Terry Robinson’s Inconvenient Truth

Terry Robinson has quietly maintained his innocence for two decades, and many would prefer it remain that way – quiet.  It’s easier.  For Robinson to be innocent, someone has to be guilty.  When a death sentence weighs heavily on the word of family or close friends – there is typically silence.  I’ve heard it described as ‘the dark time’ by different families from different parts of the country.  Time marches on, no one talks, families break apart.  To defend the one accused – is to imply the accuser did the unthinkable. 

This is some of what happened twenty years ago.

A man was killed in 1999, and a family lost him forever at the hands of someone.  Mary Hoskins, Terry Robinson’s mother, also lost her son.  And so began the dark time, and I imagine she wasn’t able to grieve openly, the way a mother should.   No one talks.  No one compares statements. No one reads the testimony.  As the saying goes – let sleeping dogs lie.  Sometimes the truth gets buried in the silence.

Mary Hoskins could have concocted an alibi for her son when she was interviewed by police, but she didn’t.  Out of all the interviews and statements, hers had to be the most difficult and because of that, probably the most accurate.  She knew what she said could impact her son – for better or worse.  As hard as it was, she didn’t give Robinson an ‘out’ for the time of the crime – she told what she knew.  That very fact, speaks to her integrity.  And when she became aware police were looking for her son – she tried her best to give them information on where they might find him.  She didn’t want him hurt in the search.  Following is the interview of Mary Hoskins:

Mrs. Hoskins stated that she is the mother of Terry Robinson, and that back on the Sunday that this incident happened, she stated that she had got off of work around 3:30 PM.  She stated that she works at the N.C. Special Care Center, and that when she got home, that Terry and his girlfriend, Shahara, were there.   She stated that she’s not sure of what time they left, but that it was still light outside.  She stated that Montreal Bullock who lives next door to them came over, and she thinks that Terry and Shahara left with him.  Mrs. Hoskins stated that she didn’t see Terry again until the next night. She stated that Shahara told her that they went to her mother’s house, and her mother brought them back out to her house and they stayed in the barn that Sunday night.

The defense didn’t call any witnesses, so although Mary Hoskin’s interview could have called into question the credibility of Ronald Bullock and Jesse Hill – Mary wasn’t given that opportunity.  No defense was presented.

Sophia Hoskins, Robinson’s sister, was also interviewed by police.   She didn’t give her brother an alibi or say what she thought might help defend him.  She gave a brief, credible interview.

Sophia stated that Terry is her brother, and that on Sunday afternoon that Terry and Shahara were at the house. She stated that she left to go to work at Harris Teeter around 4:30 P.M. and that she got off work that night around 9:30 P.M.  She stated that when she got home, that she went to the bathroom, and then to her bedroom. She stated that she didn’t see Terry or Shahara after she got back from work.

Again, the defense chose not to call Sophia Hoskins to the stand, although her interview contradicts the trial testimony of Ronald Bullock and Jesse Hill, who both told police that Robinson was with Ronald Bullock organizing a robbery on Sunday afternoon and not with his girlfriend.  Jesse Hill was interviewed by police and said that Ronald Bullock and Terry Robinson were at his house at 3:00 discussing the plans and asking him to participate.

The jury never heard anything regarding the interviews of Mary Hoskins or Sophia Hoskins, nor did the defense call them to testify.  Nor was the jury given the opportunity to hear from the girlfriend who was said to have spent time with Robinson for a good part of that day – although it appears investigators didn’t even interview her, as I see nothing regarding that in the case file.

Instead they heard from Jesse Hill, Terry Robinson’s cousin, whose interview with police contradicted both Mary and Sophia. 

Mr. Hill stated that yesterday around 3:00 P.M. while he was on Kincaid Avenue, his two cousins, Terry Robinson and Montreal Bullock came over in a gray four door car.  He stated that they told him that they needed some money, and that they were going to rob the Pizza Inn.  Mr. Hill stated that he told them they were crazy.  Mr. Hill stated that they then took him over to his mother’s house on Stantonsbury Road and dropped him off.  He stated that later that night he asked his sister to take him back over on Kincaid Avenue.

The above interview goes on and contradicts Mr. Hill’s own trial testimony on some points, as well as contradicting Mr. Bullock’s trial testimony, the other individual who testified Terry Robinson committed murder.  While stating that Terry Robinson was planning a robbery, in contrast to the information Robinson’s mother and sister had both given to the police – Jesse Hill also gave himself a solid alibi for the evening, stating he was at his mother’s house.

If the police questioned Mr. Hill’s mother, I have not been able to find those records. 

Without a defense, the prosecution didn’t have to deal with any of the contradictions.  But the reality is, Terry Robinson couldn’t have been planning a robbery with Bullock and Hill at 3:00 that afternoon if he was at his mother’s home with his girlfriend.  The jury didn’t get the opportunity to decide who they believed because they were never presented any of that information.

Terry Robinson was sentenced to death two decades ago and has spent every day since then on death row.   If anybody has any information regarding the whereabouts of Terry Robinson or his accusers on any part of Sunday, May 16, 1999, please contact me.  kimberleycarter@verizon.net

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Terry “Duck” Robinson Has Always Maintained His Innocence

Whether you support the death penalty or not, most can agree the ultimate punishment should require impeccable integrity and absolute proof.  Everyone from the detectives, to the defense attorneys, to the prosecutors, to the jury, to the judge and even the witnesses, who are sometimes involved in the crime – all need to have unquestionable integrity and lack all prejudice.  That’s the only way it could work.

That level of blanket integrity and lack of prejudice doesn’t exist.  We don’t have the ability to judge the moral character and integrity levels of all the individuals involved.  Knowing that, incorporating a death penalty in our system results in innocent people living on death row and some being executed.  

Terry Robinson has been on death row for twenty years and has always maintained his innocence. 

This post will begin a new catagory on this site and will be dedicated to taking a closer look at why Terry Robinson was sentenced to death. Comments and private messages are welcome and highly encouraged. Unfortunately, once someone hears a person is sentenced to death – they assume something happened in court to prove that, and the public never hears what actually took place in the courtroom. In Mr. Robinson’s situation the prosecution presented a case, and the defense rested.

In this country, we are innocent until ‘proven’ guilty.   Terry Robinson has always maintained his innocence, inluding having no knowledge of what happened at the Pizza Inn on May 16, 1999, in Wilson, NC. 

Following is the voluntary statement of Ronald Bullock, the man who said Terry Robinson committed murder, given at 1:35 a.m. on May 18, 1999:

Mr. Bullock states that he and Duck walked to the Pizza Inn last night.  Mr. Bullock states that he had a .380 automatic, chrome in color.  Mr. Bullock states that they went there to rob the place. Mr. Bullock states that they ran in the place and he stopped at the drive-thru cash register.  Mr. Bullock states that Duck ran out of his sight.  He heard one shot.  Mr. Bullock states that he ran to the back of the woods and he changed clothes. Mr. Bullock stated he then went one way, and Duck went the other.  Mr. Bullock states that he lost his gun.  Mr. Bullock states that the gun had some bullets in the magazine but not in the chamber or head.

And so began Terry Robinson’s journey to death row.   He recently told me going to prison might have saved his life, as he wasn’t living the life he should have been at the time.  He also expressed that he viewed the man who made the above statement as a son and still does in some ways.

I tried to contact Mr. Bullock repeatedly before I began this project, hoping to learn more about what happened that night, to no avail.

There wasn’t a lot presented during the trial, but it will all be looked at here.  

During the trial, Mr. Bullock had a lot more to say about the events that took place that entire day, and went into detail regarding Terry Robinson and his activities on the day of the crime, Sunday, May 16, 1999 – activities Terry Robinson denies. If anybody remembers seeing Terry Robinson or Ronald Bullock at any time on Sunday, May 16, 1999, please contact me.

kimberleycarter@verizon.net

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Solitary Confinement

I didn’t realize my ‘normal’ wasn’t normal until I got transferred to a less restricted housing unit.  Before that, my normal was trying to sleep through the yelling and banging, being forced to show my genitals, including bending over and spreading my cheeks, every time I left my cell – hands cuffed behind my back once I did. 

The ‘normal’ I was being subjected to was making it less and less likely that once released – I would be able to function around ‘normal’ people. 

I just hope my new normal will undo the damage my old normal caused…

ABOUT THE WRITER: Mr. Reaves is a new writer to our site, and I hope we see more from him. He said a lot in four sentences – I’m excited to see what he sends in next. Mr. Reaves can be contacted at:

SC – Sterlin Reaves DX-5999
P.O. Box 33028
St. Petersburg, FL 33733

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The First Thirty Days

Solitary confinement is exactly that…  solitary.  There are a lot of people who live there, but because they are each locked away in a separate box, it’s easy to forget there are people around you.  I spent almost twelve years in solitary, twenty three hours of every day in my cell and everything brought to me.  I was only just released over forty-five days ago. 

While in solitary, inmates are handcuffed and escorted any time they leave their cell.  Literally.  So for nearly twelve years, every single time I would go to a visit or medical, there were two staff members on each side of me. 

The day I left solitary, I was no longer cuffed and had no escort.  I walked out of 12-building – alone… to join a line of inmates that were getting on a prison bus to go to a new unit.  To say that I felt very weird – conspicuous – would be an understatement.  I can’t overstate how uncomfortable I felt.  I knew that it would be a tough transition, and for months I had worked hard to prepare myself, but in real time, the feeling of displacement was overwhelming.   Had a person been able to hear my thoughts, they would have heard an almost psychotic back and forth monologue with myself. 

‘People are staring at me…’

‘Yes!  This is what you WANTED, dummy!’

 ‘Where do I go now?  Where do I walk?’ 

‘What’s next…’

I didn’t know anyone and was struggling to converse, to keep eye contact.  I found my voice wasn’t loud enough, and I was mumbling.  It all affected my confidence, which compounded the problems and made them worse.  I couldn’t believe what was happening.  Apparently, having an awareness of the problem wasn’t going to be enough to solve it.  Even as I write this, after a month and a half out, I feel stupid trying to convey the sense of displacement. Solitary damaged me, hurt my ability to relate to others in a normal way.

I was in solitary for attempting an escape.  The policy on this states that I was to be released after ten years, but TDCJ had other ideas. The policy also states that the security tag, called a ‘Security Precaution Designator’ was to be dropped after ten years.  Of course, TDCJ refuses to drop the designator, and rather than release me to minimum custody, where I rightfully belong, they released me to the most restrictive level of custody, G5.  G5, aka ‘closed custody’, is very violent and full of drugs.  Walking into the section, I could smell K2 burning and see all the walls and doors had burn marks from fires being set.  The noise level was high. 

My first cellmate was just thirty years old and only had twenty-nine months left until he discharged his sentence flat.  This meant he had no incentive to behave well.  He didn’t care about making parole. He was also what’s called a ‘wet head’, meaning when he was free, his drug of choice was marijuana laced with embalming fluid. Sadly, this had damaged his mind.  He could hear invisible people whispering, and believed a female CO and an inmate were having sex behind the toilet. He was jittery and very suspicious.  I’d been in the cell – my very first cell since leaving solitary, mind you – ten days, and he hit me.  We fought, and the sergeant moved both of us to new cells.

My new cellmate was also a ‘wet head’…  I wasn’t in the cell five minutes before we were fighting. This cellmate refused to let me unpack my property, going so far as to try and restrain me.  I’d been out of solitary for less than two weeks and had participated in two fights and seen at least fifteen.  I was very discouraged.

The next cellmate was okay.  We got along for a few weeks, and then TDCJ moved me from G5 to a better custody level – G4.  Here I can walk to the chow hall and eat.  I get four hours a day out of my cell.  My first day out I wanted to mail a letter but didn’t know where the mail drop was.  Of course I didn’t want to reveal my ignorance and ask, so I waited until chow and followed a guy that had a letter in his pocket. Once at the chow hall I sat wondering where the salt and pepper shakers were and how to get my cup of juice refilled.  Apparently, one simply holds up the cup and the inmate worker… I hesitate to call him a waiter… refills it.  After eating, I followed the other inmates back to our section and then copied them as they racked up, went into their cells. Each day found me imitating some other inmate’s actions, relearning basic things about schedules and rules. 

It’s been almost fifty days of fear and uncertainty.  I find myself longing for the solitude, the safety and the predictability of solitary confinement, having to forcefully shift my mental gears to appreciate all the good things that come with being in population.  I attend church and am to begin school soon. I got a sunburn.  Yes, a happy occasion after twelve years without sun.  I get fresh air and hot food – the quality hasn’t improved, but it’s no longer cold and spoiled.  Soon, I might receive a visit with my children, contact rather than through glass, and I’m allowed to use the offender telephones and speak with people.  I remind myself daily that ‘predictable solitude’ becomes a very lonely place. I’m still lonely, but now I at least have people around me.

There’s no doubt that not only does solitary confinement damage inmates, but that the damage is more insidious, more subtle than I could have ever believed.  If the transition from solitary to general population was this difficult for me, how… almost… impossible will it be for me to integrate into society after having served thirty flat years in prison?  Do not read that wrong. I haven’t given up.  I will continue to improve.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Jeremy Robinson is author of The Monster Factory and is currently working on several projects. He can be contacted at:
Jeremy Robinson #1313930
Polunsky Unit
3872 South FM 350
Livingston, TX 77351

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In Mamou Death Sentence, HPD Says, “The Rape Kit Is Irrelevant”

”The rape kit is irrelevant.”

That’s what a homicide detective in Houston told me last week. 

Charles Mamou has spent two decades on death row for the murder of Mary Carmouche – a crime he has always denied committing. 

What the case lacks in physical evidence, it makes up for in questions.  In 1999 the prosecution didn’t have much, but when they went looking for a man in connection to the murder, Mamou’s younger cousin, that man quickly told police that Mamou confessed to him.  The cousin’s original recorded statement and his actual courtroom testimony are vastly different versions of the ‘confession’, and in between the two versions there also exists a letter the witness wrote saying that Mamou ‘didn’t tell me shit‘.  The jury never saw that letter or a transcript of the cousin’s original statement, although a comparison of the video statement and testimony was written about on this site and can be seen here.

Letter written to Charles Mamou from his cousin – the key witness – who testified that Mamou confessed to him.

In an absence of evidence, the prosecution, with the help of Mamou’s cousin, painted a picture of Charles Mamou meant to secure a conviction – not based on evidence.  Mamou was accused of crimes he was never tried for, and the jury was also shown graphic autopsy photos of a victim of a crime Charles Mamou was never charged with.  They heard heartwrenching testimony from family members of victims of crimes that were not connected to Mary Carmouche.

The jury was also told by the prosecution and Mamou’s cousin that Mamou sexually assaulted the victim, although he was never charged with that crime.  Sexual assault become part of the picture painted by prosecutors and reported as fact in the media. 

Following is one version of the sexual assault the jury heard, as described by a prosecutor in the courtroom.

“He marches her to the back, and he makes her commit oral sodomy, makes her suck his penis.  Imagine that ladies and gentlemen.  That’s what he did, as she’s there.  And imagine the look on her face, the terror in her eyes and how afraid she is.  She’s only seventeen, and she doesn’t want to die.”

This year – two decades after the trial and after a recent records request – it was learned Joyce Carter, the Chief Medical Examiner at the time, ordered a rape kit collected when the body was discovered. 

Charles Mamou never knew the kit was collected and never saw the results.   

The prosecution never mentioned the rape kit during trial, although they were aware it existed and records indicate the prosecutor requested that HPD process the kit months before the trial took place.  At this point in time, Charles Mamou has only just learned the rape kit existed, and has never seen the results of the processed kit.

Autopsy Evidence Request Form, received in the Lab on December 9, 1998.

Finding the results of the rape kit was only one of the reasons I flew to Texas this year.  There was something else interesting revealed in the recent HPD records request.

Two pieces of biological evidence were signed out of the lab this year – twenty years after the crime.  Under ‘status’ on each of the related forms it states, ‘Report Written or to Follow’.  Even more interesting, both signed out items were described as, ‘Sealed envelopes said to contain biological evidence’.  Both items were signed out this year – one in April, 2019, and one in June, 2019.  Both items were signed out by Mary K. Childs-Henry, who was mentioned in several articles in the Houston Chronicle in the early 2000’s. Those articles can be seen here:

September 6, 2003
February 28, 2004
January 4, 2006
January 8, 2006
January 10, 2006
January 11, 2006

Evidence signed out on April 17, 2019 and June 2, 2019

About a week after I returned home from my trip, in a phone conversation with D. Wilker at HPD – who contacted me – I was informed the rape kit was “irrelevant”.  She also told me that, yes – Mary K. Childs-Henry did have the evidence in her possession at one time.  I was told the evidence was now back where it belongs. I was told the evidence was not tested, as previously noted on the documentation, and that Ms. Childs-Henry had removed the evidence to ‘catalogue’ it. 

The investigator who called me did not explain why biological evidence from a twenty year old case would need to be physically removed from storage to be catalogued two decades later. Not one piece – but two pieces within two months. Nor was it explained why the paperwork would say it was removed for testing – not cataloguing. It is also unclear how long the biological evidence was not located in storage, under what conditions it was stored while it was not in storage, what the evidence removed actually was, what the procedures are for chain of custody when evidence is removed from storage for cataloguing and if it was manipulated in any way while it was out of storage.

When I asked Ms. Wilker if she considered the matter closed – she informed me she did. She also told me that if the defense wanted to test something – they should have done that years ago.  As stated above, Charles Mamou found out this year that a rape kit was collected.

As it stands, Charles Mamou will be executed for the murder of Mary Carmouche, a crime he has always denied committing.  There is at least one relevant witnesses who was not spoken to by investigators at the time of the crime, there is a rape kit the defendant only recently learned exists and has never seen the results of, there are several contradictions in the star witness’ testimony of a confession and his original statement, as well as a letter in his own writing saying he didn’t know anything – and an overwhelming lack of evidence.  

There is a timeline that makes it impossible for Charles Mamou to have completed all he is accused of in the time it took to get from the drug deal gone wrong, where the crime originated, and to the apartment complex where witnesses saw him not long after.

Although I was told the ‘the rape kit is irrelevant’ by HPD, it was relevant when the prosecution requested that it be processed twenty years ago.  They requested that it be processed – because they wanted to see the results. It only became ‘irrelevant’ to the state of Texas after they did see the results – results the defense has yet to see and results the jury was never aware existed. 

I tried to contact the court appointed attorney that originally defended Charles Mamou as the investigator at the Houston Police Department told me that he was aware of the rape kit, but he has not responded to my requests.

Anyone with information regarding this case can contact me at kimberleycarter@verizon.net.  Anything you share with me will be confidential.

TO CONTACT CHARLES MAMOU:
Charles Mamou #999333
Polunsky Unit 12-CD-53
3872 South FM 350
Livingston, TX 77351

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Vivere Senza Rimpianti!

I hate being on Texas Death Row.  The air.  The stripping nude four times a day on average so officers have something to do or look at.  The cold, faux-food.  The redundant radio station playing the same ole’ commercialized songs every half hour.  I hate my current existence so much, I even hate telling you about it.

We’re all enigmas here.  Each emotionally abused and scarred in some way, shape or form.  This is a place where a guy named Marty McFly can change his name into something catchy and it sticks like a new skin – Big Mac, Marty the Leotard, Mc-Dawg.  Guys can rename themselves after their city, town, zip code, favorite animal, or even a car – something they never would have thought of had they been free.  That’s one thing I don’t hate.  I find the names quite creative and the choices interesting.  At one point, I went by the name Louisiana because others couldn’t pronounce my last name correctly. 

In some regard I think I’m better off than some in here, having battled my own thoughts of suicide and self-harm.  There are times that are comforting, like when it’s quiet and I can read a good book and see the words come to life on the inner stage within my mind.  There’s nothing greater than that.   

Then – there’s visitation.  I love getting visits and a chance to get out of this cell, to be allowed to interact with ‘freeworld’ people and have a moment of nostalgia.  I saw a kid race another across the floor, and it brought back memories of seeing my own daughter doing the same exact thing two decades earlier. 

I wasn’t much of a talker when I was free, but I’ve since acquired a taste for conversing.  People fascinate me and I want to know and understand how they see the world, and how different cultures can be. 

I recently did a BBC interview with a lovely reporter.  It was my understanding the segment was to be focused on my beloved friend, Mary, who was here to visit me.  Perhaps I understood the angle.  Perhaps I didn’t.  Or, maybe, I was a self-centered bastard who thought that – once the camera began to roll – it was ‘action time’ and all about me.  Which would explain why I wanted to shave away the grey hairs from my face before the interview.  Why I urgently smoothed the Olay moisturizer sample I received inside one of my girlie magazines on my face to give me a glow when the big lights came on.  And maybe it explains why the first thing that came out of my mouth was, “Where’s my glam team?”

A few days before the interview I had to have a tooth removed, and I found myself talking on the opposite side of my mouth so the camera didn’t catch the side-gap in my mouth.  I am many things – true.  Add ‘vain’ to the long list.

I attempted to change the narrative of the interview by talking about me, my case and this environment as the British reporter shifted right to left in her chair out of patient frustration.  She was chasing a story.  I was chasing freedom and wanted the world to know it while I still had a chance to express it.  I could tell she ‘understood’.  Somewhere, hidden beneath her eyes, she knew I was a lonely soul, cast into a lonelier sea.  I may have seemed a bit ornery to her, or she may have even thought I was a meshugana.  I’ve been called the latter a few times. 

The reporter was a true pro.  Smooth.  She sensed it when my own oxygen began to run out.  She had to have seen it in the finality of my expressions.  The desperation of my emotions.  The expression of agony of two decades of being mentally lynched within the halls of solitary confinement. 

“Can I ask you one final question?” she asked with a smile.  I invited her to ask me anything, confident that nothing asked would be too complicated for me, until she asked, “Do you have any regrets?”

Mentally?  I began to perspire.  Emotionally – I could see air-bubbles form with no words.  I was caught off guard.  Speechless.  Suffering from a ten-second delay of censorship.  Was this a trick question?   Was she asking about my case?  My life as a whole?  I was truly confused and didn’t like it.  I rubbed my head, looked into the camera and explained that I was innocent in every way from the conviction that molested my freedom from me.  Sure – it wasn’t what she wanted.  But, it was what I needed.  I needed to say it.

I’ve been told an Italian saying that goes, “Vivere Senza Rimpianti” – to live with no regrets.  And when I came back online mentally, that was the only thought I had.  So, I told her, “I have no regrets.”  Perhaps I regret saying that without fully explaining what I meant.  Perhaps not.

What no one can see is that I’m not the same person I was when I was free, thinking I knew everything about everything, when in reality I knew nothing about anything.  I’ve traded in gangster rap lyrics for informative literature.  I now get intoxicated on history, philosophy, politics, psychology.  Not beer, wine or champagne.  I’m a different person today because…  and I HATE to admit this, but my limited environment gave me access to unlimited knowledge.

Since I’ve been on death row, I’ve met so many people from all over the world.  People I have no doubt I would have never encountered had such a wicked kismet not fallen upon me.  People I love more than I love myself.  People who have educated me, visited me, defended me and my innocence and have taken care of me as if I was always one of their own.  A love that transcends mere words of affection.  A love that does not judge my past, but supports my future.  A love that isn’t defined by social acceptance or traditional neglect for those like me who are incarcerated. 

I believe that if you regret some things, you will learn to regret all things.  I love who I am.  It’s my past mistakes that have made me who I am today.  I learned from them.  I grew from them.  You can wish that certain outcomes never happened the way they did, but regrets?  Traditionally, our mental wells have been poisoned into not challenging clichés and social norms when we know a challenge is needed. 

When I told the reporter, “I regret nothing,” I meant that.  For I could not and do not want to entertain an existence where I live without my friends who are family.  I wouldn’t trade my freedom for them.  Living would be a ‘regret’ if I didn’t have them in my life.  Vivere Senza Rimpianti! 

ABOUT THE AUTHOR.  Charles “Chucky” Mamou is living on Death Row in Texas.  He is out of appeals and has always maintained his innocence.

He can be contacted at:
Charles Mamou #999333
Polunsky Unit 12-CD-53
3872 South FM 350
Livingston, TX 77351

Writing By Charles Mamou

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