By Alan Prendergast
By Michael Roberts
By Michael Roberts
By Amber Taufen
By Patricia Calhoun
By William Breathes
By Michael Roberts
By Melanie Asmar
Attorney Hal Haddon is no fan of grand juries; the courts are full of filings that attest to his irritation at their general nosiness.
On Monday, though, Haddon and the other lawyers representing John and Patsy Ramsey, "innocent parents of a murdered child," sent a joint letter to Boulder County District Attorney Alex Hunter, welcoming the possibility that a grand jury will be assigned to investigate the death of JonBenet Ramsey--as the Boulder Police Department recommended last week. But the missive from Haddon et al. was hardly a ringing endorsement of the Boulder cops' handoff of the case to the DA, or the cops' work over the past fifteen months. Quite the contrary. "We have lost all confidence that the police can either be fair or objective," the attorneys wrote. "Every important item of evidence and its potential significance has been leaked to the media by police officers. The monster who committed this murder has full knowledge of every facet of this investigation and has had a full opportunity to dispose of incriminating evidence. In our view, the deliberate leaks of supposedly confidential investigative information as well as outright smears of the Ramseys is serious misconduct which should be fully explored through cross-examination and impeachment of those who are and were in a position to leak.
"If referral of this case to a grand jury means that this investigation will at last be in the hands of competent and unbiased professionals," their letter continued, "we welcome it."
Welcome it like a backyard barrel of plutonium.
A leaking barrel of plutonium.
Just two weeks ago, Haddon filed a last-minute appeal with the U.S. Circuit Court of Appeals, reminding everyone of the sanctity of grand jury matters and, in particular, the secrecy of grand jury matters.
But that appeal was not made on behalf of John and Patsy Ramsey to counter some grievous injury inflicted by the media or the Boulder cops. It was designed to protect a dirty little secret just a few miles south of Boulder: the former Rocky Flats Nuclear Weapons Plant, once run by Haddon's second-most famous client, Rockwell International.
Rockwell was managing Rocky Flats for the U.S. Department of Energy back in June 1989, when the FBI staged a pre-dawn raid hunting for evidence of environmental crimes at the plant. That evidence was given to Colorado's first-ever special grand jury, officially empaneled in August 1989 but with a half-life that may outlast the most potent plutonium. Because in this case, it was justice that suffered a deadly dose of contamination.
After over two years of interviews and investigation, the grand jurors were ready to indict eight individuals--five Rockwell employees and three DOE officials--in connection with environmental crimes. Instead, the Department of Justice cut a deal with Rockwell and its attorneys. In exchange for Rockwell's pleading guilty and paying an $18.5 million fine--less than the company had earned in bonuses courtesy of taxpayers for running Rocky Flats--the individuals were let off the hook, the company was indemnified from future suits, and the case was closed in March 1992. But the grand jurors refused to go home. Outraged by the U.S. Attorney's refusal to issue their proposed indictments, they wrote a report outlining their findings and asked that U.S. District Judge Sherman Finesilver release it. Instead, Finesilver sealed the Rockwell deal--and also the grand jurors' report.
Five years later, those grand jurors are still trying to do their duty, still trying to see that justice is done. In August 1996 they filed suit to be allowed to tell their story; with Finesilver retired from the bench, the case was assigned to U.S. District Judge Richard Matsch.
Haddon had a response to this suit, too: On Rockwell's behalf, he argued that, among other things, the grand jurors just wanted to go public so they could sell their tale to Hollywood.
Presumably for an inaction film--because watching ink dry is more exciting than the movement in this case. Eighteen months later, Matsch has yet to rule on whether the grand jurors will get their day in court.
But in the meantime, another Rocky Flats case has been slowly--very slowly--moving through the system: one filed nine years ago by whistleblower Jim Stone, an engineer laid off by Rockwell who claims his former employer concealed environmental violations at Rocky Flats while he was serving as a troubleshooter at the plant. In the intervening years, though, people on Stone's witness list have suffered an astonishing rate of memory loss--such a high rate, in fact, that in February Matsch ruled that transcripts of some testimony offered to the Rocky Flats grand jury be made available to Stone's lawyers, the better to "refresh the memories" of witnesses who now claim they couldn't remember anything. "Today they hardly know where Rocky Flats is," laughs Stone.
The transcripts were not to go beyond the attorneys, Matsch cautioned: "Counsel for the parties to the civil case shall not disclose the transcripts to anyone other than lawyers working on the civil case, their supervisors or their staff, experts and consultants, on a need-to-know basis."
But all Haddon needed to know was that Matsch had authorized even a limited release of grand jury documents. In response to his appeal, on March 2 the court issued a stay--scheduled to expire this week--on any release of information.