Within a mile of the Square, there are eight bail bond businesses — some in small houses with neon signs, others in unassuming office buildings — working 24 hours a day, seven days a week, to get people who are innocent until proven guilty, out of jail.
The bail businesses are not heavily trafficked — or even noticed — by the typical visitors who seek out shopping and dining options around vibrant historic downtown Georgetown. The thriving industry, however, is crucial for people sitting in the county jail — just two block from the Square — who cannot afford to bail themselves out after an arrest.
Magistrates set bail
A female misdemeanor defendant with eyebrows bleached like a raccoon’s tail stood in front of Magistrate Cole Spainhour’s window wearing the hot pink prison scrubs late last month. Judge Spainhour read her rights. The defendant appeared confident as she confirmed her identity, the charges made against her, and her need for a court-appointed attorney. Judge Spainhour is one of the four Williamson County magistrates. Those accused of a misdemeanor must be seen by the magistrate within 24 hours, or within 48 hours for a felony.
The magistrate on duty reviews the arrest documents to ensure there is legal justification for the arrest and sets the bail. On a slow day, Judge Spainhour said magistrates could see 10 to 20 people. On a busy day, they may see more than 50 people.
In the misdemeanor case, Judge Spainhour set the defendant’s bond at $1,000 based upon her offense, her income, her prior criminal history and the risk of her release. The likelihood that she committed the crime is not taken into account, because everyone is considered innocent until proven guilty and Texas is a right-to-bail state, Judge Spainhour later explained to the Sun.
He informed the defendant that she could have someone from the outside post cash bail on her behalf. If she did this, the court would refund the money after she appeared in court. The other option, he said, was to go through a bail bond company, which would charge a non-refundable 10 to 20 percent of the total bond upfront. If the defendant doesn’t appear for future court dates, the bond company will search for her and go after cosigners for the full bond amount. Mr. Spainhour read the defendant her bond conditions, which included not being able to carry any weapons while out on bail.
“You mean I can’t carry my knife?” the accused asked, suddenly becoming fidgety and emotionally overwhelmed.
Judge Spainhour confirmed this was the case. He told her that if she was caught breaking her bond conditions, she would be arrested again.
“I wish you the best of luck, ma’am,” the judge said, before calling up the next defendant to the court window.
The amount of bail a magistrate sets is ultimately up to their discretion. For example, a Class B misdemeanor could result in a bond between $500 to $5,000. In comparison, a second-degree felony could see a bond set at $10,000 to $30,000. The magistrate sets bail for each charge a defendant is facing, which could make for a long receipt for some alleged crimes. The Texas Constitution states that bail cannot be used as oppression, which is why magistrates take the defendant’s annual income into consideration when deciding a bond amount.
“We have to consider whether someone’s wealthy enough that a small amount of bail is not going to mean anything to them,” Judge Spainhour said. “If a person is so indigent that even a small amount of bail is going to be a big thing for them.”
In cases of first time misdemeanor offenses — like DWIs or small shoplifting charges — a magistrate may give a cashless personal-release bond if the person promises to appear in court. Magistrates are more likely to give these when the person lives locally, doesn’t resist arrest and is likely to show up in court. Judge Spainhour said he believes the bail system is a good way of ensuring defendants show up for court.
The traditional bail bond system is “almost like farming out the pretrial supervision,” he explained.
He said the United States and the Philippines are the only countries in the world with a commercial, for-profit bail bond industry. Other countries rely on risk-based pretrial release decisions, police or court supervision, or preventive detention rather than offering defendants bail. Some U.S. states switched to a personal-recognizance-based system and have forgone commercial bail bond companies altogether, with mixed results, he said.
“In a perfect world, we could have no bail bondsmen and do everything like they do in Europe,” Judge Spainhour said, but he sees bail bond businesses as having an important role in the criminal justice system.
“The worst thing that I see is places where they try to get rid of the bail bondsmen, but they don't have the people monitoring the defendants,” Mr. Spainhour said. “Then it’s just a revolving door jail.”
Calling the bail bondsman
Near the phones in the jail, there is a list of 23 bail bonds businesses in Williamson County. The order of the list rotates each month to ensure that no business has an unfair advantage. Each company has the right to refuse to work with a defendant for any reason. Amanda Keese, office manager at Lipstick Bail Bonds in Georgetown, keeps two cell phones faceup on her desk at all times. When someone from the jail calls, one rings. The amount of calls Lipstick Bail Bonds receives varies depending on its spot on the list and the number of people arrested that day.
“We had a call this morning,” she said. “The guy had a $200,000 bond.”
Ms. Keese asked the defendant for his name, to explain what happened and a variety of other questions.
“Do you have a vehicle? Where do you live? How long have you been here? Where were you born? Do you have a Texas driver’s license? Because a lot of them—they’re just passing through,” Ms. Keese explained.
Bail bond companies are wary of giving bonds to people who live out of state and don’t seem likely to return for their court date. If the defendant has a good cosigner, they may accept these bonds and charge a higher rate. There is an extra $500 upfront fee if the defendant does not have a cosigner. Sometimes, the potential cosigners call before the inmate does.
“I’ve had people say ‘that’s my boyfriend, that’s my husband’ — and they’re all talking about the same man,” Ms. Keese said. “In that case, it’s just whoever has the money. I don’t give any information. I’ll just say, ‘OK, well this is how much we need.’ ”
To fill out the paperwork, Ms. Keese will call the cosigner using one phone, and the inmate on the other phone, then put them on speakerphone to confirm details. Lipstick Bail Bonds currently has 600 people out on bond, Ms. Keese said. They have an app for people to check-in that takes a photo of their face, tracks their location and reminds them of their court date each week. Many of them call the office to ensure their checkin was received. Ms. Keese explained the role of a bail bondsman as being stressful.
“It’s like babysitting grown-ups,” she said.
Making tough decisions and relationships
When someone is interviewing to work at Reliable Bail Bond or Williamson County Bail Bond, owner Scott Burn asks them a hypothetical question.
“The very first call that you get is an aggravated sexual assault of a child,” Mr. Burn said. “It’s a $100,000 bond. Do we do that bond?”
Oftentimes, applicants appear flustered by the question.
“Back up…” Mr. Burn will tell the applicant. “They’re innocent, until they’re proven guilty.”
Mr. Burn has been a bondsman in Williamson County for 30 years and has “bonded out multiple generations.” Mr. Burn said financial concerns are a portion of what influences his decision of whether or not to write a bond, but not always.
In one case, he got a call from a young man in the Williamson County jail whose family didn’t own a home. He was arrested after drinking and driving and accidentally killing his best friend. Even though there wasn’t any collateral to write the bond against, Mr. Burn decided to write the bond after taking into account several factors: The boy came from a good family, he had never been in trouble before and was an Eagle Scout growing up.
“Every single call is different, and you have to handle them differently, but that one was difficult because it was a larger bond. Mom and dad didn’t own property, but solid ties to the [community], never in trouble, Eagle Scout— bad, bad night.”
Mr. Burn said the most surprising thing about the industry is the amount of repeat clients he gets. He has bonded out one client 17 times for “itty-bitty stuff,” he said.
“The guy just keeps getting into tiny trouble. And they always, always, always call us,” he said.
Private investigators find bond forfeiters
Jessica Zak is a private investigator who owns 10 bail bond companies across Texas, including multiple in Williamson County. She also serves as chair of the Williamson County Bail Bond Board. The county board regulates the local bail bond industry by overseeing licensing and adopting rules governing bail bond businesses. Ms. Zak’s Georgetown operations include Bulldog Investigations, Bulldog Bail Bonds, Bada Bing Bail Bonds and Wilco Bail Bonds II.
She estimated she has about 3,000 people on bond in Williamson County for various accused crimes. On average, 5 percent of people don’t show up for court, which is why most of her bail bond runners also serve as private investigators, who can find delinquents. Investigators do research, and may even make fake online profiles to try to learn about or connect with a missing defendant. Bulldog Investigations recently did use a profile to track down a client who was a sex worker.
“We contacted her saying we were looking for a good time,” Ms. Zak said. The investigators texted her extensively, sent her some shopping money and acted like a client. The defendant stood them up on dates twice, but eventually they caught her, and sent the police to arrest her during a pedicure.
If Ms. Zak believes someone is guilty, she is extra stringent about getting cosigners. Whether someone is a good cosigner doesn’t always depend on how much money they have, she said.
“It’s about what their relation is to them. Some parents won’t turn their kids in. It’s a gamble,” she said.
On a large bond, she will try to get a distant family member as a cosigner in addition to the parents. She explained that sometimes an aunt or an uncle is more likely to provide information crucial to tracking them down. Girlfriends are great additional cosigners, she explained.
“Even if that girlfriend doesn’t have a job, we want her as one of the cosigners. A scorned woman is the best PI you can have,” she said.
The largest bond Ms. Zak has done was for $1 million in Travis County. The bond was for Keith James Cote, who was accused of hiring someone for $15,000 to kill his ex-girlfriend. As part of the magistrate’s bond conditions, Mr. Cote was put on house arrest. Ms. Zak had her own special conditions of taking on the bond, which included having a key to Mr. Cote’s residence.
He was supposed to call her to check-in every day, but one day he stopped. She was given permission from the police to use the key after they received a tip from one of his ex-wives that he was going to kill himself.
“[My office manager Ursula Morales] was with me and said, ‘Wonder if this key will work in the back.’ We walked in through the back, and we had 911 on, and [Ursula] recorded it, and he was dead in this bathroom. They say he killed himself. We’re not so sure.”
For clients they aren’t able to find or who can’t pay, Ms. Zak explained, the bond insurance company would work to recover money from whoever co-signed on the bond. This can include going after any collateral on the bond. In cases where there is no collateral, Ms. Zak puts multiple cosigners on the bond.
“We’ll get 12 cosigners— 10, five, whatever we need to do to make sure that bond’s secure,” she said. “They could probably come up with $300,000 if that person disappears. Also, those eight people aren’t about to let that person miss court.”