June 6, 2025
By: Pat Trevino

What began as another late night of work quickly escalated into a tense and unsettling confrontation with law enforcement. As I sat at my desk, immersed in work for Cuero Online News, the sound of my front door jiggling caught my attention. Turning slightly, I saw my grandson’s friend, who had spent the night after their baseball game, trying to open the door.

I snapped at him—after all, it was nearly 2:00 AM, and the idea of anyone leaving the house at that hour was alarming. Prepared to reprimand him for trying to sneak out, I demanded to know what he was doing. But then he said something that stopped me cold: “I’m going outside to talk to the police officer.”

My focus sharpened instantly. Blocking him from opening the door further, I quickly assessed the situation. My office is just a few steps away from the entrance, meaning I am always aware of who comes and goes. The young boy had already cracked the door open, and instinctively, my mind raced—what if someone was posing as an officer, trying to lure him outside?

Then, I looked beyond him and saw the reality unfolding outside—four or maybe five police cars lined the street, their flashing lights illuminating my house. Two officers stood in my yard, one shining a flashlight directly into my face, despite my porch light being on. When I asked him to lower it, Officer Kuecker coldly informed me that the officer didn’t have to comply, refusing to adjust the blinding beam. The confrontation had begun.

The officers stated they were searching for a suspect involved in a burglary at a nearby store, and that my grandson’s friend matched the description. I was stunned—these boys had been at a baseball game until late that evening, and I had been awake the entire time, working in my office. The 14-year-old guest had been upstairs on the balcony, talking on the phone, and there are no stairs from the balcony leading outside. If anyone had entered or exited my home, I would have known instantly.

Then, my son-in-law arrived, unaware of the chaos unfolding. Officers had already questioned him about who was inside, and he confirmed it was just the two boys who had played in the game until 10 PM. However, because I had previously said 9 or 9:30, they accused us of lying. Determined to clarify, my son-in-law offered to call the coach to verify the exact time.

That was when a brief exchange took place between Officer Hernandez and my son-in-law—a tense yet measured discussion, free of raised voices or hostility, simply an attempt to clarify the situation. Then, without warning, another officer abruptly lifted his flashlight, aimed it directly at my son-in-law, and issued a stark accusation: “Are you threatening him?” demanded Officer Cantu, his voice cutting through the moment, his intent unmistakable.

Recognition hit me instantly—the same Officer Cantu who had failed to investigate a drunk driver who crashed into a telephone pole on my property a year or two earlier. That incident nearly cost my daughter and son-in-law their lives, and despite undeniable evidence—including footage from my neighbor’s security camera—Cantu had done nothing. The crash ripped all electrical wiring from my home, forcing me to pay over $2,000 in emergency repairs, because the city insisted the damage was on my property.

And now, once again, law enforcement was failing me—choosing intimidation over investigation.

They had surrounded my home with four or five patrol cars, treating my family like suspects. And why? Because all they had was a vague description—“a brown kid.”

Then came the final blow. “If it turns out they are involved, we will charge every adult here with interfering in an investigation—a felony,” Officer Cantu threatened.

The intimidation was undeniable. But I refused to yield.

As a homeowner, as a guardian of those boys, as someone who knew the truth—I stood my ground. I refused to let officers question a minor without parental consent, especially when the accusations had no foundation.

This encounter exposes deeper concerns—police conduct, racial profiling, and the abuse of authority within small communities. If officers can so easily threaten and intimidate innocent citizens instead of conducting thorough investigations, then who, exactly, are they protecting?

In Cuero, and in communities everywhere, we must ask—when does law enforcement cross the line from serving and protecting to intimidating and controlling?