When I first met – let’s just call him Cheese – it was the year 2000, and he’d already been in solitary for twenty-something years. He looked to be in his early fifties then, and I marveled at his resilience. Every Monday through Friday he’d go outside to run and do calisthenics to stay in shape. No matter rain, sleet, snow, ninety degrees or ten, Cheese was getting his yard time. He was an inspiration to those of us beginning our time.
I never talked to Cheese, so I never knew why he was in solitary so long, but rumor had it he was involved in an attack on a guard in the 70’s or 80’s. I myself had been involved in a staff related incident so I was curious, hoping I wouldn’t be in solitary that long.
I eventually left that prison and never kept up with how Cheese was doing, but in 2017 I again found myself in a prison with him. The man I saw was a shell of the person I’d met seventeen years earlier. He was now nearly seventy years old and a completely different person, both physically and mentally. I’d heard of and experienced the affects of solitary confinement, but what I saw left no doubt what it can do to a man. Cheese was old and broken down. He was using a walking aid because his hip needed to be replaced, and as bad as his physical problems were, his mental deterioration shocked me even more. Once proud and defiant, Cheese was now delusional and had difficulty holding a conversation. When you did hear him talking, his conversations were with the birds who’d made a home inside the tarp atop the exercise cages.
At this point, Cheese isn’t a threat to anybody. There’s not one legitimate penal justification for keeping him in solitary, but sadly it appears that the Department of Corrections is just waiting for him to die. I can’t help but wonder if I’ll be him in another twenty years. Right now my feeling is that I’d rather be dead than experience myself slowly wilt away. From where I stand, suicide seems the better option.
I recognize getting out of solitary and into general population isn’t the same as going home, but Cheese should be released from solitary. Let the man at least attempt to recover from the damage of long-term solitary confinement and live out his remaining years not having to be strip searched and hand-cuffed every time he leaves his cell; not having to always eat alone; not having a light on for twenty-four hours a day, making it difficult to sleep; not being forced to change cells every ninety days, making it impossible to get comfortable; not being denied access to religious, vocational, and educational services – and not having anyone but the birds to talk to. Let Cheese live out the rest of his life with some semblance of dignity. Show him some compassion and stop punishing him for a mistake he made more than forty years ago.
ABOUT THE WRITER: Sterlin Reaves is the third place winner of our writing contest. The point of the contest was for the writer to use their words to make people care about someone else – to help us walk in their shoes. He did just that. Mr. Reaves can be contacted at:
After thirty minutes and forty-one seconds of listening to a ‘confession’ that Terrence Dodson said he heard from his cousin, Charles Mamou, investigators knew they had a problem. The times didn’t fit. If they could get past the bizarre confession itself – how were they going to work with the timeline…
It appears they attempted to help him, even though the details didn’t fit what they knew to be true. At 30 minutes into the videotaped interview, and after Terrence Dodson described a lengthy ‘confession’ that took place in a single phone call…
30:41 (Switches cops)
Cop: Uh, yea real quick, from what you just told us, you said it was Monday at 1:30 Baldy took Chucky to the bus station. And then Tuesday morning he called you and he lays it all out. I wanna make sure, Chucky went back to Louisiana on the very day after he did this jacking is that right? Or what, could it have been Tuesday?
Detectives wanted Dodson to say Mamou had left Texas on Tuesday afternoon, because they knew Mamou was in Texas on Tuesday, and they also knew the ‘confession’ could not have taken place the way Dodson was describing it, but they continued to record.
It was Wednesday,
December 9, 1998. The previous day,
Tuesday, investigators had contacted Charles Mamou, Sr., who told them that he
had last seen his son, Charles Mamou, Jr., with Terrence Dodson, his
cousin. Unbeknownst to him, Mamou’s father
led police to the key witness in a case that would send his son to death row.
The same day Mamou’s father heard from police, he contacted his nephew and told him detectives had stopped by with a picture of him. And so began Charles Mamou’s journey to over two decades on death row. Terrence Dodson contacted police the same day and said his cousin, Charles Mamou, Jr., had confessed to him. Within hours the man who police were looking for in connection to a murder was in front of a camera and giving a video statement, sharing a story that couldn’t have possibly happened the way he said it did.
At that point in time, investigators were well aware that Charles Mamou, Jr., had been in Texas until some time on Tuesday, December 8, 1998. According to Supplement 9 of Incident Report 156416498, the detective who was recording the statement, Sergeant Novak, had documented what he learned the day before, ‘he and Officer Chisholm had interviewed Robin Scott at her work. According to her, she had called her apartment and the suspect, Charles Mamou, was there with her brother, Howard Scott. Robin Scott was asked to sign a consent to search for her apartment and she did.’ Novak had Robin Scott call her apartment to find out if Charles Mamou was still there on Tuesday morning. After he found out Mamou was, he called in patrol units to watch the apartment while he obtained a warrant. Sergeant Novak and the other officers in the room all knew that Charles Mamou had been in Howard and Robin Scott’s apartment until mid morning on Tuesday, December 8, 1998.
Although it turned
out that Charles Mamou left the apartment after Robin Scott’s phone call and
before police were able to surround the apartment, when they interviewed Howard
Scott, the resident, he also told officers that Charles Mamou had spent Monday
night in his apartment and had left on Tuesday morning.
Sgt. Novak was a
seasoned detective. He had worked for
HPD for nearly thirty years at that point.
And he and the other investigators had been working on this case since
Monday. They also had taken a written statement
from Robin Scott on Tuesday, in which she said, ‘When I got up this morning at approximately 4:35 a.m. I found Chucky
sitting on the couch watching television. I told him to have a good day and
wished him well on his return home.’ She
continued to say, ‘Today the police came
to my job asking about Chucky and I told them that Chucky had spent the night
at my apartment last night. I then
called my house and spoke with Howard.
Howard told me that Chucky was still at the apartment.’
While Terrence Dodson was giving his statement, detectives were also in the process of taking a statement from Anthony Trail in the next room. As Dodson was sharing his story of a confession that took place from Louisiana on Monday, Trail was in another room at HPD having his written statement recorded, ‘On Tuesday morning, Chucky called me at 9:00 a.m.’ Trail goes on to say, ‘He asked me for a ride to the bus station. I told him that I recently wrecked my car and it was in the bodyshop. I told him that I needed to take some papers to the body shop and Chucky came with me. When we left the bodyshop, we went to the bus station downtown and I dropped him off. Chucky’s bus was supposed to leave at 1:30 p.m. We got there at 1:00 p.m. I told him to call me up. I went back home.’
The only person that didn’t seem to know where Charles Mamou, Jr., was on Tuesday morning was Terrence Dodson. Unfortunately, even though police knew that, his statement and testimony became the very center of the case built to sentence Mamou to death.
At thirteen minutes
in, Detective Novak didn’t blink when Dodson said, I believe that was
Monday that day that Chuckie left at 1:30, Baldy took him to the bus station,
Greyhound. I ain’t ride with them, took them to the Greyhound bus station,
Chucky left..
It wouldn’t be surprising to anyone who knew Charles Mamou and Terrence Dodson that Dodson wouldn’t know when Mamou left town. They were cousins, but Dodson was several years younger than Mamou and Mamou wouldn’t have been communicating with him the details of his travels.
Novak continued,
‘Going where?’
TD: To Louisiana, Lafayette, I guess. Tuesday morning before day, got a call. What you heard?
At this point, Dodson proceeds to share the confession that all
the men in the room knew couldn’t have taken place from Louisiana on Tuesday
morning ‘before day’.
I’ve struggled with sharing this portion of the statement, as some of what Dodson told police was graphic. I’ve removed portions I think are not necessary to share, but I’ve had to leave in portions that I feel show just what investigators were listening to and proceeded in their investigation in spite of. If I felt the evidence supported portions of this statement, I wouldn’t include it.
Also of note, although there are several references to a sexual
assault, a rape kit was collected as well as processed and although those
results only became known to Charles Mamou two decades later – the prosecution
knew the results at the time of the trial.
That issue will be addressed in a later post.
Terrence Dodson’s telling of the ‘confession’ began at 15:10 into the video. At over 18:35, he is just getting to the drug deal gone wrong, describing an almost comical scene where Mamou and the other party were tossing a bag of money at each other.
So they went down the dark street. Dude asked Chuckie, “Where the money?” So Chuckie said, I got the money, and threw him the paper bag, or whatever. The dude threw it back. So Chuckie said, “What’s up?” The dude said, “Man take the money out, let me see it.” Chuckie said, “The money right there,” threw it back at him. Chuckie said, by that time, he seen the dude like flinch, you know, like move in his seat.
Investigators didn’t question the money bag tossing or Dodson describing somebody sitting in a seat. The drug ‘transaction’ took place behind the car, on the street, not inside the car.
At over 21 minutes into the interview, Dodson is still describing the confession in one phone call. Detectives also didn’t question the bizarre picture Terrence Dodson was describing, as he talked about Mamou driving around ‘thinking’ after he fled the scene where he had just experienced an attempted robbery at gunpoint. Although Mary Carmouche was in the car Mamou fled the scene in after his driver left him on the dark alley, the investigation never turned up any sign of struggle within the vehicle. At the time of Dodson’s interview, the vehicle had been located at the apartments on Fondren where Mamou had been staying. The car had a flat tire and a window shot out. The drive from the location of the drug deal at midnight on Lantern Point Drive to the apartment complex on Fondren would have taken about twenty minutes, give or take.
At 21:17 into the interview, TD: So, he burnt off with the girl or whatever, and he said, he was riding around, just riding around thinking. Said the whole time the girl was all scared or whatever and he kept telling her, “Calm down, calm down, I’ma let you go, I’ma let you go, just calm down, but before he let her go he asked her, you know, “You gonna suck my dick?” And the girl said uh, he said she asked him, “How much you gonna pay me?” and he said, “I can tell you $10, you know.” But the girl was like, “Nah, I ain’t finna suck your dick for under $300, or whatever.” So he’s like, “Alright, well then, that’ll work.” But he also told me, you know, after she did that, he went on and put his drop, she screamed, he said how he felt like crying and all that.
Detectives didn’t question how bizarre it sounded for Mamou to be driving around ‘thinking’ after fleeing a drug shooting in a shot up car with a girl inside, a broken out window and a damaged tire. They didn’t question what had to sound like very strange behavior on the part of Charles Mamou as well as Mary Carmouche, as they listened to the man describing a ‘confession’ that took place in a phone call that they knew didn’t happen.
There has never been evidence of a sexual assault, nor was there any indication that a physical assault of any kind took place inside the car. Yet, the District Attorney repeatedly used Terrence Dodson’s story of a sexual assault to inflame the jury. So much so that news articles often report Charles Mamou was charged with sexual assault. He wasn’t. In reality, there is not a shred of evidence that indicates that Charles Mamou even touched the victim. The D.A. knew that. The only person who ever referred to a sexual assault was Terrence Dodson in a statement he gave – that investigators knew was not based on the facts as they knew them.
The odd statement continued with Terrence Dodson at one point claiming Charles Mamou was planning on killing several other people, including Dodson.
At 23:18 into the interview, DN: Did he tell you their names?
Terrence Dodson then told detectives two names and continued, “He didn’t say that last one and that shit spooked me, I said, man, he was talking about me. So I played dumb with it. I was like, you know what I’m saying, man you need go on and chill out.
Terrence Dodson then begins to share a story that police, once
again, have full knowledge can’t be true.
TD: So I was like, “Man,
you need to calm down,” His exact word
was, “Nah, fuck that. Look I am coming down there, and I will be there at 1:00
in the morning and when I beep you and put 3,1,80 and the time, that mean I’m
at the bus station. See if you can find me a ride. So I am like alright, but shit I turned my
beeper off, you know what I’m saying, and that was it.
24:11
DN: What day was this that he was coming down?
TD: This was uh, he told me this yesterday, for this morning, one
in the morning.
DN: Tonight he was coming in?
TD: Nah, Nah, yesterday.
DN: He was going to be in at 1:00 this morning, Wednesday
morning?
TD: Yes, yes.
Investigators knew that Charles Mamou had left Texas on a bus at 1:30 on Tuesday afternoon – and yet Terrence Dodson was telling them that Mamou had called him on Tuesday morning from Louisiana ‘before day’, confessed, and told him that he was coming into Houston on a bus on Tuesday, and would be arriving at 1:00 a.m. in the morning on Wednesday – to kill several more people. It made absolutely no sense that Charles Mamou would get on a bus at 1:30 in the afternoon in Houston, go to Louisiana and get on another bus and come back to Houston by 1:00 a.m. in the morning to murder three people, but investigators chose not to address that.
At thirty minutes in, they again try to get the days correct,
although it ultimately doesn’t matter because Charles Mamou never sees this
video, nor does the jury.
30:41
(Switches cops)
Cop: Uh, yea real quick, from what you just told us you said it was Monday at 1:30 Baldy took Chucky to the bus station. And then Tuesday morning he called you and he lays it all out. I wanna make sure, Chucky went back to Louisiana on the very day after he did this jacking is that right? Or what, could it have been Tuesday?
31:13
TD: I’m gonna be honest with you, now I’m not really sure but if
I’m not mistaken I believe it was Monday when he left. Cause like I said after
we picked him up from Fondren, now I made him drop me off and that was that, I
ain’t ride with him or nothing. Like I could be mistaken, it might have been
Tuesday.
31:44
Cop: Ok, but he called you on Tuesday, and said I am going to be
coming in at 1:00 A.M. Wednesday
morning to the bus station and I’ll page you then.
TD: Today is Wednesday right?
Cop: Today is Wednesday.
TD: Okay, then, that was last night. He said he was going to come
in last night at 1:00 in the morning.
Cop: Last night at 1:00 in the morning, so he would have called you on Tuesday and told you that.
TD: Yeah, that he is gonna be in at 1:00 A.M. in the morning.
32:10
Cop: 1:00 in the morning, Wednesday morning. So he definitely left
the day before which would be Monday. Is that correct?
TD: Yeah, he must’ve, he had to leave on Monday.
Cop: Ok. He had to leave on Monday?
The entire time the investigators are asking these questions, they know that Charles Mamou left Houston, Texas, on a bus at 1:30 in the afternoon on Tuesday, December 8, 1998.
Charles Mamou never saw the interview that his cousin gave to police. Dodson not only told police that Mamou had sexually assaulted and murdered Mary Carmouche, he also told them he had killed several other people on different occasions.
Dodson also wrote to Mamou more than a month later, while Mamou was in prison. At the time, Mamou didn’t know anything about the statement his cousin had given, and the jury never saw the letter, but in it Dodson wrote, “I’m glad you didn’t tell me shit about that cause I don’t wanna know shit, I feel better off that way.”
Although the jury never saw the letter or the video statement, they did get to hear Dodson’s testimony, which was not consistent with his statement.
What Terrence first told police was a confession from Mamou that took place in one phone call from Louisiana became quite different after several months and also several visits with the District Attorney.
Q. Now, when
you are having this conversation with the defendant later on – says, ‘Later on
I spoke with Charles’ – are you face to face?
A. Yes.
Q. Where are you?
A. On the porch.
Q. Whose porch?
A. Stephanie’s porch, my sister.
Q. Now you gave a whole lot of information in response to the prosecutor’s
questions about conversations you had with Charles and go into detail about the
jack on jack and these guys with a Bible. There was a shoot-out and goes into
detail about where the people were shooting and everything. And then, also
talking about the girl had been shot, that they had been outside. And he asked
you about talking with Detective Novak, and she supposedly had performed oral
sex on him. When do you get that information? What time is that?
A. I don’t really recall. I got, like I said, bits and pieces in person.
Q.
Is it one conversation or several?
A. It was several.
Q. Over what period of time?
A. I don’t really recall, a couple of days.
Q. So, it’s not just Monday, it’s Monday and Tuesday?
A. To the best of my knowledge, yeah.
Terrence Dodson’s odd story
is what became the foundation of the Harris County District Attorney’s
case. Everything from his story of
murder, to a sexual assault, to other murders that Dodson accused Mamou
of. Yet, from day one, they knew the
information he was sharing could not have taken place.
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
Growing up in Detroit on Brady & Hastings in a once vibrant and bustling neighborhood where blacks owned several businesses and created jobs and livelihoods for many who resided there, Leonard aka Leanbone – a nickname given to him by his uncle due to his skinny frame – learned early on how to survive by adapting and finding ways to cope with the many challenges he faced. It was during those years, he experienced his own personal trauma as well as witnessing police brutality. Those experiences led him down a road of dysfunction, despair and destruction. Leonard shared with me how his nearly fifty year incarceration has taken its toll on his health. He now battles cancer, requires a cane in order to get around and has a prisoner assistant help him with his meals and other necessities.
Leonard attributes the path he chose in good part to bad choices and poor decision-making, which led him to a life of crime that ultimately resulted in a man losing his life during a stick-up attempt. Leonard expresses regret and remorse for the harm he caused the victim, their family, his family, the black community and society as a whole because that’s who was impacted by his reckless and out-of-control behavior.
This writer can relate to Leonard and the harm he caused because I am also responsible for a young black man losing his life to an act of senseless violence. It’s sad that we didn’t value the life of another human-being and acted so impulsively. However, men like Leonard Bradford-Bey, who is now almost 70 years-old, realize the devastation of past criminal behavior. He strives relentlessly to deter the same behavior in younger men and has become a well-known mentor and example that others can follow despite being behind bars. Even so, as I peer into Leonard’s eyes, I see agony and shame for past deeds.
Leonard’s health is rapidly deteriorating, and at this point, with the life expectancy of a black man, he is living on what we call ‘borrowed time’. The stress of having to deal with cancer and not receiving adequate healthcare can lead to more health issues. I have been around Leonard for the past 35 years or more and watched him go from an athletically-inclined, able-bodied individual, to that of a nearly handicapped man in need of constant assistance to get around on a daily basis. It saddens my heart and pulls at the core of my soul to see my friend become slowly debilitated before my eyes. If punishing offenders for crimes they’ve been convicted of includes this form of torturous madness, having them deal with life ending illnesses like cancer, heart disease, and kidney failure behind these bars – then I must ask… At what point is prolonged incarceration enough, especially if its met the threshold of its intended penological purpose? In other words, if the punitive and retributive aspects have been reached, why not then focus on the rehabilitative and transformative aspects of an individual’s growth and maturation out of criminality? Leonard has evolved and worked for his transformation, even earning a one year certificate towards his Associates Degree.
Over the last four decades, I’ve had to witness countless folks like Leonard suffer and wither away to near nothingness. The reality of it hits home because I can honestly put myself in Leonard’s shoes as I am approaching the same age bracket and have serious health concerns as well. I realize that many of us have committed terrible acts of violence, and people have lost their lives. However many of us, like Leonard, have shown and genuinely expressed our remorse and sorrow, shown sincere empathy, and taken full responsibility for our actions which led up to the crime and the offense itself.
In the early ’80s I was housed at Marquette Branch Prison, an old prison known for its vicious and volatile violence and stark similarities and resemblance to Alcatraz because it sits less than 50 yards off Lake Superior. One day a prisoner was aggressively harassing a young female prison guard who was terrified. Leonard happened to walk up and see the fear in the guard’s eyes and the danger she was in. He immediately intervened and saved her from harm. He didn’t consider the harm he was putting himself in, but that was Bradford-Bey for you. He wasn’t little Leanbone anymore, he was 6 foot tall and 260 lbs. – Grandman. He transitioned from being known as Leanbone to Grandman because he became a political activist and spiritual leader. He was a straight up cat, who didn’t particularly like to see anyone taken advantage of. I believe in my heart that if Leonard was to be released tomorrow, he could contribute something good to his community. If you were to talk with anyone here in the Michigan Prison System, I have no doubt whatsoever they would agree with me that he is the last of the Mohicans and surely a soul worth saving from this madness of prolonged unnecessary incarceration and the physical and mental suffering he deals with everyday. I pray the day comes they release Leonard and let him live the remaining days of his life on the other side of the gate.
Dedicated to Leonard ‘Grandman’ Bradford-Bey – From One Soul Brother to Another.
ABOUT THE WRITER. Ricardo Ferrell sent in the last entry recieved in a recent writing contest. I had never seen his writing before his essay arrived. Although the combined judges’ scores didn’t result in his placing in the top three – his essay got my vote for first place. He wrote with heart and compassion, which is exactly what this site is about. He became an advocate. Mr. Ferrell sent in an essay that was exactly what I was looking for when I started this contest – and he is my Honorable Mention choice. Ricardo Ferrell can be contacted at:
Ricardo Ferrell #140701 Gus Harrison Correctional Facility 2727 E. Beecher Street Adrian, MI 49221
Kevin Walter and Dion Holley lied to authorities when first asked what took place on Lantern Point Drive in Houston. They claimed they had stopped to help stranded motorists jumpstart their car, at which point they were carjacked and the girl they had with them, Mary, was kidnapped. It wasn’t until later and after assurances they would not be charged for their involvement, both men told police how they had planned to rob Charles Mamou at gunpoint. Both men also told police that Mamou’s driver, Samuel Johnson, drove away leaving Mamou behind – and he fled the scene in their Lexus.
The following day, in the early hours of Monday, December 7,
1998, Officer King received a call from the public information office. A news reporter had learned the name of a
possible suspect in the ‘carjacking’, which was later determined to be a drug
transaction gone wrong. The reporter had
spoken to Kevin Walter’s father and was told the suspect was a Charles Mamou,
A.K.A., ‘Chucky’. (HPD Archived Incident Report 156416498, Supplement No. 5)
At 3:10 that same day, a call came into HPD regarding a
suspicious vehicle. The blue Lexus Mamou
had fled the robbery in was found at the Fondren Court Apartment Complex, 10800
Fondren. According to police records, ‘the
left front tire was flat. The driver’s
window was busted out’. The apartment
manager had become aware of the vehicle in the parking lot, and called the
police. (HPD Archived
Incident Report 156416498, Supplement No. 5)
The following morning, Tuesday, December 8, 1998, at 8:25 a.m.,
Sergeant Bloyd and Officer King went to Herman Hospital to interview Kevin
Walter. During the interview, they were
given the phone number that Kevin had used to contact Chucky while arranging
the faux drug deal. That phone number
came up to a ‘Robin Scott’ and an apartment on Fondren – the same complex where
the blue Lexus was found. (HPD Archived Incident Report 156416498, Supplement No. 9)
Sgt. Novak and Officer Chisolm then went to Robin Scott’s
place of employment to interview her. After
speaking with her, they decided that Sergeant Bloyd and Officer King should go to
her apartment, while Novak and Chisolm took Ms. Scott to homicide for a
statement. (HPD Archived Incident Report 156416498, Supplement No. 9)
At 11:33 a.m. Officer Bloyd and Officer King knocked on the
apartment door of Howard and Robin Scott.
In anticipation of finding Charles Mamou in the apartment, Officer
Chisholm had secured an Arrest Warrant based on the false allegations of Dion
Holley, and the ‘carjacking’. The Arrest
Warrant stated that, “I, HF Chisholm, a peace officer employed by the City of
Houston Police Department, do solemnly swear that I have reason to believe and
do believe that the Defendant, Charles Mamou, Jr., a black male did, on
December 6, 1998, intentionally and knowingly commit the aggravated robbery of
Kevin Walter.”
Howard Scott answered the door, but he was alone. After interviewing Scott at the apartment, police learned that Scott had met Mamou through a friend – Shawn Eaglin. The Officers called Homicide and were told that Scott’s story did not match his wife’s, who was at Homicide giving a statement. “It was then decided to bring Howard Scott to the homicide office to be interviewed there since there were some discrepancies between his story and Robin’s. Officer Hollins then transported Howard Scott to the homicide office where he was interviewed by Sergeant Novak.” Not only does the Incident Report refer to the Interview of Howard Scott that took place at the Police Department on Tuesday, December 8, 1998 – it also mentions something that was learned during that interview. “During this interview, another potential suspect by the name of ‘Cedric’ was mentioned as being connected with Shawn and Chucky. See Sergeant Novak’s supplement for the details of this interview and the follow-up investigation concerning ‘Cedric’. (HPD Archived Incident Report 156416498, Supplement No. 9)
The problem with that is – no one can ‘see Sergeant Novak’s supplement for details’ because there aren’t any ‘details of this interview’ in the case file. After a thorough records request, I traveled to the Houston Police Department and physically went through the file with an employee. There is no record of the interview of Howard Scott that took place on Tuesday, December 8, 1998, at the police department.
The only thing on record is that the police went to his
apartment and the conversation that took place there – prompted investigators
to bring him to the police department to be questioned.
Howard Scott’s wife, Robin Scott, was also interviewed on
Tuesday. She was not called as a witness
at the trial. According to her written
statement, “At about 12:15 a.m., I woke up after hearing the front door
opening. At that time I called for
Howard to come to my room. When Howard
came in I asked him if his company had left yet. Howard told me that they were about to
leave.” She goes on to say, “It seemed
like it was around thirty minutes later I heard a knock on the door. My brother got up and opened the door.” Robin Scott identified Howard Scott as her
brother at that time, because the apartment complex was not aware that she was
living with her husband. “I asked my
brother who was at the door, he told me that it was Chucky.”
She also stated she saw Chucky later that morning, “When I got up at 4:00 a.m. to go to the restroom I saw that the television was on and Chucky was sitting there watching television. He was by himself. I did not say anything to him. I then returned to my bed and got back up at 4:30 a.m. When I got up this time I started getting ready for work. I looked into the room and saw that Chucky was still in the room watching television.” Robin Scott was never called to the stand, and the jury was never made aware of this statement.
The HPD Incident Report says that the next day, Wednesday,
December 9, 1998, at 9:45 a.m., “Sergeants Yanchank and Ferguson went to pick
up Robin and Howard Scott to be re-interviewed. (HPD Archived Incident Report 156416498, Supplement No. 11)
Later in the report – “Progress Report for Wednesday,
December 9, 1998: On this date, Sergeant
Yanchak and Sergeant Ferguson assisted Sergeant G.J. Novak and Officer H.F.
Chisholm in the follow up investigation into this offense. Earlier on this date, we had re-interviewed two witnesses
named Robin Marie Scott, and her husband, Howard Scott.” (HPD Archived
Incident Report 156416498, Supplement No. 13)
During the Mamou trial Detective Novak, after being sworn
in, was directly questioned about his activities on Tuesday, December 8,
1998.
Q. You indicated that
in checking the subscriber information, it came back for Robin Scott. Can you tell me again the unit number? I know the address was 10800.
A. I said 1423, but I
meant 1402.
Q. Okay. You indicated that you learned when you met
with Robin Scott who else lived there. She was living there with her husband,
Howard Scott?
A. That is correct.
The attorney then asked if Robin Scott had initially told police that Howard Scott was her brother.
A. That is correct.
Q. So she lied to
you initially?
A. Yes.
Q. How far into the
discussion with her did you finally learn that, in fact, Howard Scott was not
her brother but her husband?
A. When we
transported her to the police station for the purpose of taking her statement
from her concerning her knowledge, she admitted to us – of course, we had
Howard Scott transported to the homicide office where he, too, was making a written statement.
Howard Scott was taken back to the Police Department the next day as well as his wife. Apparently, officers were not content with whatever was said on Tuesday, although we will never know what that was. In Howard Scott’s statement on Wednesday, December 9, 1998, he actually refers to the previous day and being taken to the police department. “I got up Tuesday morning around 4:50 a.m. and walked my wife to the bus stop. I got back and Chucky was still asleep. I went back to bed and my wife called around 7:00 a.m. to wake me up. I got up and took my daughter to school around 7:30 a.m. Chucky was still in my apartment. I got back around 8:00 a.m. and Chucky was gone and my apartment door was unlocked. My wife then called around 11:00 a.m. and asked if Chucky was still in my apartment. I then asked her what was wrong and she asked again and I told her no. She then told me that’s all I needed to know and hung up. Around 11:30 a.m. two detectives showed up and began asking me about Chucky. I told them that Chucky left earlier and gave them permission to search my house. I later came with them to the homicide division.”
Sgt. Novak was no rookie.
He was a seasoned employee with nearly three decades of law enforcement
experience. The idea that he would interview an individual regarding the
kidnapping of a girl and not, at the very least, take notes is highly unlikely.
Whatever Howard Scott said at the police department on Tuesday, December 8, 1998, was never heard by the jury.
Anyone with information related to this case can contact me at kimberleycarter@verizon.net. There is also a facebook page dedicated to sharing the truth.
TO CONTACT CHARLES MAMOU: Charles Mamou #999333 Polunsky Unit 12-CD-53 3872 South FM 350 Livingston, TX 77351
Home is not where we lie our heads, but where our hearts lie, places we’ve made such fond memories that they become ‘home’. One such place for me was the Pizza Inn of Wilson, North Carolina, a popular eatery with a rustic theme from an era that marked the century. The Pizza Inn was a throwback to the Old West, and although that was a time of great social inequity, this place attracted customers of all shades with deep roots to the area and shallow pockets. Some bathed in the ambiance of the dining décor, others dipped by for drive-thru. More than a community staple where kids made memories, the Pizza Inn was a sanctuary.
Growing up in low income housing on the outskirts of town,
my friends and I loved to explore. If
there was one thing we learned by not having much, it was that it didn’t take
much to have fun. Our callow
imaginations were like tokens of passage to adventure, turning local woodlands
into perilous jungles and rooftops to frigid mountains.
On Saturdays we’d pretend our bikes were exotic cars as we
raced across town through traffic. Nothing
could quell our enthusiasm but the air of hometown pizzas. All week long we’d stashed away coins, some of
us receiving allowances, in anticipation of the Pizza Inn’s All-You-Can-Eat
buffet, a utopia of sauces and molten cheeses all for ‘four dollars and
eighty-something cents’. If one of us
came up short, we all dug deep for donations.
Sighting the overhead logo through the trees, our legs
pumped even faster before arriving at the wooden guardrail out front where our
tires screeched to a halt. We tethered
our bikes under lock and key then poured through the corridors, dusting off our
soles and gritty misfortunes on a tatty welcome mat.
Once inside we were greeted by the hostess whose smile
dazzled with delight – not the smile we were used to, one half-cocked with
suspicion. In fact, that was the magic
of the Pizza Inn – its fair and equal treatment. At twelve years old, we’d long ago learned
of the racial imbalance that plagued American history, a sordid reality that we
wore like armor, making us wary of mistreatment yet defiant. But inside those doors there was no
distinguishing whites and blacks. No
disserving the lower class. No greeting more
hospitable for one patron than the next.
Everyone was V.I.P. There were no contemptuous glares or scowls of
rejection that condemned us for living in the projects, just hungry families
creating lasting memories in a place that was affordable and safe.
We strolled through a dining gallery of linen clothed tables surrounded by dimly lit booths with tapestries and other Western memorabilia fastened to the walls. Gentle melodies trickled in the background, blended with the thrum of chatter, while the featured attraction – the extravagant pizza display – elicited good cheer. Sausages. Hamburgers. Pepperonis. Cheeses. There were thin-crust pizzas topped with garlic. Onions, anchovies, mushrooms… and more, as we stood thinking, ‘there must be a god’.
After selecting our dining stations, the hostess scribbled down
our orders and bustled off to gather beverages while we filed around the buffet
cart, goaded by our appetites, stacking slice after slice on our plates.
We tossed around banter over warm bites of pizza until
seconds and thirds were in order, like members of an elite club enjoying a
round of laughs at a banquet that was held in our honor. We chomped away until
our work was done and our tummies round and laden as we made our way to the cashier’s
stand where we proudly settled our bill.
Those were the moments in which the Pizza Inn felt like ‘home’,
where a crew of adventurous kids with no more than a few scraps jingling in our
pockets could receive quality service and respect. Just thirteen years later – all of that
changed. Those memories became a distant
blur after robbers targeted the pizzeria and left their shift manager
dead. One of the perpetrators, a close friend
and neighbor, alleged I was his accomplice and actual triggerman. With a number of corroborating witness
accounts and shoddy legal representation, my innocence never stood a chance.
Unfortunately, it didn’t matter that critical lies were
told, DNA tests were negative and much of the testimony conflicted. Am I naïve enough to think that after twenty
years on Death Row being innocent even
matters? Maybe it does, but only to a
handful of hopeful humanitarians. To
others any claim of innocence on my part will be deemed both airy and
insulting.
So why did I write this piece if not some callous design to soften minds and recruit supporters by clinging on to meager contradictions? Set minds are hardly ever swayed, and it is not an attempt to evoke pity – that belongs to the families who’ve had to endure the tragic end of a loved one.
I wrote this merely to restore something that was lost, something that was no one’s to take. Of course, no amount of loss could ever equate to the loss of life. In no way am I making a comparison. Simply put, I am stating that due to my un-involvement, I’ve been made a victim too – as much as it will grind the teeth of the naysayers to hear. Vengeful mobs will revel at my extermination at the words of one seeking to escape accountability in a system that offers leniency to criminals for their role in a crime in order to secure a conviction. It’s because of this I even became dissociated with the Pizza Inn and consequentially suppressed memories, safeguarding my thoughts until I had almost forgotten what the place meant to me.
I am writing this to salvage a piece of my childhood that
was swallowed up in the debacle, memories of pleasure and independence, a time
when those grounds were sacred. I’m
writing to reclaim memories that bear the truth and don’t dispute my innocence,
memories of adventure, growth and pride… and lots of love for pizzas.
The Pizza Inn was a sanctuary, and its doors swung
unbiasedly open. The cost of a memory
was just ‘four dollars and eighty-something cents’. It was a place where no one
should ever have been murdered and no one falsely accused – and for now, I let
that be the one thing on which my innocence stands.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Terry Robinson writes under the pen name ‘Chanton’. Terry is a gifted and thoughtful writer who is currently working on two novels. He lives on Death Row but has always maintained his innocence. Mr. Robinson can be contacted at: Terry Robinson #0349019 Central Prison 4285 Mail Service Center Raleigh, NC 27699-4285
