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From the very beginning, Thomas and Arpaio's tactics seemed designed to generate publicity. Arpaio actually announced the investigation at a press conference, and he gave each reporter in attendance a tape recording of what he considered the key piece of evidence.
Goddard's lawyer, Ed Novak, says he has never seen behavior like that in his decades as a criminal defense attorney.
It's even more disturbing because Goddard and Thomas are widely considered two of the top contenders for the governor's office in 2010. By holding the widely publicized press conference, Thomas was getting a free attack ad against his future opponent.
Arpaio and Thomas' quest for publicity has continued throughout the investigation. As Goddard pointed out in a letter to Thomas, Arpaio issued a press release on August 16 claiming that Goddard wasn't cooperating. The release was ignored, and the sheriff issued the exact same release the next week.
"Five days later," Goddard wrote to Thomas, "you and the sheriff held a press conference to accuse the Attorney General's Office of 'stonewalling.'" A few weeks later, the sheriff issued yet another press release. (See Goddard's complete letter here.)
For all that publicity, Novak says, Arpaio and Thomas have sought to conduct only a single witness interview — with a tech guy — to question why it was taking so long to turn over records to the prosecutor.
Novak says the initial subpoena generated a list of "well over 12 million documents." Novak and his staff have managed to cull that list to a more manageable 60,000 documents.
"This takes time," he says.
Goddard, who declined to be interviewed for this story, sent a three-page letter to Thomas in October, criticizing the handling of the case.
"I was stunned at the time — and I still am — that the Sheriff or any other law enforcement officer would announce the beginning of a criminal investigation at a press conference or would hand out copies of his key evidence," he wrote. "The public blast of the Sheriff's press conference certainly sounded like the opening salvo in a political witch hunt. Unfortunately, subsequent events have reinforced that initial impression."
Goddard asked Thomas to recuse himself from the case, noting that they'd run against each other in the 2002 attorney general's race. "[T]here is a growing public perception that your investigation is an unwholesome, political 'dustup' between you and me," he wrote.
Thomas has refused to step down. The "investigation" continues.
"But for the publicity, I wonder if the investigation would have been over long ago — or never have been started in the first place," Novak says.
But if Russ Jones' fate is any indication, Terry Goddard may find himself vindicated.
Just five months after Thomas and Arpaio announced the first indictment resulting from Operation MACE, the judge tossed out the indictment. Jones' lawyer had argued that the prosecution of his client was unfair because no one really knew what "circulator" meant, much less what it meant to be "present" when a petition was signed.
The judge agreed.
That's not to say that Jones hasn't been punished. He's already paid $80,000 in legal fees. And Thomas has announced he's going to appeal.
But Jones isn't complaining.
"Had I not had the resources to pay for a good defense, this could have turned out much differently," he says. "And that would be a real travesty. When you're just an ordinary citizen, when one of these prosecutors goes off on a wild goose chase, you're in real trouble. They're not accountable to anyone."
Jones wonders what the point was. The sheriff sent six guys to Yuma for weeks to interview people who'd signed his petitions. And the County Attorney's Office had to develop a creative legal theory just to charge a Yuma guy in the Maricopa County courts.
To a guy from somewhere else, a guy who hasn't had to deal with Arpaio and Thomas, it makes no sense.
"Just think of how much money that was, when they're so short in their budget," Jones says. "I can't imagine how much it cost. And what good did it do for Maricopa County?"
Just two weeks before the November 2006 election, a graphic designer named Christy Fritz found herself dragged into Arpaio's orbit. That's when a sheriff's deputy showed up at Fritz's home, armed with a search warrant that let him confiscate her computers. Her utility bills. Her e-mails. Even her financial records.
You might assume that Christy Fritz was a drug dealer or an identify thief. But the truth is that, even by the sheriff's account, Fritz did only one thing wrong.
She worked for a Democrat.
Last fall, Democrats were surging in races across the country, and Arizona's Speaker of the House, Representative Jim Weiers, a Phoenix Republican, was feeling the heat. Political insiders were buzzing about a poll that showed Weiers' challenger, Jackie Thrasher, pulling ahead. Could the Speaker's seat be in play?
In late October, a new Thrasher campaign mailer hit the streets.
The mailer showed a corrections officer talking to the Democratic candidate. No big deal — except that Thrasher was pictured in front of a car sporting a Maricopa County Sheriff's Office decal. Though the Arizona Conference of Police and Sheriffs had endorsed Thrasher, Sheriff Joe had not.