On a warm Sunday morning in June, Kinsey Dulaney found herself at a red light at Northwest Highway and Jupiter Road, like many others preparing for a routine drive.
As she waited for the signal to change, a homeless man approached her car and began knocking on her window.
Although initially unfazed, Dulaney’s calm turned to fear when the man grew aggressive. He shouted profanities and yelled, “I know you want to see my (private parts).”
“He looked me in the eye directly,” Dulaney recalls. “He started kicking my car and punching my window. Eventually, he dropped his pants, exposed himself, and rubbed his body on my car.”
Feeling trapped, Dulaney experienced what seemed like an eternity as she waited for the light to turn green, the man’s threats escalating with every passing moment.
“You don’t even know what I would do to you,” he bellowed, locking eyes with her. “I would hurt you. I would strangle you. I would jump on you.”
In a state of panic, she thought, “What do I need to do? Please, lights, turn green. Please, Lord, just let my window hold up,” as she prayed for safety.
After what felt like an agonizing wait, the light finally changed, allowing her to escape the situation and return home to her husband.
Once safe, Dulaney called the Dallas Police Department, but since the threat had passed, she was directed to use the city’s 311 non-emergency line.
They advised her to contact the northeast precinct directly to file a report.
The following day, she received a voicemail from someone claiming to be Sgt. Darrell Watson, badge number 7011B.
Comforted by the identification, Dulaney returned the call. However, the conversation quickly turned alarming.
He referenced her former address and used her maiden name, which raised her suspicions.
Dulaney had been married for ten years and hadn’t provided her maiden name when making the report.
The caller also mentioned an incorrect date of the incident, and when she corrected him, he accused her of being evasive.
Despite the oddities in their conversation, he somehow had knowledge of her current employer, details she had only shared briefly since starting three weeks prior.
Dulaney recounted, “He threatened to show up at my place of work and arrest me. He started yelling and berating me.”
It was then that Dulaney’s instincts kicked in, prompting her to end the call and verify the badge number with the police station.
Upon contacting them, officers confirmed that the man was a scammer attempting to extort money.
They informed her that they had received numerous reports of similar scams that very morning.
“Police records are public, and there’s really nothing you can do,” officers told her, and she felt an alarming lack of urgency in their response.
Dulaney’s concern lingered, however, particularly regarding how much information the scammer had about her life, especially details about her job.
An uncomfortable memory from that call still haunts her: the scammer’s angry demand for her current address, prompting her to hang up immediately.
Dulaney has since taken it upon herself to share her experience with other young mothers, urging them to exercise caution.
“I hate that I’m left with so many fears and worries. I don’t have enough answers. What were his motivations?” she expressed.
The fear has lingered in the aftermath, exacerbated by an incident when the wind blew her gate open one night, leading her to send her husband outside to investigate.
“I don’t want to be fearful every day and night,” she said.
Corbin Rubinson, a senior public information officer with the Dallas Police, did not confirm whether a Sgt. Darrell Watson exists within the department.
However, a quick online search reveals a man by that name with over 45 years of experience as a sergeant in the Dallas County Sheriff’s Office.
Rubinson directed inquiries to a blog post from February warning residents about scammers impersonating law enforcement and using fear tactics to intimidate citizens.
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