-Caveat Lector-

http://www.theage.com.au/daily/990926/news/news5.html

Clinton politics and vigilante justice

             By ROGER FRANKLIN

             Before he fell from grace with
             the law and ended his days
             behind bars, the late Sheriff
             Coolidge Conlee of Forrest City,
             Arkansas, liked to show newly
             arrested suspects two meaty
             lumps that floated inside a fruit
             jar on his desk.

             ``Them's testicles - rapist
             testicles,'' former deputies recall
             Sheriff Conlee explaining.

             ``In my jurisdiction of Saint
             Francis County, what you're
             goin' to learn is that there's a lot
             to lose if you break the law.''
             The spiel was usually enough.
             When the smiling Conlee locked
             his steady gaze on suspects and
             rolled that grisly paperweight in
             his hands, most were only too
             eager to confess.

             Nobody knows that better than
             a Little Rock handyman called
             Wayne Dumond, who is
             preparing to walk out of a
             Arkansas state penitentiary
             after serving 14 years for a
             crime even the judge who
             sentenced him now admits
             could never have been
             committed as the victim
             described.

             Along the way, apart from
             losing his reputation, the
             sometime lay preacher saw his
             heartbroken wife succumb to
             cancer and his home consumed
             by a petrol bomb. His car was
             torched and his dogs poisoned.

             While he was being gang-raped
             in an Arkansas state
             penitentiary, his two boys were
             taken repeatedly from their
             mother's custody by social
             service officials and his bank
             account pillaged by rapacious
             lawyers.

             And as Dumond, 48, added as
             an almost inconsequential aside
             last week, he also lost his
             manhood. They were his
             testicles on Conlee's desk.

             ``I was not supposed to
             survive,'' Dumond said the day
             after he learnt that his 20-year
             sentence had been commuted.
             ``From Conlee all the way up to
             (former Governor) Bill Clinton,
             the political machine that runs
             Arkansas wanted me dead.
             They knew I didn't rape anyone.
             But this was a girl from a rich,
             important family. Somebody
             picked me, a nobody, so that the
             police could give the people
             who own this state what they
             wanted, so that they could
             pretend justice was done.

             ``They thought I'd die when
             Conlee's boys castrated me and
             left me bleeding to death. And
             they thought I'd be killed in
             prison. But I wasn't. I wouldn't
             give them the satisfaction.''

             In the old days, before the civil
             rights movement dragged the
             South into the 20th century,
             lynchings were a revered Dixie
             tradition. In those bad old days,
             it was mostly blacks and the
             occasional Jew who ended up
             hanging from a tree while
             lawmen looked the other way.

             Dumond's story represents a far
             slicker variety of vigilante
             justice: a legal lynching by a
             drug-dealing sheriff whose
             prime goal, Dumond charges,
             was a self-interested desire to
             keep the goodwill of Arkansas'
             monied elite - including that of
             an ambitious young governor
             who would become the
             president.

             ``It was politics, pure and
             simple,'' Dumond said. ``Not
             law and justice, just low-down,
             dirty politics. It couldn't have
             been any other way, not when
             the victim was Clinton's kin.''

             Dumond's story began late in
             1984 when 17-year-old Ashley
             Stevens dropped in at a burger
             joint on her way home from
             school to grab a Coke and, as
             she told detectives, ``to see who
             my ex-boyfriend was hanging
             out with''. He wasn't to be
             found, so the willowy
             high-school senior continued on
             home in her brand new BMW.
             According to the statement she
             dictated to an officer later that
             night, the only thing out of the
             ordinary was a battered red
             utility that swerved out of her
             way as she backed on to the
             main road.

             At 3.20pm, she was doing her
             homework in the lounge room
             when she heard a noise at the
             kitchen door. Assuming it was
             her mother, she continued with
             her books until, a minute or so
             later, the fall of heavy work
             boots echoed in the hallway.

             ``The door opened and I saw a
             white male standing there,'' her
             statement explains. ``He was
             wearing an old baseball cap,
             and he had long,
             dishwater-blond hair, a
             moustache and a full beard a
             little darker than his hair.''

             But the striking thing about the
             intruder was his eyes. ``They
             were cold, hard, blue crystal - I
             can never forget them.''

             If any rape can be described as
             typical, this one conformed to
             the universal pattern of a stalker
             who preys on solitary women.
             The rest of Ashley's story,
             however, soon took such a
             series of bizarre turns that
             detectives wondered quietly if
             she might not be concealing the
             truth. Some even speculated
             that she might have invented
             the episode.

             Rather than raping her in the
             empty house, the intruder
             bound Ashley's hands and feet
             and then carried her out the
             front door and across the lawn,
             in full view of neighboring
             homes, and laid her face-down
             on the seat of his truck. It was a
             red utility, just like the one with
             a shattered headlight that had
             almost sideswiped her car
             earlier.

             ``The story just gets weirder
             after that,'' said Fred Odam, a
             retired Arkansas state trooper,
             who joined Dumond's legal
             team as an investigator because
             ``I saw an innocent man being
             railroaded.''

             ``She said he kept her head in
             his lap while he was driving and
             that she couldn't see anything,''
             Odam said. ``Yet she knew he
             did a U-turn in the second
             driveway of a local doctor's
             home - not the first driveway,
             but the second. She could tell
             you the whole journey from
             start to finish - all the
             landmarks. But at the same
             time, she said she didn't see a
             thing.''

             Out beyond the town limits, the
             attacker turned down an
             unpaved road and then drove
             over broken ground into a
             thicket of trees, where the attack
             occurred. When it was over,
             Ashley said she was taken on
             another circuitous drive.

             ``So where do you think this
             mystery man takes her?'' Odam
             asked. ``Why, straight back to
             her home because it looks like it
             might rain and he is worried
             that she will get wet. That's very
             considerate for a rapist, don't
             you think?''

             At 4.10pm, when her mother
             returned, just 50 minutes had
             passed from the moment the
             intruder is alleged to have
             opened the door. Ashley was
             sobbing in the shower and,
             when her mother asked why,
             she blurted, ``I've just been
             raped''.

             By 5pm the teenager was telling
             her story to police as her father,
             who owned a chain of funeral
             homes and is still one of the
             state's richest and most active
             political donors, worked the
             phones and called in favors.

             ``A rape, any rape, would have
             been big news in Forrest City,''
             explained Odam. ``But this girl
             lived in one of the state's richest
             neighborhoods and was part of
             Arkansas' premier family. She's
             also the daughter of Bill
             Clinton's stepfather's sister,
             which makes her the President's
             second cousin.

             ``Believe me, the pressure to
             find the attacker was intense.''

             Yet the police had precious few
             clues, and what little
             information there was seemed
             at odds with Ashley's story. At
             the rape scene, they expected to
             find a tangle of tyre tracks. Yet
             apart from a few, faint and
             fading imprints that were too
             narrow to have been left by
             Dumond's Ford F-150 utility,
             there was no evidence to
             support her story.

             At the hospital, where the police
             surgeon conducted tests to
             recover semen samples, Ashley
             insisted she had been a virgin
             until the assault. Yet, as the
             doctor noted, this assertion was
             contradicted by the physical
             evidence. While the doctor
             found rope burns on her wrists,
             there were no indications of
             recent intercourse. Such
             evidence of sexual activity as he
             could find, he said, led him to
             believe it had taken place at
             least 36 hours earlier.

             With another family, in another
             state, police might taken Ashley
             aside and confronted her with
             some very hard questions. ``But
             not with a Stevens girl,''
             explained Odam. ``In Arkansas
             that's not a smart career move.
             Something happened to her,
             nobody doubts that. So let's just
             say there are an awful lot of
             loose ends nobody wanted to tie
             up.''

             Two weeks later, after first
             focusing on the victim's former
             beau and his best friend, police
             began cross-referencing
             registration records for red
             utilities with the names of
             convicted criminals. Wayne
             Dumond was brought in for
             questioning the next day.

             ``I was no angel when I was
             young. I was a biker with a
             drug habit until I met my wife
             and she changed my life. She led
             me to Jesus and the wild days
             were behind me,'' Dumond told
             an interviewer early last year.

             Police twice put him in a
             line-up. And twice Ashley failed
             to pick him. There was no
             evidence tying Dumond to the
             crime, and his alibi - that he was
             on his way home after working
             at a construction site - was
             supported by fellow workers.

             When police tried to restage the
             crime, they found it would have
             taken Dumond almost two
             hours to reach the home, abduct
             Ashley, rape her, return her and
             then make it to his children's
             school, where witnesses next
             confirmed seeing him.


             But Sheriff Conlee was a
             determined man. A staunch
             Clinton ally, he also controlled
             the local Democratic Party as
             his personal fiefdom. When
             there was an election, smart
             candidates sought Conlee's
             support first. Away from the
             office he was equally active, as
             the FBI discovered when its
             agents prosecuted him for
             pocketing several million
             dollars in kickbacks from illegal
             bookies and drug runners.

             But the most enduring of
             Conlee's qualities was his
             refusal to take no for an answer.
             When the judge criticised the
             prosecution's case and released
             Dumond on a paltry $10,000
             bail, Conlee took justice into his
             own hands.

             ``He let two dirtbags out of the
             county jail, gave them rubber
             gloves, a rope and a pair of
             scalpels and sent them over to
             Wayne's house in the
             afternoon,'' Odam said. ``What
             happened shouldn't have
             happened to a dog.''

             Dumond was kicked half to
             death, then trussed
             ankles-to-wrists and hoisted off
             the floor on a rope tossed over a
             ceiling beam. Then one attacker
             tightened a noose of fishing line
             around his genitals while the
             other sliced open his scrotum
             and squeezed out his testicles.
             When Dumond's sons returned
             from school, they found their
             father unconscious, spinning
             slowly in mid-air above a pool
             of his own blood.

             That was the first outrage. The
             rest occurred in court.

             DNA tests, which proved that
             36-hour-old semen was not
             Dumond's, were never
             introduced as evidence. Nor
             were the victim's statements
             concerning the attacker's
             ``unforgettable'' ice-blue blue
             eyes, apparently because
             Dumond's are a nondescript
             hazel. As for his hair, it is
             auburn rather than blond, while
             his beard, which Ashley insisted
             was darker, is actually several
             shades lighter with two patches
             of grey.

             Yet none of that evidence was
             raised in court. Why? Well,
             Odam has a hunch.

             ``Wayne's attorney was too
             smart a guy to overlook so
             many things that could have
             saved his client,'' said Odam.
             ``What I do know is that soon
             after the trial, Bill Clinton
             elevated him to the bench and
             then gave him several more
             promotions after that. You
             figure it out.

             ``Then, in 1990, Wayne got his
             hands on the DNA evidence and
             presented it to the parole board,
             which Clinton appointed. Well,
             the board recommended that he
             be released, but Clinton
             wouldn't accept the finding. He
             left Wayne to rot.''

             Of course, the future president
             had bigger things on his mind
             just then. He was running for
             the White House and had just
             been blind-sided by Gennifer
             Flower's steamy recollections of
             their 12-year affair.
             Contributions suddenly dried
             up and many pundits were
             writing him off. In the end, all
             that kept him through those
             lean, uncertain days was an
             unsecured emergency loan from
             a Little Rock bank - a bank that
             just happened to be owned by
             Ashley Stevens' uncle and
             included her father among its
             directors.

             Now that Dumond is a free
             man, released from prison by
             Arkansas' first Republican
             governor in more than a
             century, he doesn't know how to
             begin picking up the pieces of
             his shattered life. Sheriff Conlee,
             who was convicted of graft and
             corruption in 1986, died of a
             heart attack in a prison hospital
             two years later - so Dumond has
             been robbed of any possibility
             of revenge.


             But there is one thing about
             which he is certain. Wherever he
             settles, it won't be in Arkansas.

             ``Maybe Texas, or Florida,'' he
             told Odam last week. ``If I want
             to stay alive, Arkansas isn't a
             healthy environment.''


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