Shapiro placed a third call to Ramsey, and Melinda answered. After Shapiro introduced himself, Melinda passed the phone to her father, who said he was busy and would call back. He never did. The reporter wrote Ramsey a twenty-nine-page letter saying, among other things, that he felt guilty about the type of work he was doing and that he wanted to advance himself in life. He admitted his wrongdoing and said he was considering becoming a Christian. These communications with Ramsey and Michael Tracey’s documentary affected Shapiro’s view of not only the Globe’s agenda but their methods of obtaining stories. It wasn’t long before Shapiro began to tape-record his phone conversations with his editors.
By the end of the year Ramsey and Shapiro were talking without the knowledge of his editors. When Melinda got married, Shapiro sent flowers. On December 23, Ramsey sent Shapiro a letter thanking him for the flowers and enclosing two books on Christian faith that he said might be meaningful. He complimented the reporter on his “good journalist skills” and even mentioned a Texas case he might look into, in which a woman on death row for killing her children might be “a victim of our flawed justice system.”
On Friday, May 1, Hunter and Beckner agreed that the police would make their formal presentation of the case to the DA’s office within a month. The commander told Hunter that the detectives would not name a perpetrator but would lean on linguistics and handwriting analysis to link the ransom note to Patsy Ramsey. Also, they were expecting the results of the CBI’s analysis of the clothes worn by the Ramseys the night of the murder and the morning afterward. Beckner told Hunter that the presentation would be unlike any other that the police had given the DA’s office. Hunter said he would bring a team of experts to listen. He would approach this with an open mind, Hunter reassured Beckner, and if there was a case, he would take it to trial. If there was any doubt, he said, he would take it to a grand jury.
They discussed where to hold the presentation. The police department’s conference rooms were being used for the training of thirty new officers, and Judge Bellipanni saw a conflict of interest in using a courtroom. The next best site was the CU campus. School would be out by June 1, and some of the buildings were so large that the entire Boulder police force could fit in them. Although the presentation had to be made in complete secrecy, the location was sure to leak. Therefore, Hunter and Beckner agreed to disclose it, in order to keep the process as open to the public as possible. The Boulder PD secured the use of the Coors Events Center on the CU campus.
Hunter had called grand jury specialist Michael Kane after receiving his letter and asked the prosecutor to make himself available so that he could bone up on the case before the police department’s presentation. Hunter wanted Kane’s recommendation on how to proceed afterward. Kane agreed to head the prosecution through the end of 1998.
On May 5, Hunter announced that he had hired Kane, who “would assist the DA’s office in making the decision of whether to present the Ramsey case to the grand jury, and to actively participate in the presentation if the grand jury is convened.” When word got out, the press scrambled to find out more about him.
At forty-six, they learned, Kane had a reputation of being a “no-nonsense guy.” “We called him Deputy Dog. He would bring the hammer down on cases,” said Robert Judge, Kane’s boss at the Pennsylvania Department of Revenue. The Post-Gazette in Pittsburgh said that the Ramsey case was perfect for the prosecutor: “This is where ‘Twin Peaks’ meets the ‘X-Files.’”
For his part, Pete Hofstrom didn’t mind hiring Kane. He had his own docket to worry about and, more important, had serious doubts about convening the grand jury. Nevertheless, he would reserve judgment until after the presentation, he told Hunter.
The same day Hunter announced the hiring of Kane, he and Bill Wise asked the county commissioners for an additional $156,584 to cover costs related to the Ramsey case. The previous week Wise had submitted an itemized list: $60,779 to pay Kane from May 10 through the end of the year and $38,387 for a grand jury “research prosecutor.” The balance of the money would go toward cell phones, computer workstations, laptops, pagers, and a leased car. It was clear from Wise’s request that a grand jury investigation was more than just a possibility.
“In no way do we expect this case to be shelved,” Hunter told the three-member board. “Rather, we remain optimistic this case will be solved.” The board voted unanimously to disburse the funds.
As Hunter and Wise left the commissioners’ chambers in the old courthouse on Pearl Street, the DA was caught by reporters. Why all the money for another expert? Wasn’t this a case of throwing good money after bad? Hunter had to admit that no one currently employed by his office was well enough versed in grand jury investigation or prosecution.
“If you have a heart problem,” Hunter said, “you’re going to need a heart specialist.”
Like many police officers, Steve Thomas had followed the O. J. Simpson case and remembered how Simpson’s attorneys had destroyed the LAPD’s case by attacking their work. He feared the same thing might happen in the Ramsey case. On May 8 Los Angeles attorney Daniel Petrocelli, who had proved to a civil jury that Simpson caused the wrongful death of his ex-wife, Nicole, and Ron Goldman, was in Denver to promote his book on the subject. Thomas and his wife, Karena, went to hear him speak at the Tattered Cover bookstore.
Listening to Petrocelli talk about the case, Thomas came up with an idea. He invited Petrocelli to dinner, but the attorney already had a dinner engagement. The two men talked for a few moments. Thomas wanted to know if an average citizen, or a member of law enforcement, could sue parents for causing a child’s death—as the Goldmans had sued Simpson for the death of their son. Could an officer like Thomas sue John and Patsy Ramsey for the death of JonBenét? Petrocelli said no. He knew of no law or previous cases that allowed someone other than a blood relative or a family member related by marriage or adoption—who had directly suffered a loss—to sue.
That same week, knowing that a grand jury was not too far off, Fleet White again requested copies of his police statements. This time Beckner decided that although White couldn’t have them, he would be allowed to read them, without taking notes.
Detectives Thomas and Harmer visited the Whites to tell them of Beckner’s decision. White was furious. Again he said he should be afforded the same rights that John and Patsy had been given in April 1997, when they were given copies of their prior statements. Thomas said that Beckner was immovable and the decision was final. White then said that as of that moment, his cooperation with the police was over. As the detectives left, Priscilla White gave Jane Harmer a hug, and when Thomas reached for White’s hand, he was surprised to see tears in his eyes. White hugged the detective, but Thomas was sure that White had meant what he said.
Meanwhile, the city of Boulder released the police department’s running costs on the Ramsey case. In 1996 the officers’ overtime had amounted to $20,340.80. In 1997, overtime, travel, and investigative expenses came to $222,844.20. For the first four months of 1998, similar expenses came to $31,138.21. The district attorney’s additional costs of $215,000 were not included.
Though the case was on the DA’s doorstep, Pete Hofstrom told his boss that his weekly felony calendar was just as important as the Ramsey case. During the first week of May, for example, he was scheduled to make fourteen court appearances. On some Fridays, he attended hearings on a dozen pleas and sentences. For Hofstrom, it was a matter of policy that no one’s life should be neglected in favor of the Ramsey case, in which the search for justice had so often been subordinated to other agendas.
By May 8, Michael Kane was at work in the Boulder Justice Center. Trip DeMuth was unhappy about reporting to an outsider but understood the need for a specialist. An avid middle-distance runner, DeMuth now added a few more miles to his weekly schedule.
Finally, Bob Grant saw the months of consultation with Hunter start to pay off. All Hunter had really needed during the last year and a half, Grant believed, was support. Now, wi
th Michael Kane on board, Grant saw little need for additional input from the metro DAs.
One of the first pieces of advice Kane gave Hunter was that the DA’s office should keep its collective mouth shut. Hunter knew that for eighteen months he had made up the rules with the media as he went along and had taken himself to the precipice—indeed, had possibly stepped over the edge. He realized that he could no longer risk having his casual remarks wind up in print. Nor could he afford to waste time talking. Abruptly, he withdrew behind a wall of silence.
The police department’s position about its officers talking to the press was made clear to a writer in a conversation with one of the detectives.
DETECTIVE: I have always been unclear as I watch Beckner, Koby, and Hunter and some other people that [talk] freely through the media and journalism circles while we are threatened with beheading if we say anything.
WRITER: Look at what happened to Linda Arndt.
DETECTIVE: Yeah, a tragedy.
They changed the subject:
WRITER: The case is going to be on his [Hunter’s] shoulders now.
DETECTIVE: I’ve got to believe that he will step up to the plate. I think the detectives at this point are just pouring their heart and souls into this presentation.
I know that Beckner is really encouraged. He wants us to come through. And Hunter is bringing all of his VIP people. I don’t think that they’re going to be disap pointed.
I have prosecuted X number of murder cases over the years and I can say to you, I have never had a murder case with one-hundredth of the investigation that has been put into this one.
After the detective hung up, he sat quietly thinking about the presentation.
“What’s wrong?” Mark Beckner said to him. “You’ve been so quiet lately.”
“It’s my medicine,” the detective replied. Beckner laughed. My medicine was a term the detectives used when they were taking it on the chin from the DA’s office.
On May 26, Hunter met with the members of his staff who would attend the police presentation including Denver DA investigator Tom Haney, who had been hired several weeks before. Haney felt like a relief pitcher coming in during the ninth inning. It would be his job to conduct any further interviews with either John or Patsy. Having spent time with the detectives and Smit and DeMuth, he could see that the police had only one opinion—namely, that the Ramseys had killed their daughter. Some on Hunter’s staff, however, were more flexible. Haney felt it was definitely better to talk about evidence, interviews, and scenarios without making preconceived judgments.
Haney worried that both Steve Thomas and Lou Smit had lost their perspective. It wasn’t that they were unprofessional in meetings, but they had forgotten to keep an open mind. During one meeting, Smit, Thomas, DeMuth, and the other detectives had gotten into an argument over the grate covering the broken basement window. That was when Haney said to himself, Hey, I’m not here to fight, I’m not here to referee, I’m not here to take sides. I’m here to do a job. He wondered whether Thomas and Smit shouldn’t have been taken off the case earlier.
Hunter, Kane, Smit, DeMuth, and Wise met with Hofstrom to draw up a list of who would attend the police presentation from their side and came up with seventeen names.
Wise joked that they had to add two more to make a small foreign faction.
“What do you mean?” Hofstrom asked.
“I assumed that you had read the ransom note,” Wise replied. “I’ll get you a copy.”
Meanwhile, the Boulder PD received word from the CBI about the four red and black fibers that had been found attached to the duct tape. The lab had been sent a red blouse and sweater, black pants, and a red-and-black checked jacket belonging to Patsy.
Now the CBI reported that the fibers were not consistent with the slacks or the sweater but were consistent with the jacket Patsy had worn the night JonBenét had been murdered. The CBI could not say for sure that the fibers didn’t come from some other piece of clothing made of the same material, but this important evidence would be included in the police presentation.
When the detectives began working the Ramsey case, they said to each other that they wouldn’t settle for anything less than the death penalty. After the CBI’s tests determined that what they had thought was semen was in fact blood, the detectives said they would accept nothing less than a conviction on a murder charge. A few months later, they would have settled for a felony conviction. By the time they met with the FBI at Quantico in September 1997, they would have considered an indictment a victory. When Eller was replaced, handcuffing would have felt like a triumph. After a solid year of working the case, they prayed for the chance at a second interview with the Ramseys. Now, eighteen months in, they were happy to have the opportunity to present the case to the DA.
On May 26, Beckner and the seven detectives began rehearsing the presentation. For almost a month they had worked in the law offices of their pro bono attorneys, Bob Miller, Richard Baer, and Daniel Hoffman. Baer’s staff showed them how lawyers presented complex evidence to a jury, and the detectives organized their presentation along those lines.
The previous year, the attorneys had mediated between the DA’s staff and the police. Now Steve Thomas and his colleagues hoped that after their attorneys had seen their run-through, they would call Hunter and say, “We’ve looked at it, and we think they’ve got it.” The call was not made.
On Saturday, May 30, two days before the scheduled police presentation, Alex Hunter was gardening in his front yard when the phone rang at about 9:00 A.M. Hunter’s nine-year-old son answered.
“This is John Ramsey,” a man said. “Is Alex Hunter there?”
“Yeah, right,” the boy replied. The family had received many crank calls.
When the caller was unable to convince the child that he was Ramsey, he asked to speak to an adult. “Oh, sure it is,” Margie Hunter said sarcastically when her son told her that a John Ramsey was on the phone.
Unable to convince Hunter’s wife, Ramsey still insisted on speaking to her husband.
“Am I supposed to drop everything I’m doing each time someone calls?” Hunter grumbled as he walked into the house. Then he found himself on the line with John Ramsey.
Ramsey wanted assurances that the interviews with him, Patsy, and Burke were going to take place in the near future. Hunter should understand, Ramsey said, that he was in charge and that if there was a problem with the arrangements, he wanted to know about it.
The DA explained that the canon of ethics prevented him from discussing the interviews or any other aspect of the case with Ramsey directly, unless his attorney approved their communications. Though Hunter had taken a call from Patsy just after his February 13, 1997, press conference, he had done no more than listen to her praise his comments on TV. Hofstrom had met with Patsy and John but always in the presence of their attorneys. Lou Smit had spoken to both Ramseys on the phone, interviewed them, and met them in person but always with their counsel, except for the chance meeting at the Ramseys’ house on June 6, 1997.
John Ramsey told Hunter he would try to get his lawyers’ approval for the conversation he wanted to have with the DA. Ramsey made calls to Bryan Morgan and Hal Haddon but couldn’t reach either one. Frustrated, by evening he was on a plane to Denver. The next morning, he spoke to Morgan in person in a candid one-on-one session. Again, Ramsey told Morgan he would cooperate with the DA, no matter what advice he received from anyone.
That same morning, Hunter told his staff and Beckner about the phone call he’d received from Ramsey. In less than two days, a version of their phone conversation would be set in type by the Globe.
On June 2, the second day of the police presentation, Craig Lewis, a Globe reporter, called Hunter at home before 7:00 A.M. to tell him what the tabloid was about to publish.
After a long pause, Hunter replied, “This makes me think my phone is tapped.” For Lewis, that was confirmation of what the Globe had been told. Hunter begged Lewis to hold the story fo
r at least a week but was refused.
At that very moment, Pete Hofstrom was on the phone to Jim Jenkins, Burke Ramsey’s attorney in Atlanta, about the interview Hunter’s office wanted to conduct after the police presentation. Jenkins found Hofstrom straightforward, proper, and reasonable. Their conversations over the course of a few days were mostly about logistics. Hofstrom mentioned that he would use Dan Schuler, an expert with children, to conduct the interview. Schuler, a detective in his late forties from nearby Broomfield, had degrees in psychology and guidance counseling and was known throughout Colorado for his work with young people. Jenkins said there would be no conditions placed on the interviews and that the choice of interviewer was the DA’s call. They agreed on a location where the questioning could be conducted without the media finding out, and June 10 was set as the starting date for what might be a three-day interview. Hofstrom said he would personally go to Atlanta to make sure that everything went as planned. Both men were cooperative and accommodating. For his part, Hofstrom knew that if Burke’s interviews went smoothly, he could look forward to pretty smooth sailing in arranging John and Patsy’s for the latter part of June.
On Sunday, May 31, Bill Wise picked up Dr. Henry Lee and Barry Scheck at the Denver airport. Lee had made time to attend the presentation in the midst of his tight schedule. On Thursday he would be off to Taiwan, where a mayor, two senators, and their bodyguards had been murdered. Next stop was the Philippines, where there had been four air crashes almost back-to-back, and expert help was sorely needed. Scheck, who was working with Johnnie Cochran on a case in New Jersey, joked that Lee was on the other side of the same murder case, representing the government. But nothing, he said, would ever stand in the way of their friendship. Scheck would have to leave Boulder by noon on June 2.
Perfect Murder, Perfect Town Page 60