When Matthew Miller, CPA opened the front door of his accounting office on the morning of Tuesday, September 3, 1991, he knew something was wrong. Things were not where they were supposed to be. A desk had been moved, a packing wrapper was laying on the floor in the middle of the room, and a printer cable was recklessly strewn across the floor. Matt knew he had been visited by someone he had not invited.
This was not the first time Matt had been burgled. It had happened ten years earlier at another location. He thereafter told his employees to never be the first to enter a burgled office. Not only was there a sense of violation to contend with, but also the possibility that the burglar could be armed and still on the premises. Matt took his own advice. In less than five minutes he followed an armed officer into his own office. The burglar was gone, however he had left plenty of tracks.
"Man, look at this. What a beauty!" exclaimed Officer Jim Harris as he examined a large piece of broken glass containing a full hand print with a blood smear on one finger. "This guy could just as well have left his name and phone number. Can you get me a list of what you are missing?"
"I don't know. Let me look around a little. I'm more concerned about the computers," responded Matt as he went around the office turning on computer equipment. "I've been involved in some fairly contentious stuff lately, and I'm more concerned about sabotage or a theft of information than anything else."
Everything seemed to work. No files were obviously missing or altered. The contents of a briefcase had been dumped on the floor and the briefcase was gone, as was a spare computer hard drive that had been stored on a bookshelf. The controller card necessary to run the drive was still on the shelf where Matt had left it, and a set of backup discs had not been disturbed. Strange.
With the help of his secretary, Matt eventually compiled a short list of missing items. It consisted of the briefcase, a couple old calculators, a couple junked phones, and the hard drive.
After the officer had left, Matt got a moist paper towel from the restroom and wiped several blood smears from a file cabinet. By now Matt was fairly sure his uninvited guest had been a kid, a kid that had been hurt. Matt thought about the damage that could have been done, and felt very grateful.
"Mr. Miller, this is Officer Harris. We caught your burglar. With a little luck we'll have your stuff back by early afternoon." It was about 9:00 A.M. on Thursday morning, two days after the burglary. The officer sounded very professional.
"What can you tell me about the burglar, Officer, was it a kid?" asked Matt.
"Yeah, real scum bag."
"Any chance I could talk to him?" asked Matt, thinking about some of the capers he had pulled in his own youth.
"If you want to do that you'll have to talk to the prosecutor. I'll be over in a couple hours with your stuff."
On the following Monday, Matt's mail contained a letter from the Prosecuting Attorney's office. The first paragraph stated, "On the 5th day of September 1991, our office filed the charge of SECOND DEGREE BURGLARY against THOMAS A. RYAN." The letter provided details regarding the name of the attorney handling the case, hearing dates and victim rights. It also contained the necessary forms for claiming restitution and a thoughtfully worded questionnaire entitled VICTIM IMPACT STATEMENT. Matt promptly filled out the forms, wrote a cover letter to the attorney and put it in the outgoing mail. He had included a paragraph requesting an opportunity to interview the defendant.
According to the Prosecutor's letter, the first hearing was scheduled for September 12, 1991 at 11:00 A.M. Matt arrived at the courthouse early, only to discover the date had been typed wrong. The correct hearing date was the 17th.
Matt was driven to the courthouse by his secretary on the 17th. The defense attorney was ill, and the case was rescheduled for the 24th. Matt called his office on a public phone and asked his secretary to pick him up in front of the court house. He walked out the front door and stood next to a light pole, casually observing the Judge who was conversing quietly with a local building contractor just outside of hearing range. When the Judge was finished talking with the builder he waved in Matt's direction, "Hi, Matt. Saw you in court but you didn't ask for anything?" It was more a question than a statement.
"I'm being a little bit of a social activist, Judge. I'm observing the Ryan matter. Mainly I want to see how you guys are managing the public's business." It was more than a casual comment. The Judge had been Matt's own attorney prior to being appointed to the bench by the Governor. It had become a troubled relationship and their parting had not been cordial. Also, Matt knew the Judge was developing a reputation for harsh sentences.
"That's interesting, and I suppose it is probably a good thing," commented the Judge. "If people paid more attention we would probably have a better system." Matt was surprised by the Judge's attitude. Time had passed. Maybe it was time to leave the past behind and let healing take place.
"Want to do lunch next week?" asked Matt.
"Sure, call my office and leave a message. I'll call you back. I'm usually free on Wednesdays."
Matt's secretary arrived and he climbed into her car. In a few minutes he was back at his own office. He picked up the phone, called the prosecutor's office and asked for the name of Thomas Ryan's defense attorney. The attorney's name was Roger Remington. The following day Matt sent Roger Remington a letter introducing himself and asking for an opportunity to interview Thomas Ryan.
At 10:30 A.M. on the 24th Matt again had his secretary drop him off at the courthouse. A recent building expansion had consumed most of the parking lot and it was near impossible to find a parking space after 9:00 A.M.. At 11:00 A.M. the Judge entered as the bailiff commanded all present to rise, and court was in session. A deputy led in a string of young men handcuffed together. They were released one at a time to stand before the Judge, each accompanied by his attorney. Each was again handcuffed to the string as his hearing was completed. Tom's hearing lasted five minutes at the most.
As Matt left the courtroom he was approached by a small man with intense dark eyes and a large presence. "You the accountant?"
"Yes."
"I'm Roger Remington. I got your letter. I haven't had a chance to discuss it with my client yet. What do you have in mind?" "I'm mainly interested in seeing how the system works," answered Matt. "Your client could have hurt me, but he didn't. I'm not angry with him. I want to talk with him so that maybe I can see this thing from his point of view. If it will help any, I am prepared to ask the Judge to go easy on him."
"That probably won't make any difference. With his prior convictions and the two offenses they have him on now it is pretty much a math function. We'll probably plea bargain. I'll see what I can do anyway."
Matt and Roger made small talk for a few minutes before returning to their respective offices.
The following day, October 25, Matt had lunch with the Judge at a very visible local restaurant - the type of place one dines to be seen. The lunch was amenable enough, everything considered. The Judge was obviously pleased with himself in his new position. He described himself as a "steel fist in a velvet glove." Matt was grateful that "conflict of interest" would prevent his ever having to face this judge in the judge's official capacity. Matt was also relieved when the Judge announced he would be excusing himself from the Ryan matter due a conflict of interest created by his having had lunch with Matt. The kid now had some possibility of facing a compassionate judge.
Late in the following week Matt was informed by a phone call from the prosecuting attorney that the case had been bargained and sentencing would take place on Monday, October 7, at 9:00 A.M.
At roughly 8:30 A.M. on Monday morning Matt pulled into an open parking space near the courthouse, plugged the meter, and proceeded to the bulletin board to find out whose courtroom the case would be heard in. The new judge assigned to the Ryan case was a man known for his strength and compassion, an experienced judge of long standing.
"Matt, do you wish to address the court?" asked the prosecuting attorney.
"I don't see any point in it. I haven't been able to talk to Mr. Ryan. I don't think I have anything to add."
At 9:00 A.M. the Judge entered as the bailiff commanded all present to rise, and court was in session. Ryan's case was heard first.
Both sides were well prepared. The prosecuting attorney presented the State's case and the terms of the plea bargain. Given the particulars of the case, the standard sentencing range was fifty-one to sixty-eight months. The attorneys had settled on fifty-five.
The defense attorney presented a surprising amount of detailed information about Tom's background, including childhood abuse by a stepfather and a four-year sentence for car theft at age sixteen (he had been tried as an adult). All told, Tom had spent eleven of the past thirteen of his twenty-nine years in jail. Remington concluded with a strong argument that Tom had been a victim of an abusive stepfather and the judicial system and was deserving of any leniency the court could see fit to extend.
Tom was then permitted to speak on his own behalf.
"Your Honor, I wasn't expecting this. This is the first time anyone has cared. As you can see from my record, I have a lot of experience with the courts. I've always been treated like a piece of meat. I don't quite know what to say. I suppose my attorney is right - my personality probably was arrested along with me when I got busted for stealing the car."
The Judge sat quietly for what seemed like several minutes. He was obviously touched. Then he spoke.
"Mr. Ryan, there should a better way to handle this than the way we are doing it; however, my hands are tied. The standard sentencing range is fifty-one to sixty-eight months. If we split that in half we get fifty-nine months. The prosecution is recommending fifty-five. If I go under fifty-one months they will appeal. If I go over sixty-eight months your attorney will appeal."
The court room was quiet. Then the Judge continued. "One of your victims is in the courtroom. He wants to talk to you. I don't think he wants to cut your heart out. Are you willing to talk to him?"
Tom nodded that he was.
The Judge imposed his sentence. Fifty-five months.
Tom was led away in handcuffs by the deputy.
"If you want to talk with that kid we better do it now. They will be transporting him tomorrow." Remington was suddenly an intense ball of energy. He headed down the hall with Matt close behind. Matt could not remember ever going through so many locked doors so quickly. In a few minutes they were in a large lounge area split by thick glass partitions with phones and stools on each side. Matt and Roger made small talk until Tom appeared on the other side of a glass partition and picked up a phone. Roger picked up the phone on his side and briefly discussed some particulars of the case. He then introduced Matt, handed Matt the phone, excused himself, and left.
Initial conversation was somewhat strained. How to begin? Each man stated his name and made small talk. Gradually the barriers melted, and both men talked about life, family, philosophy, and religion. Tom referred to himself as a thief and Matt reminded him that Jesus Christ died between two thieves - and took one with him. They then retreated to the safety of lesser matters.
"I suppose you would like to know why I hit your place?" asked Tom, by now almost completely open and animated.
"If you would like to tell me," responded Matt.
"I'd spent the evening at the Overboard - you know - the restaurant and bar a couple blocks down the beach from your office. I'd been drinking beer and trying to find somebody to take me home. You know, I am a pretty good looking guy when I'm dressed up. Anyway, I couldn't find anybody to take me home. I had too much beer to drink and they threw me out. I slapped one of those traffic barriers in the parking lot and cut my hand on a nail." That explained the blood, Matt thought. "I started walking down the beach," continued Tom, "and I looked up and saw your window. You know - you need a burglar alarm. Anyway, I just did it. When I get out I promise I won't hit your place again."
Matt was becoming anxious about the time. He couldn't remember how long he had on the parking meter, but it had to be getting short. Anyway, it was time to bring this interview to a graceful conclusion.
"Tom, if we work together, we can help each other. I'm interested in knowing more about how our prison system works. You can give me an insider's viewpoint. I can help you on the outside. Are you interested?" asked Matt.
"I can help you!?" responded Tom, enthusiastically but with a question. He was obviously interested but not quite sure how this was going to work.
"You know my address. You write me and I'll write you back. Deal?" responded Matt.
"Deal!" answered Tom.
Matt hung up the phone, waved briefly to Tom and left the lounge area. He stopped briefly at the reception desk to thank the attendant and ask for directions to get out. Once outside he walked briskly to his car. There was no parking ticket.
"Matt, this is Roger. Sorry about the delay in returning your phone calls. What can I do for you?"
"Thanks for calling me back anyway. I was wondering if you had heard from the Kid," responded Matt. "I haven't heard from him and I got tired of waiting. I got his address from the prison and sent him another letter in today's mail."
"I haven't heard from him either," responded Roger. "I did send him your previous letter, however, along with one of my own."
"I have been playing with numbers," commented Matt. "According to a recent article in THE ECONOMIST, it cost about $30,000 per year to maintain one prisoner. If that is true, we taxpayers have already spent over $300,000 to keep this kid off the streets. Is that possible?"
"It is entirely possible," responded Roger.
"If this kid gets no help this time, he'll get out somewhere between three and five years from now, spent six months on the streets and be right back in. According to the numbers I'm finding, his chances of spending the rest of his life in jail exceed 70%. Can that be real?"
"It is entirely real."
"We could spend well over $1,000,000 on this kid, and have nothing but a wasted life to show for it!" Matt was incredulous.
"That, my friend, is the reality of incarceration."
"If I can get this kid to respond to me, it would appear to be time VERY well spent."
"I could not agree more," responded Roger.
"I'll talk to you later, Roger, I'm going for a walk. Think I'll buy
a Christmas Card."