Like any category of crime in Indiana, those of a sexual nature cover a broad spectrum. To be considered a “sex offender” is to be lumped into a group with persons who may have forcibly raped their victim, may have lured children into sex slavery, or who may have engaged in sexual activity with a minor.

Indiana is committed to strict enforcement of its sex crime laws. The passing of Indiana’s Second Chance Law in 2013 did not give most sex offenders a pass to have their conviction records expunged; however, it did give hope to those most Hoosiers would agree can be forgiven the mistakes of their past.

The criminal code is complex, so let’s break sexual offenders into three groups: those who are ineligible for expungement, those who are possibly eligible, and those who are probably eligible.

INELIGIBLE: MOST SEXUAL FELONIES

The majority of the most commonly convicted sex crimes fall into this category. Indiana believes pretty strongly in protecting sex offenders from the public (and from themselves) for life.

This is a partial list of offenses that the offender will not be able to shake from their permanent record:

• Rape
• Child molesting (use of minor for sexual stimulation)
• Child exploitation (offer of money, goods or services in exchange for sex with a minor)
• Incest
• Sexual battery (virtually any unwanted sexual touch)
• Kidnapping
• Sexual trafficking

In other words, while there may be other legal avenues for these sexual offenders to take to improve their quality of life once they have rehabilitated, expungement is not one of them.

POSSIBLY ELIGIBLE: SEXUAL MISCONDUCT WITH A MINOR, CLASS C FELONY OR BELOW

The Second Chance Law is explicit that the opportunity for offenders to have their records expunged does not apply to “a sex or violent offender (as defined in IC 11-8-8-5).” There is just one exception to that definition in this section of the Indiana code.

Under the following circumstances, “sexual misconduct with a minor” falls under the definition of a “sex offender” unless:

• (A) the person is convicted of sexual misconduct with a minor as a Class C felony (for a crime committed before July 1, 2014) or a Level 5 felony (for a crime committed after June 30, 2014);
• (B) the person is not more than:
  • (i) four (4) years older than the victim if the offense was committed after June 30, 2007;  or
  • (ii) five (5) years older than the victim if the offense was committed before July 1, 2007;  and
• (C) the sentencing court finds that the person should not be required to register as a sex offender.

For example, a 30-year-old man who, when he was 18, engaged in consensual sexual activity with a 14-year-old girl, may be able to have his record expunged. These “Romeo and Juliet” situations are about the only exception to the rule. This is the only place where the word “unless” is used in IC 11-8-8-5.

Other conditions apply, including a squeaky clean record since the offender served time. It’s also worth noting the application can be denied for any reason. That said, with qualified legal help, there is at least a chance.

PROBABLY ELIGIBLE: ARRESTED, BUT NOT CONVICTED

None of this applies to individuals who were accused and arrested for a sexual crime but were never actually convicted in a court of law. The right to apply for expungement of arrest records existed in Indiana before the Second Chance Law came around, and certainly still applies today.

If you were arrested for a crime you did not commit, or know someone who did, you know how devastating the stigma of that accusation can be. Good luck finding a job when all an employer sees is a pedophile, a rapist, you name it, even when you have done nothing to earn that label.

Is this you? Contact our office today to start discussing whether we can help you get a clean slate in Indiana.

*(Indiana switched from a Class system to a Level system in 2014. Since there has to be at least 10 years since an offender has completed their sentence before they can apply for expungement, we’re still talking in terms of classes if you’re reading this prior to 2024.)

 

Meet “Oscar”, age 29 and his father, “Jose”, age 51

I discovered my dad was a thief when I was five years old.

I remember the day I figured it out. At first he tried to hide it from me, the deodorant, the can of soup, the wool cap he stuffed into his coat at Walmart. He didn’t say a thing about it as we walked back to the bus stop in the cold.

We were alone, just the two of us, but I still whispered when I asked him about the things he took. “Aren’t you supposed to pay for it?”

I’ll never forget the look on his face. First, he looked confused, like he didn’t understand the question. Then he smiled, like I had said something funny.

“Not when you’re broke,” he said.

After that, Dad started showing me how to look for cameras and avoid store employees. He taught me what was too big to take, what I could fit into a coat, and how warm it could be before people started to suspect a guy in a coat.

He fed me his morality BS, too. My dad really believed it was okay to steal as long as he needed what he was taking, the store was big enough to afford it, and he didn’t go over a certain dollar amount in value.

Of course, what he “needed” turned out to be anything he could fleece, he definitely robbed a few mom n’ pops, and that dollar value limit changed about a thousand times.

He finally got caught when I was 10, and spent most of my teenage years in prison. He never lasted long on parole before he would screw it up.

Once, his parole officer busted him in Ohio. It was a Sunday and my dad actually wanted to buy something for once, a six-pack. So, he went across the state line where Sunday alcohol sales were legal. A few hours and disorderly charge later, he was on his way straight back to Indiana State Prison.

Mom never divorced him. I couldn’t believe it, but the church wouldn’t condone it. She sure hated him, though. Dad still has a scar on his stomach from the time Mom came at him with a butcher knife. She swears it flew out of her hand because her palms were greasy. I don’t know, maybe.

I turned out to be terrible at shoplifting. I got caught the first time I tried it, at 13. I pinched a few candy bars at the dollar store around the corner from my house. The manager called my mom. I was grounded for what felt like months.

It was a miracle that I never went to juvey. A few years later, another miracle happened.

My dad was out on parole again. He came home and announced he was going to make us dinner. That was the first sign that something was different.

Over dinner, he told us about a prison ministry that had helped him. These people from a church (Protestant, which my Catholic mom was willing to overlook) came with cookies and Bibles to talk to the inmates. He was really skeptical at first, until he discovered he really liked talking to the pastor.

He said that pastor helped him figure out a lot of things about himself, about self-hatred and depression … Yeah, it was a lot to take at once. I was 18 by now, old enough to see in her eyes that my mom’s BS detector was on high alert.

That was over 10 years ago. My father completed his parole and has not been back to prison since. He began to volunteer in the prison ministry during the week and go to mass with my mom and me on Sundays. I still don’t know whether he’s Catholic or Protestant.

He picked up work where he could, going door to door selling home security systems, washing cars, doing a little handyman work. That was fine until Mom got sick.

She was diagnosed with stage 3 breast cancer last year. Radiation and chemotherapy have taken their toll on her, and it’s likely she won’t be able to go back to work for a long time. I help out where I can financially, but it never seems to be enough. They’re getting behind on credit card bills.

Dad started applying for real jobs with benefits almost as soon as Mom got sick. He’s applied for factory work, auto sales, secretarial work, everything. I’ll bet he has submitted over 200 applications by now.

Every interview has gone the same, though. They always ask about the box. He has to mark “Yes” to the question about committing a crime, and when he tells them it was for theft, the interview is almost always over.

One day recently, I was over at the house. Mom was taking a nap, and after a long silence my dad said, “I never knew how hard it would be to want to be responsible, and feel like I can’t.”

How long does this have to go on? At what point does society forgive and forget what a man like my father has done, and give him a chance at a new life?

What does he have to do?

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The above story is a work of fiction, but it might sound familiar. If “Oscar” and “Jose” could be you and a family member in crisis, there is good news: you may be able to get their theft conviction erased from their criminal record. Contact Bruce Munson today to discuss your options for expungement.

It’s time for your loved one to have the freedom to move on.

Don’t Worry About Me, I’m NOT Guilty of Murder

How would you react if someone walked up to you, shook your hand and said, “Hello. I want you to know, no matter what people might say, I didn’t kill anybody.”

What’s the first thought that runs through your mind?

If you have ever been accused of a crime, and the charges were later dropped or you were found not guilty by a jury, you know exactly what people are thinking.

Just being accused can haunt you your whole life. The worse the crime, the more fearful people get. Who’s going to want to take the chance on hiring you? What school will be comfortable having you on their campus?

Here are three examples of Hoosiers accused. Ask yourself, if you knew about their past, would you give them a chance?

A Teacher Shot on Her Doorstep

Kristi Redmon was an elementary school art teacher in Lafayette who lost her life because she answered the door one night. She was a Cubs fan, friendly, and generous with her time with kids according to the neighbors. They found her body after hearing the shots.

18-year-old Darius Printup, a young African-American man, was arrested for the crime. During the trial, his attorney told the jury it was true Darius had been knocking on doors in that neighborhood on the night in question. It was also true he was looking for people who had stolen drugs from him.

But he was, according to the attorney, not guilty of murder. There was no evidence. The young man was innocent. Darius was acquitted.

What do you think happens after police arrest a young black man for a crime they believe he committed and he doesn’t stay in prison?

If you guessed that he is arrested frequently for minor offenses like possession of marijuana and “visiting a common nuisance,” you’d be right.

What kind of a future does this young man have in his own community under the circumstances? What do you think would happen to you in his shoes?

Free After 21 Years a Prisoner

In the case of Trondo Humphrey, getting a second chance means battling the popular idea that our court system is infallible when it comes to locking people up.

Someone murdered Benjamin Laflin in February, 1996. He and a buddy drove to Anderson to buy crack cocaine. They argued with their dealer, who pulled a gun and shot Laflin. Roosevelt Brooks said he was with Humphrey and saw him greet the truck Laflin and his buddy drove in on. That made him the killer.

It was an unsworn statement that Brooks later recanted. The public defender assigned to the case should have objected to the admission of that statement into the trial. He didn’t.

Humphrey was sentenced to 60 years. It took 21 years for the Indiana Supreme Court to overturn the conviction. After two decades of doing time for another’s crime, he was a free man.

His mother told the Herald Bulletin she hoped Humphrey would move to Indianapolis or Mississippi to live with his uncle. Clearly she wanted him anywhere but Anderson after all the family had been through.

Can you blame her?

The Bush/Colombian Mafia Conspiracy

People often don’t give people much leeway when it comes to the why of killing a person. If they ended a likeable person’s life, they’re just plain guilty in the eyes of the public.

But sometimes the why makes a big difference.

Lori Barcroft killed Pastor Jama Iseminger in May 2012 at his Indianapolis church. That was never under dispute. What the court had to decide was whether she was a murderer or in desperate need of mental health services.

In cases like this, motive really matters:

“Barcroft was upfront with police about why she killed Iseminger: She believed he was part of an international conspiracy to harm her and her family that involved the Colombian Mafia and the family of Presidents George H. W. and George W. Bush.”

Someone who is guilty of murder needs to be held accountable, but someone who is sick needs help. Let’s assume Ms. Barcroft was sick and she has a shot at getting better, at having a life.

How is she ever going to do that?

Who will let someone like her into their school or workplace? Who will even allow her into their independent living facility?

The answer is, no one who knows she killed a pastor. Even if she is better now. Even if she suffers from regret every day.

YOU DIDN’T KILL ANYONE, BUT THESE STORIES ARE ABOUT YOU.

The moral of all these stories is this: no matter what you were accused of, if the case was dismissed, you may be able to expunge it from your record. Expungement means wiping the slate as clean as possible. It opens the door to employment, schooling, housing opportunities and more.

Even if you were found guilty of a minor crime (not murder, but misdemeanors and minor felonies) and served time, expungement may be an option for you.

It may be your only shot at leading a normal life.

Learn more about Indiana expungement. Follow this link to contact us today.

Meet “Jason”, age 26

I’ll never forget that party after Jenny’s graduation open house. It should have been all happy memories. God, I wish they were.

I liked Jenny’s friend Sarah. Sarah was beautiful, and fun. We would go cruising with friends on the backroads and when it was Sarah’s turn to drive, she would always go the fastest. Pushing 100. Long blonde hair blowing in my face.

There were always other guys around, douche bags she would flirt with. One of them, Chris, dealt pot outside school like every day. I had no idea how he didn’t get caught. He was one of those skinny punk types, holey t-shirts, blue hair. Pierced everywhere.

For once, Chris wasn’t around. None of the douche bags were, because Jenny didn’t run with that crowd. It was my chance to get Sarah alone for once.

It was a barn burner out on some farm. A couple of kegs, jungle juice in a metal trough. Eminem on the stereo. There was Sarah, dancing with some girls with a cup in her hand.

I wasn’t much of a drinker but I needed some liquid courage. I got myself loose enough that I could get close and dance with the girls around Sarah. By the time I got over there they were about done, started playing quarters. All I wanted to do was get Sarah alone and tell her I liked her, but she wanted to drink. So I drank.

I was pretty wasted when I noticed Chris had shown up. It was so easy to tell he was dealing. Jenny about gagged when she saw him. She wasn’t a fan either.

Sarah started talking to him and I just couldn’t stand it. I went over there and heard her tell Chris she wanted to go home.

So what went through my mind was, I got two choices. I can let her go home with a drug dealer and probably get into all kinds of trouble, or I could do something about it.

I stepped up and told her I was heading out. I could give her a ride.

When we got in my car I was feeling pretty good. She was in a good mood, talking about how much fun she’d had at the party, looking forward to the summer. I thought this drive, right now, this was my chance to tell her how I felt about her.

It was a warm June night. We had the windows open, she was sticking her head out the window, imitating her dog. I was laughing. She told me to go faster.

It was an open county road. We’d gone cruising here a million times. But it was dark, and even though I didn’t admit it to myself at the time, I was drunk.

I missed my turn. When I realized it, I slammed on the brakes, skidded on gravel … too close to city limits. There were lots of graduation parties going on that night so the cops were out, ready to catch idiots like me.

I did a U-turn and started to speed up. Too fast. Sarah grabbed my arm and told me she was about to puke. I pulled over, she got sick in the ditch, and that’s when I saw the red and blue lights on the rear view.

That was eight years ago. I blew a 0.12, spent the night in jail. My mom screamed at me all summer, Sarah never talked to me again and my graduation gift to myself was probation on an OWI charge.

College plans ruined, and that was only the beginning. I’m 26 now. I live with my mom, who never lets me forget what I did. I’d love to go off and live on my own but I can’t get a decent job to save my life. A friend of my mom’s cousin let me come wash dishes, part time, minimum wage. I’ve had lots of interviews but every time my Class C misdemeanor comes up I can see it in their eyes: I’m toast.

I thought by now Sarah and I would be married with a kid on the way. I was supposed to go to college for computer science, supposed to be working as a programmer in Indianapolis by now. Instead, because of one dumb mistake I’m stuck.

What am I supposed to do?

The above story is a work of fiction, but you might find it familiar. If this character could easily be you, there’s a chance you could get the OWI charge erased from your criminal record. Contact Bruce Munson today to discuss your options for expungement.

It’s time to move on with your life.

I.B.S.  (Irritable Bruce Syndrome)

I’ll keep this short and sweet.  It seems like every day that I see someone on Facebook trashing some private citizen about some purely personal matter.  Let me just say this:  Doing so says more about the trash-or than it does the trash-ee.

Biofuel, esoteric numbers, and alleged fraud

U.S. Attorney Joe Hogsett calls it the biggest fraud prosecution in Indiana history.  An 88 count indictment charges four men connected with a now-closed Middletown business, e-Biofuels, and others, of fraud at the $100 million level.

Much of the alleged misconduct involves RIN’s — renewable identication numbers associated with batches of “green” fuel.  A RIN is a 38 character code (count ’em, 38 characters; as a point of reference, remember that the entire U.S. population requires only nine figures) assigned to each batch of biofuel.  Here’s a chart that’ll make RIN’s easy to understand:

source:  www.ers.usda.gov

OK, so maybe I exaggerated the “easy to understand” part.

The Middletown boys are accused, among other things, of re-using RIN’s.  Who’da thunk that this byzantine regulatory framework might provide a platform for alleged fraud?

 

LIFE IMITATES LAWYER JOKES

The old joke goes like this:

A lawyer died and arrived at the pearly gates. To his dismay, there were thousands of people ahead of him in line to see St. Peter. But, to his surprise, St. Peter left his desk at the gate and came down the long line to where the lawyer was standing. St. Peter greeted him warmly. Then St. Peter and one of his assistants took the lawyer by the hands and guided him up to the front of the line into a comfortable chair by his desk.

The lawyer said, “I don’t mind all this attention, but what makes me so special?”

St. Peter replied, “Well, I’ve added up all the hours for which you billed your clients, and by my calculation you must be about 193 years old!”

MEANWHILE, IN THE REAL WORLD:

An Ohio lawyer who billed for lengthy work days on court-appointed cases, including one that stretched for 29 hours, is facing a disciplinary proceeding.

However, Ben Swift did the work and just needed to keep better records, his lawyer told the Dayton Daily News.

An audit showed that he had billed for days that included 29 hours of work, 23 hours of work, 21.5 hours of work and 21 hours of work.

MULTITASKING LAWYER OF THE WEEK

In an effort to restore some dignity to this blog, we offer Exhibit A from our file of multi-tasking lawyers:  Jerry Springer.

 

 

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