Category Archives: Sentenced to Death

Harris County’s Mamou Verdict – An Argument Against The Death Penalty

In 1999 Wayne Hill, Charles Mamou’s court appointed defense attorney, thanked Mamou’s mother, Angelice, when she handed him a letter he could use to defend his client.   Mamou was facing the death penalty, in a case centered on a ‘confession’ to murder.  A confession Mamou said never happened.  His defense attorney held in his hands a letter written by the man claiming to have heard the ‘confession’, Terrence Dodson.   In the letter written to Mamou, 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.”

In addition to the letter, Wayne Hill had access to Dodson’s video statement.  Police paid Terrence Dodson a visit early in the investigation when they were looking at him for his involvement in the murder.  At that time, he made a video statement claiming Mamou confessed to him.  Hill had access to that video, and if he watched it, he would have known all the contradictions between Dodson’s statement and his actual testimony in court. 

One of the most significant contradictions was how and when the alleged ‘confession’ took place.  According to Dodson’s video statement, Mamou called him on Tuesday morning from Louisiana – even though Mamou wasn’t even in Louisiana on Tuesday morning – and confessed in a single telephone conversation.  Yet on the stand, Dodson said Mamou began the confession in Texas, face to face, on Dodson’s sister’s porch.  He then went on to say that the confession continued over a ‘couple days’ in ‘several’ conversations.  That wasn’t the only contradiction Dodson made, there were several.

Wayne Hill, the defense attorney, never entered the letter Dodson wrote as an exhibit for his client’s trial. He never mentioned the letter, nor did he mention Terrence Dodson’s many contradictions of his own video statement. 

Terrence Dodson is Charles Mamou’s cousin.  The prosecution used that relationship to solidify their argument of guilt, pointing out that Mamou must be guilty if his own family would testify against him.

They wanted another cousin of Mamou’s to testify as well.  That would make the ‘relative’ argument stronger.  The only problem with the other cousin, Anthony Trail, was, he didn’t know anything about the night in question.  He wasn’t there, and no one had told him anything about what had happened to the victim.  He had no desire to get involved because he didn’t have any relevant information to add.  The prosecution wanted him involved though.  At one point, while being questioned, he had decided he would not testify.  Then a man came into the room.  According to Trail, he believed the man was the victim’s father, and that was the impression he was given.  The man proceeded to persuade Trail to get involved and eventually Trail agreed to testify.  We will probably never know if it was actually the victim’s father who persuaded him or someone that was just trying to give that impression.   Trail’s testimony added nothing material to the trial because Trail had no knowledge of what happened that night nor had anyone shared with him a ‘confession’.  The prosecution didn’t ask him those things on the stand, but rather used him as another ‘family member’ who testified against Mamou.  They asked Trail about some sunglasses Mamou and he had picked up the day after the murder, leaving the impression the glasses were some type of evidence, but it was never pointed out for the jury by the prosecution – or defense – that the glasses they picked up were nearly five miles from the crime scene. 

Throughout the Mamou trial a sexual assault was repeatedly referred to for the majority female jury.  Although it was presented as important in the courtroom, outside of the courtroom there was no urgency to find out if any sexual assault actually occurred that night.   Dr. Joyce Carter ordered a rape kit to be done when the body was found, to include oral swabs, fibers, clothing, fingernail scrapings, etc.  On December 11, 1998, those items were picked up by an HPD officer and placed in the HPD property room freezer.  There they sat.  The rape kit was not ordered to be processed until long after Charles Mamou was in custody.  Eight months after the crime, on July 8, 1999, and shortly before Mamou’s trial the D.A.’s office requested the rape kit be processed by the HPD crime lab.  The results – no semen was detected on any items analyzed. 

Although the District Attorney’s office ordered the test processed and was given the results, graphic references to sexual assault were repeatedly used throughout the trial, in what appeared to be an effort to inflame the jury – although Mamou was  never charged with sexual assault.  There was never any evidence a sexual assault took place by anyone, according to the incident report. 

Mamou’s defense team left the sexual assault accusations without argument, never telling the jury that a rape kit was processed months after the crime that turned up nothing.  

Also of note, ‘hairs were collected from the t-shirt’ of the victim.  The hairs were never mentioned by the prosecution or the defense.   It appears they are still in the HPD property room.

Charles Mamou always maintained his innocence, and the only witness statements available support his account of his whereabouts that night, although a couple statements appear to be currently missing as of an Open Records Request done this year.  What is known is – the victim and Charles Mamou were both on Lantern Point Drive at approximately 12:00 midnight on the night of December 6, 1998.  On that point, all accounts are in agreement.   After a drug deal gone wrong, Mamou and Samuel Johnson drove away in two separate cars, with the victim in the backseat of the car Mamou was driving. 

Charles Mamou says both men drove to an apartment complex on Fondren where he was staying while he was in Houston – about a ten mile drive.   That is also the location where Johnson lived.    

A witness statement taken from the woman who lived at the apartment where Mamou stayed that night indicates Mamou was back at her apartment at approximately 12:45.  In her statement she spoke of waking up at “about 12:15 AM.”  She then says, “It seem like was around thirty minutes later I heard a knock on the door.”  She goes on to say, “I asked my brother who was at the door.  He told me it was Chucky.”

That statement indicates that Mamou was exactly where he said he was forty-five minutes later.   Unfortunately – the jury never knew that statement existed and that information was never presented to them by Mamou’s defense team.

During the trial the woman’s husband, Howard Scott, testified and when questioned he was shown his own statement, “when you say Mr. Mamou got there, does reviewing that statement specifically refresh your memory that it was 12:15 and 12:45?” 

Scott’s answer, “Yes.”

Question, “Okay.  So you’re positive it couldn’t have been later than 12:45?”

And the answer, “No, sir.”

Two witnesses who had no reason to defend or support Charles Mamou both supported exactly what Mamou said happened.  The body of the victim was found on Lynchester Drive, a location that was about thirty minutes from the Lantern Point Drive location where the drug deal gone wrong took place.   The prosecution’s version of a sexual assault, murder, and dropping sunglasses at a location on Ashford Point Drive – couldn’t have been done in 45 minutes.  The time constraints were never outlined for the jury.

There is something else very troubling about Howard Scott’s testimony.  The statement he was shown while on the witness stand – is not in the case file as of the recent Records Request.   

Howard Scott made two statements to police – one on Tuesday, December 8, and one on Wednesday, December 9.   The incident report, received through an Open Records Request only includes one statement.  The Incident Report refers to the ‘missing’ statement on December 8, “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.”   This interview is not in the incident file that was received pursuant to the Open Records Request. 

The missing interview is mentioned more than once.   It is also referred to later in the incident report, stating that at 9:45 on Wednesday, December 9, Sergeants Yanchak and Ferguson went to pick up Robin and Howard Scott to be ‘re-interviewed’. 

It is referred to again, “On this date, Sergeant Yanchack and Sergeant Ferguson assisted Sergeant G.J. Novak and Officer H.F. Chisolm in the follow up investigation into this offense.  Earlier this date, we had ‘re-interviewed’ two witnesses named Robin Marie Scott and her husband, Howard Scott.”

Even on Page 3 of Howard Scott’s statement taken on Wednesday, December 9, 1998, he refers to the interview the day before, on Tuesday, December 8, 1998, “Around 11:30 AM 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.”

But, Howard Scott’s first statement did at one time exist and was also referred to in the court transcripts when Wayne Hill asked Scott to look at it and refresh his memory.  The second statement of Howard Scott’s makes no reference to when Mamou arrived back at his apartment, so the statement referred to in court is the one that is now currently missing from the file.

There are other things that appear to be missing from the file, unless the detectives did not document their work.  According to a News Release put out by the Houston Police Department shortly after the crime, “A second suspect drove away in what was initially described as a red Dodge Intreped.  It has since been determined the vehicle was an orange Dodge Concorde that was recovered and inspected.”  The news release referred to the vehicle that Samuel Johnson was driving that night. 

During the trial Johnson was specifically asked about that car.  “Did the police then examine your car?”

Johnson, “They examined it a couple of days after I got out of jail.”

Although there are photographs of the vehicle in the file, there is no written report or documentation regarding what was found in the vehicle. 

According to Samuel Johnson, a resident of Houston as well as an employee of Orkin at the time, he went home after the drug deal, drank a soda, took a shower and went to bed, not even disturbing his wife to tell her of his involvement in a shoot out on a dark alley.   And there is no documentation other than photographs of anything that was discovered inside of the vehicle he was driving.

Other documentation not included in the file are any notes or statements made by other parties located at the apartment complex that night, including interviews of Shawn Eaglin.   Eaglin was an integral part of introducing several of the parties according to statements, and the police spoke to him.  But there are no statements or interview notes in the file regarding interviews of him.  As with the vehicle documentation, there is no way to know if the detectives chose not to document their work or if the documents have been removed from the file.  But, according to Robin Scott’s statement, she discussed with Eaglin the homicide division going to her home, Shawn’s home, and the employer of Shawn’s cousin, ‘Ced’.

According to Robin Scott’s and Howard Scott’s statements, Eaglin was at the apartment complex on the night in question and it would be expected that detectives spoke to him.   Unfortunately, there is no record of those conversations.

In addition to the impossibility of the 45 minute window of time – it is highly unlikely Mamou could have located the backyard of the house for sale on Lynchester Drive where the body was found.  He was from Louisiana, and not a resident of Houston.   In the Houston Police Department’s incident report, the location was described by a detectives as follows, “The 9200 block of Lynchester Street is located in the Keagan’s Woods sub-division located on the south side of the 14000 block of Bissonnet Street in Harris County.  The Keegan’s Woods subdivision is best accessed by turning south onto Bering Wood Street and continuing south to Plantation Valley and then turning west on Plantation Valley.  Lynchester Street intersects with Plantation Valley.  Lynchester Street does not intersect with Bissonnet and is a difficult street to locate.”  That is how a HPD detective described the location, and an investigator recently told me she had difficulty locating it, even with her GPS.   

The ability of Charles Mamou, a resident of Louisiana, to have found the location was never brought up by Mamou’s defense attorney for the jury. 

For whatever reason, Charles Mamou’s defense team did not present most of the above information.  The jury wasn’t left with a lot to consider regarding Mamou’s innocence.  As unusual as this may sound – they were given a lot more than in a typical trial.  The jury was shown autopsy photos and heard painful, heart wrenching testimony from family members of victims of crimes Mamou was never charged with.   As unbelievable as that may sound – it happened.   Mamou’s mother, Angelice, was on the elevator with some jurors when she heard them discussing how they were going to decide.  It was agreed by the jurors she overheard that they would, ‘vote with the majority’.   Ms. Mamou reported what she overheard at the time it happened, but nothing came of it.

They say truth is stranger than fiction.  Charles Mamou has been in prison for twenty years, most of it in solitary confinement on death row.  Blind faith in the courts is often misplaced.  According to the National Registry of Exonerations, the number of exonerations is currently at 2,488.  It would be a good bet that a state such as Texas, that executes numerous people a year – has executed innocent people.  If the witnesses are to be believed in the Mamou case, there will be one more when he is executed.  He couldn’t have done the things he will die for in the time allotted for him to do it.  There is not one shred of physical evidence putting him at the scene of the crime.  There is not a weapon to test.  There is not a footprint at the scene.  There is not a fingerprint at the scene.   The jury was shown photographs and heard testimony from crimes Mamou was never charged with.  Mamou was portrayed as having sexually assaulted someone without a shred of evidence and his attorney did not point that out.   There was substantial evidence to call into question the testimony of the key witness who said Mamou confessed, that was never presented by the defense.   There are ‘hairs’ that no one seems concerned to follow up on.   There was no independent lab testing ever done by the defense.    There is documentation that was either never filed or is no longer accounted for – in addition to a statement that at one time existed – but seems to have disappeared. 

It reminds me of something I heard recently – close only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades.  Can we add ‘or in a courtroom’ with a public defender, the wrong skin color, the wrong year, the wrong state…

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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“Because People Are Supposed To Help Each Other”

From the time I was a tyke until my early teens, my family frequented a city park that sat on a hill overlooking the southeast region of the city.  The hill was  a year round source of entertainment – in winter months we would sled down it’s slopes, and in the summer we would glide down on large sheets of cardboard scavenged from the dumpsters behind Safeway.

I would tag along with my mom to the malls on Saturday mornings unless my dad had a fishing trip or other excursion planned.  It wasn’t that I enjoyed shopping so much, it was more about the perks that came along with shopping. 

For one, we were away from home the entire day, which meant eating out at the fast food joint of my choice.  In addition to lunch for being a ‘good boy’ while mom tried on what seemed like a million articles of clothing, I earned treats which could take many forms – anything from sweets at Dairy Queen to an after shopping activity like bowling, putt-putt, skating, a movie, or games at the arcade. 

On one such Saturday, I chose to go cardboarding at the park after lunch.  We went and got our boxes – the best ones were the toilet paper or paper towel boxes because they were quite large – and drove to the park.  On that particular day we couldn’t find a close parking space near our favorite sliding spot, so we parked on the opposite side and had to walk. 

We locked up the car and set off, lugging our cardboards.  About halfway to our destination sat a couple of wooden park benches.   At first I didn’t notice the lone woman sitting on one of them, but the closer we got, the harder it became not to notice her.  She had a hanky or some tissue which she was dabbing at her eyes and nose as her shoulders shook.  The closer we got, the louder her sobs became, and I began to feel awkwardly uncomfortable.  I’m not sure if my discomfort was at the thought of walking past her as she sat in distress, or if I was embarrassed for her because I was seeing her cry. 

The former didn’t matter because as soon as my mom realized the woman was crying, she quickened her pace and went to her aid.  I, on the other hand, slowed my pace and crept to the bench beside them.  I heard my mom ask her what was wrong.  The woman leaned into my mom and mumbled something I couldn’t understand and then the dam burst, as she began crying uncontrollably.  My mom wrapped an arm around her and commenced to consoling the woman in the motherly manner that mom’s do.  Over the lady’s shoulder, she looked at me and said, “Go play,” pointing with her free hand at a spot a few feet behind me.

All I wanted to do was get away, so I grabbed my cardboard and retreated, never contemplating how I was to ‘play’ with a piece of cardboard on flat land.  I just wanted to get away from the embarrassment. 

Some time later, mom came and said, “Let’s go.”  I was dejected.  I assumed she meant we were going home, but she turned and headed towards our sliding spot.  Enthused, I snatched up my cardboard and ran after her.  When I caught up, I asked, “What happened to that lady?”

“She went home.”

“No, I mean, why was she crying?”

“She was sad.”

“Did you know her?”

“No.”

“Then why did you help her?”

“Because people are supposed to help each other, that’s why.  It doesn’t matter that I didn’t know her,” then she stopped.  “What if I fell down right now and broke my leg and,” looking around, “that man, right there, came and lifted me and carried me to the hospital.  How would you feel?”

“I’d be… happy,” I said as we continued on.

“So, don’t you think that lady’s little boy would be happy that I helped his mom?”

“I think so,” I said, smiling up at her.

As we reached our spot she said, “Of course, he would.  Now, who is going first?!”

That wouldn’t be the last time I witnessed my mom help a complete stranger.  In fact, sometimes I found myself looking around for distressed individuals – because I saw what helping others did for my mom.  That’s when I realized something I don’t think she ever did – not because she wasn’t capable, but because nothing she ever did was about her – she was healing by helping others.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR. Reshi Yenot is the pen name for a writer who lives on Death Row in Florida. He can be contacted at:
Reshi Yenot
P.O. Box 70092
Henrico, VA 23255

©Reshi Yenot

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Frenemy

Friendships are pleasurable relationships that often stand the test of time.  They are the sharing of ourselves and our innermost feelings with those whom we trust the most. Even cultivating them can be an everlasting treat, like a stroll down the candy aisle of life.  However, just as sweets can be tasty yet terrible for our health, sometimes friends can do more harm than good.

It was a chilly Saturday morning in 1979 – I was five years old. The trailer we lived in was quiet, my mother buried beneath the covers after working a late shift. I poured a bowl of cereal and took my place before the television set, anticipating my favorite cartoons. Suddenly, familiar voices trickled in from outside – it was my older brother Ray, cousin Sam, and Kenny, a neighborhood friend.  I dashed to the bedroom, slipped into some clothes and bolted out the door.  The three of them were bunched together, walking steadily.  Kenny spoke in a hushed tone while Sam and Ray listened. I eased into their group and kept quiet – they paid me little attention.

Their discussion was about the local tadpole pond, which wasn’t much of a pond at all, but rather an abandoned foundation with busted pipes that formed a humongous sinkhole.  We often passed by the vacant site on the way to the corner store, and each time I guessed at the mysterious ripples in the water.  Kenny let on that he and Sam were headed to the pond to see a dog that drowned.  Ray was eight and impressionable – he would follow those two anywhere.  After agreeing to join them, the trio set out while I was tightly wound in their shadow.

We walked a short way before a voice called out and collared me from behind, “Hey, ya’ll, wait up!”

It was Junior, a tubby, spirited kid from around the way who had an enduring appetite for mischief.  He and I were friends, yet often turned rivals whenever my brother was around to stir the competition.  Only then did our Big Wheel rides become fierce battles to the finish line or a game of marbles end in a fight. Our spats never lasted long – Junior and I were usually back to being pals before the turn of day.  His cheeks wobbled like cozy gelatin as he hustled to catch up to our party. 

“Where ya’ll going?” he inquired.

“To the tadpole pond,” I answered.

We arrived at an enclosure and paused to take in the sights, a quaint oasis of thriving vegetation at the edge of the trailer park.  Incredibly dark waters swayed passively with the morning breeze, glistening with the rising sun.  Kenny slipped through a breach in the fence, Sam and Ray soon followed.  I was content to observe from beyond the barrier until Junior squeezed through as well. I tucked my head and dipped past the opening in the fence, fearful yet eerily excited. 

We stood scattered around the water’s edge as the ever dreadful tadpole pond lay before us, polluted with trash and a sodden couch partially submerged at the center.  Kenny pointed out a floating object that was fuzzy and swollen round.   He then looked for something to fish out the carcass while Sam and Ray gathered rocks. Junior fixated on the water and began to inch forward – my curiosity willed me closer.

There were tadpole, tiny critters with long squirmy tails, that flowed along the shallow end.  I squatted low until my reflection bounced back off the face of the water.  It was the first time I’d ever seen a tadpole.

“We need a can,” Junior proposed and disappeared behind me to search for a container. Enthused by the idea of having a pet, I was toying around with names when suddenly I was thrust forward and pitched into the water.

Like a phantom cutpurse, the chilling temperature stole my breath away.  I opened my mouth to yell, but gurgled as the agony gushed in.  My head was a jumble of fear and confusion – frozen with the shocking reality that I was cast beneath the mystery of the rippling pond – and I didn’t know how to swim…

My jacket and denims became weighty with absorption, like linen anchors wrapped around my limbs. Algae and other slush minerals surged down my nostrils and set my lungs afire. I flailed about in a desperate fight against the sinking madness until my wild kicks propelled me above the surface.

Water erupted from my mouth in a vicious spray as the scum fell away from my eyes. I saw my brother racing toward me.

“Help me, Ray!” I pleaded, splashing about to stay afloat until the menacing hand of gravity pulled me under.  I drew in a quick breath and held it tight within as the world collapsed around me.

Slowly, I drifted down into the hazy unknown, kicking, screaming in my head for my mother.  Again, my flapping elevated me, and I burst free from beneath the murky water. Ray shouted words, but they were lost in the frenzy.  Kenny appeared and stretched out toward me.

“Ray!” I cried before my pleas were cut short by another cruel descent into the black.  Lashing out in one final attempt to thwart my tragic end, I somehow grabbed a hold of an object – it was a stick with Kenny holding the opposite end as he plucked me from the horror.

I was drenched, shivering, and felt utterly defeated as I considered the dire possibilities.  Sam peeled off my jacket and replaced it with his own while Kenny assured me that everything was okay. Ray held me tight, but said little as he busied himself with an explanation. And Junior – he was halfway up the block hightailing it for home. 

Today, I saw Junior for the first time in twenty years.  It was a thrilling moment to see how much he had changed, yet concerning for the troubles he faced.  His thick, woolly dreadlocks dangled like tassels over eyes that drooped with sadness, while casting aside his ill-predicament to sympathize for my own. Junior’s trouble was life in prison, mine was the death penalty.  It’s ironic how parallel our lives felt to that day at the tadpole pond.  Still, the quiet agony was short lived and our jaded smiles reciprocated as we stared at one another through a Plexiglas divider and worked to repress our misery.  I realized that Junior was my oldest of friends despite our childhood quarrels. It had been forty years since the tadpole pond, and even now we hurt for one another.  For all the rivaling we did as kids, our friendship survived the chaos – even though he almost killed me, we’re friends all the same. 

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 maintains his innocence. Mr. Robinson can be contacted at:
Terry Robinson #0349019
Central Prison
4285 Mail Service Center
Raleigh, NC 27699-4285

All Posts By Chanton

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I Know Innocent People On Death Row

My Best Friends Are Behind Bars – that’s going to be the title of my book someday.  And some of them are innocent…  

I’m not naïve.  I work with a lot of people who have done a lot of bad things.  They live with regret.   Most of them did ‘something’.   People get exonerated all the time though, and statistically, it was bound to happen – I would find myself working with some innocent people.  What’s fascinating – my innocent friends didn’t tell me they were innocent.  Our writing relationships were the focus, but when my instincts tell me something doesn’t add up, I want to know more. 

This week I heard the federal government was going to resume executing people. That news hurt my heart.  An attorney once told me during a discussion about the flaws in the system, justice is like the highway.  People want to have highways even if they result in lives lost in auto accidents.  She explained it’s the same with justice.  People are willing to have our system of control, even if we lose some people to the ‘mistakes’.  Collateral damage.

I don’t see it that way – there’s no arguable need for the death penalty.  Every state, every country, that executes – executes the innocent as well as the guilty. That’s just a fact.  Is a ‘tough on crime’ stance worth the mistakes when the mistakes are human lives? 

One of my favorite writers, Terry Robinson, lives on Death Row.  He’s never written about being innocent.  After I came to realize he wasn’t capable of what he was there for, I asked him why he didn’t openly speak of it.  He told me he felt it would be disrespectful to the victim of the crime he was incarcerated for to write about that.  That’s the type of man he is.  He has such a quiet dignity and respect for others, I can think of no one who compares.   

It’s because of that character I asked to see his transcripts.  I got some clarity as I read.  He was no angel, and he has never claimed to be.  But the core of who he is was always there.  The night of the crime, Mr. Robinson was ‘in the area’.  He was black.  Another individual who was arrested in connection to the murder said Mr. Robinson did it.  That’s all it took.  That individual is now living a free life. 

When it came time for Mr. Robinson to present his defense, I was anxious to read that portion of the transcripts.  I had read everything the prosecution laid out, and I thought there was a lot left unknown – not to mention DNA that wasn’t tied to anyone.  I was anxious to hear what would be revealed during the next portion of the trial.  I pictured myself, facing a death sentence, and how I would present everything possible, how I could call into question so many things that had been shared.  He would surely tell of where he was and who he was with.  He would contradict the key witness.   After all – it was a trial that could result in a death sentence. 

What I read next, stunned me.  “Judge, we have consulted with the defendant, and it’s his choice not to present evidence at this time.”

I had to reread it…

What?

The next time I spoke to Mr. Robinson, I asked, “So…  You didn’t present any defense.  Am I to understand that correctly?  Why?”

He explained to me how his attorneys told him that if he defended himself it would make him look guilty – so the defense presented nothing.   

What has me scratching my head in confusion will have him executed.  

Terry Robinson was sentenced to death. 

The individuals who had a hand in restarting the federal death machine would obtain the best legal representation available in a criminal case – because they have the means to do that. But – what about those who are a minority?  What about those who are black and convicted in a southern state with all that we know goes hand in hand with that?  What about those whose attorneys are appointed by the Court?  There is an enormous difference between an attorney that is shopped for and one that is operating under a set fee by the courts while also carrying paying clients.  If an attorney has paying clients – the court appointed cases go to the bottom of the stack. That’s reality. 

Terry Robinson has so much character it can’t be covered up with a red Death Row jumpsuit. Mr. Robinson writes under the pen name Chanton.  His essay, ‘Being Better’, which he wrote earlier this year, speaks of accidentally stealing forty dollars nearly two decades ago – and how he was driven to confess that mistake.  ‘Duck’, Chanton, Terry, Mr. Robinson – is ‘collateral damage’. 

It’s okay to say it – you are innocent. You have every right to say it. You are not the first person to be incarcerated for something you didn’t do. You are not the first person on Death Row to know you don’t belong there. There are other people who know you don’t belong there. Your previous mistakes in life don’t make you deserving of this. The loss that is the reason for this discussion is not diminished by you speaking truth. Truth is never a mistake. And the truth is – some innocent people live on death row, and may very well die there.

Mr. Robinson can be contacted at:
Terry Robinson #0349019
Central Prison
4285 Mail Service Center
Raleigh, NC 27699-4285

Anybody with information related to his case can contact me at kimberleycarter@verizon.net.  Anything you share with me will be confidential.

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Was Mamou Jury Presented All Available Information?

In Harris County, Texas, 1999, Charles Mamou was sentenced to death in a trial primarily focused on the testimony of a handful of drug dealers involved in the same drug deal, the strongest testimony coming from Mamou’s own cousin who testified Mamou confessed to him.

There were several factors the jury never heard regarding the alleged ‘confession’. 

When Terrence Dodson first heard police had contacted one of his relatives looking for him in connection to a capital murder case, he quickly told police his cousin, Chucky, had confessed to murdering and sexually assaulting the victim.  Charles Mamou was arrested for kidnapping and murder. 

Nearly a year later at trial, what the case lacked in physical evidence, it made up for in the ‘confession’, at times focusing on the sexual assault Terrence Dodson had described to police.  The jury was never presented all the contradictions between Mr. Dodson’s original statement to police and his actual testimony at trial, including the location of Mamou when he supposedly confessed and also how he confessed.  Those contradictions would have brought into question Dodson’s credibility and can be seen HERE.    

The jury was also not shown the letter Dodson wrote to his cousin a month after he told police about the ‘confession’.  In the letter Dodson said, “I’m glad you didn’t tell me shit about that cause I don’t wanna know shit, I feel better off that way.”

There was one more thing the jury never heard.  Charles Mamou was never charged with rape, but it had a significant impact in his trial, so much so that several articles written about the crime indicate that Mamou raped or sexually assaulted the victim.  The sexual assault was one facet of Terrence Dodson’s hour long video statement.  Dodson described how Mamou confessed to a sexual assault several times and also testified to that during the trial.  During Dodson’s testimony, Charles Mamou’s court appointed attorney and the prosecution never informed the jury that a rape kit was completed on the victim, including oral swabs.

When the prosecution was presenting their closing arguments, hoping to convince the jury of Mamou’s guilt and secure an execution, the jury was told, “He marches her to the back, and he makes her commit oral sodomy, makes her suck his penis.  Imagine that, ladies and gentlemen.”  At the time they made this argument, they were aware of Terrence Dodson’s questionable credibility.  They also knew the results from the rape kit, which stated, “No semen was detected on any items analyzed.”

Mamou’s own attorney never mentioned the results of the rape kit to the jury that was to decide his client’s fate.

Harris County, Texas, has sentenced more people to death than anyplace else in the country.  Charles Mamou is one of those people.  He maintains his innocence and is out of appeals and awaiting an execution date. 

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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I Find Serendipitous Strength In Others

I had a plethora of ‘special visits’ within the past week – four visitation days filled with two different people, for a total of sixteen hours.  Had I not been awarded such visits from caring friends, I would have spent those hours within a defeat filled prison cell.

During those four hours of conversation, topics range from favorite TV shows – they liked Mork & Mindy, I liked Punky Brewster – to cartoons like the Smurfs, Care Bears, Voltron, and Underdog – a classic.

We talk about food, although my guests are all vegans.  They talk about nuts and crackers, while I ask, “Where’s the beef?”  When they buy me snacks, they refuse to eat in front of me.  No one likes getting food stuck in their teeth around me – what’s up with that?

We discuss politics, books read, family issues and jobs.  We talk about their dealings just as much as mine, and we will cover a wide range of wild and mundane topics.  At some point the unavoidable will arise, though I try to avoid it – my pending execution/murder.  After all, it’s the reason we are ‘here’.  It’s why our sailing ships crossed paths within the massive sea of interactions.

My friend, Mary, is from England where they drive on the wrong side of the road, though she begs to differ.  It’s where they say ‘arse’ instead of ass.  Can you imagine Cardi B singing about her ‘arse’?  Just don’t sound right.  Mary comes from a land where Mary Poppins isn’t a myth – rather a legend.  When she told her family and friends that she was coming to America to visit a man on Texas death row they asked, “Have you gone mad (lost your mind)?”

People often ask me if I am mad.  Bitter.  I’m not pretentious by nature, and what you see is exactly what you get.  So – in the tone of my cussing pastor and actor, Samuel L. Jackson, “You damn right I get mad and bitter!”  Even though hardly anyone ever sees that in me. 

“Chucky, I have one more question.  I would like to know just as the people of England would like to know – how do you stay so strong?  How can you stay smiling and positive?”

It’s a fair question.  One I’m often asked.  And, bravado has it’s place – but not in my story.  To put on a brave face would make a mockery of the struggle of being isolated all day for decades without the touch of another human being’s skin.  It is written, ‘It is not good for man to be alone.’  I guess my oppressors didn’t get that memo.  How do I stay strong?  I pointed to her through the glass, to her surprise.  “Me?”

“You and people like you.” 

It’s not lost on me that it’s not easy entering a prison to come visit me. I understand the money and time so freely given to afford me a few hours of comfort.  I’m always grateful for it.  We are all – literally – strangers from different cultures, with different likes and different social economic norms.  The thought that strangers come to my aid and show me what love is – is humbling.  Without my friends, I would be nothing…  Nothing.

I draw strength from the acts of others who display a courage and unmanacled devotion on a scale that I can never fully comprehend.  I think about how busy their lives are and how they still find the time to think about me and write me.  They visit me knowing they are going to be made uncomfortable by guards. 

I think about my friend, Debbie, who was diagnosed with brain cancer and lung cancer and has undergone multiple surgeries within the past year. She has been a constant in my life since 2004.  And when she was told I lost my final appeal she argued with the doctor to discharge her so she could fly to see me and offer comfort so I wouldn’t feel alone. 

I think about my play-daughter and her mom and how they have enriched my life by adopting me into their family.  They are two of the greatest humanitarians my eyes have ever witnessed – and they shed tears for me and the injustice that has befallen me for two decades.  Some people have seen Gandhi, Mandela, Sojourner Truth, Dr. King and so on – to them, they are heroes.  My play-daughter and her mother are my icons, my heros – my angels.  If I don’t live to see another day, I know I have been cared for by people that are greater than this life.

Then there’s Mary.  She’s laughter.  She’s Lucille Ball funny and one of the most non-judgmental people there is.  She’s a great religious orator and an advocate for children who have been abused or suffer mental illness. She is a fascinating person and a genuine friend, as well as her husband.

These people are the core of my support group and the source of the strength others see in me.  If I’m strong, it’s because I have been shown and taught what strength looks like and feels like.  I am strong because I have been loved freely by those who so freely love.  That’s strength. 

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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Bright Spot

Death Row is a somberness that never quits and a psychological dismay that never stales, offering fleeting hope in the distance, while an unspeakable cruelty lurks from behind.  It is the veil of vengeance over the face of forgiveness and the dark that seldom brightens.   And it is a system designed to diminish one’s spirit by decades of prolonged executions.   

Enter Joe – a highly spirited, gentle soul and a bonafide hillbilly (his words, not mine).  Joe was amongst several death row inmates whom I met upon arrival.  Although he and I didn’t quite vibe at first, eventually we became good friends.  Our divide was mainly due to our backgrounds which were astronomically worlds apart. However, proximity and shared affliction pieced us together and our friendship was a perfect fit.

Joe was an avid watcher of daytime soaps, bounding around the pod enthusiastically while awaiting his favorite shows. I’d listen to him zestfully recount weekly episodes until he finally piqued my interest.  Before long I was bouncing alongside Joe; the soaps were our escape.

Joe was a tinker also, an essential figure in every inner prison’s workings. Tinkers improvise using commonplace items to effectively service their inmate community.  In need of a coffee brewer?  See Joe.  Stogie roller?  That was Joe too.  From radio repairs to holiday greeting cards, Joe lent a little of himself to everyone.  And when matters were somewhat trivial, still he was eager to help.

I became most endeared to Joe the day he tattooed my forearm. We sat and chatted up one another as he tagged me with his artistry.  Joe opened up to me about his spiritual ambitions and the difficulties in his past. It made me realize, though our differences were superficial our adversities were much the same. I watched as Joe embraced his vulnerability as a means to mend his spirit. It taught me that my own woes were much deeper than death row; I suffered a darkness within.

Afterwards, Joe became the bright spot to every waking day.  A stickler for cleanliness, he swept and mopped the pod each morning before dawn.  Joe then turned to cigarettes and coffee to crank out his lively mood and for hours on end he would laugh and joke – and death row never felt so good.

Joe was a jack-of-all trades, though hardly a master at all.  He was a joyful klutz at basketball, yet the first to laugh at himself. At poker, he was a heavy better and lost with his heart carefree.  He was deeply committed to the happiness of others – happiness gave Joe peace.

It was three years past when the news came down and Joe faced a darkness of his own. The courts rejected the last of his appeals and issued him an execution date. Suddenly there was aridness in the air that ached with sympathy and despair. Well-wishers barely spoke above whispers as they internalized with ‘what ifs’.  Joe put troubled minds at ease by insisting that he was fine – but on the day that his executioners  came, he said to me, “Man, I don’t wanna die.”

In that moment, I was stumped for words.  I had nothing to offer but sadness.  I wanted so much to give Joe absolution and shoo his killers away. I felt helpless and betrayed for the coming demise by an evil which met no resistance.  The terrible truth was – my fears were also selfish.  I didn’t know how to be on Death Row without Joe.

Joe and I embraced for the last time, his cheeks slicked with tears while his eyes held out hope for the governor’s stay. 

He then bid goodbye to others as the party of white shirts escorted him to Deathwatch where he faced his final adversity alone.  Joe was executed by lethal injection.  It was a harsh reality that pitched Death Row into darkness.

Death Row is an immoral chasm filled with broken spirits. It is insubstantial highs and demoralizing lows in the fight to stay alive. However, having Joe around was like a break in the action.  His kindness lit up the dark – and I’m grateful to have had his light shone on me, if only for a short while.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:  Terry Robinson writes under the pen name ‘Chanton’ and is the winner of Walk In Those Shoes’ first spring writing contest. He rose to the occasion, as did many. The goal of the contest was to share light people saw and experienced behind bars, and I think what has become apparent is that often times – it was the light in the writers’ themselves that was shared.
Terry writes for us often, and he can be contacted at:
Terry Robinson #0349019
Central Prison
4285 Mail Service Center
Raleigh, NC 27699-4285

All Posts By Chanton

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The Evolution Of A Witness Statement – Securing A Conviction

The key piece of evidence in a capital murder case leaves one wondering how much of a trial is built on the talent of a prosecution to ‘paint a picture’ – and how much is based on reality.

Charles Mamou was sentenced to die twenty years ago in Harris County, Texas, for the death of Mary Carmouche.  He was black, tried in a county that sentenced people to death at an unrivaled rate, and couldn’t afford an attorney of his choosing.  When the courts determined his fate, people went on with their lives, assuming justice had been done. 

But had it?

The victim had been present at a drug deal that went terribly wrong, her body later found by a utility worker.

There were several people involved in the drug deal that took place that night, including one man who died at the scene.  Those who survived were evasive when questioned by police – all but one.  One of the drug dealers was very cooperative and investigators interviewed him at length. The young man was Charles Mamou’s very own cousin – a man the prosecution referred to repeatedly, arguing that the accused’s own family testified against him.  Why would his own family lie?

What’s more bizarre than why a twenty-one year old drug dealer being looked at in a capital murder case would lie – is why someone will be executed on the weight of his testimony.  Dodson had a lot to say – not a lot of it matched facts.  But without a weapon, an eye witness, DNA, any physical evidence connecting Mamou to the crime scene – they wanted a ‘confession’.  Watching the video today, twenty years later, it’s clear the ‘confession’ used to convict Charles Mamou was riddled with inconsistency.

Terrence Dodson started out by assuring investigators he would never be involved in a drug transaction.

Terrence Dodson said he just wanted to go home and not be involved with any type of illegal activity.

Those original statements directly contradicted what he later said at trial.

Q: And how did you come to meet him or be with him that morning?
A: Well, he gave me a call and told me that he had a lick for a key. So I said, come get me.

Q: What did you think was actually going to happen?
A: That they was going to bring the kilo, we were going to bring newspaper, and we was going to rob them.
Q: What was your part going to be?
A: My part in the robbery?
Q: Right.
A: To rob them.
Q: With what?
A: With a gun.
Q: You had a gun?
A: Yeah, I had it on me.

Q. What if there is more than one or two people there? Is that going to be a problem for you?
A. No, not really.
Q. You’re comfortable going in a situation like that with a gun, and if somebody shows you the dope, you just going to take the dope?
A. Pretty much.

Over and over, Terrence Dodson testified to his involvement in the drug deal, contradicting his original statement to police.

When Terrence Dodson first spoke to police on Wednesday, December 9, 1998, it took over an hour. He was asked several times what day Charles Mamou had left Houston for his home in Louisiana. Dodson told investigators Mamou left on Monday, December 7.

Although Dodson said Mamou left on Monday, according to the Houston Police Department’s own incident report – Charles Mamou left Houston on Tuesday, December 8, 1998.

Then, Dodson told investigators about the ‘confession’ – which he said took place in a phone call from Charles Mamou on Tuesday morning – from Louisiana. It would have been hard for Mamou to call Dodson from Louisiana on Tuesday morning – because the investigation’s own witnesses stated Mamou was actually in Houston on Tuesday morning, but that didn’t concern investigators, the prosecution or his defense attorney. Mamou had actually spent Monday night in the apartment of one of the prosecution’s own witnesses, Howard Scott.

Terrence Dodson then proceeded to share what he says was a confession to murder.

In his statement to police, Terrence Dodson shares a story of Mamou calling him on Tuesday morning from Louisiana, when in reality Charles Mamou wasn’t even in Louisiana, and confessing to him in one phone call. Months later, at trial, he told a different story.

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.

Yet – in his taped statement – Dodson claimed Charles confessed to him in one phone call on Tuesday morning from Louisiana, a time when Charles Mamou wasn’t in Louisiana.

Friends and relatives of Mamou’s have told me Mamou would never have shared his business with his cousin, Terrence. But, Terrence was willing to testify to a confession, so he was very valuable in the investigation – even with an odd version of events that didn’t match any of the available information or witness accounts. He even said the drug deal shooting began inside the car. As everyone knows – including the witnesses, police, prosecution and defense – it didn’t happen inside the car.

The drug deal and shooting actually took place outside the car. And none of the people there described a bag of money being thrown back and forth. That version is far from believable, even without any of the witnesses. But Terrence Dodson was giving investigators a confession, no matter how far-fetched it might sound. Not only was it a ‘confession’ it was one by a cousin – why would a cousin lie?

With regard to the victim – Dodson had an even more bizarre story to tell. One moment he described the girl as ‘scared’ and his cousin was trying to calm her down – and in the next moment he actually told investigators that she said, “I ain’t fixin to suck your dick for under $300.”

The victim’s body was later found in a neighborhood Charles Mamou, who was from Louisiana, would not have been familiar with, in the backyard of a house that was for sale. That is not how Terrence described the location though. He said in his statement that it was behind some abandoned houses, some for sale houses.

At one point it seemed the investigators were trying to help him include something they wanted him to add to his statement.

Again – the detective appeared to want this detail in the statement and again asked the leading question.

There wasn’t much about Dodson’s statement that lined up with what the other parties involved had to say. Even Dodson’s description of Mamou’s sunglasses that the prosecution presented as being connected to Mary. The glasses were nearly five miles from the body – but that was never told to the jury. In Dodson’s version of the story – the glasses were broken, ‘lenses gone and everything’. Anthony Trail and Charles Mamou, who had no reason to lie about the condition of glasses, both described the glasses as not being broken, and they were the ones who picked them up.

Terrence Dodson spoke to police for over an hour. A month after this statement to police was made, he wrote a letter to his cousin, Charles Mamou, who was in prison. In the letter he 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.”

Charles Mamou was repeatedly accused of sexual assault during the trial and has repeatedly asked for any DNA testing that should have taken place if there was a sexual assault, as he knows it wouldn’t match him.

During the punishment phase of Mamou’s trail, autopsy photos of individuals other than Mary were shared, as well as testimony from family members of other murder victims. Charles Mamou has never been tried for any other murder.

I have tried to contact Terrence Dodson on several occasions, but he has not responded.

Charles Mamou is out of appeals and currently awaits an execution date.

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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A Letter To My Thirteen Year Old Self

Dear Duck,

You might want to sit down for this.  Being as you’re so young, my intention is to be delicate, but there are some troubling things that need to be disclosed about the path down which you are headed.

Who am I, you ask?  Oh, I’m nobody in particular, though I could’ve been. It’s just that I’ve made some really poor choices in life – kinda like what you’re doing.  Should you continue, well… eventually you may become nobody in particular too.

The things you’re going through that you think no one else understands – I do.  However, I’ve come to learn that other people’s shortcomings are not my excuses, and there’s self-accountability in most blame.  We are all responsible for creating the lives we want for ourselves.  None of us are exempt from that obligation, Duck. No one else determines how you live.

I know that you’re experiencing some household issues that compel you to find acceptance outside your home. Your older brother, Ray, whom you idolize, doesn’t want you tagging along with him anymore. And while you wait enthusiastically around the house for his return, still, he doesn’t notice you.  I know between your mother’s day job and night school, quality time has given way to fatigue.  And while everyone dotes on your cute kid sister, your presence feels passed over.  It makes you envious, and you question your worth.  You feel invisible, as though you don’t matter. You prioritize making friends for the sake of their opinions to validate your importance.  You assume a person’s reputation is the measure of their worth; that fear is ascribed to weakness.  So you smoke, deal drugs, and have unprotected sex simply to gain approval.  But real friends needn’t prove themselves to one another, and fearfulness touches us all. Even the stony looks on the faces of those you so desperately hope to impress, they too have known fear.  We’ve all been afraid, though not everyone has the courage to admit it.  Owning up to our fears is not weak but strong.

Open your eyes, Duck.  You could have a rich, joyous life, if only you would seize it and realize that nothing worth having comes free, it takes dedication and hard work. And yes – having to take ownership over your life at thirteen can be scary, but being a better person is a decision that can only be made by you.  Should you continue to travel down such a callous road of indignities, well… you’ll find yourself one night staring down the barrel of a shotgun while fumbling in your socks for what you hope is enough money to trade for your life.  You’ll have kids who will grow to adults and have no idea who you are. You’ll suffer scorching lead bore through your flesh as you are left in the street for dead.  You will become a slave to your addictions, contract STDs, and erroneously learn to settle domestic disputes with your fist.  You will hold a man’s life in your hands while wielding a powerful sense of judgment at the price of your humanity.  You’ll spend 20 years in a prison cell crying yourself to sleep at night with shame. Your life will be plagued with regrets, and you’ll find that behind closed eyelids, your demons await.

There’s lots of hurt coming your way, Duck.  Trust me – I know.  But there’s also the chance for you to make things different.  The life you want – your dreams and aspirations – they begin and end with you. Don’t let the pain of your poor choices diminish your goodness and exact its toll on your family.  Don’t let the expectations of others determine who you will become.  You’re a wonderfully smart and gifted young man with unworldly potential for greatness, so be someone to be proud of…  don’t be another me.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:  Terry Robinson writes under the pen name ‘Chanton’. Terry is a thought provoking, inspirational writer and a frequent contributor. It’s a privilege to share his work.

He can be contacted at:
Terry Robinson #0349019
Central Prison
4285 Mail Service Center
Raleigh, NC 27699-4285

All Posts By Chanton

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Mamou’s Harris County Death Sentence Centered On Questionable Testimony

Charles Mamou has never wavered in declaring his innocence, but the key witness at his trial testified that Mamou ‘confessed’ to him.  In a case without a weapon, or a fingerprint at the scene, or a hair, or a fiber, or DNA, or an eyewitness, or a violent history – the testimony of Terrence Dodson was a key factor in Mamou’s death sentence.  But, in matters of life and death, should claims of ‘confessions’ be held to a reasonable standard of reliability?

Dodson wasn’t just an uninvolved witness.  According to his own testimony, he clearly had reason to be concerned about his well-being.  When asked, “Were you a little concerned about the fact that you might be charged with a crime?”

“Yes.”

“But you don’t have that concern now, do you?”

“No.”

Over and over, Dodson maintained his understanding that he had a lot at stake. 

“And at that point in time, what exactly are you thinking at the time that you were picked up by the police?  Is it clear to you that they are looking at you as a suspect for capital murder?”

“Yeah, it was clear to me.”

“So, at that point, is it a fair statement to say you’re very concerned about your future and what might happen to you?”

“Yeah, it’s a fair statement.”

Dodson knew the gravity of the situation and the possible consequences to himself.  That would be enough to make one wonder if his testimony regarding Mamou’s ‘confession’ could be relied upon, but self-preservation wasn’t the only issue that would bring into question everything that Dodson shared in the courtroom.  There were also contrasts between his original statement to police and what he testified to during the trial.     

During the police interview, Dodson repeatedly said he had nothing to do with the drug deal that took place that night.  He simply wanted to go home.

“He told me that he was going to buy a kilo – coke, and I was like, man, take me home because I don’t want to be around the transaction or whatever.”

“So, him and Bud started looking at me saying just chill out man, chill out, man, you are tripping, I was like, man, no, just take me back to the house, that’s all I am asking.”

“And he kept saying, just chill, we got out there.  I’m like, oh man, just take me back.”

“And I am like, just take me back, man, I am not with all that.”

Yet, during the trial, when asked about his involvement in the drug deal, Dodson describes it differently. 

“What was your part going to be?”

“My part in the robbery?”

“Right.”

“To rob them.”

“With what?”

“With a gun.”

“You had a gun?”

“Yeah, I had it on me.”

“So, what is it that you’re supposed to do, you, personally?  What is your role on this jack on jack?  Of  course, you’re not knowing that it’s a jack on jack at that point, are you?”

“Exactly.”

“So, what is your role?  What are you supposed to do?”

“Once I see the dope, I pull out my pistol and take the dope.”

“You’re comfortable going in a situation like that with a gun; and if somebody shows you the dope you just going to take the dope?”

“Pretty much.”

The star witness consistently contradicted himself and his prior recorded statement.  While being questioned by detectives, Dodson described Mamou’s ‘confession’ as taking place in one phone call.

“Ok, and where was he calling you from?”

“He said, Louisiana, but we don’t have a caller I.D., so he said, what’s up?  I said, what’s up?  He said, what’s going on?  I said, there is nothing going on, what’s up?  He said, have been watching the news?  I say, yeah.  He said, man, he just started telling what went down, that he, in so many words, did it, and I like, man, and he told me step by step how it went down.”

Dodson lived in Houston, and Mamou lived in Louisiana.  Dodson told police that after Mamou returned to his home in Louisiana, he called Dodson and confessed.  Yet – at trial, Dodson changed his story, describing how the confession took place differently.  

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 had a bible.  There was a shoot-out and goes into detail about where the people were shot 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 Novack, and she supposedly had performed oral sex on him.  When did you get that information?  What time is that?”

“I don’t really recall, I got, like I said, bits and pieces in person.”

“Everything that you said here in court today, you’re attributing to him?”

“Yeah, everything I said that was told to me was told to me by him.”

“It is one conversation or several?”

“It was several.”

“Over what period of time?”

“I don’t really recall, a couple days.”

Terrence Dodson didn’t just contradict himself throughout his statement and testimony.  He also told a version of the drug deal during his statement to police that no one else did.  According to him, Mamou confessed to getting into the Lexus before the shooting.  He clearly describes the violence taking place inside the car.  He also paints a picture of two drug dealers throwing a bag of ‘money’ back and forth between them.

“So the dude that drove the Lexus approached Chuckie or whatever, so this is how we are going to do it, you gonna ride with my boy in my Lexus, and you all do the business and we gonna stay here with Bud or Buk whatever.  So, Chuckie was like, no, no, I don’t even like the way that sounds. So, if I am going to do the business, is going to be with you, because you are the one I talked to.  So the dude must have said, they all loaded up in other words, and the dude told Chuckie we are fixin to do the business down the dark street, so Chuckie said you want to do it in front of Bennigans, but the dude said, it is too hot over here.  So they went down the dark street.  Dude asked Chuckie where is the money?  So, Chuckie said, I got the money, and threw him the paper bag, whatever.  The dude threw it back, so Chuckie said, what’s up?  The dude said, take the money out, I want to see it. Chuckie said the money is right here, threw back at him. Chuckie said, by that time, he see the dude flinch – like moving into his seat.   Chuckie said, he came out with his pistol and was like, man, what’s going on, and the dude was pulling for his.  He said, he just thought something, and shot him up on whatever and burnt off with the girl in the Lexus.”

“His exact words were, shit, I threw him the money, and he threw it back. I threw him the money again, and he threw it back, know what I’m sayin’, and that’s when I threw down to see what’s goin’ on.”

The two witnesses and participants in the drug deal, Charles Mamou, and the police have established that the drug deal and shooting took place outside of the vehicle.  None of the other individuals described a bag being thrown back and forth. 

Not long after Terrence Dodson told the police that Charles Mamou ‘confessed’ to him, he wrote a letter to Mamou.  In it, Dodson once again contradicts himself, writing, “I’m glad you didn’t tell me shit about that, cause I don’t wanna know shit.  I feel better off that way.”

Charles Mamou is currently on death row in Texas and waiting for his execution date. 

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

Related Articles:   What Does It Take To Get On Texas Death Row;
Texas Death Sentence Clouded By Irrefutable Doubt;
Awaiting Execution – “Have You Ever Felt Like You Can Taste The Future?”;
Because They Can – Execution In Texas;
Letter From Key Mamou Witness Contradicting Testimony;
Testimony Worthy Of An Execution? The Mamou Transcripts – Part I;
The Mamou Transcripts Part II;
The Mamou Transcripts Part III – Death Sentence Built On The Testimony Of Dealers;
The Mamou Transcripts IV;
The Mamou Trial – Was Race A Factor?;
Mamou’s Death Sentence Sealed With Graphic Testimony And Photos – Of Victims Of Crimes He Was Never Charged With

Writing By Charles Mamou

Source:

Harris County, Texas. Charles Mamou, Jr. Vs. The State Of Texas. Sept. 1999.

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