Sandiganbayan Presiding Justice Francis Garchitorena is hard-pressed for kind words to say about the quality of work done by the office that investigates, prepares and prosecutes all the cases filed in his court. Instead, he deadpanned in an interview last year: "Our level of frustration is increasing, while our level of tolerance is beginning to be worn down."

"There is an obligation," continued Garchitorena, "(during) the preliminary investigation to draw out as much proof as you can by the means available to you, and to compel the production of evidence and to make sure they are preserved. But there is an appalling lack of the enthusiasm (to do that). And our dismissal rate of in excess of 50 percent demonstrates how poorly presented the cases are."

The manner in which the Sandiganbayan Statistics Division tallies the number of dismissed cases, which Garchitorena said he was referring to when he talked of the dismissal rate, makes it near impossible to verify the justice's figure. But Sandiganbayan records do show that from 1988 to July 31, 1997, 3,120 accused saw their cases dismissed, or 46 percent of the 6,807 accused whose cases were terminated during that period. (The figure excludes the 955 accused whose cases were dismissed before trial, representing some 14 percent of the total.)

In telling contrast, only 518 accused, or 7.6 percent, were convicted on the merits of the cases during the same period.

According to Garchitorena, this is partly because "we're very persnickety that probable cause be established first." He said the Sandiganbayan asks state prosecutors "quite a bit" to show probable cause in the informations they file there.

"One of the beneficiaries of this, by the way, is Mrs. Marcos," said the justice. "We dismissed 11 cases against her without beginning trials at all. We just said, 'Hey gentlemen, why will you charge anyone for a case like this? No person can be required to defend himself or herself against this kind of accusation.'"

But even cases allowed to prosper at the Sandiganbayan are causes of headaches for the justices. Garchitorena admitted to having problems with the cases involving the Presidential Commission on Good Government (PCGG) and the Marcos cronies. "It's one thing to say, you know, hang the scoundrels," he said. "To hang them you need more than just rope, you need evidence."

Like most courts, the Sandiganbayan is a "passive" body that can rule only on the basis of what is presented before it. But while it is hard to find legal insiders with nice things to say about the country's courts in general, many readily attest to the Sandiganbayan's relatively clean reputation. Lawyer Teddy Te of the Free Legal Assistance Group (FLAG), for example, is quick to say it is "as impartial a court as you can get. And it's been known to be a bit maverick. The justices there are not easily cowed, wala silang sinasanto. They've even held (then Speaker Jose) de Venecia in contempt."

Would that public perception about the Ombudsman were the same. Garchitorena, at least, attributed the questionable quality of work of the Office to the government service's inability to attract "the best and the brightest." He also observed that "we do not have the psyche of glorying in a lovely piece of work."

Some high-ranking Ombudsman insiders echo his lament. But many legal observers—and even a few Office insiders—see more sinister reasons for the Office's lapses. Indeed, the seemingly high frequency of withdrawals of the Office of the Ombudsman of the informations it has filed at the Sandiganbayan have been derisively called "deposit-withdraw" or "ATM"—heavy hints about what is thought to be the real reason for these moves: money.

Withdrawals per se are not necessarily suspect. They are usually done when there is new evidence to be introduced or when the prosecutor is trying to rectify some error in the information. According to Senator Raul Roco, who was a partner in one of the country's more prominent law firms before he ran for public office, "there must be a statistical two or three percent" of withdrawn cases in ordinary courts.

Roco made the estimate during a 1996 hearing on the reported anomalies in the Ombudsman's Office. And if his numbers were to be the yardstick, then the percentage rate withdrawals done by the Ombudsman would be considered high. Sandiganbayan records reveal that from 1988 to July 31, 1997, the accused whose cases were withdrawn by the Ombudsman reached 664 or 9.75 percent of the total number of accused who had their cases terminated during that period. "Their filing of flawed informations is intentional," insisted a seasoned lawyer who has had clients who filed complaints at the Ombudsman, "unless they're really that stupid in that office."

To be fair, an Ombudsman official who has been working there since 1988 attributes the high rate to a deliberate effort on the Office's part to "minimize corruption on the part of the prosecutor" by having the court "take jurisdiction" as soon as possible and have a warrant of arrest issued against the accused. In several cases, he said, this meant filing the information without waiting for the accused to file a motion for reconsideration or reinvestigation of the Ombudsman's approved resolution.

Present rules say an accused has five days upon receipt of the resolution to file such motions. If he is denied this opportunity, then there is reason for the information against him to be withdrawn.

But the official said they had noticed even as early as Ombudsman Conrado Vasquez's watch that respondents were taking too long replying to the resolutions, and would deny having received the papers at all. "Kakausapin lang nila yung process server (They'd just make arrangements with the process server)," he said, explaining why they took the risk of being accused of not granting due process to the accused. "With some, if you didn't file the information right away, the case could end up archived."

Still, there are those who find the practice, which began with Vasquez, rather peculiar, with some noting that their case would yo-yo several times between the Office of the Ombudsman and the Sandiganbayan. Recalled lawyer Jose Manuel Diokno: "I had a case that went back and forth three or four times. The reason usually given was that there was newly discovered evidence. But it is odd that it should happen so many times."

State prosecutors have also tried to withdraw cases several years after the information was filed. One in particular earned the ire of Garchitorena himself; he happened to be the complainant in the case, in which the accused was ex-Camarines legislator Eduardo Pilapil.

The information had been filed in 1991, charging Pilapil of anti-graft and corruption practices for keeping for more than a year an ambulance donated by the Philippine Charity Sweepstakes Office (PCSO) to Tigaon, Camarines Sur—Garchitorena's hometown. Court records show that Pilapil did not deny keeping the van or that he had painted over the PCSO markings on the body. He did claim, though, that he had not used it, but had kept the vehicle in storage while he looked for funds to buy additional medical equipment for it.

By the time the motion to withdraw was received by the Sandiganbayan's Third Division in 1996, Pilapil's counsel had already submitted a petition for certiorari to the Supreme Court, which had sent the case back to Garchitorena's turf. There also had been an attempt at the Office of the Special Prosecutor (then headed by Aniano Desierto) to dismiss it, but this had been shot down by then Ombudsman Vasquez. A motion for reinvestigation, however, was later granted.

In a scathing comment on the Ombudsman's motion to withdraw, Garchitorena noted that the prosecutors had practically adopted the rationale offered by the accused during the reinvestigation: that "not a single emergency case and/or incident reported required and/or necessitated the use of a mobile ambulance and neither was there any request made by any individual for its use" during the one year or so that Pilapil had the van.

But Garchitorena attached a list of referrals to the district hospital in Naga City—some 44 kilometers from Tigaon—that were made while the van was with Pilapil, as well as cited deaths due to drowning, pneumonia, measles, shock, gunshot wounds and gastroenteritis that had befallen some Tigaon families. Wrote the justice: "Please note that people do not die of measles and gastroenteritis anymore except for lack of medical treatment."

Garchitorena declined to talk about the case in an interview. But what he did say much later, in a lengthy discussion regarding the Ombudsman's Office, was that "at some point, we were hearing things … that there was quite a bit of irregularity in the Office of the Special Prosecutor or Ombudsman, by using this little trick. But we of course have no basis for confirming or belying that altogether."

Some Office insiders admit there have been—and still are—some ill-intentioned people among them, although they are disinclined to go into details. Ex-Deputy Ombudsman Manuel Domingo, however, said he had an investigator whom he asked to resign after someone complained that the Ombudsman personnel was asking for money.

"Then there was this other investigator who tried to pass himself off as one of my people," recounted Domingo. "He even went up to Baguio and tried to extort money from a public works official who had a complaint filed against him. That investigator is now facing a suit in court. I testified against him."

Added Domingo, by way of explanation: "There are really people who are salbahe (bad)."

But some observers said that sometimes it is not only a matter of money. They argue that an institution headed by a presidential appointee and where all proceedings are confidential is highly vulnerable to political pressure.

Ombudsman cases become public record only when they are filed in court. Complainants themselves are discouraged from doing follow-ups until then (unless they have fresh evidence to submit), and are not always informed of any progress made by the Office. A fuming Marikina Rep. Romeo Candazo, for instance, confronted Ombudsman Aniano Desierto during the 1998 budget hearings, demanding why he was not even told that a complaint he had filed had already been dismissed five years past.

"One creative solution (to end speculation and discourage corruption) is to make the cases public," said an Ombudsman insider. Then he backtracks, saying that could only complicate things, not only because current laws allow this only at the discretion of the Ombudsman. As the official noted, not all complaints are legitimate. "And even if the accused is guilty," he said, "his family certainly isn't. But they'd be exposed to public shame all the same."

Yet this has not stopped the Office of the Ombudsman from issuing press releases on selected cases. Observed a journalist who covers the Office as part of his beat: "There are cases that they'd really push in media. And it makes you wonder, why?"

According to the reporter, this did not happen during Vasquez's time. "But now there'd even be times when the press release is issued before the resolution," he said. "It places us in a quandary because there's no guarantee that they won't recall the filing."

Desierto, though, has said the Office is "very careful" with its work and that its lawyers are "experts" in criminal law. "I can defend my decisions at Plaza Miranda," he said in an interview last year, adding that those who are not satisfied with them, "can easily go to the Supreme Court."

Unfortunately, even those willing to give Desierto some slack come away less than impressed. Justice for Ozone Victims Foundation, Inc. (JOVFI) lawyer Rod Domingo Jr., for instance, sighed as he recounted discussions with Desierto about his clients' problems.

Domingo and the JOVFI members had sought a meeting with the Ombudsman to after they decided they wanted a reinvestigation. But the ensuing conference only seemed to demonstrate Desierto's rather sparse knowledge about their much-publicized case.

"Hindi niya kabisado itong case na ito (He's not very familiar with this case)," said Domingo. "It was his people who answered the questions. He'd just say, 'Tama yung ginawa namin (We did the right thing).' And then he'd turn to one of his people, saying, 'O, sabihin mo kung bakit tama (Okay, tell them why it's right).'''

Domingo, barely containing a chuckle, related that Desierto had not even known the Ozone case had already reached the Ombudsman's Office when they met by chance months after the tragedy. "He said, 'Why, is it in my office?' I said yes, and then he asked me, 'So who's it assigned to?' I said, why are you asking me, shouldn't you be the one telling me that?"

In the end, however, the JOVFI agreed to proceed with the original information from the Ombudsman. Domingo said it would have only taken too much time if they continued to contest the information and seek help from the Supreme Court.

Desierto, for his part, declared: "Rumors are not acceptable here, a lynch mob is not acceptable. As long as the Office of the Ombudsman is being occupied by me, no outside influence can ever be effective on this institution. The only influence that can make the difference would be the evidence in a case."