Court and other records show that none of the Johnsons' subcontractors, including Brewster, filed lawsuits, liens, or other public complaints against the Johnsons.
Sheriff's deputies served a search warrant on the Johnsons' home within hours of Betty's speaking with Detective Dougherty. Among other items, investigators seized two of the couple's computers and BankOne stationery.
Jamie Peachey
Betty and Mike Johnson at the site of what was supposed to be their dream home.
The December 2003 fire destroyed the new
home of Peoria residents Betty and Mike
Johnson.
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Betty says another reporter contacted her shortly after the raid, saying Joe Arpaio was having another press conference the next day.
She gathered some girlfriends and drove to the sheriff's downtown Phoenix headquarters, apparently talking her way in by announcing herself as "the victim."
Betty recalls, "The sheriff was up there blowing smoke. He's talking about more arrests coming and so on. Someone in the media recognizes me and lets him know who I am. [Arpaio] was ticked! [He says,] 'What are you doing here?' This is my press conference!'"
A headline in the following day's Arizona Republic read, "Investigation in Arson Taking in Homeowners."
It noted the search of the Johnsons' home and that "the web of firefighters, contractors, and homeowners" had begun to unravel.
It sounded like quite the conspiracy, especially in light of the fact that the Johnsons didn't know any of the arrested Phoenix firefighters.
That would be the last story published about the case for years.
Sheriff's detectives wanted to charge Betty Johnson with committing fraud with the BankOne letters, but county prosecutors would not cooperate.
They also did not seek a grand jury indictment against Robert Brewster, who was allowed back on his Peoria fire truck about four months after his alleged cohorts were arrested.
The criminal case against the Phoenix firefighters soon fell into limbo: For unknown reasons, prosecutors "scratched " the charges against the trio shortly after the high-profile arrests, which meant they wanted further investigation to justify the filing of formal charges.
The three were released from custody. Avey soon resigned from Phoenix Fire, and Bishop remained on administrative leave (Lanning already had quit).
That July, the Johnsons sued their State Farm insurance agent for allegedly underinsuring the burned-up home on North 87th Drive.
The following month, their adjustor, Skipton, finally submitted a personal-property inventory to the insurer — a staggering claim of $238,000 in fire losses covering hundreds of belongings that included a 60-inch TV, leather couches, a pool table, and a pinball machine.
Though State Farm investigators were highly dubious, company claims adjustors moved the case along.
Claims section manager Debbie Smith wrote that "due to the extent of damage, there was only fine unidentifiable debris in the basement."
That comports with what Patrick Andler, the Johnsons' fire expert in the subsequent lawsuit against State Farm, later concluded. Andler said temperatures in the fire exceeded 1,200 degrees and probably consumed whatever combustible products were in the home.
State Farm, in October 2004, paid the Johnsons' about $41,000 of the requested $238,000, leaving the rest of the claim unresolved.
Also that month, as if this case needed another twist, water pipes burst at the Johnsons' residence, the home they remained in because of the fire.
They said the damage by the flood ruined thousands of dollars of new personal property they had bought in the fire's aftermath.
But State Farm investigators suspected that at least some of the water-ruined items were the same as those the Johnsons claimed had burned up in the fire.
If true, that would be felony insurance fraud. But, again, proof was lacking.
In early 2005, another State Farm special investigator, Lisa Grant, picked up the Johnsons' file — the fire and the water claims.
Within just a few days, Grant asked the Arizona Department of Insurance to consider the Johnsons for criminal prosecution on fraud charges.
But a state investigator concluded that the information from State Farm "did not establish a basis to allege that criminal fraud had occurred."
Again thwarted, State Farm decided in mid-2005 to question the Johnsons in an "examination under oath," a tool used by insurers to grill their customers in contested claims cases.
Betty Johnson told an attorney for the insurer about the aftermath of the fire, "It was a very devastating time, so it was very hard to remember everything that I'd been packing up over the months before."
Nothing she said swayed State Farm, which decided internally to deny the rest of the Johnsons' personal-property claim for losses in the fire.
Also, the insurer still had not done anything about the couple's flood claim, another sum of about $40,000.
Then, in late 2005, State Farm tried to pull a fast one.
The Johnsons' insurance agent agreed to settle his lawsuit — the one that accused him of negligently underinsuring the couple — for $5,000.
State Farm sent that amount to the couple but also included a "general release" document with the other paperwork.
By signing it, the Johnsons would have released State Farm from "all liability whatsoever," including pending personal-property claims and future lawsuits that the couple might file against the company.
The Johnsons' current attorney, Steve Silverman, recently told a judge of State Farm's gambit: "At the base of it, it was a heavy-handed tactic that said, 'Take it, or we're going to bury you further.'"
