Perfect Murder, Perfect Town (63 page)

On April 13, Hunter, Hofstrom, and Bill Nagel met with Judge Bellipanni to discuss the selection process for a new grand jury. Summonses would be issued to 145 people, who would then have to answer questions. Hunter showed the judge the lengthy questionnaires used for jury selection in the Simpson and Oklahoma City bombing proceedings. The judge wanted a one-page document but agreed to two pages since this grand jury might have to hear the Ramsey case. The first page would contain general background questions; the second would raise issues that were specific to the Ramsey case. Hofstrom asked the judge to tell the prospective jurors that if the Ramsey case came before them, they might be required to meet every day. The judge said no, these people had jobs and two days a week would be sufficient. Next they discussed whether or not to keep the selection process secret. Hofstrom said he preferred a secret process, but the judge didn’t. What was the point? he asked. The media would just wind up taking pictures of every license plate in the parking lot. Were they prepared to guard against this kind of thing, not just during the selection process but during the proceedings? In the judge’s opinion, it was futile to try to preserve the jurors’ anonymity. Hofstrom didn’t press the issue, and Hunter agreed with the judge.

On April 15, attorney Bryan Morgan hand-delivered a two-page letter to Alex Hunter from John Ramsey, dated April 11, 1998. Ramsey said he was prepared to cooperate with and assist the DA and his staff in every way.

In January, Hunter had discussed with his staff the possibility of opening a channel to the Ramseys through their Atlanta counsel. The police had tried using Reverend
Hoverstock as a go-between. None of their efforts had been successful. Now Ramsey seemed to be carrying the ball himself. Maybe now that he was living in Atlanta, unable to feel the pulse of events in Boulder, Ramsey was getting itchy. He was about to start a new business, and he wanted to get on with his life.

Trying to read between the lines, Hunter also wondered whether Ramsey was trying to short-circuit a grand jury or avoid appearing before one. The DA felt that Ramsey might be saying, “I’m a smart person. I may not have gotten the best advice from my attorneys, so I want to move quickly on the outstanding issues and directly with you, the DA. I trust your team, not the cops.” Hunter believed the letter meant that Ramsey wasn’t going to be guided solely by his attorneys. Ramsey said he was prepared to deliver not only Patsy, his older children, Burke, and his ex-wife, Lucinda, but also his friends and business associates for interviews with the DA’s office. There was only one condition: the Boulder police were not to be involved.

Unknown to Hunter, Ramsey discovered during his interviews for the documentary just how isolated from the case he had become. He learned that his attorneys and closest friends, like the Stines, had been shielding him and Patsy to such an extent that they no longer had a clear picture of what was happening. Sherry Keene-Osborn described to
him a different Alex Hunter than what he had pictured. More important, Ramsey discovered that what he wanted said wasn’t always being communicated to the DA or the police. After the TV crew left Atlanta, Ramsey sat down and wrote Hunter a letter.

“You can give this to him,” Ramsey told Bryan Morgan, “or you can throw it away. But you can’t change one word of it.” The following day, Morgan met with Hunter.

In response to Ramsey’s letter, Hunter told Morgan that the case was still in the hands of the police, and his office could not conduct interviews without the police at this time. Hunter told Morgan that the next day he would officially reveal that he had asked the police to make a full presentation of the case during the first week of June. Then the case would be in the DA’s hands. The two men agreed to wait.

Thinking ahead, however, Morgan and Hunter agreed that Burke Ramsey’s interview should be conducted first. They should work toward conducting the interviews right after the police presentation, Hunter said—the second week in June. Hunter agreed that the interviews should be held in Atlanta and said he’d have Hofstrom contact Jim Jenkins in the coming weeks.

Because Morgan was so cooperative, Hunter felt—correctly, it turned out—that John Ramsey was calling the shots.

That same afternoon, Morgan visited Hunter again, this time to discuss conditions for the interviews. He didn’t want the police to be consulted and refused to allow the sessions to be videotaped. Hunter knew he would need videos if for some reason he couldn’t subpoena the Ramseys again or if his office was notified that they would take the Fifth Amendment. In that case, the tapes were as good as a signed statement and could be used before a grand jury or in a trial.
*
Hunter reminded Morgan that his client had said “no conditions” other than the absence of the police. Morgan backed down. That evening, Hunter felt that after standing out in the rain for so long, he was finally seeing sunlight.

The next day, Hunter told Beckner about Morgan’s visit and Ramsey’s letter. Beckner thought that Ramsey’s actions were a last-minute effort to avoid the grand jury, which would soon be sworn in. Then the public would be clamoring for him and his wife to be called.

On April 22, chief district judge Joseph Bellipanni’s courtroom in the Boulder County Justice Center was packed with fifty-seven potential grand jurors. Also on hand were twenty-seven reporters, who came to watch what they called “the Ramsey grand jury.” Representatives from
USA Today
,
Time
magazine,
The New Yorker
, Fox TV, the
Globe
, ABC, NBC, CBS, and the
New York Times
, as well as all of Denver’s and Boulder’s local press, filled the courtroom and adjacent hearing room.

First the jury candidates completed the two-page questionnaire that the judge and prosecutors would use during voir dire.
*
The first-page questions aimed at constructing a personal profile—occupation, marital status, possible connections to law enforcement, and so on. The second page asked questions relating to the Ramsey case; for example, “Are you involved or do you know anyone who is presently involved in
any current criminal investigation? (including but not limited to the investigation into the death of JonBenét Ramsey). Explain.” Another question asked, “Please describe any opinions you now hold based upon what you know of the investigation into the death of JonBenét Ramsey.”

After the potential jurors had completed the forms, Bellipanni turned the proceedings over to the DA.

Hunter greeted the prospective jurors with a classroom lecture tracing the grand jury process back to 1166, during the reign of England’s King Henry I, as a means of finding “twelve true and lawful men” to provide a safeguard against prosecutors’ abuse of their legal powers. The goal, Hunter said, was to pick people who could set any prejudices or biases aside and render impartial judgment “in any matter that my office deems appropriate.”

After the break, Pete Hofstrom introduced himself.

“Ladies and gentlemen, as you know, my name is Peter Hofstrom. This is a process of asking questions to obtain information to help us in making judgments.”

Hofstrom worked his way across both rows of the jury box, singling out the candidates one by one, asking a few personal questions, aiming to get a layer or two beneath what they’d written on the forms. When he finished, Judge Bellipanni dismissed twenty-one potential jurors, including Joel Ripmaster, who had handled the sale of the Ramseys’ home.

Bellipanni and Hunter’s team continued after lunch with a closed-door voir dire of the remaining candidates. Next to the judge’s chambers was a large meeting room, with windows looking toward the Flatirons on one side and a long conference table in the center. Each prospective juror took a turn at the head of the table, the judge to his left and Hunter, Hofstrom, DeMuth, Maguire, Nagel, and Smit around the sides.

The judge and the DA wanted to know what they knew about the Ramseys and the case. When the judge asked,
“Are you aware of the conflict between the district attorney and the police department?” most people answered yes. When one juror hesitated, Hunter patted him on the arm as if to say, “It’s OK.” Another person said he knew that the police hadn’t turned over some evidence to the DA. One prospective juror, Michael Morris, a photographer who had taken pictures of Access Graphics controller Susan Richart, told the judge that Richart had described Ramsey as a man who could get in front of a thousand people and seem as if he was talking one on one.

Hunter wanted to know if the prospective jurors listened to Peter Boyles or watched Geraldo Rivera. Most said no.

Could you take everything you have heard and put it aside? asked Hofstrom. He asked the same question repeatedly in different ways. Most said yes.

Then Hunter wanted to know if they had any theories about how the murder took place. One juror said, “How could you not have one?”

For most prospective jurors, the questioning was over in less than ten minutes.

At the end of the day, when the closed-door session was over, Judge Bellipanni excused all but seventeen people. They would be the twelve grand jurors—four men and eight women—plus five alternates—four women and one man.

Those who had been selected were photographed by the assembled media as they left the Justice Center. The foreman was James Please, of Boulder, and his assistant foreperson was Loretta Resnikoff, also of Boulder. The ten other jurors were Elizabeth Annecharico, Boulder;
Michelle Czopek, Superior; Francis Diekman, Longmont; Josephine Hampton, Lafayette; Martin W. Kordas, Jr., Lafayette; Susan LeFever, Boulder; Barbara McGrath-Arnold, Boulder; Martin Pierce, Longmont; Tracey Vallad, Longmont; Jonathan N. Webb, Louisville. The alternates were Janice McCallister, Longmont; Polly Palmer, Niwot; Marcia Richardson, Boulder; Theresa Van Fossen, Broomfield; and Morton Wegman-French, Boulder.

It wasn’t long before the media learned that Alex Hunter wasn’t personally returning their calls and Suzanne Laurion, the DA’s press representative, was becoming his point person. On April 24, Laurion had the following conversation with a writer.

L
AURION
: The media liaison doesn’t ad-lib anymore. I used to ad-lib through answers all the time. Now I clear them with four or five people. “What is this quote doing in the paper?” It’s not that people are being tyrants at all. It’s more of a very conservative approach to communication. Even more conservative than in the past. And so the notion of one deputy doing an interview with someone writing an article or someone writing a book is giving people pause more than it did before. I know that sounds weird.

W
RITER
: You mean the answers to the questions that I asked you on the day of the grand jury selection?

L
AURION
: Let me go through the log from that day. I know Talkington is absolutely ready to give you an interview.
*
It’s not him. It is really a time when every body is zipping their lips for fear of violating the
notion of “no one ought to be talking right now.”

W
RITER
: Could you find out if Hofstrom had his coat on or off when the individual voir dire took place? Same with Hunter. Did the judge have a coat or robe?

L
AURION
: Just some general atmosphere?

W
RITER
: Correct.

Three days later Laurion called the writer back.

L
AURION
: Your question “Who was wearing a coat and who wasn’t?” Alex didn’t want to answer that. I don’t know why not. I said [to him], “You can at least speak about your own wardrobe that day.” And he said, “I just don’t want to answer that right now.”

On Sunday, April 26, Steve Thomas was working at home on his part of the police presentation. He was excited that they would finally be making their case after sixteen months of work. He was giving it his all, he owed it to JonBenét.

One of the most critical elements to clarify in the presentation were the events of December 26, 1996, which Thomas was covering. He spent several days speaking to the officers who had worked the case that first day. Linda Arndt had been the first detective to arrive on the scene and had then been the only detective in the house from 10:30
A
.
M
. until JonBenét’s body was found at 1:05
P
.
M
. Arndt had filed a lawsuit against the Boulder PD and Chief Koby for allowing her name to be maligned but was still employed by the department and was working on other
cases. One morning Thomas stopped by her cubicle to discuss her reports about December 26, some of which lacked specifics as to when certain events took place.

Looking Thomas directly in the eye, she said she would not give him or any other officer help on the Ramsey case. Thomas pulled up a chair next to her and patiently explained that her firsthand knowledge was invaluable. He would not be able to present the events of that day clearly and fully without her input, he said.

“Besides what is in my written reports,” Arndt said, “I have forgotten everything.”

“But this isn’t about Koby,” Thomas protested. “It’s about the murder of JonBenét.”

Arndt wouldn’t budge. “I no longer have any memory of that day,” she said.

In his presentation, Thomas would have to say that Arndt refused to cooperate with him and the department.

We have a fire drill every month at school. From my classroom we go straight out in front of the building. Last month we happened to congregate right beside the tree that’s dedicated to JonBenét.

As we waited, the kids began talking among themselves and the conversation came around to JonBenét: “Well, you know she is buried right here.”

That’s the impression some students have, because there’s a plaque, like a tombstone, beside the tree. And I said, “No, she’s not. She’s buried in Atlanta. This is just in memory of her.” And then they started to relay some of the rumors they’d heard about her death.

“I think her dad did it,” one student said. “My dad
thinks that her dad did it.”

I tried to steer the conversation away from the subject. The children didn’t get upset that I did that. They were just being detectives, like the rest of the world.

—music teacher Yvonne Haun

Unlike most reporters covering the Ramsey story, Jeff Shapiro was out in the cold. The police no longer had any use for him, and everyone in Alex Hunter’s office knew not to talk to him.

On May 30, after obtaining John Ramsey’s unlisted home number, Shapiro called him in Atlanta. Ramsey himself answered the phone. After identifying himself and saying he was an investigative journalist for the
Globe
, Shapiro said he was sure Ramsey was innocent and apologized for any pain Ramsey may have suffered because of the media’s reporting. Ramsey said little. Once or twice he replied, “Thank you.” A week later, Shapiro called Ramsey again. This time he kept Ramsey on the phone for forty-nine minutes. Shapiro did all the talking. He apologized again and said that the media had been wrong in accusing Ramsey. Again Ramsey said little except “Uh-huh,” “Yes,” “No.” Then Shapiro asked him if he had any theories, and Ramsey replied, “Oh, I don’t have any concrete theories, no.” At one point, Shapiro told Ramsey that the evidence he had found was linked in some ways to Patsy. Ramsey didn’t respond.
Toward the end of the conversation, however, Ramsey introduced a topic: the violent crimes that had taken place in Boulder since JonBenét’s death. Mentioning an attack on a woman by a man posing as a prospective home buyer, he said, “When I saw that, I said holy mackerel.” Shapiro replied that there had been many skull injuries to women. “Exactly,” Ramsey said. Shapiro mentioned the red heart drawn on JonBenét’s hand, and Ramsey said he had heard about it only recently. He hadn’t seen the Barbie nightgown in the wine cellar, he said. Then he volunteered that he didn’t know whether his daughter had been sexually assaulted or whether it was staging.

Shapiro told Ramsey, “Someone I know said, referring to you, ‘This guy didn’t do it. Trust me.’”

“I say that twenty-four hours a day,” Ramsey replied.

It was unclear why John Ramsey stayed on the phone with Shapiro and listened to the reporter’s monologue. Possibly Ramsey tape-recorded the conversation, hoping Shapiro would say something Ramsey could use in a future civil lawsuit against the
Globe
.
*

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, with 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.

D
ETECTIVE
: 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.

W
RITER
: Look at what happened to Linda Arndt.

D
ETECTIVE
: Yeah, a tragedy.

They changed the subject:

W
RITER
: The case is going to be on his [Hunter’s] shoulders now.

D
ETECTIVE
: 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 mak
ing preconceived judgments.