conner was turning toward him with a gun in his hand, claiming he fired in self-defense. Owens corroborated Ambrose's account. Conner's family maintained he was unarmed and running away from Ambrose.
Eyewitness accounts were inconsistent.
One couple initially contradicted the officers' version of events. The woman said she had a "clear view" of Conner and did not see a gun, according to police reports. A few days later — after taking polygraph tests police said they failed — the couple seemed less certain.
They said Conner did turn or "could've been quartering" toward Ambrose, according to police reports. Conner could've had a gun; they just didn't see it.
Another witness wrote in an affidavit he saw Conner running from Ambrose and falling to the ground. He never saw anything in his hands.
An internal affairs investigation exonerated Ambrose. A grand jury decided not to indict him.
Conner's family sued in 1996. Two years later, they reached a $400,000 settlement with the city. To this day, Conner's mother believes the settlement was unfair and saw it as a way to silence critics of the police.
"It wasn't about the money," she said. "It was about taking a human life. My son's. He was 22 years old."
Larry Towns, a former police captain and one of Ambrose's supervisors, said in an interview that he was always concerned about Ambrose's conduct and watched him more closely than he did other detectives. For example, Towns said, he tried to make sure Ambrose was accompanied by another detective when taking witness statements.
"There was always this connection between him and the way he treated and arrested minorities," Towns said.
Cleared of wrongdoing in Conner's death, Ambrose faced more trouble.
In 1997, he arrested a Black man in front of the man's girlfriend and two young daughters. But there was no warrant for the man's arrest, and the probable cause to confront him was "questionable at best," according to his disciplinary file.
Ambrose was suspended for five days, a punishment that carried a threat of termination if he offended again, records show. He retired that year. In a deposition, Ambrose said he left because of "stress" from the Conner shooting.
But retirement didn't end the city's legal troubles tied to Ambrose and other officers identified as Wolverines.
In one case that was settled for $7.5 million in 2022, Ambrose and Windbigler were among the detectives accused of fabricating evidence to frame a Black man for an armed robbery he didn't commit.
Keith Cooper spent nearly 10 years behind bars after his 1997 conviction. In his absence, Cooper's wife and three young children, who'd lost their breadwinner, became homeless.
Cooper was released in 2006. He and his first wife divorced, and the trauma of losing a decade of his life lasted for years. Nightmares visited him often. A violent film, a movie about prisons or even minor stresses of daily life could trigger one of those bad nights.
'The same revolving door'
Abuse allegations against Elkhart police are nowhere near as common now as they were 30 or 40 years ago. Officers' interactions with the public, starting from their arrival at scenes of incidents, are recorded by cameras in patrol cars and body cameras they're required to wear.
But misconduct allegations have not gone away.
Last year, a Black man sued police officers for falsely arresting him and lying in arrest documents to justify their actions. The arrest, which happened in 2020, kept him in jail for a month. The charges were later dismissed.
A judge later found the officer's justification for confronting the man — that he smelled marijuana — was "less than credible," according to court documents.
Inside the police department, some believe there are still officers whose bad behavior goes unpunished. For example, the agency has at least two current supervisors with criminal histories, according to court records.
One was convicted of conversion, a misdemeanor, for mishandling the personal items of an arrestee in 2007. Another was convicted of misdemeanor drunk driving in 2017. Both have since been promoted to sergeants.
"It's the same s---," said a current officer who agreed to speak on the condition of anonymity for fear of retaliation from colleagues. "It's the same revolving door of the same people getting promoted. None of this stuff — any of what these guys have done — have affected their careers."