Remembering a paragon among Colorado prosecutors | BRAUCHLER | Opinion

A few weeks ago, I ran into the first chief deputy district attorney for whom I worked when I was a baby prosecutor in Jeffco nearly 30 years ago. Mark and his wife, Betsy, were retired, spending time with family, preparing for a cruise, and generally enjoying the twilight of their years together.

Seeing him reminded me of the early days of my career and how much prosecution has been twisted, disarmed and watered down in the ensuing years. Modern prosecutors have become more social workers than justice-seekers, more accommodators than protectors. My old boss knew prosecutors, at their core, were about doing the right thing.

What made Mark a great first boss was his willingness to let young prosecutors have the discretion to do what was right with cases, and he gave plenty of leash to make mistakes. In a job that exposes attorneys to the worst of humanity, his good nature and readily displayed sense of humor made the job less stressful and made our team more cohesive. As a newbie, after a week in which I had to apologize both to the chief judge of the U.S. District Court and a county court judge for saying things I thought were funny (and they were), Mark diagnosed me with “jocular Tourette’s” and crafted a form apology letter versatile enough to cover anyone I offended, from judges to elected officials to the Pope and the royal family in the U.K.

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When I hacked into the voicemail of a colleague, changing the password and the message to something outrageous (and funny), a near fisticuff ensued. Mark appropriately ordered me to fix it immediately, but we had been locked out of the phone system by myriad failed efforts to log in. We would have to wait until the IT dudes showed up the next morning. Mark made the most of a bad situation and encouraged the drug task force to repeatedly call the number to enjoy the mocking message. It was the right thing to do.

Mark could see the potential in young prosecutors and when they earned his trust, he gave them opportunities to develop.

Twenty-five years ago this week, two disgruntled students walked into their suburban high school (the high school closest to my own) with a year-long plan for mass murder on their minds. They murdered 13 and injured 21 others after failing to detonate a homemade bomb designed to kill hundreds of students and teachers. I ran into Mark at the internal mailboxes, and he asked me to go with him to a high school I had been in many times in my teens. I had never before been exposed to tragedy — evil — of such proportions. I ended up being assigned to prosecute the felony cases from the Columbine mass shooting and it changed me and my career. At the time, I thought it would be the biggest, worst, most tragic case I would ever handle.

I was wrong. But Mark’s faith in me — in involving me early on in that horrible case — gave me the confidence, experience and perspective I called upon in my future career.

One case in particular captured Mark’s character and morality and how doing the right thing was the ultimate act of a prosecutor.

On June 8, 1998, Mark was summoned to a gruesome crime scene involving three women whose heads were split open by a maul. Another victim had been kidnapped, tied down, made to witness the gruesome murder, and then raped at gun point. After kidnapping two others during a 30-hour period, William Cody Neal left the victims with instructions to have law enforcement page him.

Law enforcement did not know where Neal was. They attempted to negotiate his surrender over the phone before he killed again. Neal insisted on having a public defender at the scene of his surrender, as well as wanting guarantees he would get his own cell and be able to have cigarettes. No sober and sane prosecutor would involve a public defender — charged with zealously putting their client’s interests above everyone and everything else — in such a time-sensitive and life-saving operation. So, Mark pretended to be a public defender on the phone with the triple murderer and rapist and talked him into peacefully giving up his location and surrendering without killing any more women.

Mark was lauded as a hero, right? No. The public defenders were outraged. They tried to have Mark disbarred. The Supreme Court later ruled Mark was wrong, stating “members of the legal profession must adhere to the highest moral and ethical standards, even in circumstances in which they believe that lying serves the public interest.”

Think about that for a moment. In that tense, unprecedented moment, Mark chose to end the risk of another murder — of another family being told heir daughter had been savagely killed. And the Supreme Court told him he was…