You do not know me, but I know you well. I used to be you. I say used to, because I am no longer just you. I am the combined product of your sheltered, formative years and my introduction to reality, an amalgamation of our early childhood and adolescent life lessons – the bumps, bruises and growing pains – and the harsh reality of adulthood.
As the evolved you, what I need to impart is vital to our impending maturation process and our overall view of – not what life is supposed to be, but what it actually is. Nothing about life is static. At some point, everything changes. There will be some good changes, some bad, and sometimes you will be powerless to do anything about them. How you learn to deal with the effects of change will be key in determining where you go in life. The real world doesn’t give handouts or love you just because you think it’s what you deserve.
These times are the best you’ll ever experience. Some kids couldn’t imagine living as you do – a loving home with a mother and a father, plenty of food, toys, and not just clothes and shoes, but the latest styles. It’s blissful being given mostly everything you desire and having no real boundaries. You’ve been blessed to enjoy stress-free living in the way that all kids should, but many – if not most – do not. And obviously, at this point, you cannot imagine anything evil enough to step in and destroy this life.
I, however, must warn you about and prepare you for something so catastrophic that it will implode the comfortable and safe bubble in which we exist. Without warning, the leisurely, carefree life that our loving, yet enabling, parents – who love us more than anything but fail at “tough love” – work so hard to provide will suddenly be gone. Unfortunately, this “life of Riley” existence is lacking in discipline and creating an air of entitlement, though you cannot currently comprehend it, that makes you lazy, unappreciative, and irresponsible – character flaws that often obscure rational decisions.
There’s an epidemic on the horizon. Within five years these little, white cracked up pieces of what appears to be soap will not only destroy your life and the lives of most of the people you know, but it’ll also destroy millions of other lives – entire cities even.
Yes, it’s hard to imagine your parents choosing anything over their love for you, and even with all that I now know, I still cannot find the words to explain how it happens. It gets no tougher or more painful than when your first experience what betrayal is at the hands of the people you trust most.
Addiction is the unimaginable evil. It swoops in and destroys everything good about life. Because of it, your life will never be the same. You will trade a modest three bedroom home in the suburbs for the housing projects. You’ll see the woman you love more than anything on this earth – who nurtured you, cared for you when you were sick, sewed costumes for your school plays, and would die a thousand miserable deaths to protect you – sell her body for drugs, which will eventually lead to you having to hurt someone to protect her because she’s the only mother you will ever have. You will barely see your father, the man who took you on fishing trips and to your Saturday morning little league football games (and in a couple years will awkwardly and uncomfortably attempt to explain “the birds and the bees”). You’ll lose regular contact with your extended family, the people who you’ve spent almost every weekend of your life alternating visits between. You’ll lose what identity you thought you had and embark on journeys without safety nets, just brutal, unforgiving streets, to discover who we are and could’ve been.
Fortunately, as you grow into us, God provides a guardian angel for guidance, and we make it through the assumed biggest challenge of our short life and never lose our ability to dream. Then, we make the 3,000 mile cross-country trek to pursue our dreams. Unfortunately, in that pursuit, enraptured by the glitzy, glamorous facade that is Hollywood, I get us lost – misguided by my character flaws – and make the worst decision possible for us.
In a few years many of our Hollywood ‘friends’ will laud us for our exceptional talents, the same ego stroking we’ve encountered since childhood, which encourages us to regress to our old ways of expecting to be given instead of working. But don’t get sucked into a lifestyle of partying and drugs – remember how drugs destroyed our entire world just a few years ago. Don’t forget that! Only by working can you earn what you deserve.
You’ll be offered a great job – take it. Don’t let your ‘friends’ and your ego convince you that you’re too talented to work for someone else. Not only will it be a great opportunity to build bridges and your reputation within the industry, but it will also lead you away from a situation that will lead to the biggest challenge we’ll ever face.
The sole purpose of this letter, written by me to me, is to forewarn you of the perils of being a spoiled and lazy dreamer. Give us a chance to do better and to be better.
Had I taken that job, I wouldn’t be here now writing this letter to myself from the bowels of American society – Florida’s death row. It’s here where I’ve spent almost three decades – more time than all my years in society – regretting nothing more than that one misguided decision.
Wish I didn’t have to wish we could go back knowing what we now know.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR. Reshi Yenot is a talented writer who uses his words thoughtfully and purposefully. He puts his heart into his work, and is also very talented musically. I’m glad he entered our recent contest and happy to say he came in second place. Mr. Yenot writes under a pen name and can be contacted at: Reshi Yenot P.O. Box 70092 Henrico, VA 23255
For two years, WITS has shared the story of Charles Mamou, two decades on death row and awaiting an execution date. In those two years, this site has shared a letter written by the key witness that the jury never saw, rape kit results the DA had that Mamou never knew existed, phone records the DA had that Mamou never knew existed, documentation of biological evidence being signed out in the case with no explanation or accountability, missing statements and/or interviews, witness interviews from 2019 indicating Mamou was exactly where he said he was twenty years ago when he last saw Mary Carmouche and more. Yet – he awaits execution. I recently asked him, ‘How has it impacted you, knowing the lengths Harris County went to in order to sentence you to die?’
Since I’ve been on Texas’ Death Row, where reading is the only natural form of entertainment, I have read a lot of history books. When I think of my situation, there is little difference between 1898 and 1998 – I was just a young, dumb, poor black kid who stood alone. I wasn’t the first, and I wasn’t the last. It was the norm. Racist and overzealous prosecutors saw me and those that look like me the same, ‘a menace to society’, deplorable and judicially dispensable, while off-colored jokes were made in the locker room, no one having the gumption to tell them in public.
Here’s what I want people to know. Even after I was convicted and sentence to die by a jury that looked nothing like me, I still blew it off. ‘I’ll win on appeal, cause there is no way I won’t get action’. I didn’t know an appeal is just a maze of malleable interpretations of laws, many not even heard on appeal, getting ‘procedurally barred’. The system only works if you have the money to move it in your favor.
I knew one thing in 1998. I didn’t bring Mary to that night. I didn’t kidnap Mary. I didn’t kill Mary. And I sure as hell didn’t rape her. My lawyers didn’t care about me at all, told me that in five years I would win my case on appeal. I believed what I was told. Then five turned to ten and ten to twenty, and I realized America wasn’t about the truth. The D.A. had evidence during trial that their own witness’ were lying – but said nothing. Phone records show phone calls were being made all night, but both men claimed they were asleep.
I’m not the first man to sit innocent on Death Row. I know the real meaning of HATE and what it feels and tastes like to be hated. The difference between me and them – I don’t hide from who I was and who I am. And in case anyone wants to know – you’re damn right, I’m mad.
All posts and details of this case, including phone records that were not shared with the defense, a letter from the ‘key witness’ stating he didn’t know anything, and how Mamou was even accused of an unsolved murder during his trial can be found here. Anyone with information regarding this case can contact me at kimberleycarter@verizon.net. There is also a facebook page dedicated to sharing the truth. Share his story.
TO CONTACT CHARLES MAMOU: Charles Mamou #999333 Polunsky Unit 12-CD-53 3872 South FM 350 Livingston, TX 77351 Mamou can also be contacted through JPay via email, but please include your mailing address if you contact him this way, as he can only respond through the mail.
He was called Little Tee – befitting since he stood no taller than the BMX bicycle he struggled to mount, eager to tag along with the older kids to the mall. His cheeks flushed, absorbing the praise, while my friends boasted over his skill for thieving. I knew they were manipulating him, but I didn’t speak up – being equally manipulative in my silence. I hoped he would grow tired on our trail and turn back, but he didn’t, determination cascading from his forehead with each trickle of sweat. We arrived at the mall and did wheelies in the parking lot as Little Tee vanished inside. By the time we later headed for home, we all sported new gold chains.
That was the first day I met Little Tee, a burgeoning menace with an unwavering desire to prove himself. He stole anything that wasn’t nailed down, his confidence like silk in his veins. Thievery was only a fragment of his willingness to fit in; one simply had to dare Little Tee. He hung out all hours of the night, putting doubts to rest with a fearlessness inspiring to watch.
Nights at my house were sometimes spent with Little Tee sprawled out on the sofa or scoffing cold-cuts and gawking at video vixens. I wondered about his family and whether his whereabouts were anyone’s concern. He was no more than eight or nine, and yet no one ever came looking for him. I didn’t mind that he showed up unexpectedly and seemed to never want to leave; I liked having him around. He had a timely sense of humor and dreams of the future big enough to lend me some. He gave unsparingly and never asked for anything in return. To him, charity was synonymous to wealth. Little Tee was a joy, but he did have a mean-streak and fought with other kids all over town like it was the latest craze. The bane of his freedom, it would earn him some stints in juvenile detention where he ultimately grew more devious.
A few years later, Little Tee transitioned from thieving to dope dealing. He hopped into cars haggling crack rocks and turned profits with the best of ‘em. He smoked cigarettes and weed, drank beers and cussed. No one seemed bothered by his youthfulness, instead they encouraged him. The more his behavior worsened, the more popular he became. By twelve years old, he had as much clientele as dealers twice his age. He was always the smallest guy on the block, but nobody had more heart.
One night Little Tee was at a local hangout when a scuffle broke out between two men with their pride at sake, one of whom had a shotgun. Scorching iron-pellets ruptured Little Tee’s flesh as he was inadvertently shot in the face. It would be months before he healed from his physical injuries, but his psyche hardly recovered. Suddenly, he was torn between upholding his image and breaking free from his notoriety. He had grown weary of his terrible ways, yet he couldn’t break character. The truth was, the shooting ordeal changed Little Tee and heightened his conscience in a way others could never understand. He wanted so much to be done with the streets… but the streets don’t always let go.
On Christmas day, December 25, 1997, I was posted up on the block when Little Tee strolled through. We greeted one another and shared some laughs before his eyes took on a piercing glare. He then let on about his dissension with rival dealers in a nearby neighborhood and asked for my help. By then, Little Tee was like a brother to me – it was all the answer he needed. Apparently, he had rented a car and parked it on Gay Street. He said he would swing by and pick me up later. Little Tee disappeared up the street. Some minutes later, gunshots devoured the joyous holiday evening. Gossip raced along the streets on the lips of hearsayers – Little Tee was just killed by the police!
I bolted heedlessly for Gay Street while at the same time down a road in my head that had no end. I kept thinking that if I got there quick enough, maybe I could save him. I prayed the whispers were wrong but the look of despair on the faces of the spectators confirmed my worst realty. Someone was dead. “Please, God, don’t let it be Little Tee.”
The shooting had taken place in the backyard which obscured my view of the body. Rumors of what happened ran rampant among those gathered, igniting a bon-fire of tempers. The ambulance arrived and carted out a body partially covered under a blood soaked sheet. I recognized the sneakers and fell to the ground wailing… Little Tee really was gone.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Terry Robinson often writes under the pen name ‘Chanton’, and this year he co-authored Crimson Letters, Voices From Death Row. He continues to work on his memoirs, as well as a book of fiction. Terry Robinson has always maintained his innocence, and hopes to one day prove that and walk free. Mr. Robinson can be contacted at: Terry Robinson #0349019 Central Prison 4285 Mail Service Center Raleigh, NC 27699-4285
NOTE TO READER. Please contact kimberleycarter@verizon.net if you saw Terry Robinson in Wilson, NC, any time of the day or night on May 16, 1999 – or his accusers, who claimed Robinson was with them for most of the day. What may seem irrelevant – is often the most helpful. Details of this case will be shared at https://walkinthoseshoes.com/category/terry-robinson/
Houston’s Police Chief, Art Acevedo, recently received cheers from protestors, “We will march as a department with everybody in this community. I will march until I can’t stand no more.”
Charles Mamou has lived on Death Row for over twenty years for a case built by the Houston Police Department and prosecuted by Harris County, Texas. Mamou is out of appeals, and despite what that means for a man on death row, the Houston Police Department is not interested in addressing any mishandling of his case. A few short months ago, I was ‘dismissed’ by the Houston Police Department when I tried to obtain answers. I was told by Ms. Wilker at HPD that what I was looking for was ‘irrelevant’ and the ‘window of opportunity’ to obtain the information was ‘closed’.
I tried to explain to Ms. Wilker during our several conversations that it was relevant and what I was looking for, rape kit results, were significant because the prosecutor told the jury Charles Mamou sexually assaulted the victim. Ms. Wilker wouldn’t acknowledge the importance of the information.
I was able to obtain the rape kit results without the help of HPD or the Harris County District Attorney’s office. As it turns out, the results revealed the D.A. knew prior to trial that while they were accusing Mamou of sexual assault, there was no semen found. They also learned before the trial and from those results that trace evidence existed in the case. They never told Mamou, and they didn’t tell him a few months ago when I was requesting their help in the matter. Again, HPD’s position, according to Ms. Wilker, the rape kit results are irrelevant and the window of opportunity to obtain that information is closed.
Legally, Mamou’s case has been rubber-stamped and through the Texas process – he will be executed in the near future. But this is what people should know when the execution takes place. I didn’t just go to HPD looking for rape kit results. There is a lot more the jury never knew in the Mamou case in addition to a rape kit and the results from it.
In 2019, twenty years after Mamou’s death sentence began, the case file states ‘biological evidence’ was signed out on two different occasions. Mamou, who has always maintained his innocence, is going to be executed so it seems reasonable he should know why biological evidence was being signed out in his case. Coincidentally or not, the employee who signed for both items has been written about on several occasions in the Houston Chronicle for issues related to mishandling of evidence. The employee also worked in the HPD lab back in 1998 when the crime occurred, and it appears someone that looks strikingly like that employee is in Mamou evidence photographs from the time. For all those reason, I also inquired at HPD as to why the evidence was signed out.
I was told by HPD to ask the District Attorney’s office and the HPD Property Room, which I did. The District Attorney’s office told me they had not requested any evidence to be tested, the file was not active. The Property Room told me to go to Homicide and ask the investigator working the case. Homicide told me no one was working the case. My question came full circle back to HPD, and I was told by Ms. Wilker in a phone conversation that the evidence was signed out and in the possession of Mary K. Childs-Henry at one time, but it was ‘now back where it belonged’. Not satisfied, I asked if she considered the matter closed – she responded she did.
After that phone call, I wrote to Internal Affairs and copied Chief Art Acevedo, hoping to address why evidence in the Mamou case would be signed for if there was no detective working the case and the District Attorney did not request it. HPD responded via a letter dated December 17, 2019. “The incident described by you does not support an allegation of misconduct on the part of a member of the Houston Police Department. There is no allegation described by you that would initiate an investigation.” It went on to say, “The District Attorney is the only person that can authorize any type of evidence to be released for any reason.”
And so – no one needs to explain why biological evidence in a capital murder case gets signed out.
It doesn’t end with an undisclosed rape kit, or undisclosed trace evidence or having to not account for removing evidence in a capital murder that resulted in a death sentence.
The case was built from the ground up on a one-time suspect telling police that Mamou confessed to him. HPD investigators were aware when they were recording that suspect’s statement that what he was describing couldn’t have taken place the way described. The witness, Terrence Dodson, said Mamou confessed to him in a one phone call ‘confession’ from Louisiana on the previous day, Tuesday morning ‘before day’. The police didn’t stop him at that point. At the very time he was making this statement, police were taking a statement in another room from a man who said Mamou was in Houston, Texas, on Tuesday morning, and that man drove Mamou to the bus stop on Tuesday in the afternoon, around 1:30.
Mamou and Terrence Dodson, the witness who testified Mamou confessed to him.
That wasn’t all. Police knew Mamou was in Houston on Tuesday because the man who was recording the statement, Det. Novak, had actually spoken to the woman whose apartment Mamou had slept in on Monday night and that detective also obtained a warrant in Houston on Tuesday morning as police tried to arrest Mamou at that apartment located in Houston. They missed Mamou, who was later dropped off at the bus stop by the witness in the other room at HPD. The HPD interviewer, Novak, also notarized the statement of the man in the next room who said he drove Mamou to the bus stop. Novak was also the one who spoke to the woman whose apartment Mamou slept at and where he was located on Tuesday morning.
If that wasn’t enough, the ‘star’ witness also clearly told police Mamou was planning on taking a bus from Louisiana to Houston on Tuesday and had asked the witness to pick him up at the bus station. Again – detectives knew Mamou was not in Louisaina on Tuesday morning and they also knew he actually took a bus from Houston to Louisiana on Tuesday – the exact opposite of what the witness was describing.
That witness’ testimony later changed at trial, and he described a confession that took place over days, over the phone and in person, even though Mamou never saw that man again after Monday morning. Mamou never saw the interview, and was unaware of the discrepancies until last year.
There is more.
Investigators, when they went to the apartment that Tuesday morning to talk to the resident there, Howard Scott, they wrote down every single one of the phone calls on his caller I.D. from the night of the crime. That information was never shared with Mamou, but would have discredited two of the state’s witnesses who testified they were in bed sleeping and not using their phones. Howard Scott said his phone simply stopped ringing between 11 and 12 when he went to bed. When asked on the stand if it was because it was unplugged, he said no. It was because it simply stopped ringing.
An HPD investigator faxed the phone records to the District Attorney during the trial and before that testimony. The District Attorney didn’t pull his witness to the side during his testimony or in any way indicate the witness was lying. There was also at least one phone call that went out of the apartment that night according to the caller I.D. of Yellow Cab.
Included in the fax HPD sent to the D.A. were the phone calls placed to the apartment by another suspect, Samuel Johnson. Samuel Johnson also testified he was in bed sleeping and had not contacted anyone or made any calls to Howard Scott – whose caller ID said he did. Again, the District Attorney did not ask his witness to tell the truth, or ask for an opportunity to speak to his witness on the side and explain to him that he needed to tell the truth on the stand.
What’s even more important about Samuel Johnson’s phone call – it was made from a cell phone. In 1998, it would be common for people to use their landline for phone calls from their residence and a cell phone if they were not at home. Unfortunately, those phone records were never shared with Mamou, and he didn’t know they existed until recently. The opportunity to trace that phone call is gone.
There is more about that Tuesday and the police talking to Howard and Robin Scott. Police drove them both to HPD to get their statements. Robin Scott’s statement from that day is in the file, Howard Scott’s is not – even though it is well documented that Howard Scott was taken to HPD on Tuesday, December 8, 1998, for a statement. In addition, Detective Novak testified he took a written statement from Scott when he went to HPD that day, and Howard himself has since told an investigator that HPD would not let him and his wife leave the police department that day until their statements matched.
As if that wasn’t enough. Detective Novak reopened an investigation into an unsolved murder in Houston from months earlier during the trial. What’s found in that file, isn’t much, but there is a witness statement in there that describes an individual in a bar, even describes how he was dressed, who left the bar with the victim. He also describes someone coming in a short time later saying the victim had been shot. That statement was never shared with the jury. Rather – the ‘man in the bar’, Joseph Melancon, testified at Mamou’s trial. His testimony did not match any of his earlier recorded accounts, but the jury didn’t know that, and Mamou got accused of the unsolved crime. The jury never heard the witness statement describing Melancon leaving with the victim, nor did they get to hear any defense from Mamou. Mamou was not charged with that crime, although he is listed as charged. The jury got to see the dead man’s autopsy photos and hear from his grieving family members though.
That is what took place in the hands of Harris County and the Houston Police Department. If you try to inquire with them regarding what took place, you may be told what you want to know is “irrelevant” and “the window of opportunity is closed”, but I would be happy to share with you what I have.
When Charles Mamou gets executed, his parents will most likely be offered the opportunity to watch, but it won’t be on camera for the world to see.
Chief Acevedo and the Harris County prosecutors always have the power to do the right thing and the window of opportunity is never closed. It is more open now than it has ever been.
“Compassion takes courage,” Mamou wrote me recently. Will the powers that be have the courage to do the right thing – or keep insisting some window is closed?
All posts and details of this case, including phone records that were not shared with the defense, a letter from the ‘key witness’ stating he didn’t know anything, and how Mamou was even accused of an unsolved murder during his trial can be found here. Anyone with information regarding this case can contact me at kimberleycarter@verizon.net. There is also a facebook page dedicated to sharing the truth. Share his story.
TO CONTACT CHARLES MAMOU: Charles Mamou #999333 Polunsky Unit 12-CD-53 3872 South FM 350 Livingston, TX 77351 Mamou can also be contacted through JPay via email, but please include your mailing address if you contact him this way, as he can only respond through the mail.
A boundless void, daunting and ever present, a place where even the pleasure of a night’s dream is wrecked by the reality of the waking day – that’s where I live. It’s a domain that spans a mere 6×10 feet, made of menacing concrete and steel, and offers the barest resources within an atmosphere that effects only sorrow. That’s life on Death Row, rankled daily by restrictions… told what to do, how to dress and when and where to go with little choice but to comply, dutifully denied the simplest liberties many folks take for granted and yet the real punishment seldom comes by day, rearing its head most often at night.
IU240 are the numbers of my prison cell, a crypt of sorts, where memories are elicited and misery reserved. With twenty years of digital sequences like IU240 to mark my identity, I am a nameless statistic with nothing left in the world to call my own. The days here are but a tireless effort to distract from Death Row – tabletops, TV, books and gossip, anything to cope with the pain. Yet ‘Lock Down’ call begins an agony anew, one from which there are no delusions or escape.
IU24O, a paltry wasteland of fussy dust mites that gather in hard to reach places. Lonely, except for the crowd of tender thoughts that threaten to devour my complacency. “Stand clear!” the warning blares as the mechanical gears churn and the vaulted door slams shut while I struggle to regard IU240 as a sanctuary rather than something worse than death.
The nights number 7300 that I’ve spent in isolation. My voice yearns for companionship, but the solitude is stifling, the air bland and smells nothing of freedom, more of apathy. As the brightness in the room plummets, I cling to a reason to steady the light within. I am afraid in the dark I may lose my way. Trivial items that lie dormant by day are now crawling reminders of the oppression, making rest and peace of mind laborious and evasive.
There is a column of tissue rolls stacked in the corner that serves as a coffee table and a desk constructed from Maruchan soup boxes and shoddy adhesive. Bed sheets suspended from paper clips along the walls are all there is for privacy, yet in a world of trash where there is hardly treasure, one must improvise. There’s a stainless steel mirror that erredly reflects the stains of my past transgressions, a toilet that ticks tauntingly and faucet water that tastes like lead. The concrete and steel with an eerie affinity to that of the blood and spirit of the many who have perished already and those who await their fate.
It is likely I will die in prison, a truth that is written on the age lines of my face. Already twenty years of my life’s essence etched into the fabric of these walls, and yet, IU240 isn’t some infamous badland where hope doesn’t exist. It doesn’t stand in the way of accepting responsibility and the effort to amend wrongs.
On the contrary, it’s a place where accountability offers temperance and renewal… a place where I have emerged from chaos a better person than when I arrived.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Terry Robinson writes under the pen name ‘Chanton’, and this year he has seen the release of Crimson Letters, Voices From Death Row, in which he was a contributor. He continues to work on his memoirs, as well as a book of fiction. Terry Robinson has always maintained his innocence, and hopes to one day prove that and walk free. Mr. Robinson can be contacted at: Terry Robinson #0349019 Central Prison 4285 Mail Service Center Raleigh, NC 27699-4285
NOTE TO READER. Please contact me at kimberleycarter@verizon.net if you saw Terry Robinson at any time of the day or night on May 16, 1999 – or his accusers, who claimed Robinson was with them for most of the day. Thank you to those who have come forward already. It is not easy for someone falsely accused to ever leave death row – no detail is too small. What may seem irrelevant – is often the most helpful. Details of this case will be shared at https://walkinthoseshoes.com/category/terry-robinson/
“The primary duty of a lawyer engaged in public prosecution is not to convict, but to see that justice is done.The suppression of facts or the secreting of witnesses capable of establishing the innocence of the accused is highly reprehensible.” – Canons of Professional Ethics of the American Bar Association
Harris County sent Charles Mamou to death row in 1999 in a case with no eye-witnesses or physical identifying evidence at the scene, a case built on the testimony of a witness who said Charles Mamou confessed to him. Other than that statement, which was recorded and contradicts facts and the witness’ own testimony, questions remain.
Why was Mamou never told a rape kit had been collected? Why was Mamou never given phone records revealing activities of other possible suspects that night? Why wasn’t Mamou told one of those phone calls was from a ‘cell phone’ and could have possibly been traced? Why is a key witness’ original statement not in the file? Why was there no documentation of another ‘possible suspect’s’ interviews in the file? Why was biological evidence in the case signed out of HPD’s Property Room last year, twenty years later?
Possibly the biggest question of all – was the case against Charles Mamou built to prosecute, rather than see justice done? There wasn’t ‘one’ issue, but many, and information Mamou could have used to defend himself wasn’t shared with him.
HPD Case File 157191298, Supplement 11, “D.A.’s Office is requesting that the rape kit obtained by the Harris County Morgue at time of the autopsy be processed through our crime lab.” No one told Mamou a rape kit had been collected. For two decades – he never knew. Mamou is out of appeals and waiting an execution date, and still, he has never had this information shared with him by Harris County. He has this information now because advocates who believe in his innocence located it.
The HPD case file went on to say, “Forward the findings of the rape kit examination to D.A. Investigator Al Rodriquez.” That was in 1999. In 2019 when I asked an HPD employee where the rape kit results were, I was told “they are irrelevant.”
During the trial the prosecutor assured the jury Mamou had sexually assaulted the victim. It was not mentioned that ‘no semen’ was found in the rape kit which included oral swabs. It was not mentioned in the autopsy report. It was not mentioned in the medical examiner’s testimony. There was not a word said to indicate a rape kit had been collected.
While asking the jury to sentence Mamou to death, the prosecution stated, “And he takes her to Lynchester. He marches her to the back, and he makes her commit oral sodomy, makes her suck his penis. Imagine that, ladies and gentleman.” Volume 24, Page 38
Mamou wasn’t charged with sexual assault, but the prosecution learned something when they received the results of the rape kit. Through the rape kit, ‘trace evidence’ was collected from the victim, including ‘hairs’ collected from her shirt and fingernail scrapings. This information, as well, was not shared with Mamou and was just discovered last year by advocates.
Regarding the night of the crime, Mamou has admitted to his role in the drug deal and the subsequent shooting – and even to fleeing in a car that held Mary Carmouche. He says he drove back to the location where he was staying and all the other parties involved in the drug deal were located there. That is the last place he says he saw Mary Carmouche. The things he describes seeing in the apartment complex parking lot have been supported by evidence as well as statements the jury never saw. The prosecutor claimed Mamou left the drug deal and drove Carmouche to a suburban neighborhood where he sexually assaulted and murdered her.
The Houston Police Department had in their possession something that would have helped Mamou support the events as he described them, but Mamou never saw this information. A fax cover sheet indicates HPD sent this information to Lyn McClellen, the prosecutor, while the trial was underway. HPD had their own handwritten phone records from the apartment Mamou said he drove to. All of the people he said were out and about that night – had been communicating with that apartment up until 3:43 a.m. that Sunday night. The phone records indicated they were not sleeping as they testified.
When the prosecution’s witness, the resident of the apartment, testified in court that he went to sleep at 11:00 or 12:00 and his phone stopped ringing – the prosecution didn’t stop the proceedings or ask to speak to their witness on the side or get clarification. The defense specifically asked –
Q. And at what time do you go to bed? A. I went right after that, I guess about 11:00 or 12:00. Q. I’m sorry? A. About 11:00 or 12:00, something like that.
Q. So are you awoken by telephone calls even after you go to bed? A. No, sir, no more phone calls. After awhile it wasn’t no more phone calls. (Volume 19 of the Reporter’s Record at page 149)
Q. Is that because you pulled a plug out of the phone or – A. No, it just stopped ringing. (Volume 19 of the Reporter’s Record at page 150)
Lyn Mclellan said nothing. At no time did he mention phone records. The phone was ringing at 11:19 p.m., 11:25 p.m., 11:46 p.m., 11:48 p.m., 12:14 a.m. 12:19 a.m., 1:54 a.m., 2:37 a.m., 3:12 a.m., and 3:43 a.m. That doesn’t include a known outgoing call for a Yellow Cab at 3:59 a.m.
The ‘driver’ related to the drug deal was also one of the prosecution’s witnesses. He, also, testified he was sleeping that night. According to Samuel Johnson, he went straight home after the shooting at 12:00 midnight:
Q. You go directly home? A. Yeah. Q. You tell your wife what happened? A. No, she was asleep at the time. Q. Pretty exciting events in your life, isn’t it? A. Very exciting. Q. You just get in bed and go to sleep? A. No, I took a shower. Q. Took a shower, and then got in bed and went to sleep? A. No, opened me a can of soda and went to bed. Q. Talk to anybody that night? A. No. Q. Talk to Robin or Howard Scott at any point after that? A. No. (Volume 19 of the Reporter’s Record at page 149)
Once again, the prosecution did not stop the trial or in any way indicate their witness was being deceptive.
“It is unprofessional and dishonorable to deal other than candidly with the facts in taking the statements of witnesses, in drawing affidavits and other documents, and in the presentation of causes.” –Canons of Professional Ethics of the American Bar Association
“No person shall…be deprived of life, liberty, or property, without due process of law,” – Fifth Amendment to the United States Constitution.
Charles Mamou is out of appeals and awaiting a date for his execution after spending over two decades of his life on Death Row in Texas.
All posts and details of this case, including phone records that were not shared with the defense, a letter from the ‘key witness’ stating he didn’t know anything, and how Mamou was even accused of an unsolved murder during his trial can be found here. Anyone with information regarding 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 Mamou can also be contacted through JPay via email, but please include your mailing address if you contact him this way, as he can only respond through the mail.
“Please keep fighting for my son.” That was a text received from Charles Mamou’s mother. Her son was sentenced to death over twenty years ago in Houston, while the Harris County District Attorney’s Office was under the rule of Johnny Holmes, a man known for and proud of pursuing the death penalty.
The amount of information manipulated or not shared with the jury in the Mamou case is disturbing, but one aspect that gets overlooked, is the theatrics and misinformation put into destroying Mamou’s character for the jury. What they lacked in evidence, was made up for in portraying the defendant as a monster. And then they instructed the jury they could consider things they would ‘hear about his character’ when deciding the case. – Volume 24 of the Reporters’ Record at page 6.
Charles Mamou, Jr., carrying his godson in Sunset, LA.
But what did the D.A. really know about Charles Mamou?
Mamou got into the business of dealing drugs early on in his life. He wasn’t born into the ‘haves’ and knew his fair share of struggle. He struggled with school. He struggled with his health. He absolutely could have chosen a different path, but he saw an opportunity dealing drugs and the well-travelled avenue to taking care of the people he cared most about – not to mention keeping the hot water on. Hot water wasn’t something he always had growing up.
Over time, Mamou earned a reputation, but it wasn’t one for violence. As one resident of Sunset described him,
“Chucky was a respectable boy and a fine young man. I worked as a cook at Sunset Elementary School where Chucky attended. He was a quiet little boy and mainly kept to himself. To my knowledge, he did not have any behavior problems in school and his grades were either average or above average.
“When Chucky was older, he would often talk to my son about his problems. My son was on drugs and Chucky would advise him to do better things with his life. I wanted my son to be more like Chucky.
“There were times when I went shopping and Chucky was in the grocery store. He would buy my groceries and never wanted any money back. There were many other people in town that Chucky would help buy groceries, pay rent or their electric bill. Chucky helped people.”
Don’t get me wrong. There was nothing glamorous about what Charles Mamou did for a living. He wasn’t a violent man though. Regardless of how the prosecution described him for the jury, the people who knew him day in and day out had a more accurate perspective.
Another man that knew Charles Mamou, Jr., stating they met in the ‘streets’ and clubs, also described his friend.
“Chucky does not have a ‘rough bone’ in his body. I have witnessed him paying bills for friend, family members and other people in the community. Charles, Jr., is a friend that everyone wishes to have once in their life.”
“If it was the dope that put Charles, Jr., behind bars, I pray that everyone in the world would burn the dope, and start praying.”
It was the ‘dope’ that put Mamou behind bars.
In 1998 three men knowingly brought a girl to a dark alley in Houston, with a plan. According to everyone involved, including the testimony of the two surviving men – they were there for one reason and one reason only. They were there to rob Charles Mamou at gunpoint. That’s it.
That was the plan, but it didn’t work out the way it was supposed to. Mamou started shooting when confronted with a gun pointed in his direction. His driver drove off and left him behind. He jumped in the car that belonged to the men who were attempting to rob him and drove back to the apartment complex on Fondren, in Houston, where he was staying and where the other individuals who helped organize the drug deal were located. All of the existing evidence supports that, including things Mamou said he observed when he got back to the apartments, which observations have been confirmed by statements the jury never heard, as well as evidence that existed.
The greatest injustice in this story – was the lack of effort to find out what really happened to the victim after she got to the apartment complex that night. There was no effort made to pursue possible answers, including tracking a cell phone call that one of the involved parties made that night – from who knows where. That individual said he was in bed sleeping – but the police knew his cell phone made a phone call at 2:37 a.m. on the night in question. One would think tracking a cell phone call from a suspect and the driver in the drug deal would be standard, especially in light of the fact that individual claimed to have been sleeping and not making or receiving phone calls at the time. He lied. His cell phone made a call from somewhere at 2:37 a.m. The police documented that information the week of the murder, although they never pursued it, and faxed the phone records to the District Attorney after the court proceedings began.
Charles Mamou only just became aware those phone records existed and were in the hands of the Houston Police Department and the District Attorney twenty years ago.
The prosecution didn’t pursue the information they had that might uncover what happened to the victim, but were more focused on convincing the jury that Charles Mamou was a monster.
And so, even though the medical examiner, Roger Milton, never mentioned a rape kit that was collected in his Autopsy Report, and even though the District Attorney requested the rape kit be processed and received the results of the rape kit prior to the trial – that information was also never shared with Charles Mamou. Mamou never knew a rape kit was gathered until last year.
Rather than share that information with the jury, Lyn McClellan, an Assistant District Attorney for Harris County did something else. He and his team chose to tell the jury that Charles Mamou sexually assaulted the victim. The entire time he was doing that, he knew full well a rape kit had been collected – and it revealed no semen found on any items.
“And he takes her to Lynchester. He marches her to the back, and he makes her commit oral sodomy, makes her suck his penis. Imagine that, ladies and gentleman.” – Volume 24 of the Reporter’s Record at page 38. That same attorney went on to describe Mamou’s character, “He’s vicious.” “He’s ruthless.” “He’s cold-blooded.” “He devastated and destroyed.”
The prosecution had no evidence that Charles Mamou did anything to Mary Carmouche. They had phone records Mamou didn’t know about. They had a rape kit Mamou didn’t know about. And something else they’ve had all these years – ‘trace evidence’, ‘hairs’ that were collected during the collection of the rape it. That evidence sat in the HPD Property Room for twenty years, and Charles Mamou nor the jury were ever informed they existed.
Of note, in 2019, two envelopes containing ‘biological evidence’ in this case were signed out of the Property Room, but it is unknown for what purpose or who authorized the removal, as HPD will not respond, other than to tell me the D.A. is the only one who can authorize removal of evidence. At the D.A.’s office I was told they didn’t know anything about the removal of the evidence.
Years ago, Chris Mamou described his brother in a statement.
‘Chucky’ and his brother, Christopher Mamou.
“Growing up, I can always remember my brother being there and looking out for me.”
“…he taught me how to walk with my head up high.”
“…he took me to the basketball court and tried to teach me how to play.”
“Charles, Jr., encouraged me to excel in school by rewarding me with praises and benefits, such as paying for my way to the neighbor dance if I had a good report.”
“…nothing would compare to the feeling of just making him proud which also encouraged me to do well.”
“All I knew was he had his own money and he shared with everyone – family, friends, or a stranger who needed help. I saw this and wanted to do the same thing. I approached him about making my own money and was denied, remembering his reasoning was that this was not for everybody. He did not want me to get involved.”
Charles Mamou has spent over twenty years on death row and awaits his execution for a drug deal gone wrong– not a murder. Investigators didn’t pursue what happened to Mary Carmouche after she arrived at that apartment complex. They were focused on ‘making’ Charles Mamou guilty – but none of the pieces fit. No matter which way you turn the puzzle, they won’t fit. Sticking to the ‘story’ isn’t going to make it any more true than it was twenty years ago. Mamou can be executed – it’s not going to make it true. He can die incarcerated during a pandemic – it still won’t make it true.
“He’s my firstborn. He has my name.” Charles Mamou, Sr., will never give up on his son. He recently told me, “If they want to kill an innocent man – take me. Don’t take him – take me.”
All posts and details of this case, including phone records that were not shared with the defense, a letter from the ‘key witness’ stating he didn’t know anything, and how Mamou was even accused of an unsolved murder during his trial can be found here. Anyone with information regarding 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
I am innocent. I did not rob the Pizza Inn restaurant, nor did I shoot and kill its manager, John Rushton. Ronald Bullock and Jesse Hill testified I did – their testimony the nucleus of the returned guilty verdict. I didn’t spend the day planning the robbery with them, nor meet them after it was over – as they told the jury. I didn’t organize their plan. I didn’t participate in it. I wasn’t in the Pizza Inn that night.
None of that happened. But, what does my innocence matter? Where did it get me but a bus ride to prison while shackled both by ankles and spirit to a dread that becomes so unbearable – death is a welcome resolve. How relevant is innocence to time long gone and opportunities forever missed, when your dignity is in a shambles, you’ve been stripped of your identity and you have nothing left to call your own but an Opus number. With no pride left for which to hide behind, to admit wrongdoing would not be so difficult – the hardest thing to do is continue proclaiming my innocence.
For two decades, I have lived the same as those who are guilty. I’ve stomached the same foods, donned the same disgraceful attire and been governed by the same rules. I’ve looked into the eyes of men as they were moments away from being unrighteously done in, while inside my innocence has become a little less significant each day. Capital punishment is not meant to penalize the guilty, but rather to exterminate the worthless while attempting to restore solace to grieving hearts.
Aristotle once said, “We are what we repeatedly do,” and in just a few short years, I will have been a Death Row inmate for longer than I’ve been anything else. So, what then is my innocence but a conscientious self-declaration to get me through the day?
My innocence is a reminder of who I used to be – so that I am not lost to who I have become…
ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Terry Robinson writes under the pen name ‘Chanton’, and this year he has seen the release of Crimson Letters, Voices From Death Row, in which he was a contributor. He continues to work on his memoirs, as well as a book of fiction. Terry Robinson has always maintained his innocence, and hopes to one day prove that and walk free. Mr. Robinson can be contacted at: Terry Robinson #0349019 Central Prison 4285 Mail Service Center Raleigh, NC 27699-4285
NOTE TO READER. Please contact me at kimberleycarter@verizon.net if you saw Terry Robinson at any time of the day or night on May 16, 1999 – or his accusers, who claimed Robinson was with them for most of the day. Thank you to those who have come forward already. It is not easy for someone falsely accused to ever leave death row – no detail is too small. What may seem irrelevant – is often the most helpful. Details of the trial will be shared at https://walkinthoseshoes.com/category/terry-robinson/
I’ve been on Texas death row since November, 1999, and was first held with the others at the ‘old death row housing’, Ellis One Unit, that provided group recreation, church services, work programs – camaraderie. There was a different vibe then. Sure, men were still being led like sheep to the slaughter in record numbers, and sure, a few were innocent, some wrongly convicted and many guilty, but the deprivation of social and human interaction in all forms was not as glaring then because we were allowed to play four-on-four basketball games outdoors, able to share hugs with one another, able to lean on one another when one had some bad news and needed a shoulder to cry on, and we were able to pray in groups. Some sat around tables playing card games, chess, or just sat in silence watching a movie or sports on ESPN. In no way am I exulting that existence, because I can never be content as long as I am being held in chains. I’m innocent. But the reality of living at Ellis during that time was ‘doable’. Man was not alone.
March, 2000, everything changed, including death row’s location and current housing. From the moment we arrived on Polunsky Unit we were handcuffed and chained, from our ankles to our stomach to our hands by one long chain, and ordered off the heavily armed buses and stripped nude for the whole world to see. That became the moment I knew everything was different.
We were placed in single man cells on sections that held fourteen cells per each of the six sections that encased one of six pods. Gone were work programs, group recreation, church services and all forms of physical contact that we once enjoyed. Morale was so low, it could be sensed within the thickness of the silence. Suicides and suicide attempts spiked that first year. A black, middle-aged inmate from Dallas, Clark, started shouting madly, daily, as if he was Paul Revere, saying things like, “In five years this place will be a place of madness!” Many laughed, thinking him already mad.
Clark and three others would die within the first five-hundred days, from unknown natural causes. They simply dropped dead in their cells. Men as young as 26 and as old as 51 were now remembered as ‘how did they die’. Though many surmised their depressive stress became too much to bear.
As time passed, men started self-mutilating, one cutting his penis off and throwing it out of his cell. Another, so consumed with religious material, set himself on fire. One man stabbed himself in the jugular and made not a sound. Before he bled out, he wrote, ‘I’m innocent’, in his own blood on the wall. The following day, the Courts granted him a stay to look into his claims, to no avail. One man ate his own eye, then ate the other. He said it tasted like chicken. Many hung themselves. A few started eating their own feces. An overwhelming number sought help from the mental health department which provided them with experimental psychiatric drugs that kept them in a nebulous, zombie-like state, in which they slept all day and could not function in a coherent manner. Inmate-friends at Ellis became inmate-enemies on Polunsky. Staff and inmate assaults rose substantially. The ugly reality the aftermath, when loneliness became dictator.
Clark’s prophetic words soon became a beacon to the fact that man crumbles from the starvation of physical interaction.
I’m not exempt from suicidal thoughts, the cancer known as depression swallowing me whole from time-to-time, more often than I care to dwell on. At times I’m consumed with thoughts of dyeing, being murdered, never getting free again and never getting another chance to feel the warm lips of a lover. Will I ever again salivate over the seasonings and texture of a home cooked meal from my mother? Who says insanity is all that bad? My mind does play tricks on me.
I want to be free. My freedom was molested from me with false allegations, and I struggle every moment to exist within these solitary confines, my survival not based on my courage or strength, but on those who write me, encourage me and love me unconditionally. I survive for them.
I do not know what tomorrow will bring. I’m out of appeals and the only step left is to get an execution date. That notion weighs heavily on me, but I have given my friends a promise to continue to be me until my soul is liberated from the manacles of my flesh.
Know this – I love you. Doesn’t matter if you hate me or support me. None of it matters. For without love, we all cease to survive the day.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR. Charles “Chucky” Mamou is living on Death Row in Texas. He is out of appeals and has always maintained his innocence. For information on his case, and to support and share his story, follow on Facebook at – Charles Mamou – How Wrongful Convictions Are Made. You can also read all the information specific to his case at Charles Mamou on this site.
Mr. Mamou can be contacted at: Charles Mamou #999333 Polunsky Unit 12-CD-53 3872 South FM 350 Livingston, TX 77351
April 17, 2019, ‘Items were signed for by Mary K. Childs-Henry – Item 001 Sealed envelope said to contain biological evidence.’
Then again, June 24, 2019, ‘Items were signed for by Mary K. Childs-Henry – Item 004 Sealed envelope said to contain biological evidence.’
The Mamou trial is riddled with information not shared with Charles Mamou or the jury – and in 2019 two notes were made in the case file noting – ‘Biological evidence’ signed for. Those two notes became two more things Harris County didn’t share with Charles Mamou.
* * * * *
In 1998, Charles Mamou was accused of fleeing a drug deal gone wrong and killing Mary Carmouche. He was then convicted and sentenced to death by a jury who wasn’t told all there was to know.
The victim was last seen late on a Sunday, early on Monday morning. On a Wednesday, Terrence Dodson, the prosecution’s key witness, stated Mamou confessed to him, making a video statement. In it, he claimed Mamou called him from Louisiana in the early morning hours of Tuesday – the day before. He also stated Mamou told him to pick him up from the bus station in Houston that same night, Tuesday night.
During that interview, investigators were aware Mamou was not in Louisiana on Tuesday morning nor on Tuesday mid-day, but actually in Houston. Mamou didn’t get on a bus from Houston, going to Louisiana, until 1:30 in the afternoon on that Tuesday. As a matter of fact, at the very time Dodson was making his statement in one room at HPD, another witness was making a statement as well. That witness actually drove Mamou to the bus station leaving Houston on Tuesday afternoon – not heading back to Houston as Dodson was telling police but away. The written statement of the other witness – is notarized by the same investigator that took Dodson’s video statement. Detective Novak had decades of experience at HPD.
The jury heard Dodson’s testimony and were never told the conflict. They also heard a different version of how the ‘confession’ took place than the recorded one. At trial, the confession was described as taking place over days, partially on the phone and partially in person. The jury never heard Dodson’s inconsistent details.
Letter written by witness who told police Mamou confessed to him; never seen by jury.
The jury was also never shown a letter Dodson wrote Mamou months later stating he was glad Mamou didn’t tell him shit.
* * * * *
Mamou always maintained he drove back to an apartment complex on Fondren after the drug deal gone wrong – that was the last place he saw Mary Carmouche. He’s described the people he saw and some details about the parking lot that night. In contrast, the prosecution argued Mamou fled the drug deal, sexually assaulted and killed Carmouche behind a home on Lynchester Avenue.
Mamou described seeing Shawn Eaglin leaving Howard Scott’s apartment and getting into a Yellow Cab that night. An employee for Yellow Cab testified that – yes, the company had a call from a ‘Shawn’ and a cab was requested for the address of Howard Scott who lived at the complex. The prosecution, in turn, pointed out that anybody could call a cab and use any name and any address – it doesn’t prove it was actually a legitimate call or that anyone was picked up.
Yellow Cab log, Exhibit used in Court – Phone number never pointed out as belonging to Howard Scott.
The jury also did not hear Shawn Eaglin lived approximately five minutes from the apartment complex. That is the amount of time the cab log indicated the customer’s drive was.
* * * * *
According to Detective Novak’s testimony, Shawn Eaglin was an individual they were looking at as a potential suspect. Eaglin’s name is handwritten throughout the case file. According to everyone’s testimony, Eaglin knew most of the individuals involved, as well as introduced most of them. A written statement by Robin Scott refers to police going to Shawn Eaglin’s home during their investigation.
Referred to as possible suspect, handwritten name throughout file, witness said police went to his house, and he introduced all parties – there are no documented interviews of Mr. Eaglin in HPD’s file.
Howard Scott was transported to HPD along with his wife, although driven separately, on Tuesday, December 8, 1998. He was transported from his home to be interviewed because what he was telling police was inconsistent with what they were hearing from his wife.
Detective Novak, in his testimony, referred to taking a written statement from Scott the day they initially went to his home and transported him to the police department.
In 2019, Scott told an investigator he saw Charles Mamou at the apartment complex parking lot that night. He also said he saw Mary Carmouche there.
* * * * *
Howard Scott testified he went to bed that night – getting ‘no more phone calls’. When specifically asked if that was because his phone was unplugged, “No, it just stopped ringing.”
His phone didn’t stop ringing and HPD was aware of that. An investigator in Scott’s apartment wrote down all the calls from his caller I.D., jotting names by some of the numbers. Phone calls were coming in to Howard Scott’s apartment through 3:43 A.M. that Sunday night. In HPD’s file there is a fax cover sheet, dated September 24, 1999, indicating they faxed the phone records to Lynn McClellan, the prosecutor, during jury selection.
Fax cover sheet in HPD file, noting on the cover sheet the caller ID records. Mamou never saw this, and did not have opportunity to dispute the testimony of two witnesses who said they didn’t use their phone.
Mamou never knew about the phone records HPD and apparently the prosecutor were aware of until 2019. The jury was never told Howard Scott’s testimony was not accurate and his phone was ringing into the early morning hours. Scott’s credibility was never questioned.
* * * * *
The phone records also indicated Shawn Eaglin, the man Mamou said took a cab from Scott’s apartment and the name the Yellow Cab company said called for a cab from Scott’s address at 3:59 A.M. – also called Howard Scott that night as late as 3:12 A.M.
There were several phone calls from various people in the early morning hours to Scott’s apartment that night. The jury was never made aware of any of them. Charles Mamou was also unaware they existed.
* * * * *
“And he takes her to Lynchester. He marches her to the back, and he makes her commit oral sodomy, makes her suck his penis. Imagine that, ladies and gentleman.” The prosecution asked the jury to imagine that, all the while having results of a rape kit that included oral swabs. The kit indicated no semen was detected. Mamou never knew a kit existed until 2019. The District Attorney had requested the kit be processed months before the trial and had already received the results. Mamou was never charged with sexual assault but the jury was told he assaulted the victim.
The kit also revealed the existence of ‘trace collection items’ and ‘hairs’.
Portion of rape kit D.A. requested processed which indicated no seman found, and Mamou never saw. Also indicated the existance of ‘trace collection’ items, including hairs.
Robin Scott gave a written statement to police on Tuesday, December 8, 1998, when she and her husband were transported to HPD for statements, as well as Wednesday, December 9, when police brought them both in again, although Howard Scott’s original statement is not in the police file. In one of Ms. Scott’s statements she told police Charles Mamou had arrived at her apartment at approximately 12:45 on the night of the incident. That time frame would have made it impossible for Mamou to have accomplished what he was accused of, as well as supported his version of events in which he drove directly back to the apartment complex after the drug deal gone wrong.
Samuel Johnson was a participant in the drug deal gone wrong, and Mamou described meeting him at the apartment complex after the original shooting. In contrast, Johnson testified he drove away from the drug deal, straight to his home and to bed, never speaking to anyone.
Phone records contradict that, indicating Samuel Johnson’s cell phone called Howard Scott’s apartment at 2:37 A.M. The previously mentioned phone records included that information. Samuel Johnson also had a landline at his apartment – but the phone call he made was from a cell phone. Twenty years ago, people would often use their landline if they were in their home, but if police investigated the location the ‘cell phone’ call was made from, that information is not in the case file. Mamou never had a chance to investigate where the call was made from, because he was unaware of the phone records HPD had.
At trial and without the phone records, Mamou did not have the opportunity to question Johnson’s credibility after he said he went straight to bed and spoke to no one.
Two witnesses have since told an investigator they saw Samuel Johnson in the complex parking lot that night, having driven in just prior to Mamou – which is consistent with what Mamou has always maintained.
* * * * *
Charles Mamou described a man on a bike in the complex parking lot when he arrived with Mary Carmouche. The prosecution dismissed the claims.
It turns out an individual has since told an investigator he was in the parking lot that night – on a bike – and he saw Mamou drive into the parking lot after Samuel Johnson.
Also supporting Mamou’s account, the phone records indicate a unique phone number called Howard Scott’s apartment on the evening of the incident, at 11:48 P.M. and 1:54 A.M. There is a handwritten note in the HPD investigators phone records, indicating a name next to the number. That name – happens to be an acquaintance of the ‘man on the bike’.
The jury never heard any of that.
* * * * *
The prosecution told the jury, “He tried to murder all four of those people out there, but that was beyond his control.” “That was his plan. It was all premeditated.” “He’s vicious. He’s ruthless. He’s cold-blooded.”
The jury was shown autopsy photos and heard victim impact statements concerning a victim of an unsolved murder that took place several months earlier. Mamou has never been charged with that crime, but HPD currently has him listed as ‘Arrested, Charged’.
A man named Joseph Melancon claimed Mamou shot and killed the man, Anthony Williams. The Williams case file includes a witness statement describing Joseph Melancon being dressed up and with Anthony Williams that night. The witness describes the two men leaving the club together. According to the witness, a short time after leaving with Melancon, a man ran in the club saying the victim had been shot.
That witness indicated they thought Joseph Melancon was involved in the murder, but the case was never pursued after Joseph Melancon testified Charles Mamou committed the crime. Melancon’s testimony did not match his original statement to police, but Mamou was never given an opportunity to defend himself of this crime, as he was never charged with the crime.
* * * * *
That’s what took place in Harris County two decades ago. So, in 2019 when it became known biological evidence was signed for, it was reasonable to want to know why. I flew to Houston.
One of two supplements indicating biological evidence was signed for in 2019.
At the HPD Records Department, I was told they didn’t know the answer, and I should contact the Property Room, the District Attorney’s office, and the Medical Examiner.
At the District Attorney’s office, I was told the case was currently ‘closed’. There would be no current requests for evidence from them because no one was working it, and the files themselves were in storage – the case was inactive.
At the HPD Property Room, which was where the biological evidence was signed out from – I was told there is protocol in place, and in order to find out why the biological evidence was signed out, I would need to go to Homicide and speak with the investigator on the case.
At Homicide, I was told it was a ‘cold case’ and there was no active investigator on the case, I would need to talk to the person in charge of cold cases.
The cold case investigator wasn’t in and never returned my phone call.
After I returned home, I was called by someone I had never spoken to, D. Wilker, from Homicide. I was told ‘only the Property Division could answer my questions’. Of note – the Property Division is where I had originally gone and was told that due to ‘protocol’, I would need to go to Homicide.
During that phone conversation, I was also told Ms. Wilker would reach out to the Property Division to see if she could get an answer for me, but she couldn’t make any promises. In addition, she informed me ‘we are mandated to test every piece of evidence’, suggesting that the evidence was taken out for testing. Ms. Wilker also suggested an investigator could have requested the material be checked out, but as I had already been told – there was no investigator on the case at that time. I was told she would get back in touch with me after she reached out to the Property Division.
After a couple weeks and no contact from Ms. Wilker – I called her. Ms. Wilker was dismissive during this conversation, telling me the rape kit results I was looking for at that time were ‘irrelevant’. I was told the defense had every piece of evidence they needed to know. The ‘window of opportunity’ for finding out anything was closed. And, finally, yes, the evidence had been checked out in 2019 and had been in the possession of Mary K. Childs-Henry, but it was now back where it belonged. It had been checked out for ‘cataloging purposes’.
I then asked Ms. Wilker if she considered the matter closed, and she told me she did.
After that phone call I wrote a letter to Internal Affairs and the Chief of Police, as ‘cataloging’ two pieces of twenty year old biological evidence didn’t seem logical, in light of the circles I had been lead in to come to that conclusion.
The Houston Police Department responded, telling me no one had done anything wrong. “In your letter, you inquired about procedures for removing evidence regarding Mr. Mamou’s case. The District Attorney is the only person that can authorize any type of evidence to be released for any reason. There are procedures in place for care, custody and control of evidence that is stored in the Property Room. You may reach the Harris County District Attorney’s Office at ….”
As of this date, it remains unclear why the biological evidence was signed for in 2019.
The employee who signed for the evidence, Mary K. Childs-Henry, also worked for the HPD lab in 1998, when the crime occurred. In the early 2000’s the Houston Chronicle ran several articles focused on HPDs troubled lab, to include mishandling of evidence. Ms. Childs-Henry was mentioned in some of those articles.
“Analyst Mary Childs-Henry never took statistics or genetics, and her failure to do a timely analysis of a DNA sample in 1996 was part of a chain of lab errors that allowed an innocent man to be held in jail for nine months, according to depositions and an internal memo. Two lawsuits were filed over that incident, which prompted the city to audit the lab.” – Houston Chronicle, ‘Report: File review shows Houston police DNA analysts lack education, training’ – September 6, 2003
“”This just goes to show that the bench workers were doing nothing more than following orders and that the problems in that lab were created by the poor management within the lab and above,” said Fred Keys, Childs-Henry’s lawyer.” – Houston Chronicle, ‘Panel Tosses Out Crime Analyst’s Lab Suspension’, By Todd Ackerman – February 28, 2004
“So far, two men have been released from prison after the discovery of flawed crime lab work in their cases. In a written statement, Houston Police Chief Harold Hurtt announced that three lab analysts criticized in the report have been relieved of duty pending the outcome of an internal investigation. Those three employees are Mary Childs-Henry, Joseph H. Chu, and Raynard Cockrell.” – Houston Chronicle, ‘More Problems Found At HPD Crime Lab’, By Steve McVicker and Roma Khanna – January 4, 2006
“Houston Police Department supervisors suspended Mary Childs-Henry, Joseph Chu and Raynard Cockrell after an independent team of experts found they had failed to report evidence that could have helped defendants and that they made errors in DNA and serology tests.” – Houston Chronicle, ‘Crime-lab Analysts Had Avoided Serious Penalties’, By Roma Khanna – January 8, 2006
“The three – Mary Childs-Henry, Joseph Chu and Raynard Cockrell – were suspended recently after Bromwich’s team found they had failed to report evidence that could have helped defendants and that they made errors in DNA and serology tests.” Houston Chronicle, ‘Crime Labe Investigator Wants Subpoena Power’, By Steve McVicker – January 10, 2006
“Three analysts suspended because of the latest findings by the Bromwich team — Mary Childs-Henry, Joseph Chu and Raynard Cockrell — have been targeted for discipline in the past but have escaped serious punishment.” Houston Chronicle, ‘Crime Lab Investigator To Target Specific Cases’, By Steve McVicker – January 11, 2006
Photos of Lexus at HPD in 1998
Among the Courtroom exhibits are photos of the Lexus involved in the drug deal with someone in the background who bears a striking resemblance to Mary K. Childs-Henry. Having worked in the lab in 1998, it is possible she also worked on Mamou’s case twenty years ago.
The climate at that time in history, in that place, wasn’t a secret. What remains to be seen is, will the Harris County of today execute Charles Mamou based on a 1999 decision jurors made without all the information available, at a time when the end game wasn’t always justice, but the conviction.
Anyone with information regarding this case can contact me at kimberleycarter@verizon.net. Anything you share with me will be confidential.
All related posts detailing all I have learned over the last two years are available at Charles Mamou.
TO CONTACT CHARLES MAMOU: Charles Mamou #999333 Polunsky Unit 12-CD-53 3872 South FM 350 Livingston, TX 77351
