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When government offices would rather shut down operations than comply with basic transparency laws, it raises serious questions about what they're trying to hide. That's exactly what happened when journalists arrived at the LeFlore County Public Defender's Office in Oklahoma with a simple records request about a troubling child predator case.
The Investigation That Started It All
The journalists came to LeFlore County following a tip about a disturbing plea deal. District Attorney Kevin Merritt was reportedly entering into an agreement with a man charged with multiple counts of predatory attacks against children under 11 years old. After reviewing the court file, the reporters discovered references to potential extortion involving witness testimony and wanted to examine those documents through Oklahoma's open records law.
Their goal wasn't confrontational. They specifically stated they weren't trying to interview anyone or ask difficult questions about an ongoing prosecution. They simply wanted to file a standard records request and leave.
The Vanishing Act Begins
What should have been a routine two-minute transaction turned into something far more revealing. After the journalists explained their purpose, the receptionist asked them to wait in the hallway. Then she disappeared. Completely.
Minutes turned into a half hour, then 45 minutes. The office fell silent. Phone calls went unanswered. It was as if the entire public defender's office had simply evaporated rather than process a basic records request.
The journalists found themselves acting as unofficial receptionists, greeting other visitors who arrived to conduct business with an office that had apparently ceased to function.
Going Live Changes Everything
After nearly an hour of waiting, the journalists decided to broadcast live to their audience. They shared the office phone number, explaining their situation to thousands of viewers. The response was immediate and overwhelming.
Phone calls began flooding the office. The phones rang constantly, but nobody answered. The staff remained hidden in the back areas of the building, refusing to engage with either the journalists in their lobby or the citizens calling on the phone.
Then something interesting happened. The phone stopped ringing entirely, suggesting someone had either unplugged it or taken it off the hook.
The Reluctant Emergence
Only when the live broadcast gained momentum did anyone finally appear. A staff member emerged, immediately focusing on irrelevant details like why a phone wasn't in a bag, completely ignoring the substantive issue at hand.
When Assistant DA Sarah Jordan finally appeared, she revealed something striking. The office doesn't have a designated records custodian, which under Title 51 of Oklahoma law constitutes a misdemeanor offense. Public offices are required to have records custodians available during business hours.
The Questions That Remain Unanswered
The most troubling aspect isn't just the delay or the apparent violation of records laws. It's what this behavior suggests about the underlying case. The journalists noted that their investigation might actually exonerate the DA's office, showing they were making the best of a difficult situation caused by witness intimidation.
Instead, the office's decision to hide and obstruct makes their handling of the child predator case look far more suspicious than it might actually be.
The records request was eventually accepted, but months later, the documents still haven't been produced. The case raises fundamental questions about government accountability and what happens when public offices decide transparency laws don't apply to them.
Watch the full confrontation unfold and see how a routine records request exposed a government office willing to shut down rather than follow the law.
