Feature | Filed 7:00 a.m. 07.13.2018
A wide array of criminal charges send people to jail in northeastern Mississippi: the familiar DUI or robbery, or the less expected, such as public profanity or possession of beer in a dry county. But no matter the charge, odds are that if you land in lockup here, you will buy your freedom from Corbett Bonding.
Brian Corbett has sewn up the bail bond trade in this largely rural corner of the nation’s poorest state, minting millions from people charged with minor offenses. Operating out of a Tupelo storefront behind the county jail complex, Corbett Bonding pocketed $2.6 million in fees over a recent span of 18 months — 46 percent on bonds of less than $5,000, the ceiling for most misdemeanors in the state.
It was the highest take in Mississippi, according to a Marshall Project analysis of bonds tracked by the state Department of Insurance.
It is difficult to peer into the financial workings of the bail industry, where public sector services are performed by private companies largely shielded from scrutiny. New data collected by Mississippi and obtained by The Marshall Project offers a rare glimpse into how bail companies profit from the steady march of low-level offenders into county jails. Corbett Bonding is one of 193 bail companies in the state that over 18 months collectively took in $43 million — 36 percent from small bonds — in a state where the average annual income is under $22,000.
Source: Mississippi Department of Insurance
Corbett, the owner, declined repeated requests for comment. If he split the proceeds 50-50 with his agents, the common practice in Mississippi, he made $1.3 million in 18 months. Over the years, this high-volume churn has helped finance his expansion into other ventures, including a private probation firm, a trucking company, and Wackem and Stackem Outdoors, an outfit that offers semi-guided hunting tours specializing in whitetail deer.
But this lucrative trade in petty charges may be coming to an end. A little-noticed but seismic change in state court rules last year — bolstered by lawsuits and a blunt-spoken state insurance commissioner — is making it easier for people charged with misdemeanors to leave jail earlier, or avoid it altogether, without securing a bond.
It is a striking shift in a state that has long been one of the friendliest places in the nation for the bail bond industry.
“The way we’ve been doing business for the past 50, 60 years changed overnight,” said Todd Kemp, sheriff of Clarke County and past president of the Mississippi Sheriffs Association. “It’s almost putting them out of business.”
The fortress around Mississippi’s bail industry began to show cracks in 2015. Equal Justice Under Law, a fledgling nonprofit started by two young Harvard alums, teamed up with Cliff Johnson, director of the University of Mississippi’s recently formed MacArthur Justice Center, to sue the Gulf Coast city of Moss Point. The lawsuit aimed at the city’s bail schedule, a 62-page menu that set bond amounts for an exhaustive list of traffic offenses and misdemeanors: a $300 bond for keeping a pig, $350 for failure to stop at a railroad crossing, $400 for possession of tobacco by a minor, up to $2,200 for keeping a vicious dog.
Bond amounts can vary widely by offense or the county. Here are some of the bonds written in Mississippi on July 1, 2017.
for careless driving
for public drunkenness
for no driver's license, seatbelt violation
for possession of marijuana
for failure to comply with a police officer
for disturbance of the family peace, vandalism
for possession of marijuana
for no driver's license, no license plates, three seatbelt violations
for petty theft
for driving while license is suspended
for possession of alcohol by someone under 21
for possession of whiskey
for possession of drug paraphernalia
for domestic assault
for animal cruelty, vandalism
for driving with an open container, possession of beer, avoiding a checkpoint
for profanity in a public place, no seatbelt, no driver's license, no insurance, speeding on a highway, disorderly conduct, failure to comply with an officer
for public drunkenness, disorderly conduct, resisting arrest
for possession of a firearm by a felon
for house burglary
for armed carjacking
for possession of a controlled substance to sell or distribute
Source: Mississippi Department of Insurance
People charged with these offenses had to pay up or remain in jail, waiting up to a week before seeing a judge. In effect, the lawsuit argued, the schedule created an unconstitutional debtors’ prison. Five months later, the city settled and agreed to end the use of money bail in misdemeanor cases. Jackson, the state capital and largest city, reached a similar settlement in June 2016. The city of Corinth in northeastern Mississippi settled a similar lawsuit July 6.
Similar lawsuits had been successful around the country, but the piecemeal approach wasn’t sustainable. Mississippi has 82 counties and 250-plus municipalities. “We can’t sue every one of them,” Johnson said.
Plodding along in the background, however, was a threat so obscure the bail industry never noticed. The Mississippi Supreme Court created a committee in 2004 to draft the state’s first uniform Rules of Criminal Procedure. Thirteen years later, in July 2017, it released a list of changes that have the potential to end cash bail in most misdemeanor and many low-level felony cases.
The new rules established the right to see a judge within 48 hours after arrest, relieving pressure to turn to a bail agent to buy freedom more quickly. Cash bail is no longer the default option, and bail schedules have been banned. If a person is not a flight risk or danger to the community, the judge must release them on a written promise to appear or to pay money to the court if they fail to show up. Cash bail will continue for those wanting out of jail immediately, or those charged with most felonies.
On paper, it looks revolutionary. Kemp, the sheriff in Clarke County, said the rules have cut his jail population in half, making it safer and easier to manage, and saving him money on food and health care.
“It’s taken a while for us to get the feel of it. We’ve had class after class after class to school our employees. So far things are working out,” Kemp said.
Whether judges are complying statewide is unknown. The state’s hundreds of justice and municipal courts operate largely in independent venues in rural corners of the state. There is no statewide digital record system.
“I don’t think it has had too much impact yet,” said Associate Supreme Court Justice Jim Kitchens, a former district attorney and defense lawyer who is a leading advocate of the rule changes. He predicted justice courts — where a high school diploma is the only requirement to be elected to the bench — will be slow to adopt the rules.
The insurance data shows a modest but steady decline: the number of bonds written fell 19 percent in the first nine months of the new rules compared to the same period before. Revenue collected at the time of release fell 16 percent.
The rule changes caught the bail industry off guard. The Mississippi Bail Agents Association, which represents personal surety agents, declined to comment. (Corbett sits on the board of the association.)
In September, the group’s president, Chris Williams, likened the plight of bail agents to the citizens of Houston as Hurricane Harvey rolled through. “The intensity to eliminate our profession has reached a fever pitch,” Williams wrote his members. He cited the lawsuits and the new rules.
“The bail industry’s adversaries have dishonestly criticized, demonized and politicized our profession. How will the battered bail agents of MS react?” he asked, and then cited John 16:33’s call for courage in troubled times. “We should pray for our industry. We should pray for MBAA and our board of directors to act with peace and courage.”
The bail lobby did not rely on prayer alone. They hired three lobbyists from the law firm of former Gov. Haley Barbour. One lobbyist is the daughter of U.S. Sen. Roger Wicker.
Before the legislature convened in January, Williams mailed letters to 61 lawmakers detailing their legislative agenda and concerns about “the increasing pressure to release arrestees without secured bond.” Williams wished the lawmakers a Merry Christmas and included checks for campaign contributions from $250 up to $1,000.
Despite the money and lobbying firepower, the Mississippi bail industry failed to pass a single measure.
During his 15 years in the Mississippi legislature, Mike Chaney voted for bills backed by the bail industry, votes that came easy to a pro-business Republican. After he was elected commissioner of insurance in 2007, Chaney began an on-the-job education that made him rethink his support.
“It’s the most rotten system in the United States, the bail system,” Chaney said.
He first heard complaints about agents overbilling or squabbling over access to a jail. Then judges and lawyers told him of allegations that bail agents extorted sex from female clients or pushed men to transport drugs in lieu of payment.
Chaney’s opinions were cemented in 2015 as the FBI investigated a bail agent who eventually pleaded guilty to using counterfeit paperwork to write more than $1 million in illicit bonds. A client wore a wire as part of the investigation. “Lance had sex with this person in the hotel room and said, ‘I got to put my socks on and hurry up, I’ve got to be in church in a few minutes’,” Chaney said. “That’s on tape.”
How many bonds can a personal surety agency write, backed by the minimum deposit?
Source: Statutes of South Carolina and Oklahoma, Mississippi Department of Insurance
The FBI requested a list of all of the agent’s bonds. Chaney had nothing: no information, no records. So he pushed a bill requiring bail agents to enter the details of every bond into a registry on the department’s website. The bill became law, and Chaney’s department began collecting data in October 2016.
Chaney was troubled by the data. Personal surety bail agents like Corbett were writing an unlimited amount of bonds backed by just $30,000 in security. The commissioner knows no other type of bond or insurance product backed by so little security, and plans to change the law.
“I don’t want to say all bail agents are bad, I’m sure there are some good ones, but I think they are as low as you can get on the totem pole,” he said. “It’s an easy way to make money.”
In May 2017, Alicia Johns was driving home from a store when Tupelo police stopped her, saying her license plate light was broken. She was arrested for driving with an expired license and booked into the Lee County Jail overnight.
It was her second traffic ticket since her recent move from Chicago, and her first arrest ever, she told The Marshall Project. A 35-year-old single mother, she was hardly a flight risk. “I’ve got a job. I have to work,” she said.
Bond was set at $600. Johns was released the next morning after paying $150 to a Corbett bail agent, and a $403 fine from her first ticket. She had no sleep but made it to her job caring for Alzheimer patients.
For their services in bailing people out of jail, Mississippi bail agents can charge 10 percent of the value of the bond or $100, whichever is greater, plus a $50 fee. This mandatory (and nonrefundable) minimum charge of $150 makes bailing out people with small bonds profitable. Most people probably assume a higher bond makes it harder for those charged with serious felonies to get out of jail. But agents can also profit from high bonds by freeing defendants who pay a fraction of the required fees.
On May 2, 2017, when Alicia Johns was released, Corbett Bonding bailed 16 other people out of jail as well. Fifteen of the cases were misdemeanors, ranging from public drunkenness ($300 bond) to no seat belt and no insurance ($1,300 bond) to breaking and entering ($2,500 bond). Here’s how her misdemeanor case compared to someone with a serious felony.
Alicia Johns
Thomas Nicholas
charged with
driving with an expired license
charged with
sexual battery
Bond amount
$600
bond amount
$50,000
Bailed out by Corbett Bonding
Bailed out by Corbett Bonding
paid
$150
to Corbett in fees, or 25 percent of the bond
paid
$650
to Corbett in fees, or 1.3 percent of the bond
Still owes Corbett $4,400
Alicia Johns
Thomas Nicholas
charged with
driving with an expired license
charged with
sexual battery
Bond amount
$600
bond amount
$50,000
Bailed out by Corbett Bonding
Bailed out by Corbett Bonding
paid
$150
to Corbett in fees, or 25 percent of the bond
paid
$650
to Corbett in fees, or 1.3 percent of the bond
Still owes Corbett $4,400
Alicia Johns
Thomas Nicholas
charged with
driving with an expired license
charged with
sexual battery
Bond amount
$600
bond amount
$50,000
Bailed out by Corbett Bonding
Bailed out by Corbett Bonding
paid
$150
to Corbett in fees, or 25 percent of the bond
paid
$650
to Corbett in fees, or 1.3 percent of the bond
Still owes Corbett $4,400
Source: Mississippi Department of Insurance
Jail dockets, the stovetop size books where deputies hand record the detention and release of every inmate, show that in 2017 Corbett wrote 73 percent of the business in Lee County and 84 percent next door in Union County. Rivals complain that he has rigged the market.
Glyn Holland, a Union County bail bondsman with 27 years in the business, is the rare competitor to criticize Corbett publicly. Tall, bearded and with the raspy baritone of a former five-pack a day smoker, Holland makes this analogy: sixteen neighboring gas stations sell at the same price, yet one grabs 80 percent of the market.
The Lee County Jail posted a list of 16 bail companies for inmates to call. One listing is for Gray Bonding, which has been out of business since owner Travis Gray, a colleague of Corbett, died in 2008. The number now rings through to a Corbett agent.
Holland says Corbett’s success is the product of cozy relationships between Corbett Bonding and people who work in the jails and courts. It’s a felony for a bondsman to give anything of value to a deputy, judge, court clerk, police officer or inmate. Holland has filmed Corbett’s agents handing big bags of lunches or stacks of pizza boxes to sheriff deputies or passing breakfast out in the justice court clerk’s office. One of Holland’s colleagues said she witnessed a Corbett bail agent deposit money in the ATM-style kiosk for inmate accounts.
“The deputies are out there arresting people who break the law, and here’s the jailers breaking the law right in front of my eyes,” Holland says. “Corbett owns that jail.”
Holland and others have filed complaints with the state Department of Insurance.
Holland’s complaint is not new. In 2010, a bail agent filed a federal lawsuit against the Monroe County sheriff and Corbett for monopolizing the bail business there.
The bail agent, a former state trooper named Britt Harris, made a similar accusation under oath in 2011: “Corbett — they can’t offer anything that I can’t offer. The state law sets out guidelines on what the fees will be. The procedure for making a bond, it’s not different. That they can write 75 percent of the bail bonds in a market is just virtually impossible without some kind of interference from either the sheriff, the jail staff, the jail administrator, somebody.”
Monroe County settled the lawsuit by paying Harris’ legal bills and allowing him to write bail bonds at the jail again.
While Kemp doesn’t see many high-dollar bonds in Clarke County, population 16,000, he said he has fought with bail agents asking him to jail clients who fell behind on their payments. That’s a dispute over a private contract, Kemp said. It’s against the law to jail someone for failing to pay their bail agent.
It’s hard to measure the changes, if any, in the jails where Corbett works. Lee County Sheriff Jim Johnson and Union County Sheriff Jimmy Edwards did not respond to phone calls or notes left at their jails.
Still, Corbett seems assured of future profits from the criminal justice system in northeastern Mississippi, as Alicia Johns learned.
After paying $553 for bail and her first ticket, Johns had trouble paying the $528 fine for the second ticket.
In November, a Tupelo Municipal Court judge put her on probation and ordered her to pay $50 a month to Magnolia Probation, a private company owned by Corbett that operates unregulated in municipal and justice courts in northeastern Mississippi. Lee and Union counties and the cities of Tupelo and New Albany allow Corbett’s company to work without contracts or regulation.
Johns laughed bitterly at the news: “I’m paying them at both ends, coming and going.”
