The Murder of Police: Our Careers in Baltimore, Maryland

West Palm Beach, Fl - A Special Episode That Reopened Old Wounds and Preserved Hard Truths. Being a police officer in Baltimore, Maryland has never been just a job. For generations of officers, it has been a test of endurance carried out in one of America’s most violent cities. Here, the murder of police officers was not an abstract possibility, but a lived reality. The streets remembered everything, even when time tried to move on.

Check out the Podcast Interview with him for Free on the Law Enforcement Talk Radio Show and Podcast website, on Apple Podcasts, Spotify, YouTube and most major podcast platforms.

That reality resurfaced decades later during a deeply personal conversation on The Law Enforcement Talk Radio Show and Podcast. Hosted by retired Baltimore Police Sergeant John Jay Wiley, the special episode brought together two men shaped by the same city but separated by assignment: Wiley and retired Baltimore Police Detective Gary McLhinney.

“This was something I carried with me from 1985,” Wiley said. “It stayed buried, but it was never gone.”

The Murder of Officer Vincent J. Adolfo

On November 18, 1985, Officer Vincent J. Adolfo was doing what Baltimore officers had done countless times before, routine police work in a city already steeped in violence.

That night, officers attempted to stop a stolen vehicle. The suspect car rammed a patrol vehicle, and the occupants fled on foot. Officer Adolfo pursued one suspect into a narrow passageway known as Iron Alley.

“He believed the suspect was surrendering,” McLhinney explained. “That’s what makes it so hard to accept.”

As Officer Adolfo approached, the suspect suddenly produced a .357-caliber handgun and opened fire. Adolfo was struck in both the chest and the back. At the time, his department-issued ballistic vest only covered the front and was rated to stop rounds up to .38 caliber.

“The equipment wasn’t what it is today,” McLhinney said. “He never had a chance.”

Officer Adolfo died from his wounds, becoming another name etched into Baltimore’s long history of officers killed in the line of duty. The suspect fled the state, was later captured in Oklahoma, extradited to Maryland, convicted, and ultimately executed in 1997.

A Crime That Followed Careers for Decades

Though Wiley and McLhinney never worked together, the murder of Officer Adolfo bound them through shared trauma and unresolved emotional weight.

McLhinney played a critical role in helping Wiley confront guilt and grief decades later, emotions that quietly follow many officers long after retirement.

“Gary helped me finally put things to rest,” Wiley said. “He understood because he lived it too.”

Both men served during an era when the murder of police officers in Baltimore was tragically common, fueled first by heroin in the 1970s and later by crack cocaine in the 1980s and early 1990s.

“You didn’t count years by calendars,” McLhinney said. “You counted them by funerals.”

Policing One of America’s Most Violent Cities

Baltimore City, an independent city under the Maryland Constitution since 1851, has long struggled with violent crime rates well above the national average. With a population of more than 585,000 at the 2020 census and part of a metropolitan region exceeding 2.8 million residents, the city’s challenges have always been complex.

In 1993, Baltimore recorded a devastating 353 homicides. In 2019, the city nearly matched that number with 348 killings. While homicides declined sharply to 201 in 2024, the scars of decades of violence remain.

“Statistics don’t tell the whole story,” McLhinney said. “They don’t show the officers who went home different, or didn’t go home at all.”

Temporary declines in violence, including a drop below 200 homicides in 2011, offered hope but proved fragile. Baltimore’s crime trends have repeatedly defied national patterns, reinforcing the unpredictable nature of policing the city.

Gary McLhinney: Leadership Forged in Baltimore

McLhinney came from a family of firefighters but felt drawn to policing.

“He wanted to be a Baltimore City police officer,” colleagues said. “That’s where his heart was.”

After retiring from the Baltimore Police Department, McLhinney was appointed Chief of the Maryland Transportation Authority Police. In that role, he oversaw security for the Port of Baltimore, BWI Marshall Airport, and the state’s bridges and tunnels, particularly during the tense years following the September 11 terrorist attacks.

“Baltimore prepared us for that responsibility,” McLhinney said. “Nothing else could have.”

Preserving the Stories That Refuse to Fade

Determined to preserve the stories of officers lost in the line of duty, McLhinney co-authored Bleeding Blue: Four Decades Policing the Violent City of Baltimore with journalist Kevin Cowherd.

“The book isn’t about glory,” McLhinney said. “It’s about remembering the men and women who paid the ultimate price.”

Proceeds from the book benefit the Signal 13 Foundation, which supports Baltimore police officers and their families through financial assistance and scholarships. Additional proceeds support Concerns of Police Survivors (C.O.P.S.), a national nonprofit organization serving more than 87,000 survivors nationwide.

Supporting Survivors After the Headlines Fade

C.O.P.S. provides peer support, counseling, scholarships, survivor weekends, youth programs, and guidance for law enforcement agencies navigating officer-involved deaths.

“How an agency responds matters,” Wiley said. “It shapes how families survive the aftermath.”

With chapters in all 50 states, C.O.P.S. continues its mission through donations, grants, and public awareness, often driven by podcasts, news coverage, and social media storytelling.

Why These Stories Still Matter

Today, conversations like The Murder of Police: Our Careers in Baltimore, Maryland live on across podcasts, news outlets, and social media platforms, not as nostalgia, but as testimony.

“The murder of police officers doesn’t end with the trial,” Wiley said. “It follows careers, families, and cities for generations.”

By revisiting the murder of Officer Vincent J. Adolfo and the realities of policing Baltimore, this story serves as both remembrance and warning. It honors the fallen, supports the living, and reminds us that behind every statistic is a name, a badge, and a life that mattered.