Showdown: DNA evidence vs. cognitive bias

Back in the 1980s, southern Alameda County in the East Bay was the hellmouth for serial murder. As a newspaper reporter covering the crime beat, I was reporting on at least three separate fiends prowling the suburbs and picking off young teenage girls at whim.

It was harder to stop them back then. Forensic DNA was still in its infancy. The historic evidentiary hearings in Oakland, California on the admissibility of DNA typing, with full-scale scientific battles tying up courtrooms for months on end, were still a few years away.

Tina Faelz and her mother Shirley

Fourteen-year-old Tina Faelz was one of the victims. In 1984, she was found dead with 44 stab wounds. She had taken a shortcut through a drainage culvert while walking home from school.

(As a side note, Tina had walked home that day because a group of girls was planning to beat her up if she rode the bus. Bullies tyrannized Foothill High School in suburban Pleasanton; on the same day as Tina’s murder, an alpha-male bully threw a football player into a dumpster and locked the lid.)

Detectives had no shortage of suspects. There was the mother’s violent boyfriend. There was the aforementioned school bully, whom someone had spotted near the crime scene. There was a man who was arrested shortly after Tina’s death for a similar assault in which the girl managed to escape.

What they lacked was hard evidence.

The case went cold for decades. It was finally cracked just a few years ago, thanks to the intersection of DNA science and a cop’s pregnancy. Detective Dana Savage couldn’t be on the streets due to her pregnancy, so she decided to take a gander at the vexing cold case.

Detective Savage was fairly certain that the culprit was one of two serial killers who’d been active in the region at the time; she just didn’t know which one. Based on the vigor of the attack, she figured the killer must have shed some blood, so all she needed was something to test for DNA. She struck gold with the victim’s purse, which had been found lodged in a nearby tree.

But when Savage got the call from the crime lab, she was in for a surprise. The culprit was not one of the serial killers. Nor was it any of the original suspects.

It was the 16-year-old classmate who’d been thrown into the school dumpster earlier in the day.

After killing Tina, Steven Carlson had dropped out of school and spent the next 30 years abusing meth and bouncing in and out of custody. When police came to talk to him, he started retching violently. He was tried and convicted, and is now serving a 16–to-life sentence.

It’s unfortunate that it took so long to catch the killer. But on the bright side, the Pleasanton police did things right: They kept their minds open and never fixated on the wrong person. That would have been far worse.

Barking up wrong trees

In other cases during that violent era, police sometimes got it tragically wrong. For example, when 8-year-old girl Cannie Bullock was raped and murdered in her home in nearby San Pablo, Detective Mark Harrison fixated relentlessly on William Flores, the sexually creepy guy next door, literally driving him to his grave. (If every creepy guy was a murderer there wouldn’t be many women left on the planet, or even many male cops if you believe the dismal statistics in the must-watch Netflix series Unbelievable.) Even after Flores self-immolated, the detective wouldn’t let him rest in peace. Once DNA technology became available, Harrison got a court order to dig up Flores’s body, certain the test results would clear the long-dormant case.

He was dead wrong. The DNA didn’t match that found on the little girl’s body.

(That case went cold for many years. Finally, DNA from a man convicted of sexual assault in Colorado was routinely entered into a database, which spit out a match. The killer, Joseph Cordova, was never a suspect in the girl’s killing, although he lived and worked in the area and had used drugs with the girl’s mother. He is now parked on California’s death row.)

But here’s the really bad news: Even with modern DNA technology’s miraculous crime-solving capabilities, fixations like Detective Harrison’s still lead police astray with some regularity. In particular, forensic science is no match for a priori stereotypes about the bad guys.

A case in point: The murder of elderly Leola Shreves in Yuba City, California.

The attack was frenzied. As detailed by San Francisco Chronicle reporter Matthias Gafni, the TV set was smashed and a door was ripped from its hinges. The 94-year-old victim had been tortured, strangled and beaten to a pulp. Her teeth were shattered, her jaw and back broken, and 17 of 24 ribs cracked. Her ears and scalp were nearly ripped from her skull.

Police quickly latched onto the next-door neighbor, a socially awkward video-game devotee. Michael Alexander aroused police suspicion in part due to his troubled past: He had been arrested at age 15 for threatening to kill a high school teacher and burn down the school after fighting with and choking another student.

Burdened with an intellectual disability, the 20-year-old was no match for the seasoned detectives who brought him in for questioning. When he denied ever being at his neighbor’s house, police lied to him, saying his fingerprints, shoe prints and DNA had all been found there. When he continued to profess his innocence, detectives suggested that maybe he had blacked out, and an alter ego named “Angry Mike” had committed the crime. Alexander’s naïve acceptance of the detectives’ ruses eventually led him to accede to their version of reality despite not having any recollection of it.

For anyone with expertise on false confessions, Alexander’s had all the classic hallmarks. It was replete with maybes and probabilities. The details did not match the evidence from the crime scene. And Alexander immediately recanted.

“Have you been looking for the real killer?” he later asked the detectives.

His question fell on deaf ears. He was arrested and charged with capital murder.

Unbeknownst to him at the time, there was indeed an abundance of real physical evidence – DNA, fingerprints and shoe prints. All of it excluded him and pointed to someone else.

Astonishingly, the identity of Shreve’s killer was in front of the detectives the entire time, but it took them six long years to realize it.

Armando Cuadras

On the night of the murder, a man named Armando Cuadras was found collapsed on the street just 300 yards away, drunk and badly injured. He was taken to the hospital by ambulance, but police failed to connect the two events. Cuadras, whose DNA was splattered all over the bloody crime scene, is now awaiting trial.

Mental blinders

Cognitive scientists have various names for the mental processes that cause people to prematurely focus on one solution to the exclusion of other possibilities. Tunnel vision. Myopia. Confirmation bias. In essence, the Yuba City police identified a suspect, based in part on their preconceived ideas about what a guilty person should look like, and in the process closed their minds to alternate possibilities.

Then, once all of the physical evidence came back and screamed out Alexander’s innocence, cognitive dissonance kicked in: It can be hard to abandon a firm belief even when confronted with irrefutable evidence that it is wrong. Cognitive dissonance was on florid display in the infamous case of the Central Park Five. As documented in the powerful Netflix series When They See Us, prosecutors still refuse to accept overwhelming evidence of the young men’s innocence. Such is the power of cognitive blinders. (My blog post on that astonishing case is HERE.)

Unfortunately, when police focus on the wrong person they not only destroy the suspect’s life, but also allow the real culprit to remain free, thereby endangering others in the community. There are myriad cases of very dangerous men who went on to rape and kill again after police investigators failed to diligently pursue all leads. (Again, let me plug the harrowing series Unbelievable.)

After almost two years in jail, Alexander was finally set free and the charges against him dismissed. But even with another suspect in custody and awaiting trial, police and prosecutors have stubbornly refused to concede that Alexander is innocent.

Which just goes to show, even the miracles of DNA typing are no match for minds that are rigidly shut.

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FURTHER RESOURCES: The transcript of Michael Alexander's confession is available online, and is a good resource for teaching and learning about false confessions. Tina Faelz's killing is the subject of a true-crime book, Murder in Pleasanton, which includes back-story information not available elsewhere. If you are interested in diving deeper into the problem of cognitive biases in police investigations and how they can be avoided, a great resource is Criminal Investigative Failures, edited by D. Kim Rossmo. Two chapters I especially recommend are "Who Killed Stephanie Crowe," focusing on the appalling case that I've blogged about several times in which a 14-year-old boy was wrongfully arrested in his sister's murder, and "On the Horns of a Narrative," by my colleague David Stubbins and his brother, which focuses specifically on cognitive biases in criminal investigations.

A NOTE TO MY FAITHFUL SUBSCRIBERS: My apologies for the diminishing quantity of posts as of late. I'm working on a couple of larger writing projects. I also Tweet regularly on forensic psychology and criminology topics, so feel free to follow me on Twitter for more regular news and commentary.

What’s Wrong With “Making A Murderer”?

Making A Murderer is generating huge buzz on social media; dual petitions calling for Steven Avery’s exoneration have garnered more than 600,000 signatures to date. But after slogging through the 10-hour Netflix “documentary,” I was left feeling disturbed by the drama’s narrative and premises. Here's why:

1. The narrative is grossly misleading.

The hook to this story is protagonist Steven Avery’s prior exoneration: He served 18 years in prison for a rape of which he was ultimately exonerated by DNA evidence; just three years after his release, he was arrested for the unrelated murder and mutilation of another young woman in rural Manitowoc County, Wisconsin.

It’s an intriguing hook. But others – including the superb podcasters at Radiolab in 2013 – had already mined it. So filmmakers Moira Demos and Laura Ricciardi went for a different twist: Avery was innocent, framed by corrupt police whose reputations were tarnished by the wrongful conviction scandal.

Viewers are treated to interminable audio clips of the convicted killer proclaiming his innocence and whining about the injustice of it all. With its sympathetic focus on Avery and his socially marginal family, the documentary excludes much of the hard evidence pointing to Avery.

Perhaps the most blatant example of misinformation is the portrayal of Avery and his victim as strangers. In fact, the evidence presented at trial suggested that Avery not only knew Teresa Halbach, a photographer for Auto Trader magazine, but was targeting her. After a photo assignment at his family's auto salvage yard in which he greeted her wearing only a towel, she complained to her bosses that she was “creeped out” by him. Yet he continued to call and ask for her to be sent back out. Phone records revealed that on the day of her murder, he repeatedly called her cell phone, using *67 to block his ID. Not only was her cremated body found in his burn pit just a few steps from his trailer, but two separate witnesses testified they had seen Avery putting items into a barrel of his from which police later recovered her incinerated cell phone and camera. Avery's nephew also told police he had helped Avery hide the victim's vehicle in the salvage yard, and DNA evidence of Avery's sweat under the hood corroborated his account.

This brief list is not exhaustive; there's lots more inculpatory evidence that the series omits or glosses over.

2. It lionizes a sexual predator.

There are plenty of sympathetic characters in prison. A great many of them are unquestionably guilty. Steven Avery – innocent or guilty – is not one of them. He comes across as shallow, callous and self-absorbed, fitting the part of a cold and calculating predator.

Prisoners who served time with him during his first bid confirmed that he was not a nice guy. They told investigators that he showed them diagrams of a torture chamber he planned to build when he was released, so that he could "torture and rape and murder young women.”

There is further evidence of tremendous rage toward women. While in prison, he threatened to mutilate and kill his former wife. And despite his exoneration in the original rape for which he was convicted, prosecutors presented evidence in a pretrial affidavit of two other rapes of girls and women for which he was never prosecuted. There are also allegations that he sexually molested child relatives, including his codefendant and nephew, Brendan Dassey.

Perhaps most ominously, just three weeks before Halbach’s murder, he bought a set of leg irons and handcuffs, suggesting that the crime was premeditated and elaborately planned.

It is only if we know this background information -- excluded from the Netflix series -- that we can make proper sense of the trial judge’s admonition to Avery at his sentencing hearing:

“You are probably the most dangerous individual ever to set foot in this courtroom.”

3. Journalistic bias of this magnitude is unethical.

Filmmakers Laura Ricciardi and Moira Demos

In several drawn-out scenes, the filmmakers depict the TV news crews covering the trial as bottom-feeding hyenas, lacking any compassion or mercy as they circle and nip at the heels of the beleaguered Avery clan.

This is a clever cinematic device. It imparts the illusion that the documentarians are above the fray, more neutral and trustworthy than the media rabble. 

In reality, they are no less superficial. We get no greater clarity, and certainly no deeper analysis. The difference is merely one of perspective. Lengthy scenes in the Avery kitchen, watching Steven's mother Dolores prepare and eat her lunch, emphasize the one-sidedness of the series: Demos and Ricciardi are essentially mouthpieces for Steven Avery.

It’s not that police do not lie, or plant evidence. They do it all the time. So it's certainly possible that police planted the victim's car key in Avery’s bedroom, as the Averys claim. But framing Avery would have required much more. Police would have had to know the location of Halbach's body in order to move it to Avery's burn pit. They would have had to plant Avery's sweat under the hood of Halbach's car, where his nephew's account predicted it would be. All told, this convoluted conspiracy theory stretches credulity.

Ironically, while the filmmakers castigate police for going after Avery’s nephew (instead, they cast unsupported aspersions on the victim's male friends and relatives), Avery and his defense team had no such compunctions. Their alternate suspect list included the boy, along with other male members of the Avery clan.

Some observers, such as journalist and private investigator Ann Brocklehurst, imply that business interests may have contributed to this over-solicitude toward the Averys:

“Ma and Pa Avery are portrayed lovingly as salt-of-the-earth types. They’re never asked how they managed to raise three sons with such a long and documented history of violence.... [I]f the filmmakers had decided one of the brothers, nephews or brother-in-law likely did it, Ma and Pa might have pulled right out of the multi-year film project and left the directors empty-handed. A Shakespearian or Faulkneresque tale of a dysfunctional and dangerous family is of no use to anyone if you don’t have the legal rights to tell it.”

Journalists’ code of ethics warns reporters not to distort either facts or context, and to take special care to avoid misrepresentation or oversimplification. Intentionally or not, Demos and Ricciardi clearly violated this standard.

4. “Innocence porn” exceptionalizes criminal justice problems.

The trope of the wrongfully convicted is a time-honored sub-genre of true crime. New Yorker writer Kathryn Shultz traces it back to the late 1880s, with a popular magazine column called “The Court of Last Resort” by criminal defense lawyer turned author Erle Stanley Gardner, better known for his Perry Mason detective series. As Shultz notes, recent films and TV series in this genre have been quite successful in getting criminal cases reopened and convictions overturned: 

“Although it subsequently faded from memory, 'The Court of Last Resort' stands as the progenitor of one of today’s most popular true-crime subgenres, in which reporters, dissatisfied with the outcome of a criminal case, conduct their own extrajudicial investigations. Until recently, the standout representatives of this form were 'The Thin Blue Line,' a 1988 Errol Morris documentary about Randall Dale Adams, who was sentenced to death for the 1976 murder of a police officer; 'Paradise Lost,' a series of documentaries by Joe Berlinger and Bruce Sinofsky about three teen-agers found guilty of murdering three second-grade boys in West Memphis in 1993; and 'The Staircase,' a television miniseries by Jean-Xavier de Lestrade about the novelist Michael Peterson, found guilty of murdering his wife in 2001. Peterson has been granted a new trial. Randall Dale Adams was exonerated a year after 'The Thin Blue Line' was released. Shortly before the final 'Paradise Lost' documentary was completed, in 2011, all three of its subjects were freed from prison on the basis of DNA evidence.”

Last year’s NPR  podcast series, Serial, probing the case of a young man named Adnan Syed who had been convicted of killing his former high school girlfriend, became an overnight sensation. (And, guess what: A judge has just granted a motion for a new post-conviction review of the evidence in that case.) What with the popular success of Making A Murderer, more such cultural events can be anticipated.

But while documentaries like Serial or Making A Murderer may seem progressive in shining a spotlight on the legal system and exposing flaws therein, they may actually further a narrative of exceptionalism. In other words, miscarriages of justice are rare events caused not by systemic problems, but by ___ (fill in the blank: corrupt police, shyster attorneys, bungled evidence handling or analysis, etc.).

And only the innocents -- the exceptions to the rule -- are worthy of attention. 

5. The nephew got second billing.

Instead of hanging their tale on the threadbare hook of Avery’s prior exoneration, the filmmakers could have delved more deeply into the routine misfiring of the legal system by centralizing Avery’s nephew and codefendant, 16-year-old Brendan Dassey.

Brendan Dassey, the 16-year-old nephew

Like his uncle, Dassey may very well be guilty. But in his case, neither innocence nor deliberate corruption is essential to the narrative. Guilty or innocent, framed or not, the manner of his prosecution was rotten to the core, illustrating more common and systemic flaws in the criminal justice system.

“Innocent people don’t confess,” prosecutor Ken Kratz told the jury.

That false gospel went unchallenged because – for reasons never explained in the series – the juvenile’s defense team chose not to call a confession expert, who could have dissected Massey’s statements and explained to the jury how the detectives’ skillful manipulations produced a potentially unreliable confession.

This was a boy with a low IQ and limited education, who was interviewed by detectives on multiple occasions, for hours and hours on end, without either his mother or his attorney present. He was easily confused and misled into believing that if he confessed, all would be forgiven and he would go home. His statements were contaminated when police fed him facts, which he then regurgitated. 

Private investigator Michael O'Kelly

Dassey also had the misfortune to be initially represented by an unethical attorney who decided early on that Dassey was guilty, ignoring the boy’s protestations to the contrary. The attorney, Len Kachinsky, in turn hired a private investigator with highly confused loyalties. Indeed, the PI wrote a eugenics-laced email to the defense attorney revealing his unabashed antipathy toward his client's family:

“This [family] is truly where the devil resides in comfort. I can find no good in any member. These people are pure evil.... We need to end the gene pool here.”

Together, the loyalty-challenged attorney and investigator brow-beat a detailed confession from their client, which they promptly turned over to police. Although both the attorney and his investigator were removed from the case before trial, neither suffered any official sanction for their betrayal of their duties, or the damage caused to Dassey's case.

6. The entertainment spectacle has produced a destructive backlash.

In perhaps the most poignant moment in the series, defense attorney Dean Strang -- the show’s moral compass -- critiques the “unwarranted certitude” rampant within the criminal justice system, with everyone from police and prosecutors to defense lawyers, judges and jurors far too convinced that they are privy to The Truth.

Across the board, he mourned, the system suffers from “a tragic lack of humility.”

Steven Avery with rape victim Penny Beerntsen

Unfortunately, the filmmakers fell into that very same trap. It was apparent to many that they had naively embarked on their 10-year project wearing blinders. Penny Beerntsen, the original rape victim (whose misidentification sent Avery to prison), was one such observer. A remarkable woman who is active in the innocence movement, Beerntsen told the New Yorker that the filmmakers’ certitude troubled her:

“It was very clear from the outset that they believed Steve was innocent,” she told me. “I didn’t feel they were journalists seeking the truth. I felt like they had a foregone conclusion and were looking for a forum in which to express it.”

It is no surprise that Avery and his family have staunchly denied his guilt: He was framed once, so why not twice? After all, they point out, the $36 million judgment he was seeking for his false imprisonment could have bankrupted Manitowoc County. But for the filmmakers to fall so under the Averys’ spell that they would radically distort the facts is disconcerting. Their bias was transparent, and the excluded evidence easily available. It seems arrogant to regard the public as too gullible to do any basic fact-checking.

Predictably, a furious backlash has ensued, with social media pundits and entertainment outlets competing to debunk the series. Rather than systemic flaws in the system, the discourse has devolved into a pointless, dichotomous debate over guilt or innocence.

Worst of all from the interests of the innocence movement, some are asking the question: If Steven Avery had never been exonerated, would Teresa Halbach be alive today?

The innocence movement can counter with the fact that Avery is an extreme outlier: Of all the many hundreds of people who have been exonerated and freed from prison, only a tiny handful have reoffended with a serious offense.

But Avery is an outlier for another reason as well: He may not have raped Penny Beerntsen, but he was far from innocent even back then. Police in his rural community already had him on their radar screen, as a dangerous young man, someone who thought nothing of assaulting a female relative with a gun or dousing a cat with oil and throwing it on a bonfire to watch it burn.

The filmmakers insist that it was never their intent to manipulate their audience, nor to propel such a mass rush to judgment – in either direction. In hindsight, however, perhaps the grisly murder of Teresa Halbach was not the best choice for a documentary about innocence?

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 POSTSCRIPTS

On Aug. 12, 2016, U.S. District Court Judge William Duffin granted Brendan Dassey's petition for a writ of habeas corpus, based on the false promises that were made to him (in conjunction with other relevant factors, including his age, intellectual deficits, and the absence of a supportive adult), and ordered that he either be released or granted a new trial. The 91-page ruling is HERE. 

On June 22 2017, a three-judge panel of the 7th Circuit Court of Appeals upheld the District Court's decision. Its 128-page ruling is HERE. As of that date, Dassey remained in custody while prosecutors decided whether to appeal to the Supreme Court. New York Times reporting on that appellate ruling is HERE.

On Dec. 8, 2017, by a narrow vote of 4-3, the full 7th Circuit Court of Appeals reversed the decision of its three-judge panel. Citing the need for appellate courts to be deferential of trial courts, it held that the original trial court decision upholding Dassey's conviction was not patently erroneous or unreasonable. In a strongly worded dissent, Justice Ilana Rovner called the decision "a profound miscarriage of justice" that condoned the use of psychologically coercive techniques and condemned "an impaired teenager" to spend his life in prison. The majority decision and two dissenting opinions are HERE. They are highly recommended reading as they illuminate the current state of tension surrounding psychologically coerced confessions and especially the controversial Reid interrogation method.  

In June of 2018, the U.S. Supreme Court declined to hear Dassey's appeal, meaning Dassey will continue to serve his life sentence.

And in July of 2018, Dassey's ethically challenged attorney Len Kachinsky, who later became a judge, was charged with stalking his former court clerk. He has been suspended from practice, and faces up to five years in prison if convicted. The allegations against him are creepy enough that they might make for a good true-crime show in their own right.

Storm clouds gathering over Reid interrogation method

The detective pulled his chair closer to Joe, the mentally ill suspect sitting alongside him in the small, windowless room. Joe kept denying that he had killed his mother, but the detective wasn’t buying it. Looking Joe straight in the eye, he leaned in and said:

“Look, Joe, your mother was a cancer. Think about all of the bad things you told us she did. She hurt people. You should be proud of what you did. Seriously! She was a problem, and you eliminated that problem. That was the right thing to do. It took a hell of a lot of courage. I'm sure other people in the family were fed up with her, too, but they didn't have the balls to do what you did."

Does this sound like a far-fetched thing for a cop to say to a criminal suspect, especially about his own mother?

Well, it isn't. This is an almost-verbatim transcription that I made from the audiotape of the interrogation.

After being involved in dozens of similar cases, the gambit was no longer shocking to me. It comes from the Reid method that is now used almost universally by American police. The idea is to offer the suspect a rationale that minimizes his moral culpability for the offense – while carefully avoiding any minimization of legal responsibility.

Critical awareness growing over flawed Reid technique

The Reid technique, the brainchild of John E. Reid and Associates, is fundamental to modern interrogation techniques. But it’s getting greater scrutiny in recent years thanks to growing awareness of the problem of false confessions. Of the convicted people who have been conclusively cleared by DNA evidence, about one out of four had confessed to the crime – often due to clever ruses designed and promoted by the Reid school. The case of the Central Park Five, featured in an excellent book as well as a powerful new documentary, is one such case.

Adrian Thomas in interrogation room

Another alarming case getting critical attention at the moment is that of Adrian P. Thomas, who was interrogated for 10 hours by police in upstate New York while his infant son lay in the hospital, misdiagnosed with a skull fracture. The detectives pulled out all the stops, lying to him about the evidence, threatening to arrest his wife, promising him leniency, speculating about “repressed” memory, and adding a sense of urgency by saying the doctors needed information from him in order to save his dying son.

Thomas ultimately confessed to a crime that probably never happened at all. Both the doctor who contacted police and the county medical examiner had failed to detect the massive blood and brain infection that likely killed the youngster. Although Mr. Thomas almost immediately recanted his confession, it was too late; the damning videotape was played almost in its entirety at his trial.

Thomas, who is African American, was convicted after the trial judge refused to let defense expert witness Richard Ofshe testify about the psychological tactics that can cause an innocent person to confess.

The case was the subject of a critically acclaimed, jaw-dropping documentary, Scenes of a Crime, which I highly recommend. Just last month, after the release of the film, New York’s highest court overturned Mr. Thomas’s conviction, calling the interrogation procedures “coercive” and the confession “involuntary.” Thomas faces a retrial at which the confession will be excluded, leaving no evidence connecting him to a crime.

New Yorker exploration

The latest critical attention is a lengthy essay in the influential New Yorker magazine. Author Douglas Starr describes his adventure undergoing the Reid training, and presents critical research casting doubts on both the fairness and the accuracy of the method.

The essay, which I highly recommend for anyone interested in the topic, explores the research of leading academics including Saul Kassin, Richard Leo, Aldert Vrij and Melissa Russano. These scholars agree that the Reid method is great at eliciting self-incriminating statements, but not so good at distinguishing true confessions from false ones. 

Kassin, a prominent expert and a frequent media critic, believes the Reid Technique is inherently coercive. As Starr explains his position:

“The interrogator's refusal to listen to a suspect's denials creates feelings of hopelessness, which are compounded by the fake file and by lies about the evidence. At this point, short-term thinking takes over. Confession opens something of an escape hatch, so it is only natural that some people choose it.”

Time to move on?

Just as psychologically coercive techniques replaced the physical coercion of the olden days’ “third degree,” even within the U.S. law enforcement community some think that the Reid technique has outlived its time. 

In Britain, Canada and some other countries, police have switched to less coercive interviewing procedures, such as PEACE, which stands for Preparation and Planning, Engage and Explain, Account, Closure, Evaluate.

The method is radically different, in that rather than trying to entrap a suspect using falsehoods and psychological ploys, the detective approaches the interview almost like a journalist, asking open-ended questions to get the whole story, and then following up by going back over the story looking for inconsistencies.

Although some U.S. law enforcement leaders are working to develop similar approaches, Kassin told Starr he is skeptical of wholesale change: “The culture of confrontation, he feels, is too embedded in our society.”

I tend to agree. If anything, as in the example at the outset of this post, I am seeing the Reid techniques taken to more and more extreme levels. That's probably the results of courts' tacit encouragement, in refusing to ban deceit and in the watering down of suspects’ Miranda rights until they are a joke.

Sadly, police interrogations these days often look and feel more like cynical game-playing than a process with any integrity. For that, Lady Justice weeps. 

* * * * *

Related blog posts:

• Damning reconstruction of notorious false confession case (March 29, 2012)

• The taint of a false confession: Ripple effects bias parties, contaminate "independent" evidence (Sept. 30, 2012)

• Police psychologist settles confession suit for $1 million (Nov. 16, 2010)

• Historical review of false confessions (Nov. 8, 2010)

• Police interrogations: AP-LS issues landmark white paper: Boy's "psychological torture" points to need for reform (March 14, 2010)

• Norfolk sailors receive partial pardons (Aug. 7, 2009)

• Book review: The Wrong Guys (April 6, 2009)

• Treating therapist as police interrogator (Nov. 30, 2008)

• The case for videotaping interrogations: Detective's candid call for reform (Oct. 29, 2008)

• "Police Interrogation and American Justice" (Feb. 7, 2008)

• Canada: How false confessions occur (Nov. 27, 2007)

• Guest report: Interrogations & Confessions Conference, El Paso, Texas (Oct. 4, 2007)

(c) Copyright Karen Franklin 2014 - All rights reserved

"Narcoanalytics" order in Aurora massacre case unprecedented

News flash: There is no such thing as 'truth serum'

The next time the court appoints you to conduct a sanity evaluation, don't forget to order up a vial of truth serum.

In a court order that breaks new legal ground, the judge presiding over the trial of James Holmes ordered the Aurora Colorado massacre suspect to submit to polygraph testing and a "narcoanalytic interview" if he decides to put his mental state at issue.

Chief District Judge William Sylvester ruled that if Holmes elects to pursue an insanity defense, "medically appropriate" drugs can be administered during a forensic examination at the state hospital, presumably to determine whether the mass murder suspect is feigning insanity.

This may be the first time that a court has mandated use of so-called "truth serum" in a sanity evaluation. Indeed, courts have generally taken the opposite stance, of being gatekeepers who exclude the results of both sodium amytal and polygraph examinations from court due to their lack of reliability.

"Mythical aura of infallibility"

In a seminal case, Harper v. State (1982), the George Supreme Court ruled that the use of "truth serum" (sodium amytal) was inadmissible to establish that a murder defendant was being truthful in proclaiming his innocence. "We agree with the trial court that, until it is proven with verifiable certainty that truth serum compels a person to tell the truth, neither the results of truth-serum tests nor the opinions of experts based on the results of these tests shall be admissible in evidence," ruled the court.

Similarly, a defense-retained psychologist published an account of another case from the 1980s in which an appellate court upheld exclusion of "a sodium amytal test" to bolster an insanity defense. The defendant had walked into a nightclub and shot to death a dancer who had jilted him. Under the influence of the barbiturate, the man claimed he thought he was shooting Satan, because the victim had appeared to morph into the devil, "with pitchforks … and fire and everything." In excluding mention of the test, the trial judge expressed worry that a jury "might be overwhelmed by the use of the term 'sodium amytal' and/or 'truth serum' and attribute to it a mythical aura of infallibility."

Back in the 1930s and 1940s, when sodium amytal was all the rage, laypersons and professionals alike believed that people could not lie when under the drug's influence. It turns out that this faith was misguided. Empirical testing showed that although sodium amytal and related drugs lower inhibitions, people remain perfectly capable of lying, withholding information, and exaggerating psychiatric symptoms.

"While it is clear that these substances lower inhibitions and increase loquacity, they provide no assurance as to the truthfulness of the information obtained,” noted attorney Jason Odershoo in a Stanford Law Review analysis focusing on whether such chemicals may legally be deployed against terrorism suspects in the post-9/11 world.

Sodium amytal, or amobarbital, belongs to the same class of barbiturates as Nembutal, Seconal, and Pentothal. As psychiatrist August Piper Jr. describes the procedure, a physician intravenously administers small amounts of the drug (sometimes in tandem with other intravenous drugs like Valium or Ativan) until the subject enters a "twilight state" in which he is relaxed and drowsy but still awake. The drug causes a feeling of warmth and "closeness to the interviewer" that breaks down inhibitions, similar to the effects of acute alcohol intoxication.

However, while sodium amytal makes people more loquacious, it also disrupts memory and increases suggestibility, according to the research summarized by Piper. Reality and fantasy may become hopelessly tangled, such that people cannot distinguish between the two.

Cultural fascination with truth serum in the mid-20th century completely ignored this flawed reality. Rather, the mythology helped to shape the public's understanding of memories as robust and accurate, stored verbatim in the mind just awaiting proper retrieval and extraction. As Alison Winter writes in a 2005 essay on the cultural history of truth serum:

"This view contributed to the production of a public understanding of memory that both diverged from previous claims about memory and recall, and ran counter to the direction of current psychological research. It thus helped lay the groundwork for claims about memory permanence and scientific recall techniques later in the twentieth century."

Perils in Holmes's case

James Holmes's new look

The empirical research suggests not only that Holmes could lie while under the influence of the drugs, but also that subjecting him to a "narcoanalytic interview" could introduce false memories and render his subsequent recall of information potentially even less reliable. As with post-hypnosis statements, this could be a big problem if Holmes decides to testify on his own behalf, either at a trial or a sentencing hearing. Similarly, unreliable information recounted to evaluators during a "narcoanalytic interview" could be given too much credence, thereby jeopardizing the validity of forensic opinions in the case.

But maybe such contamination is the point, writes a commentator at the American Everyman blog. Under the alarmist headline, "Holmes to be Drugged Into Confession -- Apparently Waterboarding is Off the Table," Scott Creighton theorizes: "This 'truth serum' CIA trick will be used to convict Holmes in the court of public opinion before his Vichy lawyers plead him out to life in prison rather than taking it to trial to evaluate the evidence against him." 

Given the recent dispositions of other similar cases such as that of Arizona mass shooter Jared Loughner, maybe the conspiratorially minded blogger is not so far off the mark.

The CIA and a zombie idea

The notion of a magical drug that can ferret out malingering represents a "zombie idea," to borrow a phrase from New York Times essayist Paul Krugman. That is, it is a proposition that has been thoroughly refuted by analysis and evidence, and should be dead -- but stubbornly refuses to stay dead because it serves a political purpose or appeals to public prejudices.

Indeed, Judge Sylvester's court order harkens back to the early to mid-20th century, a time when -- as legal analyst Odershoo recounts -- "the idea of such a magical substance seemed a very real possibility, one holding profound significance for criminal investigation, foreign intelligence, and national security."

The term "truth serum" was coined in the early 1920s by an obstetrician named Robert House, who advocated the use of the barbiturate Scopolamine -- now known as a date-rape drug because of its amnestic properties but at the time administered to women during childbirth to induce a 'twilight sleep' -- in criminal interrogations. Time magazine's 1923 piece, "Medicine: The Truth-Compeller," helped popularize the idea and turned House into a one-hit wonder. In the 1930s, police use of barbiturates on witnesses and criminal suspects became more widespread. During World War II sodium pentothal was used both to treat soldiers suffering from "shell shock" and to detect malingerers trying to duck the military draft.

Then, during the Cold War, the CIA launched a feverish quest for the ultimate "truth drug." Clandestine campaigns with code names such as Projects Chatter, Third Chance, Derby Hat and Bluebird culminated in the ill-fated MK-ULTRA, in which a doctor who was administered LSD leapt to his death from a hotel room window. Revelations of this secret experimentation led to public antipathy towards the spy agency, and a demise in the use of sodium amytal and sodium pentothal as truth serums.

The drugs remain in use as anesthetics, and have also been used by psychotherapists seeking to recover repressed memories. This use has its own sordid history. In 1992, a former patient of eminent Chicago psychiatrist Jules Masserman published an account claiming that the good doctor had repeatedly raped her after administering sodium amytal, purportedly to retrieve her repressed memories of incest. The patient, Barbara Noel, was not the only woman to win a lawsuit over such nefarious abuse.

Legal use officially repudiated 

Use in law enforcement fell rapidly in the wake of a 1963 U.S. Supreme Court ruling that a confession produced under the influence of truth serum was unconstitutionally coerced, and therefore inadmissible. The case of Townsend v. Sain involved a heroin addict who was interrogated after being administered phenobarbital and hyoscine (Scopolamine) to alleviate his withdrawal symptoms. Although India and some other countries still use these drugs in criminal investigations, in the United States their use for that purpose has been "officially repudiated," according to Odershoo.

A scan of the case law suggests that this is by far the most serious case in which narcoanalysis has ever been proposed. Holmes is awaiting trial on 166 felony charges for an attack on Batman moviegoers last July that killed 12 people and wounded 58. His attorneys have mounted a heretofore unsuccessful challenge to Colorado's insanity statute and the judge's interpretation of it. Under Colorado law, the test for insanity is whether the person "who is so diseased or defective in mind at the time of the commission of the act as to be incapable of distinguishing right from wrong with respect to that act." Judge Sylvester has ordered that, if Holmes pleads insanity, he must divulge all information from past mental health treatment. Holmes was seen by a psychiatrist and at least two other mental health professionals at the counseling center of the University of Colorado, where he was a PhD student in neuroscience before withdrawing from school, and his treatment records may contain potentially incriminating information. Such forfeiture of doctor-patient privilege is standard in criminal law when a defendant puts his mental state at issue.

Malingering detection

Holmes's elaborate degree of planning for his attack over at least a four-month period certainly raises a distinct possibility that any claim of mental illness may be feigned. But while no method is foolproof, other techniques have a far better track record at sniffing out deception.

Judge William Sylvester

We have a constantly growing arsenal of formal tools for the assessment of various types of malingering. Especially in high-stakes cases such as this, formal tests are typically augmented by 24/7 observation in psychiatric facilities. It's pretty hard to consistently masquerade as insane when one is under around-the-clock observation by everyone from the doctors and nurses to the janitors. Even one of the most slippery malingerers of insanity, a Mafia don named Vincent "The Chin" Gigante, eventually tripped up and got nailed. 

Judge Sylvester's order is so far removed from both contemporary scientific knowledge and normal legal procedure that it has left many observers scratching their heads. Where did the judge get the wacky idea that truth serum is the way to go? Did he cook it up himself, or was it fed to him by someone who had read a few too many "true crime" books or spy thrillers? Vaughan Bell over at Mind Hacks went so far as to wonder whether "the judge has been at the narcotics himself."

NOTE: An updated version of this essay appears at my Psychology Today blog. That essay explains where Judge Sylvester got this wacky idea, and also references the landmark case of Ramona v. Ramona, in which a father successfully sued his daughter's therapists for implanting false memories of child sexual abuse during a sodium amytal interview, as well as the role of sodium amytal in the Michael Jackson case.  Thanks to psychologist Evan Harrington of the Chicago School of Professional Psychology for alerting me to the Ramona opinion, which features an interesting discussion of relevant case law.

A full set of court documents in the Holmes case is located HERE.