That statute was plainly designed to pay money to anyone wrongly convicted of crime and held for years in prison. If such a person can produce “clear and convincing evidence” that he or she was innocent, then the court can award a hefty payment—as much as $120,000 a year in capital cases—for each year wrongly served. That money is not repayment; it is an independent payment for the wrong done to the convicted person.

But of course, Nelson and Madden weren’t seeking payment, and, more important, they hadn’t proved they were “innocent.” They hadn’t tried to; they aren’t required to under the American system. (Runnymede, Finch, Gideon—remember?). The state always has the burden to prove guilt beyond a reasonable doubt, and this it had, in both cases, been unable to do. Nonetheless, the state supreme court held, the state was entitled to the money.

It’s hard to see why, if you go by, you know, the law and the Constitution—there is no legal crime for which either owed fines or restitution. Nonetheless, the court said, Nelson and Madden were out of luck unless they could prove their innocence.

Nelson and Madden have one fairly compelling argument, as pithily phrased in their petition: “It is not Colorado’s money.” That ought to appeal to the Court, coupled with the fact that the Colorado system seems to be unique. Most states charge the “fees” and order restitution, but readily refund the payments if a conviction is found invalid.

Colorado’s brief to the Supreme Court is so truculent, so full of Margaret Dumont-style faux outrage, that a reader might suspect the state has no case. In their first argument, the state’s lawyers rewrite the petitioners’ claim, suggesting they are grifters trying to create out of thin air a brand-new right to an “automatic money judgment” when convictions are set aside. This is too clever by half. The petitioners aren’t seeking a payment as compensation for being convicted; they just want their own money back.

The state’s second argument rewrites the existing law. The brief cites venerable cases suggesting that defendants don’t necessarily get repayment of fines even after a court strikes down the statute they were convicted under. Those cases, however, might be called “Inigo Montoya cases”—that is, they do not mean what Colorado thinks they mean. In most of them, the defendants had either (1) admitted guilt or (2) voluntarily chosen to pay a fine and plead guilty in order to avoid jail. Neither of those is true in this case; the defendants have consistently pleaded not guilty, and neither agreed to the “fees” and restitution or received any leniency for paying them. The fees and restitution were part of a criminal sentence.

In fact, Colorado’s main argument seems to be written between the lines. May it please the Court, their brief whispers, these two may have escaped justice on a technicality, but we all know they are guilty as hell. In its recital of the facts, the state lingers over each stage of the proceedings—these sure were bad crimes, weren’t they? The trial court found probable cause, didn’t it? There were “forensic interviews,” weren’t there? The victims testified, didn’t they? A jury convicted them, didn’t it?