Patch Blog: Why LAFD 'Monster' David Del Toro Still Has Loyal Friends

Former LAFD Capt. David Del Toro was for the second-degree murder of Jennifer Flores. Ms. Flores’ family and friends endured a five-year ordeal over the gruesome murder and, to a certain extent, there is a bit of so-called “closure” for them. The pain of her absence and the circumstances of her murder will always haunt them, but surely there's some degree of satisfaction in Del Toro's long-overdue sentencing.

The murder was tragic and gruesome. Its circumstances, at least as presented, are nauseating. And I’m saddened that it not only all happened in my neighborhood—it involved someone I know. Beyond that, I confess, I don’t have any strong feelings about Del Toro’s guilt or innocence.

I wasn’t a jury member on the trial and, therefore, it isn’t my responsibility to have a feeling one way or the other. As much as I care about the safety of my family and community, there isn’t much room for what might be called “consequence management” after a jury has already made its decision.

Feel how you may about the case of the People of California v/s David Del Toro, based on what you have read. Believe everything arguably good about Del Toro from your personal interactions with him. Or go ahead and surmise what you will from the facts presented in his protracted trial. Regardless, there is at least one silent victim whom you’ll probably never know.

To understand what I mean, imagine having a close friend—someone you consider family—who also counts Del Toro as a dear friend. This person was close to Del Toro long before the murder, remained a confidante during the past five years of his incarceration and trial, and will no doubt continue the relationship during his imprisonment.

What do you say to her? What do I say to her? How do you comfort someone who has lost a friend for all practical purposes?

Many could—and doubtless will—speak loudly in judgment of this friend's steadfast loyalty to a man convicted of murder. Granted they will do it from behind a keyboard or in a public forum surrounded by like-minded individuals. They would never have the courage to do it to her face.

They might—or will—say that it’s not Del Toro but the family of the victim that deserves our collective energy. They will likely be disgusted that someone who’s not immediate family could willingly remain associated with Del Toro after his conviction.

This friend of mine—this friend of Del Toro’s—isn’t a groupie or wacko, a conspiracy theorist or apologist. She’s just someone whose loyalty never wanes to a friend who has been loyal to her.

She’s the type of person you would probably love to have as your friend—for no other reason than that she understands better than most the pain of the untimely death of someone you love at the hands of another. She’s been on the murder victim’s side of grief.

What now for her?

It’s too easy to stand on the periphery of a matter and expound on what should be—or what should have been. To an extent, that’s precisely what I do for a living. But in a circumstance that hits not just close to home but also right at my front doorstep, I’m forced to take inventory. In fact, I’m taking inventory today.

I offer my sincerest condolences to the family and friends of Ms. Flores. It’s my hope that they have a network of people that will continue to support them. At the same time, I offer my sympathy to the family of Mr. Del Toro. It is my hope that they will be able to reach a place of peace after experiencing a trying time in their family’s history.

But most of all, I offer my love, support and loyalty to a dear friend who lives with a pain all but impossible to quantify—the pain of loving, supporting and being loyal to someone for whom few others are likely to find those emotions.

To such a friend, I raise a toast. You are a strong, rare bird whose unconditional support gives flight to both the winged and singed.