Innocence Network quite worldly when it comes to defense profit
Two days a week, a tipster has told me, Raymond “Beaver” Tempest heads to a Rhode Island shopping mall and walks from one end to the other. He’s not browsing at The Gap. This is his exercise routine while he’s free on bail, waiting for authorities to decide if he should once again face trial for the death of a young Woonsocket woman back in 1982.
Most of you are familiar with the case. Beaver was convicted of murder back in 1992, and sentenced to 85 years in prison. He stepped outside the walls again last year, after serving 23 years. A group of lawyers calling themselves the New England Innocence Project has convinced a judge that police and prosecutors had not followed proper procedures during his long-ago trial. Now Beaver is free while authorities decide whether they’ll try him again. He posted $100,000 bond, and he’s sporting an electronic ankle bracelet that tracks his whereabouts.
The other day I planned a trip to that mall, with Tempest-spotting as my purpose. But then I decided, why bother? Beaver isn’t going to talk to me, not if he values his lawyers’ advice. And I really can’t tell you if the guy is guilty or not. That’s for a judge and jury to decide.
What I can talk about, however, is his legal team.
The original Innocence Project was launched back in 1992 by Barry Scheck, the prickly, aggressive lawyer who was the star of O.J. Simpson’s defense team. Soon there were similar organizations in states and cities across the country — including the New England Innocence Project — collectively known as the Innocence Network. These lawyers are best known for using the new advances in DNA research to reverse convictions and free prisoners.
Today every fan of TV cop shows is familiar with the process. A few drops of blood or semen left at a murder scene — even those samples collected decades later — can yield cells suitable for DNA testing. And because each person’s DNA is as unique as their fingerprint, those tests can reveal whether a defendant is the source.
The Innocence Project now claims to have freed hundreds of men and women once thought to be guilty. And, as they’re quick to point out, they do it all for no fee! Their only interest is justice.
That hardly means no one’s getting rich, though.
Innocence Project lawyers wear two hats; they’re also partners at firms with billable hours, and they’re ever ready to help ex-prisoners win monetary compensation for the years they’ve lost. The lawyers will typically file a suit in federal court, alleging civil rights violations and demanding millions.
The lawyers are entitled to a third of that money, and it’s a safe bet they rarely, if ever, say, “No thanks, seeing justice done is its own reward.”
And who ponies up the cash? You, the taxpayer, that’s who.
The award goes up for each year someone has been imprisoned, which is why Innocence Network lawyers seek out guys who’ve been behind bars 15 or 20 years or more. If you’re a newbie in the big house, forget it. They’re not interested. With prison veterans, the compensation can often go as high as $10 million. In a case like that, the legal team walks away with over three million bucks. Not a bad pay check for a few months’ work.
That kind of incentive prompts lawyers to scout for clients with true diligence.
I once interviewed a Rhode Island woman who’s part of the New England Innocence Project, the group that got Beaver out on bail. “We have so many innocent men in prison,” she said, forcing a sigh. “So many innocent men.”
As she bemoaned the situation, I could almost see the dollar signs in her eyes.
I also interviewed a lawyer who defends cities and towns across the country facing suits from Innocence Network law firms.
“There’s an aggressive approach by groups like the Innocence Project to get people out of jail, and it’s not all noble,” he said. “They’re asking for one or two million dollars for every year of incarceration. The plaintiff’s lawyer can take a third of the settlement, the usual going rate, and because these cases are filed in federal court, he can also petition the court for payment for his time. And he gets it . . . It’s a very lucrative business.”
The scary part of all this is that getting a conviction overturned on DNA evidence hardly proves innocence. It means only that a judge believes a jury may have reached a different decision if they had heard that evidence.
State prosecutors could then ask to have the case retried. When facing off against the Innocence Network, however, they often do not. The cases are often decades old, meaning witnesses and evidence may have disappeared, and with all the time the defendant has already served, if convicted again, he will likely receive a very short sentence.
And most people forget the discovery of someone else’s DNA at a crime scene — or even on a rape victim’s body — is hardly proof a defendant was never there. It only proves someone else was there, too.
What’s more, the Innocence Network often turns the convict’s release into a feel-good press event, with balloons and a limo and a gaggle of relatives waiting at the prison door when he walks out. The purpose is to make the public believe an innocent man has been saved.
Unfortunately, that’s not always the case. A good number of those freed by the Innocence Network are not the truly innocent. They are the truly dangerous. A study published in Northwestern University’s Journal of Criminal Law and Criminology found that nearly 17 percent of them went on to be convicted of another violent offense.
Let’s take a peek through the case files.
In Chicago, there's Andre Davis. He served 32 years in prison for the rape and murder of a three-year-old before Innocence Network crusaders found DNA evidence and overturned his conviction. Two years after his release, he was charged with murder again. Prosecutors say he slit the throat of man who cheated his nephew in a dice game.
In Arizona lawyers freed William Macumber, who’d served 40 years on a double murder. Before long he was behind bars again, accused of sexually assaulting a child.
In Syracuse, there's Roy Brown. New York state paid him $2.6 million two years for the 15 years he’d spent behind bars on a murder conviction. Two years later police stopped him as he drove around town in the Mercedes he’d bought with the settlement cash. They found a brick of heroin on the seat.
Perhaps the most despicable of the bunch is Kerry Kotler, a Long Island fisherman who spent 11 years in prison for rape before he was freed by DNA evidence. Four years later he was charged with rape again. This time, prosecutors said, he carried a water bottle and demanded that his victim wash up before he let her go. His experience with the Innocence Network had taught he all about DNA.
In Chicago, Innocence Network crusaders seeking to free Anthony Porter from prison convinced another man of low intelligence, Alstory Simon, to confess to two murders. An Innocence Network investigator posing as police detective showed Simon a video in which an actor falsely accused him off the crime. The investigator promised to get Simon a good lawyer, and to help arrange a lucrative book and movie deal, if he confessed. Under those circumstances, the investigator insisted, the sentence would be light.
The result: Porter walked free and filed a $40 million suit. Simon got 35 years. Thankfully, authorities eventually decided the Innocence Network had caused a miscarriage of justice, and set Simon free, too.
Our criminal justice system, it seems, has been transformed into a jackpot lottery. Who wants to be a millionaire?
I’d be amiss if I didn’t mention the holiday season decorations still in the window of American Building Contractors on Woonsocket's Main Street.
Ray Arruda, who owns the business, first thought he'd include a guilded, glittering Eiffel Tower in the window to show support for France after the terrorist attacks in Paris. But that got him thinking about the global situation, and the need for understanding among the people of the world. Before long, the windows were lit up with a message calling for peace and tolerance. Arruda hired a painter to paint messages across the glass — “God bless England,” “God bless France,” “God bless China” and so on, using a random list of countries. And he added some messages beyond that — “Buddha bless the world,” “Allah bless the world” — recognizing religions around the globe.
For those who've been hearing fear and paranoia from grand- standing politicians on the campaign trail, it was a welcome respite.
“I just got thinking, this is what the world needs,” Arruda says. “A long time ago there was a man who delivered a simple message — love one another — and that message still unites million of people around the world. In this day and age, it’s time we gave that more thought.”