responded, and the officers wondered if someone hurt or injured could be inside, unable to get to the door. When Sergeant R. Pulliam arrived on the scene, he decided the 911 calls gave them probable cause to go in through the window.
Yates worked at prying the window open, as Covington knocked again, shouting, “Police. Open up.”
Suddenly, the deadbolt lock slid back, and the door eased open. Colton Pitonyak stood inside holding his cell phone in his hand, his eyes bloodshot and glassy and his speech slurred. The officers smelled booze.
“Did you call 911?” Covington asked.
“No,” he said.
Covington looked inside and saw white powder on a glass mirror on the coffee table.
“Do you live here alone?” Covington asked.
“Yeah,” Pitonyak said.
With that, they asked if they could walk inside. Pitonyak motioned, and they entered. One of the officers found a green baggie on the table with more of the white powder.
“I had friends over last night,” Colton said. “It must belong to one of them.”
The officers searched the apartment and found more baggies, these containing Xanax and 10 mg Ambien pills.
“Have you got a prescription for these?” Covington asked.
“No,” Pitonyak replied.
“How’d that window get broken in the apartment next door?” Covington asked.
Launching into an explanation, Colton said two young white guys were “messing around” outside, and when he walked outside to leave his apartment, they started a fight. “But I don’t know how the window was broken,” he said.
Curious, Covington asked dispatch to call the phone number that called 911, the one that had requested help at Colton’s address. Pitonyak’s cell phone rang, Covington answered, and it was the dispatch operator. “Why didn’t you answer your cell phone?”
Pitonyak shrugged.
“Why did you call the police?”
“Someone was knocking on my door trying to get in,” he said.
“Well, you’re under arrest,” Covington said. With that, the officer turned Colton around, handcuffed him, and walked him from the apartment. Dobervich was outside as they walked by, sweeping up glass. A short time later, two men in their twenties arrived, looking for Colton.
“What happened?” one asked Dobervich, looking at the broken window.
“Someone broke it,” Dobervich said, as the other man knocked on the door to Colton’s apartment. “He’s not there. The police handcuffed him and took him way.”
Three days later, on the seventh, Colton was arraigned in the Travis County Courthouse on a felony charge, possession of a controlled substance, with a potential punishment of up to two years in prison. By then the white powdery substance confiscated from his apartment had tested positive for cocaine. Later, he’d say that he didn’t initially call to tell his parents in Little Rock. The DUI had been seven months earlier. Perhaps he feared upsetting them more, or thought that if they knew, they’d take away his financial support. Whatever the reason, he made bail himself and hired a lawyer, David Hughes.
Colton’s case was assigned to the 147th District Court, presided over by Judge Wilford Flowers, who had a reputation in Travis County for being fair but tough. A courtroom veteran, Flowers is a dignified man who’d been one of the first African-American judges in the county, and he ran his courtroom with a sense of decorum.
From that point on, Colton’s favorite topic of conversation with his “bros” was legal strategy, specifically, how Hughes would get the charges either dismissed or dropped down to a misdemeanor. Pitonyak’s friends got a blow-by-blow account as the lawyer filed a motion to suppress the evidence found in Colton’s apartment that day, claiming it was an illegal search. If Hughes succeeded, none of the drugs found could be used against Pitonyak.
Meanwhile, Colton seemed anything but repentant.
Sometime later, a UT student was at a party when Colton showed up looking disheveled
Yates worked at prying the window open, as Covington knocked again, shouting, “Police. Open up.”
Suddenly, the deadbolt lock slid back, and the door eased open. Colton Pitonyak stood inside holding his cell phone in his hand, his eyes bloodshot and glassy and his speech slurred. The officers smelled booze.
“Did you call 911?” Covington asked.
“No,” he said.
Covington looked inside and saw white powder on a glass mirror on the coffee table.
“Do you live here alone?” Covington asked.
“Yeah,” Pitonyak said.
With that, they asked if they could walk inside. Pitonyak motioned, and they entered. One of the officers found a green baggie on the table with more of the white powder.
“I had friends over last night,” Colton said. “It must belong to one of them.”
The officers searched the apartment and found more baggies, these containing Xanax and 10 mg Ambien pills.
“Have you got a prescription for these?” Covington asked.
“No,” Pitonyak replied.
“How’d that window get broken in the apartment next door?” Covington asked.
Launching into an explanation, Colton said two young white guys were “messing around” outside, and when he walked outside to leave his apartment, they started a fight. “But I don’t know how the window was broken,” he said.
Curious, Covington asked dispatch to call the phone number that called 911, the one that had requested help at Colton’s address. Pitonyak’s cell phone rang, Covington answered, and it was the dispatch operator. “Why didn’t you answer your cell phone?”
Pitonyak shrugged.
“Why did you call the police?”
“Someone was knocking on my door trying to get in,” he said.
“Well, you’re under arrest,” Covington said. With that, the officer turned Colton around, handcuffed him, and walked him from the apartment. Dobervich was outside as they walked by, sweeping up glass. A short time later, two men in their twenties arrived, looking for Colton.
“What happened?” one asked Dobervich, looking at the broken window.
“Someone broke it,” Dobervich said, as the other man knocked on the door to Colton’s apartment. “He’s not there. The police handcuffed him and took him way.”
Three days later, on the seventh, Colton was arraigned in the Travis County Courthouse on a felony charge, possession of a controlled substance, with a potential punishment of up to two years in prison. By then the white powdery substance confiscated from his apartment had tested positive for cocaine. Later, he’d say that he didn’t initially call to tell his parents in Little Rock. The DUI had been seven months earlier. Perhaps he feared upsetting them more, or thought that if they knew, they’d take away his financial support. Whatever the reason, he made bail himself and hired a lawyer, David Hughes.
Colton’s case was assigned to the 147th District Court, presided over by Judge Wilford Flowers, who had a reputation in Travis County for being fair but tough. A courtroom veteran, Flowers is a dignified man who’d been one of the first African-American judges in the county, and he ran his courtroom with a sense of decorum.
From that point on, Colton’s favorite topic of conversation with his “bros” was legal strategy, specifically, how Hughes would get the charges either dismissed or dropped down to a misdemeanor. Pitonyak’s friends got a blow-by-blow account as the lawyer filed a motion to suppress the evidence found in Colton’s apartment that day, claiming it was an illegal search. If Hughes succeeded, none of the drugs found could be used against Pitonyak.
Meanwhile, Colton seemed anything but repentant.
Sometime later, a UT student was at a party when Colton showed up looking disheveled
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