That same day, the Daily Camera printed Thomas’s letter. The headline read, DETECTIVE BLASTS DA’S OFFICE. Suzanne Laurion, speaking for the vacationing Alex Hunter, said, “This letter is outrageous and is substantially false and misleading.” The Denver Post not only headlined the story, but columnist Chuck Green told his readers: “To preserve public confidence in his office, Hunter needs to forcefully rebut Thomas’s accusations—point by point.” On Sunday, August 9, the paper published Green’s second column on the subject:
THERE’S A BIG PROBLEM IN BOULDER
The city fathers of Boulder, including its top two law enforcement officers, have a problem.
If former Detective Steve Thomas is a reliable cop whose judgment can be trusted, then his eight-page tale of horror about the inside workings of the JonBenét Ramsey murder investigation signal a crisis in the case. There would be a problem.
But if he’s not reliable, and if his scathing letter of resignation is a rambling collection of falsehoods and exaggerations, then for 18 months an untrustworthy detective played a guiding role in the most-noted crime in the city’s history. That would be a problem.
So either way, there is a problem—a big, big problem—in Boulder.
At week’s end, the city leadership hadn’t chosen its course. The short-term strategy seemed to be to ignore the situation and hope it might go away.
That’s leadership in Boulder.
Of course, it won’t work. The Thomas problem won’t just evaporate. One way or the other, it will dog this case ’til the end.
—Chuck Green
The Denver Post, August 9, 1998
Hunter finally called his office on Monday, August 10, from a bed and breakfast in Juneau. Wise read him Thomas’s letter and told him about the meeting with Beckner. Hunter was stunned. Wise said he thought it would just go away, like Fleet White’s letters, but Hunter saw that Thomas’s letter was entirely different. The detective had, after all, been on the inside of the case, and if it went to trial, any defense attorney worth his retainer was sure to make good use of the letter with the jury. The DA said he’d call Wise back. When he did, Wise told him that the governor had gotten the metro DAs involved.
“Our dream team,” Wise said, “is now the governor’s task force.” Alex Hunter understood that the DAs were no longer his trusted advisers.
That same afternoon, Monday, August 10, the metro DAs met to discuss Thomas’s letter. They had to be able to talk candidly, so nobody from Hunter’s office was invited. Grant, who knew the case best, thought that there was nothing troublesome in the letter from a prosecutorial perspective. What concerned the DAs, however, was that Thomas had hit a nerve, expressing the same frustration that the public was feeling. They realized that something had to be done to restore the public’s confidence in the prosecution’s handling of the case.
Grant and Ritter knew that there was serious dissension within Hunter’s team about taking the case to the grand jury. Grant felt that Kane needed the support of strong attorneys and that anyone who was standing in his way should be asked to leave.
The DAs called Governor Romer and told him that Hunter was making the right decisions, that the case was on target. Hunter had told them, they said, that the grand jury would meet to hear the Ramsey case on September 15. They assured the governor that Thomas’s letter hadn’t changed their thinking. They were, however, prepared to recommend that Hunter take on additional prosecutorial support. They hoped this would reassure the public that the case was on track.
Late Monday, Bob Grant called Hunter, who had finally arrived home. Grant told the DA what had happened in his absence and said there would be a meeting with all involved parties in Denver on Wednesday.
“I or anybody you want will be available,” Hunter said. “Anytime, anywhere.”
On Tuesday, August 11, Hunter, Hofstrom, and Wise met to prepare for their meeting with the metro DAs. Michael Kane was not invited to join the discussions. It was better to isolate him from these kinds of problems, they thought. He had enough on his plate with the case itself.
Wise had known the metro DAs for years, much better than Hunter. Having talked to Grant the previous day, he was sure the DAs would tell the governor that no special prosecutor was needed. Wise had suggested to Grant that he talk directly to Beckner, who would certainly say that Thomas’s charges were wrong.
Wise detailed for Hunter and Hofstrom what he knew to be the truth behind Thomas’s allegations. The “hidden surveillance camera” Thomas referred to was bullshit. The way Wise remembered it, the police had gone to the Ramsey house in December 1997 without the DA’s permission or the Ramseys’ knowledge. A representative of the Ramseys had been asked to open up the place and he’d brought the wrong key, so the detectives had entered the house through a broken window. Once inside, the police saw the motion-activated security cameras pointed at them: They were caught making an illegal entry.
Then Thomas referred to some forensic tests that hadn’t been done. He could be talking about the mixed DNA stain on JonBenét’s underwear or a test that had still not been conducted on the pubic hair found on the blanket. It had been decided to hold up on this test because it would destroy all the remaining hair, and under the law, a defendent had the right to be present when such destructive testing took place. Since the Ramseys hadn’t been formally charged or named as suspects, Hunter’s office had advised the police to wait before conducting the test.
In his letter, Thomas had also objected that the Boulder detectives wouldn’t be used as “advisory witnesses.” There was no such thing as an “advisory witness” in a grand jury proceeding. Wise believed that Thomas may not have known that Kane and Hunter were using Wickman as the primary investigator and that Wickman would be advising the DA’s office during the grand jury proceedings. It was also possible that Thomas didn’t know that the officers who had been at the crime scene would be called to testify before the grand jury.
When it came to the detective’s motive, his illness had to be considered, Wise thought. Thomas was saying he couldn’t continue being a cop and had applied for medical leave. The stress of working this case must have aggravated his thyroid condition. Yet he had to know that the prosecution’s case would be damaged by his airing his views. Wise knew that everything had to be considered before anyone could pass judgment on Thomas’s motives.
On Wednesday, August 12, Hunter, Wise, and Hofstrom met again—this time with the metro DAs—in a fourth-floor office at the Colorado District Attorney’s Council in downtown Denver.
The DAs told Hunter that they were prepared to back him against Thomas’s accusations. They recommended that Hunter not reply to specific allegations which, in their opinion were without merit. However, since the governor was now involved, a public response had to be made. The governor had the power to appoint the attorney general as a special prosecutor, they reminded Hunter. They didn’t think the situation warranted that, but Grant said, “One guy can’t do it by himself,” referring to Michael Kane. They told Hunter that now, more than ever, his office needed solid prosecutorial support. “We need to make sure the case is properly presented,” Grant said, “and you need to make sure the case is properly presented.”
“It’s all right to have people in your office with different opinions,” Grant added, without mentioning Hofstrom, who was sitting there, by name, or Trip DeMuth or Lou Smit. “But now you need people who are reading from the same book if not the same page.” Hofstrom listened but said nothing.
Hunter saw the handwriting on the wall: he was being told to take help whether he needed it or not.
Then the DAs asked to talk to Hunter alone. The final decision, Grant said, would have to be made by the elected district attorneys. Wise and Hofstrom left the room.
Grant told Hunter that the metro DAs had backed him for eighteen months with their own reputations. Now those reputations were also on the line. In the long run, Grant pointed out, the discussion they were having now would have come up a
nyway. In fact, there was no discussion: everyone in the room knew where this was heading.
Bill Ritter reminded Hunter of a state statute that allowed for special prosecutors to be brought in under his authority.* Hunter, as the Boulder County DA, would still make the ultimate decisions about how to proceed and whether to bring charges. Any prosecutor brought aboard would understand that it was still Alex Hunter’s case.
Ritter told Hunter that he had already made inquiries about Al LaCabe, an attorney in the Denver office of the U.S. attorney general. LaCabe was available. The next step, Ritter said, would be for Hunter to make a formal request of U.S. attorney general Janet Reno in Washington and, locally, of U.S. attorney for Denver Henry Solano, LaCabe’s boss. Ritter told Hunter that LaCabe was not only a fine prosecutor but also a former police officer; he would get along with the Boulder detectives. Everyone agreed that a second person would be needed—someone with both general experience and some expertise in DNA.
The meeting lasted maybe half an hour. When it ended, Hunter said he wanted to tell Hofstrom and Wise personally that a team would be brought in to present the case to the grand jury and prosecute it if an indictment was handed down. Hofstrom would no longer have to be involved even as the DA’s adviser.
After talking to his colleagues, Hofstrom left for Boulder. Hunter returned to the room and the governor was called and told the outcome of the meeting. Romer said he wanted to call a press conference for that same afternoon, before the problem got any worse. He would tell the media Thomas’s letter was without merit and that, to move the case along, special prosecutors were being brought in to help Hunter’s office. Romer asked about the grand jury. Hunter said that for some time he had planned to begin that process on September 15. The governor was glad to have something positive to talk about: He, not Hunter, would announce the grand jury, he said.
A few minutes later, the four metro DAs walked the four blocks to the state capitol. Hunter stayed behind while the DAs met with Romer. Afterward, the governor called Hunter, who understood it was best that he not attend the press conference. The metro DAs had more credibility, so they should answer the media’s questions.
Hunter and Wise then stepped into an elevator, followed by a reporter and a photographer. When the photographer started taking pictures, Wise wanted to put his hand up to the camera lens but stopped himself. It was not the image he wanted to see in the next morning’s papers.
As Hunter and Wise were driving back to Boulder, Governor Romer stepped before reporters and TV cameras and announced that Alex Hunter would be convening a grand jury.
“It would not be proper to appoint a special prosecutor now,” Romer added. “It would impair [the case], it would delay it.” Then the governor stepped aside. The metro DAs, who were seated behind a long table, confirmed their support of Hunter and announced that outside prosecutors would be assisting Hunter in the grand jury presentation. Grant told reporters that the prosecutors would help with legwork, interview witnesses, and prepare the case for trial—and protect it from attack on appeal.
“You don’t replace the prosecution team just because [the] police are not pleased with [the DA’s] decisions,” defense attorney Larry Pozner told the press later that afternoon. “Justice is not a pickup football game. You don’t get rid of players because you don’t like them.”
The next morning, Wise wrote a letter to Janet Reno, requesting her assistance in obtaining the services of Al LaCabe, whom Bill Ritter had recommended as an outside prosecutor. Ritter also called Reno, whom he had worked with before. He told her how important it was to get LaCabe. Reno said she would talk to Henry Solano, LaCabe’s boss.
It’s the phenomenon of Steve Thomas’s letter. In spite of the fact that the metro DAs and the governor said to the world, “We know all the answers to all these allegations and there is nothing there,” clearly that’s not the impression the world got that afternoon. They think Thomas is a fucking hero. We should have answered all his charges point by point.
A friend of mine was recently asked, “What do you think about Alex Hunter?” and the guy answered his own question. “I think the guy is really slimy. He’s obviously been bought.”
Our reputations have been ruined. They’re fucking down the toilet. I can’t spend time dwelling on the problem, because I don’t know if it can be changed. I just have to live with it.
Regardless of what happens out of the grand jury, even assuming an indictment and conviction, I don’t think we can salvage our reputations. I believe the outcome of the case will be treated as “in spite of mumbling, incompetent pond scum, others were brought in and took it over and salvaged something.”
Coming up to this case, I had some minor recognition, and I think I had a good reputation. And it’s gone. But you can imagine Hunter.
It is really sad.
—Bill Wise
When Lou Smit heard the governor’s announcement, he was devastated. Now he knew there was no turning back for Hunter. Smit was, he said, tired of “yelling from the back of the truck.” He was sure that the Ramseys were innocent, and he wasn’t going to take part in a case brought against them. Hofstrom had always been objective, but Kane had seen Pete as an obstacle to a successful prosecution and he had now been totally isolated from the case. Smit thought the time had come for him to leave too.
Fleet White, who didn’t own a computer and had resisted buying one, was spending nights at the Boulder library, researching the law. One night he bumped into Frank Coffman.
“Do you know anyone in this town who has confidence in Alex Hunter?” White asked Coffman.
Coffman didn’t know how to answer. The citizens of Boulder must have had confidence in Hunter or they wouldn’t have elected him for six consecutive terms.
“Don’t you think Michael Kane is respectable?” Coffman replied. “Aren’t you encouraged by having such a hardworking, honest, and dedicated guy in charge?”
“Oh yeah, I met Kane,” White responded finally. It had taken him a few seconds to figure out who Kane was. “It doesn’t matter if it’s Kane, if it’s you or me. I’ve got to keep the pressure on.”
“Were you impressed?” Coffman asked.
“Not really. They should have gone to a grand jury a long time ago,” White replied.
Coffman tried to figure out what was driving White. Then he realized that White had experienced something he himself hoped never to see: a six-year-old child lying murdered at his feet on the floor of his friend’s living room—a child who had played with his own daughter the night before.
White had recently told one of the detectives that he would go to jail before he would testify before the grand jury. His attitude was puzzling. The proceedings were secret, he would not be cross-examined, and he would be able to tell an impartial jury what he had been unwilling to tell the police. During this period, a journalist also had a chance to meet the Whites. They had told her she could write a story about them but that she wasn’t to take notes, use a tape recorder, or quote them. They talked for hours, but in the end there seemed to be nothing new to print.
A local lawyer who commented occasionally on legal affairs in the media also met with them. She, too, found their attitude illogical—they wanted closure in the case but refused to cooperate. Eventually, she concluded that the Whites, having lost confidence in the process and thinking there would never be an indictment, had reasoned that their noncooperation couldn’t hurt the case. It was like stabbing a corpse: it’s already dead, so you can’t hurt it anymore.
On August 17, the Whites released a letter to the media in which they said they shared Steve Thomas’s view about the DA’s office. The grand jury had been delayed by all parties, Fleet White wrote, even the current leadership of the Boulder PD, in order to take advantage of a new statute, passed on March 21, 1997, but not going into effect until October 1, 1997, which allowed grand juries to issue reports when allegations of commission of a class 1, class 2, or class 3 felony are not proved or no indictments are
handed down. Apparently, White believed that even if the grand jury was used in the case, it would issue a report rather than an indictment.
The police may have been baffled by Fleet White’s behavior and his decision not to cooperate with a grand jury, but it was possible that he was consumed by one big discrepancy—the fact that he had not seen JonBenét’s body when he looked into the wine cellar in the early morning of December 26, 1996, whereas John Ramsey had found her body after a similarly quick glance into the same dark room several hours later. White knew from his police contacts that John Ramsey had suggested him as a possible suspect—and that Ramsey went so far as to speculate to Lou Smit that White’s wife, Priscilla, might have owned a stun gun. Since White hadn’t been given access to his previous statements to the police, he might have also wondered whether someone was hoping to trap him in inconsistencies between what he had told the police earlier and what he might say as a grand jury witness.
By the summer of 1998, the Whites seemed to have become convinced that the DA’s office wanted to avoid prosecuting the Ramseys. What if, in their eagerness to absolve the Ramseys, prosecutors led the grand jury to believe that White’s account of what he had—or hadn’t—found that day was false? Clearly the Ramseys were trying to implicate others. Were they, with their allies in the DA’s office, going to make White their scapegoat? Was it possible that the DA’s office might indict him for perjury—or maybe even charge him with responsibility for JonBenét’s death?
Perfect Murder, Perfect Town Page 66