Free The Last Undercover by Bob Hamer Page B

the Mexican Mafia and a mob bondsman, were in custody. It was a huge victory for the good guys.
    M eanwhile, though, what we had assumed would be a quick guilty plea from Darrel turned into a judicial nightmare. He and his boutique lawyers pulled out all the stops: lies, half-truths, and innuendo. I admit, as I view the situation in retrospect, that I made some errors in judgment. Even though my motives were pure, the appearance of impropriety felled our case.
    Furthermore, as if the flurry of defense motions weren’t enough, I learned through a reliable source close to Darrel that he had put out a $100,000 contract to have Heather killed.
    Fortunately, we had the information early enough that we could whisk Heather and her son to safety, eventually placing them in the Witness Protection Program. Unlike what you usually see on TV, where the endangered person is ushered into the program immediately, the FBI paid for an out-of-town motel room for several weeks until all the necessary paperwork was completed. While awaiting the Marshals Service to approve her entrance into the program, we stored all of Heather’s belongings in my garage—which led to an interesting situation.
    Over the Fourth of July weekend, our church had a picnic. My wife went ahead, taking our two small children with her. I arrived a short time later escorting Heather—the drop-dead gorgeous prostitute—and her young son. I wasn’t too sure how the folks from our church would react, but to their credit, they welcomed Heather and her son and treated her like an honored guest. It was quite a sight and, thankfully, my wife was still talking to me at the end of the day.
    Darrel’s motions hearing dragged on for weeks in the summer of 1984, with witnesses for both sides testifying at great lengths. As I had originally feared, sex became an issue; Darrel testified to falling in love and being intimate with Heather. He claimed he only sold drugs because of his love for her. He also said he learned everything he knew about heroin trafficking from library books.
    Heather admitted to “sleeping” with him but denied ever having sex, claiming Darrel was impotent. At one point, during a break, Heather confided in me that she had been a prostitute for seventeen years and the first time she couldn’t get a guy aroused, she had to testify to it in federal court. I had to smile—a welcome relief, actually, during a pretty somber summer. Still, the law was on our side and we were confident that despite the smoke and mirrors presented by the defense, we would prevail.
    The judge waited several more weeks to issue his ruling. When he did, it was a bombshell.
    As we walked into the courtroom, the prosecutor from the Organized Crime Strike Force, Blair Watson, turned to me and said he didn’t have a good feeling about the forthcoming ruling. Blair had done a great job arguing our case, but his premonition turned out to be correct.
    The judge said, “It would be easy for me to determine this, if I had some feeling that [Darrel] were not involved in drugs. I think the government has had every reason to look into his activities. I would think that they would be derelict if they did not. . . . [The defendant] is intricately involved in drug trafficking.” But the judge was “troubled” and “offended” by our recruitment of Heather, whom the judge called a “tragic figure.” He directed his comments to me on the sexual entrapment issues raised by the defense, characterizing my actions as a “deliberate closing of the eyes.” The judge said he believed me when I said I instructed the informants not to engage in sex, but he didn’t believe I meant it when I said it. Even though Heather and I testified that several times I warned her about engaging in sexual activities and she denied engaging in intercourse with the defendant, the judge broadened the definition of sex to include what a future president claimed under oath was not sex.
    And so, the defense prevailed