"We serve and are accountable to our constituency," she says. "Denver and Adams serve and are accountable to theirs. We seem to have less crime, so I am not sure it would make sense for us to adopt their policies."
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Dennis Pauls was facing up to 32 years in prison for allegedly stalking his ex-wife.
More than three-fourths of the habitual-criminal cases filed by Arapahoe County District Attorney Carol Chambers involve non-violent crimes.
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The crime of stalking, as currently defined in Colorado, involves making threats against someone or following them around. It can also be "any form of communication," whether directly or indirectly, "that would cause a reasonable person to suffer serious emotional distress."
Pauls didn't believe he'd done any such thing. Offering a plant to a woman who wanted nothing more to do with him may have been stupid and annoying. But it wasn't a threat, he insisted, and he didn't see how it could have caused a reasonable person severe emotional distress.
As it turned out, he wasn't the only party who took that position. His ex had reported him for violating the restraining order, but she was stunned to learn that he was facing another felony conviction and a possible habitual-criminal sentence as a result. Two months after Pauls's arrest, the victim of the alleged Easter Lily Stalking wrote to Arapahoe County prosecutor Douglas Bechtel to plead for mercy.
"I know that he 'lovingly' placed flowers on my porch," she wrote, "and was probably not of sound mind (under alcohol influence) when he did it. I do not think that he should be charged with 'stalking,' as I don't truly believe that he was stalking me.... As much as my life has been altered by his actions, I hate to see a life ended by spending pretty much the rest of his life in jail.
"I am asking that you consider other alternatives than prison for him. I do not want my actions in reporting him to end his life.... I just feel that taxpayer dollars are better spent helping someone get well, rather than just locking them up and giving them no hope for coming out and trying to be 'whole' at some point."
The former Mrs. Pauls declined to be interviewed by Westword and asked that her name not be published. In any event, her letter failed to sway Bechtel or any other prosecutor involved in the case. According to Chief Deputy District Attorney Jason Siers, prosecutors discussed the letter with the victim, who admitted that finding the plant and note from Pauls had upset her. Her emotional reaction, as well as Pauls's prior violations of the restraining order and a 2002 conviction for harassing a neighbor, more than justified the felony stalking charge, Siers says.
"When I get a stalking case, I work from the assumption that this is a public danger issue," he explains. "There was a pattern here, and that repeated conduct is pretty scary on its face."
Siers acknowledges that there's no evidence that Pauls had ever threatened the victim, but the standoff over whether he'd caused "serious emotional distress" continued. Felony stalking is a Class Five felony, with a maximum sentence of four years — or if, as in Pauls's case, there's already a restraining order in effect, a Class Four with a maximum sentence of eight years. While Pauls stewed for months in the county jail, prosecutors barely budged on their offer. Go to trial and get bitched for 24 years, they said, or plead guilty and get ten years.
His public defender urged Pauls to take the ten years. If he was found guilty of stalking, proving the habitual count would simply be a matter of introducing his prior convictions, he explained.
"I was going to take it at one point," Pauls says. "I didn't want all the dirty laundry aired from my marriage. My public defender said it was a slam-dunk case against me. But I just couldn't plead to that. I'm not a used car, to be traded in like that. I told him I'd go to trial on my own."
Few habitual-criminal defendants dare to go to trial. "You'll have a few who want to fight it," says public defender O'Connor. "We've had some that went to trial and won. But most of them plead, and they're taking deals that are way out of whack with their conduct. Hardly any of them want to stare down the risk of that kind of time and go to trial — even if they're not guilty of the highest counts charged."
For those who do stare down the risk, the results can be disastrous. Ronnie Flohr completed his prison sentence on a 1996 attempted-manslaughter case but ran into trouble with his parole officer, who refused to grant Flohr's request that he be allowed to move to Colorado Springs to take care of an ailing wife and a mother-in-law in an advanced stage of dementia. Flohr admits that he cut off his parole monitor and moved anyway.
While in Colorado Springs, Flohr says he worked two jobs, paid child support and even renewed his driver's license. He contends he's guilty of nothing more than a technical violation of his parole, but the district attorney's office didn't see it that way. Flohr, who also has a prior conviction for escape, was arguably a much greater public safety risk than someone like Pauls — even though his "attempted manslaughter" conviction stemmed from a high-speed chase that ended with a patrol car colliding with Flohr's vehicle, injuring a police officer. He was charged with escape and offered a plea deal of ten years or the certainty of getting bitched. He refused and demanded a trial. He's now serving 48 years — not for a violent crime, not even for escaping a halfway house, but for relocating without permission.