Understanding Indiana’s Risk Assessment System (IRAS) and Bail Reform

 

 Justice in the Shadows: Private Influence and the Case of the Secret Letter

The Tippecanoe County Courthouse in Lafayette, Indiana, where local justice is administered. A recent controversy from within its halls has raised questions about backchannel influence in the judicial process.

A Secret Letter to Tippecanoe County’s Prosecutor

    On a Monday afternoon in September 2024, Tippecanoe County Prosecutor Patrick Harrington received an unusual email. The sender, Caitie Cataldo, introduced herself as a former court reporter for now-Indiana Chief Justice Loretta Rush, recalling their past work together in Tippecanoe’s Superior Court. Cataldo wasn’t writing with a simple greeting, however. She had a very specific request: that Harrington ensure a particular inmate—a pregnant woman identified here as AMP—remain incarcerated until she gave birth. Cataldo explained that AMP was her adopted son’s biological mother, a woman struggling with addiction who had already borne and abandoned five children and was now expecting her sixth. Having witnessed the harm prenatal drug exposure caused her own child, Cataldo pleaded for the unborn baby’s protection.

    In her emotional letter, Cataldo wrote: “I am begging you for the sake of this unborn child: please keep [AMP] incarcerated until she gives birth”. She described AMP’s drug use as “ravaging the lives of real people” and argued that letting her out would only result in another infant born with opioid damage, calling it “the biggest crime she’ll ever commit”. This passionate appeal did not stop at outlining social harms; it pressed the prosecutor to take extraordinary action outside normal procedure. Perhaps most troubling, Cataldo requested secrecy: “Please keep my name and information private… I do not want my name added to her cases or accessible to her attorney.” In other words, she explicitly asked the prosecutor to act on her plea without the defense’s knowledge.

    Wabash Watchdogs reached out to Caitie Cataldo to ask if she would like to comment on her letter and participate in a discussion on our podcast. As of the time of publication, no response has been received, although we have confirmed her email was opened and read. We will therefore proceed without her input.

    Cataldo’s email shines a light on a little-seen corner of the justice system: private, personal attempts to influence legal outcomes. Her insider status (a former court employee and colleague to key figures) gave her the confidence to reach out directly. But should a private letter or email like this have any sway in a court decision? And just how often do such backchannel communications occur?

Private Appeals: How Often Do They Happen?

    Cataldo’s message may seem extraordinary, but insiders say off-the-record appeals to judges and prosecutors are not unheard of. People with a stake in a case—or sometimes just strong opinions—will occasionally attempt to bend the ear of decision-makers outside of formal proceedings. Judges around the country have reported being cornered by citizens trying to discuss their case at church, approached at social events, or even accosted in everyday places. In one New York incident, for example, a man approached a judge at a gas station to allege a defendant violated a court order; the judge improperly “did not disclose the communication and relied on the information” in subsequent proceedings. (The judge was later admonished for this lapse.) In Indiana, a judge was once approached in his courthouse office by a traffic defendant seeking help. The judge stepped outside of his judicial role and “assumed the role of the prosecutor to negotiate a resolution” to the case—an ethical breach that earned him a public reprimand. These examples show that when people think they have access, they often try to use it, even though direct communications with a judge about a pending case are flatly forbidden.

    Such behavior isn’t limited to in-person encounters. Letters and emails to the court are another common tactic. Experienced judges say they sometimes receive unsolicited letters from inmates’ family members, victims, or concerned citizens attempting to present evidence or pleas. Officially, these are ex parte communications – one-sided inputs to a judge or court staff without the other parties present. Judicial ethics rules bar judges from considering them, precisely because they violate the principle that all parties must have an equal chance to be heard. Some judges handle unsolicited letters by forwarding them to counsel or placing them on the record. Others, like one Indiana judge, admitted that when parents would send him letters about ongoing Child in Need of Services cases, “he would shred them without reading them” rather than risk improper influence. (Notably, even ignoring or destroying such letters without disclosure is itself problematic; Indiana’s Code of Judicial Conduct requires that if a judge inadvertently receives an ex parte letter with relevant information, they must inform all parties and give them a chance to respond.) The high number of judicial disciplinary cases involving ex parte communications each year suggests that many such private appeals do occur – and judges sometimes mishandle them.

When Influence is Exposed: Cases Across the Country

    What happens when these backchannel communications come to light? In the best case, the judge or prosecutor immediately discloses the attempt and refuses to be influenced. In the worst case, secret communications skew the outcome for one side – and if discovered, can unravel the case or end careers.

    Around the United States, there have been eye-opening revelations of improper private influence in court. A recent California case made national headlines when a judge was found to have been texting strategic advice to a prosecutor friend during a trial. After a guilty verdict, the judge’s colleague revealed the text messages, forcing the judge to disclose the ex parte chats on the record and recuse herself. The state commission later concluded the judge’s secret texts “conveyed bias for the prosecution, constituted improper ex parte coaching, and gave the appearance of usurping the prosecutorial role”. The verdict was tainted, and the judge faced public censure. In Oklahoma, a newly elected judge lost her job after an investigation showed she had sent over 500 text messages to her courtroom bailiff during a murder trial, mocking the prosecutor and commenting on witnesses – a flagrant breach of impartiality that became a scandal when exposed.

    Even more relevant are cases where private individuals or insiders attempted to sway justice. In Louisiana, a judge was disciplined in 2022 for exchanging Facebook Messenger chats with the grandmother of a child in a custody case and for issuing a “special order” to benefit a former mayor’s son – all done off the record due to personal connections. These backdoor dealings created an obvious appearance of bias: the judge was essentially doing favors for those with insider access, at the expense of fair process. Likewise, in Georgia, a Judicial Qualifications Commission report found a judge had improperly used her status to influence a criminal matter involving her family member – engaging in ex parte communication and even conducting her own factual investigation outside of court. She was removed from the case and sanctioned for abusing the prestige of her office for a private end.

    Sometimes the influencer isn’t a judge at all but a powerful person leaning on the system. History is rife with whispers of politicians calling up prosecutors to drop (or pursue) charges for friends. Such influence is usually hard to prove unless someone leaves a paper trail. One extreme example of corrupt backchannel influence was Pennsylvania’s infamous “Kids for Cash” scandal in the 2000s, where two judges took secret payments from private detention centers in exchange for harsh juvenile sentences. That was outright bribery and led to criminal convictions – a stark reminder that when private interests hijack judicial decisions, justice itself becomes the victim. Most cases of personal appeals, like Cataldo’s letter, aren’t blatant bribery. But even well-intentioned, informal pressure can undermine the integrity of the courts if it’s not handled with transparency.

The Legal Line: Ethics, Due Process, and Secret Communications

        From a legal and ethical standpoint, Cataldo’s letter crossed a bright line. While anyone in the community can voice concerns about crime and punishment, doing so through a private channel to a judge or prosecutor about an ongoing case is widely considered improper. There’s a reason court proceedings are on the record and subject to rules of evidence and procedure: so that decisions are based on information all sides can see, challenge, or support. A personal letter like Cataldo’s introduces information and urgings that the defense (and the public) would know nothing about – here, essentially lobbying the prosecutor to use jail as a form of protective custody for an unborn child. If Harrington acted on that request in secret, it could violate AMP’s due process rights, because decisions about her detention would not be made solely on the evidence and arguments presented in court.

    Under judicial ethics rules (followed in Indiana and every other state), judges “shall not initiate, permit, or consider” ex parte communications about a pending or impending matter. Any attempt by a third party to influence a judge privately is basically asking the judge to break this rule. Typically, if a letter like Cataldo’s were sent to a judge, the proper response for the judge would be to refuse to read it and ensure copies are provided to both prosecution and defense so that it’s part of the case record (or simply alert the parties and disregard the input). By emailing a prosecutor and even CC’ing court staff (Cataldo’s email was also sent to a “Magistrate Staff” address), Cataldo may have been trying to reach the judge indirectly. Any judge who received that message via a staff member would be duty-bound to disclose it. Similarly, the prosecutor, as an officer of the court, would be expected to notify the defense if he intended to act on the letter’s information in any way—especially since Cataldo’s email included factual claims (e.g. that AMP was pregnant and a danger to her fetus) not presented in open court. Failing to do so would risk an unfair proceeding.

    There’s also an element of professional ethics and potential misconduct for the letter-writer. Cataldo is a former court reporter, not an attorney, so she isn’t bound by legal ethics rules in the way a lawyer would be. (Had an attorney sent that kind of secret request, they could face serious sanctions for attempting an improper ex parte contact.) Still, Cataldo’s awareness that her request was not above-board is clear – she explicitly asked the prosecutor to keep it confidential from the defense. That puts the prosecutor in an ethical pickle: honoring her request would mean concealing information from the opposing party, something prosecutors generally must not do when it concerns a defendant’s case. Moreover, using personal influence (in this case, referencing her past rapport with Harrington and Judge Rush) to affect someone’s liberty treads close to abuse of power, even if Cataldo herself holds no office.

Transparency, Insider Access, and the Risk to Justice

    Cataldo’s letter raises broader concerns about transparency and insider access in our justice system. The very existence of the email only became known through public record requests and investigative digging – it wasn’t part of any public hearing. Had it not come to light, the public would have no idea that a behind-the-scenes appeal was made in the case of AMP. This opacity is dangerous. When decisions (like whether to keep a defendant incarcerated or to show leniency) appear to result from unseen influences, it erodes public confidence in the courts. Justice is best done in sunlight, with all arguments subject to scrutiny. Backdoor communications are antithetical to that principle.

    Insiders like former court staff, ex-prosecutors, or well-connected community members might be more inclined to “just shoot a note” to a judge or prosecutor, thinking they’re helping or offering insight. But however pure their intentions, they trade on access that ordinary citizens don’t have. When only those with connections can deliver such messages, the scales of justice tip based on relationships rather than merit. This is why codes of conduct exist to create buffers: to remind those in power that they must not give special audience to private whispers, no matter who whispers them.

    Transparency is the antidote. If someone truly believes they have important information or arguments about a case, there are proper channels: submit a statement through the prosecutor’s office (which can then be shared with defense and filed), or in some instances, speak at a sentencing hearing where both sides and the judge can hear it. What Cataldo attempted was different – a kind of ad hoc intervention outside any official process. Her plea was emotional and compelling on a human level, but it underscores a key question: should a defendant’s fate be influenced by a passionate email from a citizen that the court or prosecutor isn’t even supposed to have?

Wabash Watchdogs Commentary: Shining a Light on Shadow Justice

    At Wabash Watchdogs, we find Cataldo’s secret letter both revealing and unsettling. It reveals how easily personal passion and insider familiarity sought to shortcut the system. It’s unsettling because, had this communication not been exposed, the public and even AMP might never have known that a former court official tried to sway the prosecutor behind closed doors. Our stance is simple: justice must not only be done, it must be seen to be done. Every defendant, even those who have made terrible mistakes, deserves decisions based on transparent, law-based reasoning – not on private pressure. Every victim and concerned citizen deserves a system where their input carries weight only when properly presented, not because they have a private line to a decision-maker.

    This incident in Indiana is a wake-up call. How many other quiet requests or letters like Cataldo’s are floating in the system, unarchived and unknown? We urge our readers to demand accountability. Prosecutors and judges should establish clear policies for handling unsolicited communications – for example, logging them and disclosing them when received. Court employees (past or present) should know better than to leverage their access in this manner, and if they do, they should be called out, just as we are doing now. The legitimacy of our courts rests on the perception (and reality) that no one gets special treatment.

    For the people of Indiana and beyond, the takeaway is to stay vigilant. Often, it’s only through watchdog efforts and investigative journalism that these shadowy dealings come to light. In Cataldo’s case, shining a light on her letter gives the justice system a chance to self-correct: to ensure decisions about AMP will be made through lawful arguments in court, not whispered pleas in private emails.

    Transparency is justice’s best disinfectant. Wabash Watchdogs will continue to fight for openness and equal access in our courts. The next time someone tries to tilt the scales in private, we intend to catch it and expose it. Because at the end of the day, justice should be blind – not deaf to the truth, but deaf to backroom persuasion. The integrity of Indiana’s courts, and all courts, depends on it.

Letter in Question

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