He's a slight boy, skinny, with close-set eyes and a sugar-high smile. Lovable, but tempestuous. His biological father had been physically abusive, peppering his childhood with incidents of domestic violence and visits by Wickliffe police officers. His mother, Lisa Rhodes, was a recovering addict. His 4-year-old little brother, Daniel, was fathered by a Euclid police officer named Paul Doyle, who sometimes lived with them but mostly stayed at his own house.

By all accounts, Bobby's life lacked stability and order. He seemed doomed to become a troubled soul.

Over the last two years, however, Officer Doyle had been keeping Bobby in line through occasional spankings. On the day Bobby punched his little league teammate, his mother decided it was time he visited Doyle once again. She drove the boy to Doyle's house in the nicer section of Euclid.

This is where one clear narrative becomes two, subjective and tinged with emotion.

Doyle says he spoke to Bobby when he arrived. "You know what happens when you hit someone?" Doyle remembers asking the boy. "Yeah, you hit my bottom," he claims Bobby responded. According to Doyle, he then spanked Bobby twice with his hand.

The way Rhodes, the mother, remembers it, Doyle grabbed a belt and hit Bobby four times. "He was not being gentle," says Rhodes. "It was like, WHACK! I was so stunned, I didn't know what to do."

Pictures taken by relatives two days after the event show the backside of Bobby's left thigh, purple with bruises. These pictures eventually found their way into the hands of Lake County Job and Family Services. But no charges were filed. Lake County claims there was insufficient evidence to merit any action. Bobby's mother claims it's favorable treatment to protect a member of a well-respected crime-fighting family.

The Doyle brothers are legendary in Lake County. Last year, Detective Tim Doyle of Madison helped nab an illegal immigrant who'd attempted to rape a teen in a local park. Eastlake Police Detective Lt. Tom Doyle gained recognition for investigating the case of Joseph Newton Chandler, who committed suicide in Eastlake in 2002. Tom Doyle subsequently discovered that Chandler had been living under a fake name for 24 years and had $82,000 in savings when he died. Chandler also happened to resemble an FBI composite sketch of D.B. Cooper, the infamous robber who jumped from an airplane with $200,000 in 1971, never to be seen again.

Paul Doyle's personnel file reveals that he, too, is admired in his field. In the 14 years he has served as an officer for the Euclid Police Department, Doyle has earned a slew of accreditations and awards. In July 2005, Chief David Maine commended him for his role in apprehending a bank robber. "A repeat offender was taken off the streets," wrote Maine. "A job well done."

If only his personal life had been so sublime.

Doyle now regrets ever meeting Lisa Rhodes, let alone fathering her second child. "I'm caught up in this mess," says Doyle, sighing and shaking his head in frustration. "I do not want to be spanking kids. I resent that she put me in this situation."

His house in Euclid is a squat brick affair with an enclosed porch full of toys. Doyle himself is a stocky, handsome man. His full head of black hair is cut like a Marine's and only beginning to gray at the temples. When he speaks, he does so in the measured words of a well-trained officer, observing his subject with unreadable eyes.

Daniel, his son, peeks around a corner. He looks just like dad, down to the mini-crew cut. He's full of hesitant smiles.

Doyle's motive for spanking Bobby was to provide a safer environment for Daniel. Since Doyle and Rhodes separated, Doyle has had custody of Daniel, but delivers him to his mother's place for visitation. During those visits, Doyle says, 4-year-old Daniel got picked on by his 6-year-old half-brother, Bobby. Not the two-for-flinching sort of teasing, but serious altercations. In a fight two years ago, Bobby broke Daniel's leg. "I could either get involved and improve the situation, or I could duck out," says Doyle.

He discovered a method of discipline called 1-2-3 Magic. Developed by Dr. Thomas W. Phelan, this popular form of parental control focuses on counting to three before meting out punishment to a child, usually in the form of a "time-out." He and Rhodes both got a copy of Phelan's book and began using the method on Bobby. According to Doyle, the boy responded well. He was respectful. However, Doyle supplemented 1-2-3 Magic with spankings as punishment for violent offenses. If Bobby hit someone, Doyle would hit him.

"I understand there's multiple levels of discipline," Doyle explains. Time-outs aren't enough sometimes. "There's things you can do to up the ante. But the purpose of spanking is to stop the bad behavior."

1-2-3 Magic shouldn't be used that way, warns Dr. Phelan when reached at his Glen Ellyn office. "We don't advocate spanking," he says. "Ninety-nine-point-nine percent of spankings are parental temper tantrums. So I don't know what he's doing. The physical stuff tends to screw up a child's self-esteem and only predisposes them to violent behavior."

The only reason Lake County JFS was alerted to the spankings, Doyle believes, was because he kept Daniel from visiting his grandfather, Ken Rhodes. Ken Rhodes wouldn't follow 1-2-3 Magic when the children would visit, says Doyle, so Bobby would become violent with Daniel again. It felt like an unsafe environment. But Ken Rhodes wanted to see his grandson. So in retaliation, Doyle contends, Ken Rhodes photographed Bobby's bruises and sent the prints to the authorities.

It's convincing, this plight of a father protecting his child. It's easy to sympathize with Doyle, to commend him for keeping Daniel out of harm's way. After all, he was only spanking Bobby to protect his own son.

But then he hit someone else's kid.

Last September, Debra Miklavcic found herself arguing with her adopted 11-year-old grandson. He was yelling at her loudly enough for neighbors to become concerned. The Euclid cops were called. Officer Doyle arrived first.

Doyle stepped into the Miklavcic kitchen. It's small and frilly. A wooden sign hanging above the sink read: "Grandma's Cookies: 5 cents or one hug and a kiss." The boy, Stephen, came out of his room and sat in a chair, facing the policeman. Doyle called off the other responding officers. He wanted to handle this one himself.

"He started yelling," recalls Debra Miklavcic. "He pointed a finger at [Stephen] and said, 'You son of a bitch! You little bastard!' [Stephen's] hands were in his lap. Then, Officer Doyle started hitting him on the side of his face with his hand. He hit him six or seven times, until his whole face was red. I was scared. I wanted to call 911."

But who would respond? she recalls thinking. The cops were already there.

"'Oh, stop those crocodile tears,'" Miklavcic remembers Doyle saying next. "I was a wreck. Later, I said to Tom Brickman, the officer in charge, 'I wonder why he canceled backup?' He knew what he was going to do."

Doyle claims when he arrived Miklavcic was holding her arm as if Stephen had hit her, though that is not included in his report. Miklavcic says Stephen never hit her and the fight was only verbal. Doyle's report makes no mention of hitting the 11-year-old. "Police spoke to [Stephen] and calmed him down," the officer wrote instead. He does not deny that he struck the boy, but in an interview declines to elaborate.

Shortly after the incident, Miklavcic contacted Chief David Maine. Doyle was issued a written reprimand and Chief Maine arranged for a meeting with Doyle in his office so that his officer could apologize to Miklavcic and her grandson.

"He never looked at us when he apologized," says Miklavcic. "I think something should happen to this guy. It could have happened before, but people don't know how to report this sort of thing. I was shaken for two days. My grandson's afraid of police now. How is he supposed to trust police officers now? [Doyle] said he was administering discipline to a kid. I don't think discipline is hitting a kid in the head. He just kept hitting him and hitting him and hitting him."

What Miklavcic didn't know was that Chief Maine had been warned by Doyle himself that perhaps he wasn't in the best shape to deal with emotional situations, but was sent back to work.

"Prior to this incident, you had expressed some concerns about your own well-being due to problems that you were dealing with in your personal life," wrote Maine in his report. Maine further noted that after an assessment Doyle had been deemed fit for duty, and that the officer had been "willing to follow through with the recommendations" for continued follow-up.

Chief Maine says what Doyle did to Stephen was wrong because he was on duty. Responding to questions about the incident involving Bobby, the chief says, "Corporal punishment is not considered child abuse. It's an acceptable form of punishment for some. He's a good officer."

Besides the written reprimand for hitting Stephen, Doyle's record is relatively clean. Wickliffe police investigating Bobby's beating washed their hands of the case once they learned the incident happened in Euclid (in Cuyahoga County, not Lake). Doyle's own department inherited the investigation and ruled the allegations "unfounded." Chief Maine's report says, "The fact of the matter is, however, that Lisa is the custodial parent of [Bobby], and Paul Doyle only administered spanking at her direction and in her presence."

In her report to police, Lake County JFS social worker Rachel Durci stated "insufficient evidence" and the fact that it occurred outside her jurisdiction. It appears Cuyahoga County Job and Family Services was never notified, and Durci and her superiors at Lake County JFS refuse to explain why. "The information is protected by Ohio law and not subject to release," writes a spokesperson in a recent e-mail.

Lisa Rhodes has stopped seeing Doyle. She's taking nursing classes through Bryant & Stratton. In March, she attempted suicide and her father, Ken Rhodes, assumed custody of Bobby. Lisa Rhodes claims medication for bipolar disorder caused her to become depressed. Now that she is on different medication, she no longer has self-destructive feelings. She seems happy, flitting around her duplex with her pet rabbit, Princess Pink-aboo. She hopes to put her life back in order and reclaim both sons. She believes that Doyle is tapping her phone.

Rhodes says that after hearing beeping sounds in her phone, she called a technician with AT&T to investigate. The technician could not find a tap, but took steps to disable one if it existed. She then reported this to Wickliffe police. It's unclear if the technician was ever interviewed.

"[Doyle] was so controlling," says Rhodes. "Once, when [Bobby] was eating scrambled eggs, he puked on his plate. Paul made him eat his own puke. If [police] would just talk to [Bobby] they would arrest [Doyle]. I can understand he doesn't trust me because of the things I've done, but I've never hurt my kid."

Doyle denies tapping her phone, but admits to an "egg incident."

"He didn't throw up," says Doyle. "He chewed the eggs, mixed it with saliva, and pretended to be sick. But you know what? He never had that problem again.

"I've got nothing to hide. Did I bring my personal life to the job that one day? Yeah." He says it won't happen again.

Meanwhile, Bobby's grades at school have improved after moving in with his grandfather, Ken Rhodes. Ken will see his daughter in Lake County Juvenile Court on April 26, when he intends to ask for continued custody.

"Just until Lisa cleans herself up," says Ken. As for Doyle: "If I ever find out he hurt a grandson of mine again, I have his address."

The names of all juveniles have been changed to protect their identities.