Tough Cookie

But I never skip to the end. I’d signed too many contracts to know the perils of that particular shortcut. I took a fortifying sip of coffee and began reading a letter to the editor that was headlined:Kangaroo Court or Porkers’ Parole?When rough justice for rough crimes prevailed in the Australian outback, an out-of-doors court often had to be convened. Kangaroos sometimes hopped up to watch the trial. The big marsupials would sit on their haunches and silently observe the proceedings like solemn jurors. Hence the term “kangaroo court.”Although the criminal court system in Colorado may be slow and inefficient, families of crime victims CANNOT rest easily once the perpetrator of a crime has been placed behind bars. You think a three-year sentence may be light for the person who has killed your loved one. You think: At least it’s a sentence. But it isn’t.The kangaroos have left. The pigs are on their way. If the killer of your loved one plays the parole board right, he could be out on the streets in a mere six months to a year. Surely the parole board is smarter than that, you think? Don’t count on it.Are you aware that in Colorado, a criminal has to meet with only one member of the parole board when his case is reviewed? Do you know that only that one member, who may be a newspaper critic who’s donated heavily to the governor’s campaign, makes a recommendation to the full board? And that the board, never having met with the criminal, or even read his file, follows the one member’s recommendation ninety percent of the time?Speak out, Colorado! Let’s change the parole system. And while we’re at it, let’s make sure none of our current piglet parole board members are succumbing to the temptations that might be offered by rich criminals. Better yet, let’s eliminate those parole board members altogether.

The letter was signed, Arthur Digby Wakefield.

This was a morning of surprises. I took another sip of coffee to steady myself. You didn’t need a degree in psychology to see that Arthur Wakefield was dealing with a truckload of unresolved anger.

“May I keep this?” I asked. “To show to my husband?”

Jack nodded. His beautiful eyes bored into me. “Do you know what he means by ‘succumbing to the temptations offered by rich criminals’?”

“No,” I replied. “Do you?”

His pained face relaxed slightly. “Almost all the convicts had heard the stories about Portman. When Portman worked with me, he just heard what I had to say and decided to let me out. He even had a stenographer there. But what if a convict met with Doug Portman without the stenographer?”

I shook my head. Again I saw Doug Portman’s bloodstained cash billowing out over Killdeer Mountain. I asked, “Do you know anyone who actually bribed Doug? Or tried to?”

Jack took a bite of cake and chewed it thoughtfully. “One guy, in for armed robbery, offered Portman a used Porsche that he’d kept hidden from the cops. That guy swore Portman just blew him off, pretended he didn’t even know what he was talking about.” Jack pressed his lips together, then went on: “ ’Nother guy, said he knew Portman already had a Porsche, and that you had to offer him something bigger, or fancier, or funnier in that first meeting. Otherwise, he’d cross you off the list of people he’d allow to bribe him.”

“Did you offer him anything?” I asked neutrally.