When Narragansett Tribal Police Lt. Antone Monroe stops a suspect in the woods, he can’t use the state database to check the driver’s license or registration. Instead, he has to call the state police on a cell phone and speak a password. The state police then calls him back.

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The Providence Journal / Ruben W. Perez

CHARLESTOWN — When Lt. Antone Monroe stops someone in the deep woods, his heart beats a little faster. Unlike other police officers, he can’t check a suspect’s background by typing a name or license number into a computer.

The reason?

Monroe, a big man in a dark blue uniform, is a member of the Narragansett Indian Tribal Police Department. He and three other policemen, plus two conservation officers, patrol the tribe’s thickly wooded 1,800 acres off Route 2.

For years, the state has denied the tribe access to its criminal database, called the Rhode Island Law Enforcement Telecommunications System, or RILETS. Used by the state police, city and town departments and even campus police agencies, it allows an officer to quickly check a suspect’s criminal background based on a driver’s license, plate or registration.

Tribal officers can’t do that easily.

When they stop a suspect, they must grab a cell phone, call the state police and give a password. A trooper then runs the background check.

The delay puts tribal police officers at a disadvantage and raises serious safety issues, says Chief Sachem Matthew Thomas. The tribe’s rural land includes transmission “dead zones,” where cell phones don’t work, he says. Recently, an officer was unable to run a background check on a suspect. Later, the officer discovered the suspect was wanted in New York.

“They’re not security guards, they’re well-trained officers,” says Thomas, who is threatening to sue the state for discrimination. “We’ve asked for this every year for 11 years. There’s no logical reason to deny us.”

The tribal council has authorized the tribe’s attorney, Jack Killoy, to go to court if the state continues to refuse to provide access to the database.

The state’s congressional delegation has also asked Governor Carcieri to consider the tribe’s request.

Nothing is likely to happen soon.

According to Carcieri spokeswoman Amy Kempe, the state is awaiting a tribe-related U.S. Supreme Court ruling before it acts.

The tribe wants to place 31 acres it owns in Charlestown in federal trust, a move that would exempt the land from local law and taxation. The town and state oppose the move, challenging the Department of the Interior’s authority to take the land in trust, which the agency agreed to do a decade ago. On Nov. 3, the Supreme Court heard arguments from both sides.

A ruling in the case could better define the state’s relationship with the tribe, says Kempe, adding, “We’re erring on the side of caution.”

No matter what the outcome, state police officers are always willing to listen to the tribe’s concerns, especially those dealing with dead zones, says Kempe. “The state police and the tribal police have a very successful relationship.”

That’s true, say tribal officers. But the U.S. Supreme Court case “has nothing to do with the tribe’s ability to provide police protection,” Killoy says.

In past discussions, tribal officials have addressed several concerns raised by the state, including professionalism and insurance issues, he says.

Tribal officers are trained at the Federal Law Enforcement Training Center in Artesia, N.M. The center provides training for the Border Patrol, the Bureau of Indian Affairs and the Transportation Security Administration.

“To my knowledge, every municipal law enforcement department has access to this,” Killoy says. “It puts the tribe’s officers and the tribal community at risk when an officer can’t determine if a suspect has a criminal history or is wanted for a crime.”

The department’s jurisdiction is limited to the tribe’s land, which includes two ponds, a camping area, temporary housing, a church and winding dirt roads and foot paths. It takes an officer about an hour to patrol it, says Monroe.

Last year, tribal police responded to just over 650 calls, including assaults and gunfire complaints, says Monroe. This year, the department expects to respond to nearly 700 calls, he says. In recent years, police officers have investigated a murder and a suicide on tribal land.

Thomas says the department is no different from other rural police forces. In August, the tribal police joined with neighboring Charlestown, Richmond and Hopkinton police departments to curb illegal drug and alcohol use in Chariho.

“This has nothing to do with federal trust or gaming,” says Thomas. “It’s a matter of public safety. We’ve tried to keep it out of the court, but 11 years is too long to wait.”

pdavis@projo.com