-Caveat Lector-
an excerpt from:
Loud and Clear
Lake Headly and William Hoffman�1990
Henry Holt and Company
115 W. 18th St.
New York, NY 10011
ISBN 0-8050-1138-2
272 pps � out-of-print/one edition
--[21]--
21
Adamson Versus Corbin
The supreme court reversal generated movement: Max Dunlap to the less
demeaning conditions of Maricopa County jail, where he awaited his bail
hearing; Jim Robison from death row to the general population at Arizona
State Prison; and John Adamson from a previously undisclosed out-of-state
location to Maricopa County Jail, nearer prosecutors ostensibly urging him to
drop his demands.
In context, how outrageous was Adamson's position? He, at least, had put in
some prison time. Neal Roberts never served a day, thanks to that trade of
theory for immunity, nor had Gail Owens. Immunity-according-to-Arizona (none
for JoDon on a twenty-dollar hash deal, despite the potentially critical
evidence he offered) was a wondrous thing to observe.
Why shouldn't Adamson go for it?
Because, Attorney General Corbin whined, the convicted killer had given his
word to cooperate "fully and completely."
Given his word to lie would have more accurately described the deal, and to
take the Fifth. Prosecutors hadn't uttered a peep at the trial when Adamson's
"full and complete" testimony included refusal to answer questions he didn't
like.
I had to wonder if Schafer and Corbin, wringing their hands, were merely
playacting. Did they sincerely want this case tried again? If police and
prosecutors had conspired in a broad cover up to protect powerful Arizonans,
as gut instinct and vanished evidence told me they had, why should they let
their dirty linen be aired in public?
Certainly Murray Miller wanted it back in court. "Are we ever ready!" he
proclaimed to newsmen. Miller projected the confidence of a fleet admiral
backed by nuclear forces squaring off against a leaky rowboat.
Don W. Harris, the interim Maricopa County attorney originally slated to
prosecute the Bolles murder before being elbowed aside by Bruce Babbitt, now
came forward with an inevitable I-told-you-so. Harris said William Schafer,
working under "a greedy attorney general who wanted to be a U.S. senator,"
had brushed aside his suggestions of Mafia involvement in the killing. He
repeated earlier charges that "a judge, a civic leader, and others" (people
he refused to identify) had pressured him to back off investigations into the
role of organized crime in the Bolles murder.
Was the contest between Adamson and the prosecution a charade to avoid new
trials? I didn't believe Adamson was playing a game, but I suspected Corbin
and Schafer were. Adamson was shrewd enough to realize he faced a buzz saw if
he took the stand again, and his only safeguards were gaining full immunity,
guaranteed immediate release from custody, and a new identity. For these
gigantic concessions, he'd bear the opprobrium of being proved a liar.
Adamson had working for him a most intriguing argument, hotly debated
throughout the Phoenix legal community: that he was being subjected to double
jeopardy. He had already gone to court and been sentenced for murder. Could
he be prosecuted again if he refused to testify? Adamson said no, that since
he had been tried and sentenced once, he had nothing to lose by his refusal
to take the stand again.
On April 15, 1980, the killer appeared to be winning. Corbin went so far as
to offer him new clothes, "improved" confinement, and protection for his
family during the course of a new trial. But immediate release from jail was
too much even for these prosecutors.
On April 18, 1980, at a preliminary bail hearing for Max, Adamson invoked the
Fifth Amendment on thirty-one of thirty-two questions asked by Murray Miller.
The one answer the con man gave: "'What I said at the preliminary hearing [in
1976] was true."
He should have pled self-incrimination on thirty-two of thirty-two, because
he laid himself open to perjury with his one answer. His 1976 preliminary
hearing testimony was full of lies.
The next day Adamson took the Fifth Amendment one hundred and thirty-six
times. Superior Court Judge Robert L. Myers did not order Adamson to answer,
thus saving him from contempt citations.
I couldn't help smiling when I watched Adamson's entrances into the
courtroom, wearing a bulletproof vest and surrounded by four U.S. marshals.
Whom did he fear? "My people [who] don't give immunity''?
Another, vital police report, withheld by the prosecution during the original
trial, surfaced to support this supposition. The document, provided by the
California Department of Justice, concerned a certain Nicolo Angelo
DiVincenzo, described as a "hit man for organized crime" who "allegedly
advised that he had been hired to murder John Adamson, arrested for the
bombing murder of Bolles in June of 1976.
DiVincenzo reportedly stated that he had received the contract to hit Adamson
prior to Adamson's arrest because Adamson was a direct link to Funk (believed
to be one of the Funks of Funks Greyhound Racing Circuit, Inc.).
DiVincenzo stated that Adamson was a direct tie to Funk and other very
important persons in Arizona and that Adamson could not be trusted to live.
DiVincenzo stated that he did not carry out the "contract" on Adamson in time
before Adamson was arrested for Bolles's murder, but that the "Commission of
13" still insisted that DiVincenzo carry out the "contract" even though
Adamson was in police custody.
DiVincenzo refused to carry out this contract and fell into disfavor of the
"Commission." DiVincenzo then left Phoenix and moved to Los Angeles, stating
that he had contacts here (in California) that could get him "back into the
business."
Long before, in that interview with Marcus Aurelius which I read the first
night I worked on the case, Betty Funk Richardson had predicted Adamson's
life would be in danger, saying that he would be safer in police custody. The
new identity Adamson wanted became more understandable in view of the
DiVincenzo allegations. So too did his repeated taking of the Fifth:
MILLER: Your previous testimony was a batch of bold- faced lies, wasn't it?
ADAMSON: On the advice of counsel, I invoke the Fifth Amendment and refuse to
answer.
MILLER: Your testimony was nothing more than un-adulterated perjury, wasn't
it?
ADAMSON: On the advice of counsel, I invoke the Fifth Amendment and refuse to
answer.
MILLER: And the entire story you told the prosecution was a lie, wasn't it,
John?
ADAMSON: On the advice of counsel, I invoke the Fifth Amendment and refuse to
answer.
Adamson wore a loud print shirt and dark glasses to the bail hearing. He
seemed bored, even when he pleaded self-incrimination after being asked his
motives for refusing to testify. "You figured, didn't you," said Miller, "you
had the prosecution where you wanted them and that you could squeeze them a
little more?"
Neal Roberts also testified at the bail hearing. He took the Fifth Amendment
twenty-one times. Roberts pleaded self-incrimination to the "loud and clear"
remark, to "setting up" the "easy patsy" Dunlap by having him deliver that
money to Adamson's lawyer, and to questions about the three vehicles "stolen"
on the day of the bombing.
"I put it to you," Miller asked at one point, "that you and John Harvey
Adamson conspired and framed Max Dunlap in the murder of Don Bolles; isn't
that the truth?"
But of course Roberts wouldn't reply to the question.
Had I been on the attorney general's staff, I would have felt like a fool
listening to Adamson and Roberts take the Fifth. These were their immunized
witnesses.
Again a courtroom heard tributes to the character of Max Dunlap, this time
about his eminent suitability for bail. Retired First National Bank vice
president Leo Baumgartner described Max as "about the most honest and gentle
man I've ever known." Retired First National Bank chairman of the board
Sherman Hazeltine declared Dunlap "totally incapable of the heinous crime
with which he has been charged."
Judge Myers, on April 22, 1980, ruled that Robison and Dunlap must be tried
separately. He postponed "for a few days" the decision about bail.
Corbin and Schafer saw their case crumbling before their eyes. Worse for
them, it was veering in uncontrollable directions.
Miller, during the bail hearing, emphasized the pressure exerted on the
police shortly after the bombing to come up with a quick solution to the
case. William Shover, director of community and corporate services for the
Arizona Republic and the Phoenix Gazette, admitted, according to the Arizona
Republic itself, that an "offer was made during a phone conversation he had
with then-Phoenix Police Chief Lawrence Wetzel around midnight three days
after Bolles was injured fatally."
The Arizona Republic also had to concede, in an April 25, 1980, story:
"Wetzel suggested that an offer of money to Adamson might loosen his tongue,"
Shover said, "and an amount in the range of $50,000 to $100,000 was
discussed."
The offer was made, Shover admitted, but Adamson turned it down. Shover
didn't comment on the propriety of offering a large sum of money to the man
who helped murder the finest reporter his newspaper ever had.
We wondered if maybe the money had been paid. Murray Miller petitioned the
court to see Adamson's 1976 tax returns, but Judge Myers ruled against the
motion, continuing a long established tradition of proprosecution decisions.
Judge Myers also said the attorney general's office did not have to reveal
why it took the case away from county prosecutor Don Harris.
On April 28, 1980, with the only real witness against him pleading the Fifth
Amendment, Max was ordered freed on twenty-eight thousand dollars bail. At
every step, the attorney general's office had cruelly fought tooth and nail
against his release.
The decision to grant bail came unexpectedly and without fanfare, not in an
open court but with a written order. Max decided to surprise his family by
coming home unannounced, but having been away so long (three and a half years
in all), he wasn't sure this was his house when he rang the doorbell.
It didn't matter. His family had gone to a movie and left the door unlocked.
They arrived home at 10 p.m. to one of the happiest surprises of their lives.
Three of Max's daughters had married since he had been arrested at gunpoint
and taken away. Two of them, Susan and Sandra, proudly had had a double
wedding March 23, 1978, in the Maricopa County jail, before Max got
transferred to death row at the state prison. The third married daughter,
Pamela, fought to have her ceremony conducted at Florence, but authorities
wouldn't permit it.
After his release, reporters, photographers, and TV cameramen swarmed all
over Max's northeast Phoenix home. Holding Barbara's hand and speaking
extemporaneously, he said, "Most people take it for granted just to be able
to walk outside in the morning, to see the sky, to do what they want to do.
It's hard to explain to someone what freedom means, unless they've been
through what I have."
Terri Lee and I enjoyed all of it-the expectant time leading up to Max's
release, the joy of the reunited family, the anticipation of final
vindication at the upcoming trials and, yes, the sight of those police and
prosecutors on the run. They had acted arrogantly and unconscionably, but now
had been put to full flight.
Max kept a promise he had made to me in prison and had me over to his house
for dinner with his family. We relived the recent "war days" and enjoyed a
big batch of crab legs, his favorite food.
Terri Lee and I kept ourselves busy teaching paralegal classes to Navajos and
working for Vlassis on the never-ending problems of the reservation. I
continued to visit Jim Robison at Florence and was pleased to see the change
in his attitude. The man who had thought throwing in the towel was better
than a miserable existence in death row's limbo now itched for the good
courtroom fight that we all expected to win with a decisive knockout.
The complexion of the case really had altered radically. On May 8, 1980,
Corbin filed first-degree murder charges against John Adamson, saying the con
man's plea bargain agreement had been rendered null and void by his refusal
to testify in the upcoming trials.
Adamson's lawyer, Bill Feldhacker, immediately filed a superior court motion
to have the first-degree murder charges dropped. Adamson, he said, had
fulfilled the requirements of his pact with the state when he originally
testified against Robison and Dunlap, the result being the two death-sentence
convictions. Besides, Feldhacker argued, Corbin had no right to unilaterally
declare invalid a court-sanctioned plea bargain. That power resided with the
court, not the attorney general.
In answer to the lawyer's contention that Corbin had overstepped his bounds,
Superior Court Judge William P. French declared himself "somewhat inclined to
agree."
Feldhacker accused the prosecutors of setting up "some sort of legal tribunal
out there," adding: "They want everyone to think my client has breached his
plea agreement, but they want to be the only ones to sit in judgment of that."
I couldn't find a side�Adamson or Corbin�to cheer for in this dispute, though
I loved watching them scrap it out. The attorney general richly deserved this
headache.
"Karma," Terri Lee decided. "What goes around, comes around."
The distinct possibility now existed that the only punishment for the Bolles
murder would be the twenty-year prison term negotiated in Adamson's plea
bargain. Lawyer Feldhacker proclaimed, "The attorney general's office is
proceeding without authority to prosecute Mr. Adamson for a crime for which
he is now serving a sentence. There is no doubt he is being subjected to
double jeopardy."
But on May 29 the Arizona Supreme Court held otherwise and ruled that Adamson
"entered into a plea agreement with the state which by its very terms waives
the defense of double jeopardy if the agreement is violated."
This hardly ended the wrangle. Feldhacker promised an appeal to the federal
courts.
William Schafer said he had no intention of using the Arizona Supreme Court
decision as leverage to force Adamson to testify against Max and Jim. "If
Adamson wants to testify," Schafer pronounced, "he can come to us."
"I believe Schafer," I told Terri Lee. "One of the few times I have. He
doesn't want Adamson to testify. He knows the beating he'll get if he retries
Jim. and Max, and how all that damning evidence against powerful people is
bound to come out."
"Adamson doesn't want to testify either," she said. "He's no fool, give the
bastard that."
Right. And nothing since the reversal of the convictions had lessened the
stench permeating Phoenix. Since Adamson no longer qualified as the
prosecution's fair-haired boy, leaks to the media suddenly linked him to four
other murders, all in 1975:
1. The bombing of federal informant Louis Bombacino in Tempe,
suspiciously similar to the modus operandi employed to kill Bolles.
2. The death of accountant Edward Lazar, scheduled to testify against
land-fraud godfather Ned Warren, shot five times in a Phoenix parking lot.
3. The disappearance and probable killing of Jack West, a Phoenix
businessman. He left home saying he was "going to see a man about some
money," and never returned. Adamson reportedly owed West $5,000.
4. The strangling murder of Helen Marston, a wealthy eighty-one-year-old
widow, during what police called an "interrupted burglary" at her Paradise
Valley home.
Under what rock had all this speculation hidden when Adamson was ballyhooed
as a witness the people should believe? It looked to me like he had been
thrown to the wolves.
It burned me, also, how quickly the Arizona Supreme Court got its act
together when the attorney general wanted a ruling. In less than two weeks
the justices decided that Adamson had violated his plea agreement. It took
the same court a year of dragging ass before they reversed the trial and
then, finally, ruled on new trials for Robison and Dunlap.
Sure enough, on May 31, 1980, all charges were "temporarily dismissed"
against Max Dunlap and, two weeks later, June 13, 1980, the fourth
anniversary of Bolles's death, prosecution against Jim Robison was also
dropped "temporarily."
I had no sympathy for Adamson. As one of many people who I believed were
responsible for murdering Don Bolles, he deserved appropriate punishment.
What I hated was how the prosecutors now intended to go after him with the
full force of the law, and then, with the Arizona Supreme Court having got
them off the hook of a new trial, wash their hands of the dirty affair and
never have to go after the other guilty parties. I could already hear what
would eventually come down as the official line: Well, we convicted Adamson.
And we would have gotten Dunlap and Robison, if that scum Adamson hadn't
refused to testify. The only one we missed was Kemper Marley. All in all, we
did pretty good.
These prosecutorial maneuvers sickened every fair-minded individual connected
with the investigation and also prompted one of the most bizarre episodes in
this thoroughly bizarre case. Murray Miller sued, demanding that Max Dunlap
be tried for murder, or in the alternative, that charges be permanently
dropped. Miller made it clear his client wanted to be tried, though it meant
risking the gas chamber. I knew of no such thing ever happening before.
Miller's petition read: "Dunlap wishes to stand trial now for the murder of
Don Bolles. Dunlap spent three years and three months in custody, more than
two years of which was on death row. The present order deprives Dunlap of
final resolution of the charges and casts him adrift to live with public
obloquy, while waiting for the gendarmes to knock at his door, never knowing
if and when that will be.
"As it is," Miller pleaded, "Dunlap's death alone will end this legal
purgatory, a purgatory so unfair that due process commands a different result
now."
Jonathan Marshall didn't like that "temporarily dismissed" either:
If the case does not go to trial, there is no possibility for their names to
be cleared unless the state prosecutes and convicts others of the crime. Thus
the cloud of guilt always will hang over them.
Shortly after the murder the police came up with the theory that Dunlap
arranged the murder for his friend Kemper Marley, about whom Bolles had
written numerous negative articles. They did not properly pursue other viable
leads, and they ignored possible leads provided by informants, California law
enforcement agencies, potential witnesses and the press.
It has appeared that the office of the attorney general has avoided pursuing
other avenues of investigation and new evidence that has been uncovered. It
also seems that law enforcement authorities have been embarrassed by the
possibility that they made a mistake, and so have failed to prosecute other
suspects.
One man was cruelly murdered. Two men have spent more than two years
on death row. If the case is allowed to be dropped, it will be a travesty of
justice. Don Bolles, his family and friends, and the people of Arizona
deserve to have the truth pursued, regardless of where it leads or who it
hurts.
Whether or not Attorney General Robert Corbin and his staff have the courage
to do this remains to be seen.
On June 19, 1980, Terri Lee and I hosted a "graduation" party for six Navajos
who had completed a week of our paralegal classes. This group of outstanding
students had exhibited a keen interest in the law, and not just as it applied
to the reservation. As I lit the fire in the charcoal grill on the patio
behind our apartment, they fired questions at me about the hottest legal
topic in Phoenix, the status of the Bolles case.
The following day, a Saturday, the young Native Americans returned home, and
Terri and I holed up in the apartment to complete an investigative report for
Mike Stuhff in Flagstaff.
"Have you got the report?" Stuhff asked over the phone that afternoon.
"Yeah. We're just finishing it."
"Good. I'll need it sooner than I thought. The trial hearing has been moved
up to Monday."
"No problem. We'll put it on the first bus out of here tomorrow morning."
"I'll be at the Greyhound terminal when it arrives."
The case concerned a beauty shop. Terri Lee, becoming a real pro, had enjoyed
going undercover and interviewing several of the state's witnesses while
having her hair done.
That evening we watched the late news on TV and turned in early so we could
get Stuhff's package on the 8:30 A.m. bus to Flagstaff. Terri set the alarm
clock for 7, with no foreboding that before the dawn of a new day, our lives
would be changed forever.
pps. 220-230
--[cont]--
Aloha, He'Ping,
Om, Shalom, Salaam.
Em Hotep, Peace Be,
Omnia Bona Bonis,
All My Relations.
Adieu, Adios, Aloha.
Amen.
Roads End
Kris
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