Waiting for an Explanation

This concludes a series of posts inspired by a federal drug conspiracy case targeting a middle aged housewife and three of her children.

Gasps and murmurs rose from the thirty family members sitting in the gallery when Judge Tucker Melancon granted new trials to Ann and Edward Colomb and Danny and Sammy Davis. A U.S. marshal wheeled to face the exuberant throng. “Be quiet!” she barked.

Judge Melancon’s ruling took everyone by surprise. Assistant U.S. attorney Brett Grayson had hoped for twenty-year sentences for Sammy and Edward (enhanced by their felony conviction in 1993), ten years for Ann and Danny and the confiscation the Colomb family residence. It was not to be—at least not yet.

Defense counsel had entered the day-long hearing hoping that Judge Melancon would call for an evidentiary hearing in which the strength of their arguments would be tested. No one expected the judge to grant all four motions for a new trial without an additional hearing.

Over a month later, Judge Melancon still hasn’t released a written ruling explaining his decision, and several more months may pass before he explains himself. Was the judge simply concerned about the quality of snitch testimony in this particular case; or did the allegations proffered by Quinn Alex and John Doe suggest that the unrestricted use of uncorroborated inmate testimony had become what one defense attorney called a cancer on the criminal justice system?

It is possible that the judge’s ruling was primarily inspired by a drug addicted confidential informant named Stevie Charlot. During the March trial, Judge Melancon remarked that he certainly had an opinion of Stevie Charlot’s credibility but refrained from elaboration. At the July hearing Brett Grayson challenged the judge to explain his cryptic remark. Melancon replied that Charlot was probably the least credible witnesses he had ever run across. He even called the informant’s testimony “an abomination.”

The feds would be smart to drop all charges on all defendants and walk away from this case so public defenders will have no reason to probe the implications of this case any further. In a proverbial fox-guarding-the-henhouse maneuver, the Drug Enforcement Administration rushed in to handle the “investigation” into the two inmates alleging a conspiracy of snitches and the six inmates (headlined by Dexter Harmon) they have implicated so far. One defense attorney has charged that the DEA is purposely skirting the obvious questions because they don’t want inconvenient answers memorialized in the record.

To date, Ann Colomb and her sons have stuck to their guns: there will be no plea offers accepted in this case—nothing short of full exoneration will suffice.

After the Tulia fiasco the Texas legislature passed legislation requiring the corroboration of confidential informants like Stevie Charlot. The reform community tried to extend this requirement to police officers but our efforts were swamped by a tidal wave of lobbying from the law enforcement establishment. But even a limited corroboration bill led swiftly to the Dallas Sheetrock scandal and a series of less dramatic victories for simple decency.

Jailhouse snitches live several notches down from confidential informants on the credibility scale, especially in the federal system where the inducement to lie is so powerful it can hardly be exaggerated. Most confidential informants are petty street hustlers trying to avoid incarceration; federal inmates are far more likely to fabricate testimony because snitching is their only ticket to a time cut. Certainly, if Stevie Charlot lacks credibility, Dexter Harmon’s uncorroborated allegations should never reach a jury.

Moments after Judge Melancon’s dramatic announcement, Brett Grayson waived a stack of papers in the air like a latter day Joe McCarthy. The DEA had interviewed Dexter and the boys, the federal prosecutor told the judge, and every one of those boys had sworn they were telling the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth.

In the absence of a smoking gun we are left with a simple question: should men like Brett Grayson, whether operating at the state or federal level, be allowed to prosecute drug cases without a shred of corroborated testimony?

When the law is manipulated to put innocent people in prison, the law must be reformed. Will this simple maxim shape Judge Melancon’s written ruling? That is my prayer.