by J.Madenska
For nearly 18 years, Jaime Duran has remained silent. He never spoke out, never testified, and never had the chance to answer any questions about the alleged crime that has haunted his life.
Instead, his story has been told by others—most notably by his alleged victim, who not only wrote a book but also appeared on the Oprah Winfrey Show, speaking openly about her experiences. Her voice has been the only one heard, while Jaime’s has been notably absent. District Attorney Jeff Lindsey, who was instrumental in this case, is the same individual who was later fired from El Paso County and charged in a high-profile case. Then there’s the public defender or “pretender “Chad Miller, who was supposed to defend Jaime—a defender with a questionable history, standing before the jury. Meanwhile, Jaime has remained quiet, carrying the weight of these accusations in silence for nearly two decades. Imagine carrying this burden for 18 years, unable to speak your truth. Jaime has lived with this silence, but perhaps it’s time to break it. Perhaps it’s time for the community, the society, and the people involved in this case to gain a clearer understanding of the potential consequences of their actions. It’s time to put some things on the record, to give Jaime Duran the chance to finally tell his side of the story. The silence has lasted long enough.
Picture waking up one day on a beautiful sunny morning in Colorado Springs. It’s summer—the sun is shining, the air is cool as the day winds down. You’ve been separated from your spouse for a while, but you still hold onto hope that the relationship can be reconciled. After all, marriage is supposed to be for better or for worse, until death do us part. But how many men have been forced to leave their homes, even though it belongs to them just as much as it does to their wives? Your belongings, your memories—all of it is still inside that house, but you’re not allowed to return. Then, out of the blue, you get a phone call from her—a call that gives you hope. Maybe, just maybe, there’s a chance to work things out, to save the marriage and the family. But then, the next day, you wake up, and everything changes. It’s like a storm has rolled in out of nowhere. The sky that was once bright has turned dark. In the blink of an eye, your life is shattered. The last thing you remember is being handcuffed, thrown into the back of a police car, and taken to a county jail—accused of crimes you didn’t commit. Accused by the very woman who just gave you hope of mending what was broken. It sounds like a plot from a Lifetime movie, doesn’t it? But this isn’t fiction. This is the harsh reality for too many people in our community. Ordinary citizens, just like you, are living this nightmare.
Wrongful convictions are not just stories on the news—they’re happening here, in our neighborhoods. The justice system, which is supposed to protect the innocent, sometimes fails. And when it does, the consequences are devastating. Lives are destroyed, families are torn apart, and the trust we place in the system is shattered. This is the story of a system that can fail, and when it does, it leaves innocent people to pick up the pieces of a life that will never be the same. We must ask ourselves: how can we prevent this from happening to someone else? How can we fix a system that is supposed to deliver justice, but sometimes delivers heartbreak instead?
I first came across Jaime Duran’s case through an unexpected conversation. My husband, who had served 15 years in prison, mentioned Jaime’s name during one of our talks. Every person I spoke with after that had the same response: Jaime is innocent. He’s a victim of a broken system filled with lies, deceptive behavior, and a vindictive El Paso County sheriff’s office. The alleged victim in his case, his estranged wife, chose a path of personal gain and notoriety rather than seeking a divorce. Her life, it seems, wasn’t enough, so she sought fame by any means necessary.
For over two years, I’ve dedicated myself to this case. I’ve made hundreds of phone calls, written countless letters, and spent hours talking to attorneys and various advocacy groups. What started as a single case has grown into a mission—a fight for every man or woman who has been wrongfully convicted. Jaime Duran’s case dates back to 2006, yet he remains incarcerated in the Colorado Department of Corrections. You might wonder how I can be so sure of his innocence. After all, people often lie or manipulate the truth. But I’ve been told time and again that I’m a good judge of character. I can look into someone’s eyes and discern who they are, what drives them, and whether they are guilty or innocent. Jaime isn’t guilty of the crimes for which he was convicted. All the evidence, discovery, the trial itself, the public defender, the prosecution, and even the appeal attorney—everything was fabricated and premeditated. None of it was real. How can someone be charged with kidnapping and first-degree assault with a deadly weapon when there was no gun? Everything that happened during the trial was unjust and wrong. The lack of integrity and moral failure of those involved in Jaime’s case is appalling. These individuals have no place in the criminal justice system—in fact, they should be the ones behind bars. His only fault lies in the age-old truth that love is blind—and it blinded him to the dangers that ultimately led to his wrongful imprisonment.
Jaime Duran’s estranged wife, who at the time of the alleged crime was an active sheriff’s deputy in El Paso County, presents a complex case. When we think of sheriff’s deputies, both men and women, we often associate them with power and authority. Yet, it’s hard to ignore the possibility of deceptive behavior—how easily someone in such a position could commit a perfect crime without facing consequences, till. Jaime Duran was her second husband. She has two daughters from a previous marriage, which she left rather quickly, according to court documents and a book she authored, which I will discuss further in the next paragraph. One might wonder how they met. Their paths crossed at work before she became a sheriff’s deputy. Picture a young mother with children, facing a divorce, with no money, nowhere to live, and no plan for the future. Into this scenario enters a seemingly kind and handsome man—let’s call him “dark and handsome” for the sake of the story. She starts pursuing him, but he, too, has his own hidden agenda. Jaime Duran had a history of getting involved with women who were troubled, which often led to trouble for him as well. Reflecting on his past, he mentioned that he tended to be overly trusting and generous with women, always seeing the good in them—though things didn’t always turn out as he hoped. As for his estranged wife, the alleged victim, it’s clear she pursued him because she needed stability—a place to stay, someone to take care of her. Despite having a job, let’s be honest, we all have our own agendas. Some people are upfront about their intentions, while others are more deceptive. After reading her book and reviewing hundreds of transcripts, I believe she simply used Jaime because he was an easy target.
In the world of criminal justice, a Pre-Sentencing Investigation (PSI) report plays a crucial role in shaping the court’s understanding of an individual before they are sentenced. It is a comprehensive document, based on detailed interviews with the defendant, that explores their background—psychological, financial, and personal aspects of their life. For lawyers, these reports are a standard part of the system, giving insight into who the person is beyond the charges they face. However, when a PSI contains inconsistencies or questionable narratives, it raises red flags. In Jaime Duran’s case, the PSI report offers a striking example of this. The investigation, dated May 28, 2007, includes a victim statement that was reportedly completed on April 4, 2007. In this report, the alleged victim makes an unusual claim about the impact of the crime—not focusing on trauma, fear, or any emotional toll, but on the financial loss of a vehicle.
The victim’s statement reads:
“It has hurt us financially due to the Tahoe that was taken into evidence. Jaime Duran was supposed to keep the vehicle after our divorce but committed the crime in it. Now the bank took the vehicle and is coming after me! My name unfortunately was on the loan, and they harass me every day over it!”
As someone who has written multiple PSI reports, I’ve dealt with the stories of many victims. In my experience, when someone has been a victim of a heinous crime, their focus is rarely on material loss in the early stages. Victims of traumatic events are usually overwhelmed with fear, shock, and concern for their physical safety or the well-being of their loved ones. Their ability to form coherent thoughts and sentences often takes months, sometimes even years. However, in Jaime’s case, the alleged victim’s primary concern seems to revolve around a car loan. The mention of the Tahoe being taken into evidence and the subsequent financial fallout—bank harassment, credit issues—feels oddly detached from the emotional devastation one might expect from a true victim of crime. Instead, this victim appears to be more concerned about her credit score than about the emotional or physical aftermath of the event. This raises a deeper question: Is this truly the voice of a victim? The PSI report’s paragraph on emotional and physical impact contains four brief sentences, as does the section on financial impact. Yet, the emotional toll appears overshadowed by financial frustrations. It reads more like someone who feels wronged by a financial situation rather than someone devastated by a crime. Of course, financial loss can be a real and difficult consequence of any crime. However, when the overwhelming focus is on a vehicle and bank loans, it begs the question: is this person a true victim, or are they presenting themselves as one in a way that feels opportunistic?
In writing this article, I must proceed with great caution—not specifically due to Jaime Duran’s case, but because of the alleged victim involved. It’s important to avoid any implication of victim-shaming or slander. Therefore, instead of making definitive statements, I will focus on raising questions regarding the alleged victim’s role in this case, allowing the facts to speak for themselves while maintaining respect and integrity in the discussion.
I. Alleged Victim
When it comes to high-profile cases involving assault or kidnapping, it’s common for around 90% of victims to choose to remain anonymous. Most prefer to keep their names and stories out of the public eye, maintaining privacy around their experiences. However, this wasn’t the case for Doris Rivera Black, previously known as Doris Duran. Unlike many victims, Doris openly shared her story with the world, including a detailed interview in the Colorado Springs newspaper. She spoke about her life, her case, and her experiences without shame or distress, and in the interest of fairness, I’ll refer to her by her full name in this story. Doris’ openness didn’t stop at interviews. In 2015, almost nine years after the incident, she published a book titled Clothed in Strength: Kidnapped at Gunpoint and Sexually Assaulted by Her Estranged Husband, a Woman Escapes and Discovers Her True Strength, Courage, and Faith. Her story was even featured on The Oprah Winfrey Show and was prominently displayed across Oprah’s social media and website. Doris was very candid about her struggles, revealing that, as a young girl, she had been a victim of sexual assault at the hands of her grandfather. Due to cultural expectations within her Puerto Rican family, she was never allowed to talk about it. The family’s approach was to avoid such topics altogether, leaving Doris to carry the burden of silence. She married young and had two daughters, but her first marriage ended in divorce. By the time of the divorce, Doris found herself with almost nothing—no house, no money, no car. She described feeling nearly homeless, which she articulated vividly in both her book and during investigations. This part of her life leads to a question many women in her situation might ask: What would you do if you were young, had children to feed, and were about to lose everything? It’s not difficult to imagine her seeking stability, especially when you have two children depending on you. Financial security becomes paramount. You would want a home, a safe place for your kids, and enough money to get by. It’s understandable that Doris would seek out a man who could provide these things, and there’s nothing inherently wrong with that. Many of us have personal goals and needs, and seeking stability for yourself and your children is completely valid.
Enter Jaime Duran. In her book, Doris describes the early days of their relationship:
“Things began to move pretty quickly for Jaime and me. We moved in together just months after beginning our relationship. Jaime was wonderful at the time and never ceased to amaze me in many ways—he cooked for me, cleaned for me, and the best of all, he treated me like a princess, with tender hands. It was unreal. I thought, wow, this is too perfect! Is there such a thing? As the next few months passed, Jaime expressed to me that he wanted me to be his wife. ‘You’ll be my wife someday, you’ll be mine forever,’ he’d say. Of course, I thought it was sweet of him to say these things. It wasn’t long before he would be right about me becoming his wife. Jaime and I married in May of 2002, just one year after beginning our relationship.”
The romance seemed picture-perfect at first, like a fairy tale. Doris found comfort and care in Jaime, something she needed at that point in her life. But as her story goes on to reveal, not everything was as perfect as it seemed. In fact, the fairy tale would soon unravel into something much darker? In retrospect, Doris may have been seeking more than just love; she was also seeking security and stability. She wanted the American dream—a home with a white picket fence, a nice car, a safe neighborhood. But she soon discovered that Jaime wasn’t the prince she thought he was. Instead, their relationship took a dark turn, leading to the traumatic events. However, her story also raises important questions about how and why people enter relationships, and the pressures that financial instability and past trauma can place on a person’s choices.
In 2003, Doris Rivera Black was hired by the El Paso County Sheriff’s Office. Despite the rigorous testing—physical exams, psychological evaluations, an extensive background investigation, polygraphs, and an integrity interview—she successfully passed, much to the surprise of her husband, Jaime Duran. One thing, however, remained undisclosed: Doris had a medical condition that, if revealed, would have disqualified her from becoming a sheriff’s deputy. Together, she and Jaime decided to keep that information secret so she could achieve her dream job. Doris went through the academy and officially began her new career. At the same time, she moved her family—her father, mother, and two brothers—from Puerto Rico into the home she shared with Jaime. While she was excited about her new career, the living situation began to strain the marriage. Jaime described how uncomfortable he felt, often feeling like an outsider in his own home because Doris would speak Spanish with her family, a language he wasn’t fluent in. This language barrier left him isolated, and the overcrowded house meant there was no privacy and very little time for intimacy between him and Doris. Despite these challenges, Jaime remained supportive of her career as a sheriff’s deputy. In her book, Doris claims that one source of tension in the marriage was the fact that, for the first time, she was earning more money than Jaime. However, after hours of conversation with Jaime, he dismissed this notion. He explained that it wasn’t about money for him; in fact, he had no issue with Doris earning more or holding a position of authority. As a supportive husband, he was happy to divide responsibilities at home. He took care of their children and held a job of his own, while Doris focused on her demanding role in law enforcement. For him, the issues in their relationship were more about emotional disconnect and growing distance, rather than financial competition.
Jaime reflected on how relationships go through phases, with feelings of jealousy, insecurity, and frustration being part of the natural human experience. He understood that every couple communicates differently—some are vocal, some are quiet, and others express their emotions through different mediums like writing, texting, or calling. For Jaime, the real challenge began when he noticed Doris spending more and more time at work, not because her job required it, but because she seemed to want to be there. It wasn’t long before he discovered the truth—Doris had kissed another deputy while on the job. After confronting her, she admitted to the kiss, claiming it was a moment of weakness. Jaime couldn’t find any record of this romantic involvement in the official documents, despite the fact that such behavior would typically result in serious consequences, including termination. In many departments, a supervisor would be forced to decide which employee could stay and which would have to go. However, this incident remained hidden from the official narrative. Jaime felt deeply betrayed, cheated, and lied to. But after a long conversation, the couple came to an agreement. Doris promised him that it was a one-time mistake, an error in judgment brought on by temporary weakness, and reassured him of her love and commitment. She vowed it would never happen again. As the saying goes, “Once a cheater, always a cheater.” The door had been opened, and Jaime couldn’t help but wonder if it would ever truly close. Only time would tell if their relationship could withstand the breach of trust or if it would eventually crumble under the weight of unspoken truths and broken promises…
It was March 2004. The alleged offense wouldn’t happen for another two years, in June 2006. But during this time, one might wonder what was really going on behind the scenes. Had things changed in Doris Rivera Black’s life after her earlier romantic involvement with a coworker? Did that part of her life simply end, or did something else continue simmering beneath the surface? Only Doris can truly answer that question. From what I’ve gathered through her book and the presentence investigation (PSI), there was a sense that Doris was having second thoughts about her marriage to Jaime Duran. It seemed as though he had become an afterthought, like a piece of furniture she wasn’t sure how to get rid of—something that couldn’t be returned but might be sold or donated. She claimed in her book that she felt like a hostage in her own home, but this sentiment is hard to comprehend. If she felt like a prisoner, how could she freely converse with her family in Spanish, while her husband—who didn’t speak the language—was left out of the loop? It’s a puzzling contradiction, one that borders on disbelief. Doris, however, had more layers than what was publicly visible. Beneath the surface, she had a much more provocative side. She was promiscuous, with a passion for sex that didn’t fit the typical image one might have of a devoted wife. She enjoyed exploring her sexuality in ways that went beyond the norm. She frequented adult stores, bought sex toys, and posed for provocative pictures, which her husband took. Doris even had a fascination with what some would call “dirty sex,” and she wasn’t afraid to push boundaries in the privacy of her marriage. In one instance, she even suggested a threesome with her best friend, a proposition Jaime flatly refused. He wasn’t interested—his commitment, as he explained, was to his wife, not to bringing someone else into their marriage. Now, none of this makes Doris a villain. People have their own sexual preferences, fantasies, and curiosities, and as long as everything remains within legal boundaries, there’s nothing wrong with that. But it does add complexity to her story—one that she, now a self-proclaimed devotee to God, might not openly admit today. It’s important to acknowledge that people are multifaceted, and Doris was no exception. What she did behind closed doors with her husband doesn’t change her current narrative, but it does paint a more complete picture of who she was during that time. Her sexual explorations, coupled with her feelings of being stuck in her marriage, suggest that her life was more complicated than she may have let on. Did these hidden desires and frustrations play a role in what eventually transpired? That’s something only she knows for certain. The bigger question remains: did Doris truly change after her earlier indiscretions? Or, like many, did she simply shift her outward behavior while her core beliefs stayed the same? We may never know, but it’s clear that the Doris of 2004 wasn’t quite the same person she presented herself as in her later years.
In her book, Doris recounts the numerous arguments and restraining orders that plagued her relationship with her husband, Jaime. Tension escalated until it reached a boiling point, where every interaction felt like a life-and-death struggle. In one particularly harrowing moment, Doris writes, “I was visibly shaking. My hands were trembling, and I couldn’t sit still. I hugged Savanna and promised her that Jaime would not be able to hurt her. My baby was also clearly shaken. I hated how he instilled fear in her, and by this time, the hate I felt for him was so intense I could have killed him at that moment.” This confession highlights not just the intensity of the emotions she experienced, but also a glimpse into her darkest thoughts—thoughts that, according to her, were provoked by Jaime’s manipulative behavior. Yet, as the story unfolds, it becomes clear that there may be more at play than just manipulation. Throughout her narrative, Doris uses the word “manipulation” repeatedly, painting Jaime as a master of deception, but the question lingers—could it be that she was the one orchestrating the manipulation? The word is thrown around so loosely that it leaves readers wondering if she was using it to craft a narrative, not only for herself but for everyone around her, including her family, the community, and Jaime himself.
Doris had significant motivation: a house and a Tahoe that she coveted, something that a regular divorce wouldn’t grant her under Colorado’s 50/50 divorce law. Without a prenuptial agreement, she knew she could never afford to keep these assets, which could provide the perfect motive for something far more sinister. Her position as a sheriff’s deputy gave her access not only to weapons but also to people who could teach her how to manipulate the system. She had witnessed firsthand how the law could be bent, how accusations could be made, and how situations could be created. Did she put this knowledge to use in plotting against Jaime? In her book, Doris also recalls how her superiors often warned her about people like Jaime. They had even said, “She is one of us,” insinuating that she was trusted among them. But could this trust have emboldened her to carry out a plan to rid herself of Jaime for good? The story raises chilling questions: Was Doris Rivera the real manipulator in this tragic saga? Did she craft a web of deceit so intricate that it ensnared her husband, her community, and even the law itself?
II. Jaime Duran CDOC 137173
Jaime Duran was a man whose life, before the tragic events of June 26, 2006, was filled with promise, honor, and dedication. Born and raised in Pueblo, Colorado, Jaime attended high school where he graduated in 1992. By his own account, he was an average student, but that’s not how others saw him. He was well-liked by both his teachers and peers, with a natural charm that made him easy to get along with. He played sports and enjoyed the camaraderie that came with them, always eager to be part of a team. Jaime’s mother Ida, a loving and devoted woman, played a pivotal role in shaping the man he would become. Although she is no longer with us, I hope she looks down from the sky, on bright days and even through the clouds, knowing that one day her son will be free. This story, in many ways, is dedicated to her—her strength, her love, and her hope for her son.
In 1992, the same year he graduated, Jaime enlisted in the U.S. Marine Corps. It was a decision that would define much of his early adult life. He was not just a Marine—he excelled in his role, earning an automatic promotion, a testament to his dedication and skill. During his six-year enlistment, Jaime was deployed to some of the most challenging environments, including Somalia in 1995, Saudi Arabia in 1992, and across the Middle East in 1997. His time in the military shaped him into a disciplined, honorable man. In 1998, he was honorably discharged and returned to his home state of Colorado. Jaime didn’t stop there. With the same determination he’d shown in the Marines, he enrolled full-time at Pikes Peak Community College. He was pursuing a degree in computer networking, earning 41 credits before life took an unexpected turn. He was on the brink of completing his studies, eager to start a new chapter in his life outside of the military. Jaime is not just an inmate; he is a man with a past rich in service and love. Above all, he is a devoted father. His son, whom we’ll leave unnamed for privacy, is a testament to Jaime’s resilience. Despite his father being sentenced to prison without parole when he was just a young child, he has grown into a remarkable young man. A mini version of his father, he maintains weekly contact with Jaime, their bond unwavering through the years.
Many might wonder if Jaime’s time in the Marines left him with the scars of PTSD, and the answer is, of course, yes. His military service left an indelible mark on him, like it does for many who serve in war zones. But it’s important to note that, despite this, no one who knew him—neither his family nor those who have spent countless hours with him—ever witnessed him being violent or losing his temper in a way that would cause harm. Not a single person could recall a moment when Jaime raised a hand to any woman. His transcripts, letters, and the testimonies of those closest to him speak to his kindness and integrity. I have spent hours with Jaime, in rooms filled with other inmates, and all I’ve experienced from him is warmth, laughter, and understanding. Our conversations have been ordinary, but also deeply meaningful, offering glimpses of the person he truly is. A moment that stands out to me during those visits is when he taught me how to play UNO—a small, bittersweet joy shared in a setting far from ordinary.
III. People v. Duran
Let’s step into a time machine and travel back to the evening of June 6, 2006. It’s 10:00 PM in Colorado Springs. The summer air is warm and dry, typical of the region, with little humidity and a peaceful sunset filling the sky. Can you recall what you were doing that day, at that exact time? Let me tell you what was happening with Jaime Duran. He was legally barred from being at their home – another restraining order, as it was clear there were underlying issues in their marriage. Yet, despite the order, Doris called him later that day, asking to meet when she returned from work around 10:00 PM. Jaime, not wanting to disobey the order openly, found a hidden spot near the house where no one could see him. I’ve pored over the Pre-Sentence Investigation (PSI) report countless times, and each time, I discover something new, something I may have missed before. Initially, I believed the motive behind everything was financial, and that played a part, but there was something else—something more important. Doris’s secretive and promiscuous lifestyle was also at the center of it all. Specifically, it was about photos—personal, revealing photos that she had asked Jaime to take of her. While there’s nothing inherently wrong with that, it became a key point of conflict during a heated argument between them that night. Jaime had those photos in his possession. He took all of them, and Doris panicked. Why? Because she feared what might happen if those intimate pictures were leaked to the community, especially considering her position as a sheriff’s deputy. Can you imagine the humiliation she would face if such photos became public? This was 2006—not quite the era of TikTok or Instagram, but close enough that the risk of exposure was real.
PSI defendant’s version: “first of all it came up with me giving her back some pictures that we had taken while we’re married. They were adult pictures. She had said “if you do that I won’t put the restraining order or permanent” and I said okay . So I showed up at the mailbox and I put some pictures in there. It was in other pictures but it was the majority of the pictures because I did not trust her”.
According to the PSI, Jaime even dropped some of the photos into the mailbox, but not all of them. He told Doris that he simply didn’t trust her, and why would he? Given her past actions, it’s easy to see why Jaime had his doubts. Even as I read through the PSI now, I share his uncertainty. I don’t trust her either. Doris feels unpredictable, almost like a Pandora’s box—there’s no telling how she might react, whether with an explosion of anger or eerie silence.
Let me highlight some key points from the Pre-Sentence Investigation (PSI) and the investigation regarding this case. First, Jaime never owned a gun. Doris, on the other hand, had a work-issued firearm. However, at the time, she was placed on administrative duty due to an injury, so she wasn’t carrying her gun. She did, however, have one in the house, a place Jaime couldn’t legally access due to the restraining order. Yet, on the night of June 26, 2006, deputies found an empty Glock pistol box in Doris’s bedroom closet. Now, how could Jaime, who was legally barred from entering the home, have gotten inside, retrieved the gun, and waited for her outside? Especially when the house was full of people? Another aspect from the same document mentions that detectives and the probation officer noted the victim was crying, shaking, and upset, but importantly, she was uninjured. Despite this, Jaime was charged with first-degree kidnapping with a deadly weapon, a crime that carries a sentence of life without parole in Colorado. Doris speculated that if she had tried to run, Jaime would have killed her, but there was never any gun in his possession. The only person who had access to a gun that night was Doris, raising the question—what happened to her weapon? In her statement, Doris claimed they could make up a story for the police to avoid getting Jaime into trouble. Really? A sheriff’s deputy, trained in conflict resolution and de-escalation, not using those skills in a real-life crisis? What would she have done if this situation happened on duty? Would she have made up a similar story about a gun that was never there? This whole incident took place in a location called Boone. When Doris provided detailed information about where her husband allegedly took her, how they found the napkin, and how she supposedly remembered everything so perfectly, it raises questions. We’re talking about a dark night, somewhere between 10:00 PM and midnight. Are we really to believe she had such an impeccable sense of direction and memory that she knew exactly where they were at the time? She also claimed that Jaime threw a gun out of the car window while they were driving. However, the gun was never found. Somehow, she vividly remembers where she left the napkins, but conveniently can’t recall the exact location where the gun was supposedly thrown away? Things just don’t add up. Further casting doubt on her claims, when they stopped at a gas station that night, the clerk—who was never called to testify—stated during an interview that Doris didn’t appear distressed. She didn’t look afraid or as though she was in danger. She looked like a regular person going about her day with Jaime, buying drinks like any normal couple. Was Doris that skilled an actor, capable of pretending everything was fine, just to frame Jaime and send him to prison for life so she wouldn’t have to deal with him anymore?
Let’s not forget about the photos. During the hospital investigation, detectives recovered five explicit photos, including male sex toys and a woman’s purse containing a vibrator. Doris was terrified these would come to light, and they did. She was so concerned about maintaining her image as a respectable sheriff’s deputy, that she likely feared the exposure would ruin her reputation. Now, Doris is deeply devoted to religion, having even earned a degree in Bible studies. I won’t comment on the irony here to avoid any legal trouble, but let’s just say it raises some questions. Was she trying to hide behind this new facade to escape her past?
Here’s what I think happened: Doris wanted the pictures back because she knew about the restraining order. She was terrified that if the photos leaked, her carefully constructed image as a tough, upstanding sheriff would be destroyed. She didn’t want a typical divorce; she wanted to keep everything—the house, the status, the power. Things spiraled out of control, but I suspect Doris had already looked into the highest possible charge Jaime could face—first-degree kidnapping with a deadly weapon, which carries life without parole. She knew what she was doing. As Judge Russell once said, “People get sloppy. People get too comfortable. People forget where the fine line between truth and lies.” Doris eventually appeared on The Oprah Winfrey Show, describing the ordeal as the most mesmerizing experience of her life, as if it were a badge of honor. She became famous, wrote a book, and spoke about her so-called experiences with abuse and assault. But I’ve watched the videos of her interviews many times, and I’ve yet to see a single tear.
In the next chapters, I will show you who is truly guilty in this case.
V. Trial
The right to a fair trial is enshrined in several provisions of the United States Constitution, primarily through the Bill of Rights. These protections ensure that individuals accused of crimes receive due process and a fair trial.
Let’s shift the focus back to Jaime. I believe I’ve given enough attention to Doris Rivera Black and her book, which might even see a boost in sales due to people’s curiosity about its content. Keep in mind, she refers to her husband as “James” in the book, likely to avoid any legal repercussions or claims for monetary damages—who knows? I began this chapter by emphasizing that everyone has the right to a fair trial, a fundamental constitutional right. Now, let’s put things into perspective. This alleged crime took place in El Paso County, Colorado Springs. The alleged victim resides in this county, works for the El Paso County Sheriff’s Department, and has full access to the legal system within the county and the state of Colorado. Moreover, the alleged victim is familiar with many judges, district attorneys, and public defenders in the area. You’d assume that Jaime, represented by public defender Chad Miller (or, as some would say, “public pretender”), would be granted a fair trial, especially considering the numerous conflicts of interest. Given these circumstances, it would have been in Jaime’s best interest to have the trial venue moved out of El Paso County. A competent defense attorney would have filed a motion to transfer the case to a neutral venue, perhaps Douglas County or Fremont County, to avoid any potential bias. Yet, Chad Miller didn’t file such a motion. Why not? I’ll explain what happened to Chad Miller later on, but it makes you wonder, doesn’t it?
Jaime was arrested on June 27, 2006, at his father’s house. He wasn’t hiding; he simply went home, unaware of what was unfolding. Some might argue there was some level of fairness since he was placed in custody in Douglas County rather than El Paso County. Sure, it was probably safer, especially considering the potential risks if he’d been held under the watch of the notoriously corrupt sheriff of El Paso County at the time, Terry Maketa who has since retired. But why was Jaime placed in custody in Douglas County, yet his trial wasn’t moved there as well? It raises questions. The partial “crime” occurred in Pueblo County, so why did the judge insist on pursuing the case in El Paso County for venue and jurisdiction? And why was there no objection to this decision? Despite being housed in Douglas County, his defense attorney, Chad Miller—someone Jaime was supposed to trust, as we all expect from our defense attorneys—failed to effectively communicate with the Douglas County Sheriff’s Department regarding Jaime’s transportation to Colorado Springs for court appearances. If you look through the case records, you’ll notice numerous instances where Miller repeatedly vacated Jaime’s in-person appearances. Why would he do that? I’ll explain that shortly.
While Jaime was in custody in Douglas County, he was placed on a very high dosage of psychotropic medication. Imagine dealing with the reality that you’re facing a long prison sentence, possibly even life, while also grappling with trauma from serving in the Marines. The medication left him numb, like a zombie. During our many conversations, I asked Jaime several times if he had informed his public defender, Chad Miller, and the second attorney assigned to his case, about how the medication was affecting him. He confirmed that he told them he couldn’t fully participate in his trial because he couldn’t remember things and felt numb and sick from the medication. Yet, his public defender ignored this crucial information. What Chad Miller should have done was file a motion to either postpone the trial or request a psychological and psychiatric evaluation of his client before proceeding. But he did nothing—he provided the bare minimum. In fact, it’s surprising he even showed up to court. He might as well have stayed home eating peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, considering his ineffectiveness, inconsistency, and lack of moral integrity as a public defender, licensed to practice law in the state of Colorado. Throughout this article, I will mention Chad Miller numerous times because I want his name to stick with you.
In March 2007, the trial began, and it was nothing short of a circus orchestrated by the alleged victim and District Attorney Jeff Lindsey. Lindsey, who was fired and later moved to Pueblo, is now running for chief deputy District Attorney in Fremont County. Amid this turmoil, he’s also dealing with a lawsuit involving his former direct boss El Pasco County DA, who was recently disbarred on multiple counts. Although I wasn’t present at the trial, I can only imagine the chaos.
Picture this: you’re facing serious charges while under the influence of psychotropic medication, and your own public defender tells your mother not to attend or offer support. It’s a situation where you feel like you’re being lynched and belittled by the entire justice system, including the judge, the jury, and the witnesses against you. They even brought in your ex-girlfriend to testify about your character—something I would never have allowed. The atmosphere was further compounded by the presence of sheriffs who openly supported Doris, who was considered “one of us.” We discussed this case for nearly two years, and I always told Jaime that during the trial, things might seem blurry and foggy. The brain plays tricks when under stress, but I reassured him that memories would slowly resurface and piece together the big picture. I was right—those small details he once overlooked are now forming a coherent narrative. At the time, however, he was under immense pressure, emotionally overwhelmed, and lacking proper support and defense. To make matters worse, his defense attorney, Chad Miller, appeared too chummy with District Attorney Jeff Lindsey, laughing and joking while Jaime suffered internally.
VI. Detective – Ralph Lasasso.
In what seems to be a case riddled with corruption, Detective Ralph Lasasso of the El Paso County Sheriff’s Department has found himself at the center of a growing controversy. Tasked with investigating the case of Jaime Duran, who was charged with first-degree kidnapping involving a deadly weapon, Lasasso’s actions and connections to high-ranking officials within the sheriff’s department have raised more questions than answers. Lasasso, a seasoned detective, performed a Gunshot Residue (GSR) test on Jaime Duran the night of the alleged crime. Remarkably, the test came back negative. Duran, who had been under a domestic violence restraining order, was legally prohibited from possessing a firearm at the time. As the court records show, Duran never had a gun in his possession—not that night, or any other. Yet, during the trial, Detective Lasasso contradicted this crucial piece of evidence. He claimed the GSR test was “inconclusive,” a bold statement that appeared calculated to shift the outcome of the trial. Court minutes and records verify that this assertion played a pivotal role in Duran’s conviction. Perhaps the most damning part of this story is that the original GSR test went mysteriously missing—a crucial piece of evidence that, if presented, could have exonerated Jaime Duran. The test resurfaced only in the middle of the trial, too late to be of any use to Duran’s defense. The incident reeks of foul play, especially considering that Lasasso, despite his alleged training and responsibility as a public servant, “lost” such an important item. How does a professionally trained detective, with years of experience, manage to misplace something as critical as a GSR test?
Coincidence? Hardly.
Adding fuel to the fire is the fact that the test was eventually sent to the Colorado Bureau of Investigation (CBI) for further analysis. However, the CBI—currently embroiled in its own DNA testing scandal—claimed they could not test the GSR kit because of the type of module used. Incompetence or conspiracy? We may never know. Compounding the injustice was the ineffective counsel provided by Duran’s public defender, Chad Miller. Despite having the funds to hire an expert witness to independently test the GSR kit, Miller failed to do so. Miller, who later became a District Court judge in 2018, seems to have prioritized his career ambitions over his client’s right to a fair trial. Could it be that a not-guilty verdict in the Duran case would have hindered Miller’s political rise? It’s certainly a possibility worth exploring.
“The murder trial for a man accused of killing his 9-year-old daughter will proceed, despite what a judge calls “stunningly sloppy” police work by El Paso County Sheriff’s Office investigators. A judge was considering throwing out the case against Hanif Sims, the man accused of killing Genesis Sims and burying her body in the crawl space of their Monument home. On Monday, Judge G. David Miller issued a scathing ruling saying, while the case would continue, “there are serious issues as to the credibility of two very senior investigators,” issues that he said could impact the entire case and lead to an acquittal. The ruling states that Detective Ralph Losasso gave false testimony in the case after destroying his notes and misplacing the recording of Hanif Sims’ July 8 confession.
The judge writes that there were ten inaccurate statements from Losasso, including that Sims said he let Genesis lay dying for two days before implying that he buried her alive. According to the ruling, Losasso stated the interview was not recorded, and there was also an issue with Sims not being read his full Miranda rights. Judge Miller wrote, “The errors the court has discerned are stunning in their recklessness and understandably raise the specter of fraudulent police conduct.” He goes on to say that at the end of the court’s analysis, it was unclear whether Losasso was grossly negligent or “engaged in intentional deception and fabrication to the Court.” Losasso’s supervisor, Sergeant Robert Jaworski, was also criticized as he witnessed the interview with Sims and backed Losasso’s account. The judge’s ruling noted that Losasso has mishandled or misplaced evidence in three other cases.” KRDO, 01.24.2012 Judge: “Stunningly Sloppy Police Work” By EPC Investigators
Deputy Ralph Losasso and Sgt. Robert Jaworski are being disciplined after they testified to an account of a confession that later turned out to be false on 2012 case Genesis Sims.
VII. Jeff Lindsey DA – the People
In this chapter, I’ll delve into some recent and relevant events, starting with the figure of Jeff Lindsey. Why does his name ring a bell for many who have been convicted of serious, high-profile crimes? Let me share my personal take on Jeff Lindsey, a man I met personally. If you’re curious about what a narcissist looks like, just spend a moment with him and you’ll understand the definition of self-centeredness and pathological lying. I can say this because of my own experience with him, and I believe he displayed the same traits in the courtroom.
It’s important to note that licensed attorneys are not under oath, which means they can lie. Jeff Lindsey made a name for himself in the El Paso County, Colorado Springs community. His career hit a snag with the case of Mr. Morphew, who was accused of killing his wife. Morphew’s attorney filed an extensive lawsuit against Lindsey and the entire District Attorney’s office, alleging serious charges such as conspiracy and evidence tampering. In June 2021, a local newspaper, The Gazette, reported that a top prosecutor in El Paso County was fired due to incompetence, according to legal documents. So, where is Jeff Lindsey now? He moved to Pueblo to work as a District Attorney and is now running for chief deputy in Fremont County. This raises questions about his credibility and integrity as a candidate. Interestingly, Lindsey’s firing involved a $10,000 settlement to avoid a lawsuit, with the DA’s office denying any wrongdoing but opting to settle to avoid further taxpayer costs. During the Mr. Morphew case, Lindsey testified that he was the primary prosecutor and worked tirelessly, often nights and weekends. He claimed that nothing was progressing unless he took charge, indicating his deep involvement in the case.” I saw that nothing was happening as we geared up for trial unless I I did it and I couldn’t do it anymore” he said. Was the Jaime case a personal vendetta for Jeff Lindsey? He referred to the alleged victim, Doris Rivera Black, as “one of us,” indicating a personal connection or bias. Lindsey dedicated extensive time to the case, even while balancing other responsibilities. His dedication to the case raises questions about whether justice was truly served or if there were other motives at play. Lindsey’s involvement in the case was also highlighted on the Oprah Winfrey Show, where Doris Rivera Black’s book praised him extensively. The second chair in the prosecution was Holly Dodge, who briefly spoke to me before leaving Colorado to work as a city attorney in Kansas. Her departure was swift, and her role in the case was limited.
VII. Chad Miller – Public Defender
If you truly want to understand what happened during Jaime Duran trial, he only appeared in court twice: once for the arraignment and once for the trial. The attorney Chad Miller, now District Court Judge Miller, even told Jaime mother, family and friends not to attend the courtroom because it wouldn’t look good for him. What kind of defense is that? Jaime was heavily sedated by medication on purpose, so he has only a vague recollection of the trial. “My main focus was trying to stay awake to understand what was happening. I disclosed this to my defense attorney, Chad Miller, but he disregarded it. Instead, he cracked jokes with Jeff Lindsey, the District Attorney, the same DA who was later fired from El Paso County and now faces conspiracy charges in a high-profile case. In 2006, I had no knowledge of the law, which is why I trusted my assigned attorney to have my best interests at heart. Your letter suggests I should have been my own defense attorney. You’re right; if this case happened today, I would do a better job than most attorneys. I would never allow this to happen to me or anyone else. Chad Miller should never have been involved in criminal justice or law practice. I was his golden ticket for advancing his career to become a District Judge, and that’s not a conspiracy—that’s a fact.”
Judge Miller has since become a District Judge, and his performance as a judge reflects the same deficiencies he demonstrated as my public defender, he scored below average. I have encountered many inmates who had the same public defender, Chad Miller, and they all faced similar outcomes: indeterminate sentences, premature life sentences, or life without parole. Most of these cases involved sexual assault charges.
I want to highlight that Chad Miller acting as Public defender failed to include second-degree kidnapping in the jury instructions, which would have allowed for parole. Even the jury questioned why this was not included. The purpose of my case seemed to ensure that I would never leave the prison walls, regardless of the specifics.
” Mr. Duran contends his trial counsel was ineffective for failing to request a jury instruction on second-degree kidnapping, which, unlike first-degree kidnapping, does not require that the defendant intend to force the victim to make a concession or give up something of value to secure release. See People v. Weare, 155 P.3d 527, 530 (Colo. App. 2006) (discussing concession requirement for first-degree kidnapping); see also Colo. Rev. Stat. § 18-3-302 (defining second-degree kidnapping). Mr. Duran argues that one of the jury’s questions during deliberation shows that the jury did not believe the elements of first-degree kidnapping had been proven beyond a reasonable doubt. The jury asked: “We unanimously agree that the defendant is guilty of two charges; however, in the charge of kidnapping, we all agree that there was a kidnapping, but we do not agree on all the sub-points. What do we do?”
“Thus, the court’s conclusion that Mr. Duran failed to demonstrate that the outcome would have been different had his trial counsel requested an instruction on second-degree kidnapping was neither based on an unreasonable determination of the facts nor contrary to, or an unreasonable application of, Strickland.”
The public defender’s office did not investigate cases! They came unprepared, and Jaime was not even notified by my own attorney about multiple court proceedings in my absence. On one occasion, he was told that I could not be transported to the El Paso County Court in Colorado Springs from Douglas County because there was no available van. If Chad Miller truly wanted to defend him, wouldn’t he have done everything in his power to arrange transportation or ask the judge to postpone the proceedings.
Chad Miller is currently serving as a district judge in El Paso County, Colorado Springs. This means he remains entrenched in the same environment and interacts with the same individuals he was familiar with during his tenure as a defense attorney. Promoted to his judicial position in 2018 by a previous governor, I am left wondering how he managed to pass the integrity checks required for such a significant role.I am compiling data on each case Chad Miller has been involved in, and it appears that in every high-profile case, he has consistently advised his clients to forego fighting their appeals, promising they could address these issues later. Despite numerous attempts to contact him via email, I have yet to receive a response. His silence might indicate an admission of his ineffective performance as a defense attorney. In conversations with the public defender’s office in El Paso County, Colorado Springs, I learned about the high turnover rate among staff. Many attorneys come to Colorado Springs for a short period before moving on to Denver, where opportunities are more abundant. It seems that Miller had a different strategy—he built relationships with prosecutors like Jeff Lindsey and other key figures, aiming for a judicial appointment. After years as a public defender, he achieved his goal of becoming a judge, yet he seems to have no remorse for his past clients, such as Jaime Duran.
Given his track record, I question Miller’s credibility as a judge in El Paso County, Colorado Springs. In my view, his credibility is lacking, and I would urge him to consider resigning from his position, as it is possible to be both promoted and demoted in such roles.
VIII. Verdict – Guilty
IX. End
You might be wondering about the moral of this story. Although it feels like it belongs on the Lifetime Network with its endless drama, it’s rooted in real life. We often rush into relationships without taking the time to truly understand the other person. When someone says “I love you,” we can get swept up in the moment, wearing rose-colored glasses and ignoring potential red flags. As the saying goes, “When you see a red flag, it’s time to leave the parade.” Jaime faced numerous red flags in his relationship, but by the time he noticed them, it was too late. Despite his hope to save the marriage, a relationship requires effort from both partners. The alleged victim seemed more interested in material gain and public image—a façade of being a devoted deputy, mother, and religious figure. The mishandling of this case underscores the failings of our justice system. Jaime faces the prospect of spending life in prison for a crime he did not commit, despite no physical harm being done. The defense attorney, Chad Miller, who should have been Jaime’s advocate, was instead more focused on his own ambitions, eventually becoming a judge. Jeff Lindsey, who mishandled the case, ended up being fired and settling for $10,000 after his misconduct came to light in other high profile case.
Jaime’s story is not just about a miscarriage of justice; it’s a stark reminder of the flaws in our legal system, where truth is often overshadowed by ambition and deception. His case serves as a rallying cry for all of us who believe in fairness, justice, and the right to a life untainted by the corrupt motives of others. As I continue to fight for Jaime’s freedom, I hope his story will inspire others to join the fight against wrongful convictions. No one should have to endure what Jaime has—years of his life stolen by a system that failed him. His case is a powerful testament to the resilience of the human spirit and the enduring quest for justice.
Currently, efforts are underway to challenge the convictions and seek justice. Complaints are being filed, and organizations like the Innocence Project and Sentencing Project are being engaged. This story is a call to action—a reminder that what might seem like a dramatic tale is, in fact, a compelling reality. It’s a plea for fairness and a just legal system, and it’s hoped that this account will make people question whether they’re reading a novel or witnessing someone’s real-life struggle.
This case isn’t just about corruption within the El Paso County Sheriff’s Department, shady dealings behind closed doors, and a system that seems more interested in advancing personal agendas than seeking the truth. Detective Lasasso, once demoted for mishandling exculpatory evidence, is emblematic of the deeper issues plaguing El Paso County’s criminal justice system. Sherif Makita facing serious charges in 2016.
How many more lives will be ruined before the truth comes out? The time for accountability is now.
2024 is here, and the truth will prevail….
1.) Clothed in Strength. Kidnapped at Gunpoint and Sexually Assaulted be her Estranged Husband, a Woman Escapes and Discovers Here True Strength, Courage, and Faith “. Doris Riviera – Black. 2015
2.) In March, 2015, we told you about a sex-filled lawsuit against Terry Maketa, formerly the El Paso County sheriff. Among other things, the suit accused Maketa and Undersheriff Paula Presley, one of three employees with whom he was said to have had affairs, of practicing sexual favoritism and running a… Westword, 2016.
3.) DURAN v. ARCHULETA (2018) United States Court of Appeals, Tenth Circuit. Jaime Nolan DURAN, Petitioner-Appellant, v. Lou ARCHULETA, Warden of Fremont Correctional Facility; Cynthia Coffman, Attorney General, State of Colorado, Respondents-Appellees.No. 17-1321Decided: August 16, 2018Before BACHARACH, PHILLIPS, and McHUGH, Circuit Judges.Sarah Schielke, Life & Liberty Law Office, Loveland, CO, for Petitioner-Appellant Ryan Crane, Office of the Attorney General for the State of Colorado, Ralph L. Carr Colorado Judicial Center, Denver, CO, for Respondents-Appellees
4.) Judge Miller’s overall combined performance score on the 2022 Judicial Performance Survey was 3.3 out of 4.0, this is lower than the average score of 3.4 for all District Court Judges. Colorado Judicial Performance Evaluations
