The brothel empire and the ex-detective, always a step ahead
According to prosecutors, an apartment in this Brooklyn building was used as a brothel. Former vice squad officer accused in worst scandal for N.Y.C. police in years
The complaints from neighbors about prostitution flourishing behind the Brooklyn apartment’s thin walls had been flowing into the vice squad for months. Men, arriving at all hours, were asked at the door which nationality of women they preferred: “Brazil? Peru?”
Police officers swooped in one day in September 2017, slamming through the door with a battering ram, but they left empty-handed. The brothel had quietly closed down before the raid, just as had happened with several other brothels around the borough, gone dark right before the police showed up.
The brothel empire was always one step ahead of the law.
Last week, prosecutors disclosed why: They said the brothels were run by a retired police detective who had been repeatedly tipped off about planned raids by officers on the force, revealing one of the worst corruption scandals to hit the New York Police Department in years.
The retired detective, Ludwig Paz, 51, was arrested and accused of running a broad and complex syndicate of prostitution and gambling that spanned Brooklyn and Queens and brought in millions of dollars. Three sergeants, two detectives and two officers were also charged. Two other officers were stripped of their guns and shields and placed on administrative duty. Dozens of civilians were arrested.
Police corruption in New York City has long revealed its share of notorious characters — the rookies working as muscle for drug dealers, the veteran investigators in the pockets of Mafia bosses, the shakedowns and favours and kickbacks.
But Paz, as portrayed by prosecutors, represents an unusual breed: a vice detective who kept a clean record until he retired, only to pivot hard and use his law-enforcement background to become the very strain of crime lord that he once was supposed to stamp out. His years wearing a badge in Brooklyn, police said, would prove to be on-the-job training for a second career as a purveyor of prostitutes and protector of pimps.
“Because of his familiarity with the tools of the trade and vice — and how to investigate these kind of enterprises — he kind of became expert,” said a law enforcement official, who spoke on the condition of anonymity because he was not authorized to discuss the case. “He figured, wow, he can make a lot of money.”
City officials were quick to claim credit for smashing the brothel-and-gambling ring, saying that the arrests offered evidence that the police department could police itself. Still, Paz’s apparent success at evading detection for years underscores the enduring power of the “blue wall of silence,” whereby officers stay quiet about the misdeeds of their colleagues.
The case also casts new doubt on the department’s Internal Affairs Bureau, which has in the past faced questions about its anticorruption programs and has a spotty record of uncovering major malfeasance.
Department officials defended their anticorruption programs, but acknowledged that the Paz case was prompting them to examine whether they need to put new ones in place.
Paz is in protective custody in jail, and his lawyer declined to be interviewed for this article. But his rise and fall was pieced together by reporters for The New York Times who conducted dozens of interviews with current and former law enforcement personnel, Paz’s family members and others. The reporters also visited locations of brothels and gambling parlours across the city.
The interviews and court records portrayed a crime boss who relied upon seven police officers he had met over his years on the job to be his crew — his legmen, his doormen, his bagmen.
Most important, they were Paz’s inside men, tipping him off to raids and betraying one of the most sacred trusts in law enforcement: the identities of undercover officers. Wiretaps revealed Paz’s contacts with the officers on the force who were later arrested and accused of being his accomplices. The contents of the wiretaps were recounted to The Times by senior law enforcement officials.
The syndicate thrived because of its secret weapons — all seven of them — and yet it was done in from within.
In the end, the “blue wall” finally cracked. The whistleblower was a fellow officer who called the Internal Affairs Bureau with a tip.
The women’s pictures appeared on Backpage.com and other sites notorious in the sex trafficking world. Selfies, grinning and topless. “I’m a fun, flirty, sexy & bubbly girl who just wants to hang out and have some fun,” one ad read.
She listed her location: an apartment on Fourth Avenue near 11th Street in Brooklyn, on the border between Gowanus and Park Slope.
This was how Paz attracted customers for his syndicate, the police said. New ones arrived looking for the women adver- tised on their phones, only to be met by a bizarre requirement.
They were ordered to drop their pants and submit to a fondling before engaging with prostitutes. The screening was Paz’s idea, the police said, a clever way to weed out undercover officers. From his time on the vice squad, Paz knew that undercover police officers are barred from exposing themselves in interactions with prostitutes. After submitting to the screening, and the vast majority did, the customer paid, was handed a playing card as a receipt and proceeded to the next room to select a prostitute, the police said.
A 15-minute session cost $40, a full hour, $160 or more. The sessions played out in seedy little plywood stalls within the apartment on Fourth Avenue. Other brothels across Brooklyn and Queens were in bedrooms lit by a bulb behind a red lampshade, with a dirty mattress on the floor and a bottle of air freshener within arm’s reach.
The syndicate operated at least seven of these brothels, along with “pop-up” rooms advertised on Backpage.