From [HERE] When things jumped bad in Detroit -- as they often did in the 1980s and '90s -- there was William Rice, an island of well-tailored calm amid the shell casings, yellow crime scene tape and body bags.

Gliding through the Detroit Police Department ranks from sergeant to lieutenant to inspector in charge of the homicide section and then overseeing the major-crimes division, Rice cracked cases, got confessions, soothed survivors and swayed jurors.

And Rice knew the families' searing grief. His brother and sister-in-law were murdered by Jesse James Mack, a paroled killer who wanted to get at their 11-year-old daughter. Mack, who left the child's body on a trash heap, is serving a life sentence.

Rice, though, seemed unhardened.

"Sunny!" exclaimed defense lawyer James Howarth. "A great smile -- he could light up a room."

However, as Howarth and other lawyers said, with all of his success in high-profile murder cases, there also were lost files, a misleading document accidentally going to the Wayne County Prosecutor's Office and testimony that they thought was questionable. He also has come under scrutiny in two cases: one involving a man, Eddie Joe Lloyd, who spent nearly two decades in prison and was later exonerated by DNA evidence, and another involving a teenager, Davontae Sanford, facing murder charges.

Now, Rice is back in 36th District Court in Detroit, with his easy smile and case files, but these days, he's the target, as Wayne County prosecutors stack up thousands of documents to show he should stand trial as a racketeer, swindler and drug dealer.

In six pages of accusations covering 2006-11, the Wayne County Prosecutor's Office alleges Rice and his longtime girlfriend Cheryl Sanford ran a continuing criminal enterprise to commit mortgage fraud on properties in Detroit and Taylor, obtain money under false pretenses and deal marijuana and prescription drugs.

Rice, 62, also is charged with perjury in connection with a federal bankruptcy.

In all, he's facing 18 felonies -- following a joint investigation by the U.S. Secret Service, the Office of Housing and Urban Development, the Michigan State Police and the Wayne County Sheriff's Office -- carrying a maximum 20 years in prison and more than $500,000 in fines.

The hearing is adjourned with no date set for resumption.

Problems?

"No," Rice assured with disarming charm. "It's all good."

He knows how to seal the deal

Rice graduated from the police academy in 1970 and became a sergeant four years later as runaway murder statistics blew the doors off Detroit. The body count hit 714, giving the city an enduring, if inaccurate, label as America's murder capital.

He worked patrol cars and precinct investigations, documented crime scenes as an evidence technician, staffed mini-stations and oversaw junior police cadets. In 1982, he transferred into the homicide section run by Gil Hill, who set the tone of sharp clothes, cool attitude and cases cleared with confessions.

Don't make your home in homicide, some of old hands counseled. But once he was there, 1300 Beaubien's fifth floor was Rice's base for the next 20 years.

Gang gunplay involving Young Boys Inc. and Pony Down and their eager enforcers, such as the A-Team, Best Friends, Lodrick Parker and Kurt (McGurk) Napier, kept homicide detectives in the public eye. And Rice became a superb witness.

"He was exceptionally affable," said Howarth. "A good witness -- an expert actor."

But Howarth said he was convinced Rice trimmed his testimony and misplaced inconvenient records: "He lost more files on more cases than any other officer that I experienced."

Defense attorney Mark Kriger agreed that Rice's testimony could sometimes be suspect. He said Rice came across as "a likable, nice guy, and that was difficult to undercut."

Rice drew support, though, from some defense attorneys and former prosecutors.

Steve Fishman said of Rice: "Always was a square shooter with me."

Retired prosecutor Robert Agacinski, who now heads the Attorney Grievance Commission, said: "It was good news for me when he was officer-in-charge on a case. He was more than cooperative, and if I need something additional, he'd do it."

Other former prosecutors recalled him as an aggressive investigator with a knack for getting confessions when other cops were stalled. He was like the sales manager called in to seal the deal with a balky buyer.

Info missing in man's confession

Amid the gang-related killings, innocents were dying, too. In 1984, Michelle Jackson, a 16-year-old high school student, disappeared on her way to catch a city bus. She was found raped and strangled in a vacant garage.

The outcry was immediate. Then-Detroit Mayor Coleman Young called a rape summit to protect kids.

Several months later, police announced the arrest of a psychiatric in-patient, Eddie Joe Lloyd, who reportedly confessed to killing the girl to another detective and Rice. There was a quick trial in 1985. And as the guilty verdict was delivered, Lloyd slammed the table and thrust his arms into the air, crying out: "God be with you, Michelle Jackson. I'll be back."

Rice's career was on an upward path. He was promoted to lieutenant and then inspector overseeing the homicide section in 1994.

The Lloyd case exploded in 2003 when the Innocence Project, headed by attorney Barry Scheck, cleared Lloyd through DNA evidence. Lloyd said his confession was fed to him by police as part of a plan he hatched to smoke out the real killer.

Parts of the case file were missing, Rice told Lloyd's lawyer in later civil litigation. Rice and other cops on the case either won't comment or maintain there was no misconduct.

By 2006, Lloyd was dead of a heart attack and a federal lawsuit was settled for $3.25 million and an agreement to record homicide interrogations. Rice retired that year, doing some teaching and private investigations, and passing from the public eye.

But not for long.

He's still cheerful as trouble mounts

In 2009, Rice put himself in the middle of another contentious murder case as the alibi for 16-year-old Davontae Sanford.

Sanford pleaded guilty to a reduced charge of second-degree murder in a dope house shooting that left four people dead.

Appellate lawyers said the teenager -- then 14 and with learning disabilities and vision in just one eye -- was an unlikely accomplice for a quadruple killing.

Rice, who was in a long-term relationship with Cheryl Sanford, the young man's aunt, said the teenager was with him when the killings went down.

But Wayne County Circuit Judge Brian Sullivan rejected Davontae Sanford's appeal and slapped Rice's testimony as "patently false evidence."

Rice's claims were belied, Sullivan wrote, by cell phone records that put him in Mt. Clemens when he claimed to be in Detroit with Sanford.

Sullivan's reprimand in February was just another helping of bad news for Rice.

That month, the Wayne County Prosecutor's Office announced the multiple felony racketeering, fraud and drugs charges against Rice and Cheryl Sanford.

The ongoing preliminary examination is a welter of paperwork, with more than 7,000 documents tracking the deals, including one in which a mortgage was allegedly taken out on a relative of Sanford's home without the homeowner's knowledge.

The dry numbers of the financial charges were offset by the detailed testimony of State Trooper Chris Corriveau, who said Sanford's home had outside surveillance cameras, and inside, authorities found hundreds of prescription narcotics and tranquilizers, packaged marijuana, $3,290 in small bills and a tally sheet of quantities and prices.

Pharmacy records showed Rice got multiple prescriptions from multiple doctors, Corriveau said in testimony his lawyer Tiffany McEvans said violated medical privacy laws.

Nonetheless, Corriveau said that the cameras, repackaged drugs and tally sheets were "all indicative of the distribution of narcotics."

The preliminary examination is currently adjourned, and Rice and Sanford remain free on bond.

Sanford, whose lawyer Darrell J. Banks said they are fighting the charges, tries to take a low profile in court, ducking TV cameras.

Rice, on the other hand, keeps his sunny confidence.

"Without a doubt," he said, "it'll work out."