JAILED INFORMANTS SPARK LEGAL DEBATE

The American Bar Association Wants To Curb The Controversial Practice
Of Using Jailhouse Informants, Fearing It Could Lead To Wrongful Convictions

It seemed like the greatest stroke of luck when a tipster called the
Miami-Dade homicide bureau with information about the killing of Jose
Patino -- a murder that remained unsolved for years.

The bad news for investigators: The caller was a federal prison inmate
in New York. The tip did lead to the arrest of 36-year-old Manuel
Calderon, a convicted drug smuggler from New Jersey who allegedly
admitted while in prison that he shot Patino in a Colombian cartel hit
in 1992.

But a Miami-Dade jury had a hard time believing the state's two main
witnesses. One was a cocaine smuggler who had 19 years shaved from his
sentence for testifying in another trial; the other, an admitted
killer and cartel enforcer serving 28 years. Calderon's murder trial
ended in March in a hung jury.

Calderon's first trial -- his second is scheduled to begin this week
- -- can be seen as a cautionary tale in the use of jailhouse
informants, a common practice in federal and state courts that has
fueled an increasing amount of criticism in recent years.

Police and prosecutors routinely receive calls from jail inmates
offering information about their neighbors in the cellblock -- some of
it true, some exaggerated, some false.

Though many prosecutors wince at the prospect of calling a criminal to
the witness stand, they say informants are often needed to solve
crimes or uncover criminal conspiracies.

''When you're in prison, you don't talk to priests. You talk to other
inmates,'' said Assistant State Attorney Abbe Rifkin, who is
prosecuting Calderon. ``Sometimes you need a thief to catch a thief.''

But such assistance is rarely free: Inmates expect reduced sentences,
forgiven crimes or other favors in exchange for testimony.

Self-Help

Many inmates avidly try to befriend others in jail in an attempt to
glean information they can use for themselves -- and the more high-
profile the defendant, the more of these ''friends'' he or she may
have.

''Everyone in prison knows the way you get out of federal prison is to
provide information on somebody else. That's the main topic of
conversation,'' said Larry Handfield, Calderon's lawyer.

It's a lesson Calderon took to heart: Before his arrest in the Patino
murder, he won early release from prison after cooperating with
prosecutors in a narcotics case.

Because informants often benefit from their testimony, their
credibility is easily attacked by defense lawyers who say they have an
incentive to lie. And they don't play well in front of jurors, who
often view criminals with suspicion.

Some legal analysts consider the use of jailhouse informants among the
most corrosive practices in criminal courts. Defense lawyers complain
that the exchange of testimony for leniency gives prosecutors an
unfair advantage, because defense lawyers can make no such bargains.

Several years ago, U.S. District Judge William J. Zloch of Fort
Lauderdale said rewarding criminals for testimony was tantamount to
bribery.

The problem is hardly limited to Miami. Earlier this year, the
American Bar Association passed a resolution urging prosecutors to
limit the use of jailhouse informants, fearing they could lead to
wrongful convictions. And some other states have increased judges'
oversight of jailhouse testimony.

In Florida, jurors are commonly instructed to consider whether a
witness received a benefit for their testimony when weighing the evidence.

Defense lawyers say the greatest danger is that an informant will
embellish or invent a jailhouse confession. That's why many lawyers
instruct their clients not to share information with others in jail,
fearing that their clients will confess, or that other inmates will
say they did.

Beware Of `Friend'

'I explain that every person in custody who appears to be your
`friend' should be viewed as someone who will rat you out in a second
to save themselves,'' defense attorney Mark Eiglarsh said.

Still, it's common for inmates to talk, either out of braggadocio or
boredom.

Longtime defense lawyer Ed O'Donnell said he refuses to send legal
papers to his clients in jail, fearing that other inmates could read
them and learn enough about a case to conjure a fake confession.

''It's possible to get a conviction based on fabricated information,''
said Neal Sonnett, a Miami defense lawyer and former federal
prosecutor. ``It's not difficult for somebody to know what police are
looking for.''

Arguably the most prolific informant in the Miami-Dade jail is Robin
Lunceford. A robbery suspect and career criminal, Lunceford has
offered police information about four murder defendants she met in
jail, including Geralyn Graham, the caregiver for missing foster child
Rilya Wilson.

Lunceford said that while she and Graham shared a jail cell one day
last year, Graham admitted that she smothered Rilya. Lunceford's
testimony is crucial to the Rilya case because the child's body has
not been found.

In a recent interview with The Herald, Lunceford said she gained the
trust of many fellow inmates by helping them prepare legal papers for
court.

''In prison, women, they confess, they talk,'' Lunceford said. ``You
would be amazed at the concessions that come your way.''

But the more helpful Lunceford was with police, the more she was
attacked by Graham's lawyer, Brian Tannebaum, as a snitch willing to
say anything to avoid jail time. In recent weeks, prosecutors have
dropped Lunceford as a witness in two murder cases, though she remains
the main witness against Graham.

Prosecutors say jailhouse informants such as Lunceford can be
effective witnesses as long as their testimony is corroborated
independently -- either through other witnesses or physical evidence.

Rifkin said she warns potential jurors during jury selection that they
will hear testimony from criminals seeking a lighter sentence in
exchange for their testimony -- but that doesn't mean the testimony
isn't true.

While some prosecutors may dress their witnesses in tidy clothes --
much as defense lawyers soften their clients with sweaters and
collared shirts -- Rifkin insists in her cases that the informants
appear in their prison jumpsuits.

''I tell [jurors] up front, you are not going to like these people,''
Rifkin said. ``I don't ever want a jury to think I'm trying to make
them something they are not.''