There is no way you will believe what I am about to tell you, no way you will believe me when I tell you who I am – unless I prove it.
Who else but you knows that you broke into a church last year? You were alone, walking, the snow was a couple feet deep everywhere except the roads where the plows had been through and salted. You cut through the corner lot, saw the empty room at the back and broke in through the window. We ate some food that was in a break room. We also stole the money that was in the small wooden box on the stairwell. Later we spent the money at McDonalds.
I am sure you remember this because it’s only been a year for you. You have not told anyone, Jeremy. I know this – because I am you, and this is just one of the terrible things we’ve done that we have never told anyone.
I am you in 2020. I’m writing to you from my cell at a maximum security prison in Texas. I’ve been here over sixteen years. When I say ‘I’, of course, I mean ‘we’. You don’t want to end up here, so I’m writing, hoping to help you.
I know there is not a lot you can do right now. You can’t go back to living with Steve and you don’t know where mom moved to so you’re doing your best finding places to sleep where you can and eating whatever you can find. But this will be the beginning of the end for us. Every time you break into a place to sleep or to find money or food, you commit a crime. You believe it’s a crime of necessity, and it is, but it’s still a crime. The truth is, if you continue on this path, your – our – life will be full of failures and shame. A hundred small failures will end in one terrible failure that will leave one man dead and two family’s destroyed. You will kill a man, Jeremy. You won’t do it on purpose, it’ll be completely unintentional, but he will be dead none the less. His two young sons will be forced to grow up without him. His wife, his mother, his family will grieve for the rest of their lives. Jeremy, you will lose your own family also, they will turn away from you, ashamed and angry at you. I know you, and I know how lonely you are and how much it hurts you that you do not have a family. If you continue on this path, man, you will never have a family.
Turn yourself in to the police. You will not go to jail or juvy, I promise. They will put you in a foster home, and you will have a real chance to succeed. Educate yourself, you are intelligent and you deserve an opportunity to go to school. Don’t lie, be yourself, be proud and represent it by being honest. Cherish your friends, man, and work hard. If you do these things, you will succeed, but more importantly you’ll save countless people from pain.
And you know us, there’s no way I’d write to me in 1985 from 2020 without telling you that when a small internet company called Amazon starts up in 1995, you need to invest in it, as much as you can for as long as you can. If you do all these things, you’ll be a much better ‘us’ in 2020 and rather than having lived a shameful life, you’ll be in position to help others that need help. I love you, man. Please don’t let us down.
Jeremy…
ABOUT THE AUTHOR: I’m happy to say, Jeremy Robinson is the winner of our summer writing contest. He continues to write, and I hope we hear more from him here. Mr. Robinson lives in a Texas prison and can be contacted at: Jeremy Robinson #1313930 Michael Unit 2664 FM 2054 Tennessee Colony, TX 75886
“The State has proved it beyond a reasonable doubt, and presented evidence that puts him there, puts him telling people what he did. And that is enough.”
That was the prosecution during the closing argument that sent Terry Robinson to death row for a crime he has always maintained he knew nothing about. There wasn’t any physical evidence in the case that could tie Robinson to the murder.
We don’t have to have DNA. We have to present enough evidence so you know in your heart that he was involved, and he did this. The State has done that.
“So, convict this man. Don’t let him out.”
The jury did just that.
Robinson was in the area of the murder that night. It was normal for him to be in the area. Robinson lived in Wilson, North Carolina, and he had a girlfriend who lived across the street from the Pizza Inn, where a murder occurred, not to mention friends and relatives in the surrounding area.
DNA exists in connection to the crime, but it does not point to Terry Robinson.
There are also two latent fingerprints and one palm print available, but they do not point to Terry Robinson. According to the testimony of Special Agent Navarro of the NC State Bureau of Investigation, “Terry Lamont Robinson did not make any of the latent fingerprints that were of value for identification purposes.”
When asked, “The long and the short of it is, palm prints or other kinds of prints, nothing matched?”
Agent Navarro responded, “That is correct.”
There were hairs collected. They weren’t hairs that matched Ronald Bullock, the one man who said he was involved in the crime. They weren’t Terry Robinson’s. According to Special Agent James Gregory, assigned to the Trace Evidence Section, when asked if he was able to find a match between what was collected at the crime scene and samples from Ronald Bullock and Terry Robinson, “I did not find any hairs that had a root attached to them that were consistent with the known head hair standards collected from the – from Terry Robinson, or Ronald Bullock.”
There was a gun associated with Terry Robinson, which Robinson doesn’t deny being connected to. But when asked specifically if the bullets used in the murder were from the gun associated with Robinson, Special Agent Marrs responded, “It could not have been fired from that .380 pistol, State’s Exhibit Number Two.”
Terry Robinson was not an angel. He had a criminal record and sold drugs for a living, but the gun associated with him was not the gun used in the crime.
The case rested with two men who accused Terry Robinson of murder. Both of those two individuals have since contradicted their own testimony. According to the testimony of Ronald Bullock, who accused Terry Robinson of hatching the plot to rob the Pizza Inn, pulling him into it, and eventually murdering a man in front of him, they stopped by Jesse Hill’s home before the crime. Bullock testified that Robinson asked Jesse Hill to participate in the crime as well.
“He said he didn’t want to be part of it. We were crazy.” Bullock then testified he and Robinson dropped Jesse Hill off at his mother’s home.
After Robinson’s conviction and sentence to death, Bullock had something different to say – things he didn’t share with the jury. “Jed (Jesse Hill) gave me his dreadlocks and a headband to wear as a disguise. Jed rode with us to the Pizza Inn and to ride behind the Pizza Inn at the apartment complex.”
Bullock went on to say that Jesse Hill, “was going to get some money for his part for the help.” Bullock, in a written statement then described the robbery which differed from how he described it in his original testimony, and he also stated Jed said, “I want my dreadlocks back.”
That written statement, made in 2003, was how Terry Robinson first learned the dreadlocks he had heard about at his trial – belonged to Jesse Hill. The dreadlocks used as the murderer’s disguise, were actually made of hair that belonged to one of his accusers. A jury never heard that. They actually heard Jesse Hill described by the prosecution as an innocent ‘hero’ who received nothing for his help with the case. That turned out not to be true as well.
Jesse Hill has had a few things to say since the trial also, much of which contradicts what the jury heard.
Following is more of the closing argument from the prosecutor when he described Jesse Hill – at length.
“Now, Jesse Hill. If you ever wondered why people don’t want to come forward and testify in cases when they witness things, or they know things in a crime? If you ever wondered why? Because this man gets up there and he is trying to tell you the truth. And all the defense can do is malign him, to go on and try to trip him up on times, which don’t matter, because he said it was light or dark or whatever, and then act like, ‘You’ve got worthless check convictions?’ as if that would somehow equate with what happened in Boulder, Colorado when the Ramsey girl disappeared. Or, maybe a Bosnian war criminal.”
“He knew about something that happened that was terrible, and he could not live with the fact that they had told him about it, he knew about it, and he knew it was wrong.”
“This man is a hero.”
“He testified against his cousin, and he’s getting nothing out of it. And, don’t you know that if he was getting something out of it, both of these men would have brought it up. But, no, they want you to become cynical. They want you to look at everything, even when a man is trying to do the right thing, they want you to look at it like, ‘Well, what’s he getting out of it?’”
“Did Bullock ever come forward and say, ‘Well, yeah, Hill was involved, too. He did so-and-so.’ Which they’re going to try and make you believe, which isn’t true.”
It turns out… the prosecution was mistaken. Ronald Bullock has since stated Jesse Hill was involved, from the planning, to supplying a disguise, to being promised a cut, only the jury never heard that part.
If Terry Robinson had known anything about the murder at the Pizza Inn on May 16, 1999, if he had gone to Jesse Hill’s home prior to the crime, taken Jesse Hill’s dreadlocks and worn them in the Pizza Inn while he murdered somebody – it stands to reason he would have nudged his attorney when the dreadlocks were submitted as evidence at his trial. It stands to reason he would have said, “Hey, that hair right there belonged to Jesse Hill.” It stands to reason, facing a death sentence, Robinson would have indicated the man being hailed as a ‘hero’ was involved in the crime and his hair was found at the crime scene. It also stands to reason – Terry Robinson didn’t say anything because he didn’t know where the dreadlocks came from at that point in time.
In 2003, eight days after Ronald Bullock told an investigator the dreadlocks belonged to Jesse Hill, Hill confirmed the dreads where his, saying he supplied the dreadlocks to Ronald Bullock for a disguise, and that they were his hair. He also told the investigator he had told the police and the prosecutors about supplying the dreadlocks, but he didn’t remember when he told them. In addition, Jesse Hill said he received $5,000 for his help in the case.
Over the years, Jesse Hill, has been interviewed on a couple occasions. According to the original case file in 1999, Hill initially called police and told them Ronald Bullock and Terry Robinson were responsible for what took place at the Pizza Inn, and after sharing that information with police, Hill then drove with them to show them where Bullock lived. More recently he remembers it differently, saying Bullock turned himself in, “I heard he called the police while I was at my sister’s house.” “I heard he called them, they came down there and they locked him up.”
In contrast to Bullock’s 2003 statement regarding Hill’s involvement, Jesse Hill is adamant he had nothing to do with what took place that night in spite of his own 2003 interview with an investigator in which he admitted supplying the disguise. “That man had a family. You don’t do stuff like that. Get a job. I had a job. They coulda had a job, they coulda worked. They didn’t have to do what they did. Come on, man.”
When asked about Bullock’s statement regarding a cut of the money from the planned robbery, “No! I don’t know nothin’ about no money. Come on, man.”
Although they don’t agree on a lot there is one thing the two agree on. Jesse Hill and Ronald Bullock both agree Terry Robinson shot and killed a man on May 16, 1999.
Several years ago, when asked if he would have testified in court about the dreads if he had been asked, Jesse Hill responded, “Sure, if he asked me, yeah.”
But – neither attorney did ask him. So, the jury never heard Jesse Hill, the ‘hero’, was involved in the crime.
Jesse Hill, in contrast to what he said years earlier when he admitted to supplying a disguise for the crime, later said, “They did it them self, they need to handle it.” “They robbed that place because they want to. I ain’t got nothing to do with that.”
He even seems to have a different perspective of who went to the police, “Montrel was with him. Montrel the one told people what happened. That’s why they had so much on him. Cause he was with him. Shit, it ain’t got nothin’ to do with me and nobody else.”
I have reached out to Ronald Bullock and Jesse Hill for a response, but have not heard back. I’ve also reached out to the public, and I am doing so again. If you saw Terry Robinson at any time during the day or night of May 16, 1999, please contact me at kimberleycarter@verizon.net. According to Robinson’s accusers, he was with them the entire day from midday through approximately midnight.
The above photograph was shared with me by Terry Robinson’s mother, who has quietly stood by her son’s side for over two decades. She told me Robinson was about fifteen years old in the photograph. He is second from the left with the white hat on, and had been working in the tobacco field that day. Although not asked, Jesse Hill also spoke of Terry Robinson’s mother several times.
“His mama know how that boy is. I don’t know why she’s trippin’.” “She know how her son was.”
Terry Robinson writes for WITS when he is not working on other various projects. You can read some of his work here. He has also co-authored Crimson Letters, available on Amazon. Details of his case can be found here. Mr. Robinson can be contacted at:
Terry Robinson #0349019 Central Prison 4285 Mail Service Center Raleigh, NC 27699-4285
Following is testimony taken from trial transcripts dated October 13, 1999, during the Punishment Phase of the case against Charles Mamou, Volume 22, beginning on Page 67. The disturbing case – which includes information the District Attorney had that was never shared with Mamou, including a rape kit and untested evidence, the prosecution not bringing attention to information they had that could discredit two of their witnesses while they were on the stand, a letter written by a key witness that the court appointed defense never presented and even biological evidence being signed out by an HPD employee with no explanation in 2019 – had returned a guilty verdict. At this point in the trial – the goal was to ensure Mamou received the death penalty. The prosecution brought Joseph Melancon to the stand to testify that Mamou had killed someone else months before. Mamou was never tried in this case, nor given an opportunity to defend himself. I’ve abbreviated the testimony here, but it is taken directly from the transcripts.
Q. Did you then meet up with the defendant, Charles Mamou, on that Saturday evening? A. Yes. Q. And where did, where did you meet him at? A. At my house.
Q. And was he by himself or with someone? A. By himself.
Q. And did ya’ll end up then going out that evening? A. Yes. Q. About what time, if you know, did you leave? A. 8:30, 9:00, 9:30, something. Maybe 9:30, 10:00. Q. All right, and where were you going to go when you left? A. We was going to Jamaica. It’s a club.
Q. Did you get to the Jamaica Club? A. No, we didn’t. Q. What happened on the way to the Jamaica Club that prevented you from getting there? A. Chucky got a phone call on his cell phone. Q. And do you know who he was talking to? A. No, I don’t. Q. You just heard his end of the conversation? A. Yeah. Q. What was he saying in the cell phone? A. He said, you got that for me.
Q. What did he say next, if you recall? A. He hung up. Q. All right. Where did you end up going? A. To the little store on Buffalo and West Fuqua.
Q. When you got to the store at Fuqua and Buffalo Speedway, what kind of store was it, do you know? A. It was like a convenience store.
Q. What happened when you arrived at the convenience store? A. They had three guys standing out at the convenience store. Q. Okay. Did ya’ll park or what did you do? A. We pulled up. And one of the guys came to the car’s front passenger door, and I got out and they got in. Q. Did you know who that person was? A. Yes, I did. Q. And how did you know who – what did you know that person’s name to be? A. Bruiser.
Q. And what did you say the person you’ve identified as Bruiser did when he came to your side of the vehicle you were in? A. He opened my door. Q. Okay, and did you get out or did you stay in? A. I got out. Q. Where did you go? A. I went and talked to the two guys that was standing up with him. Q. And who were the two guys? A. A guy named Lonnie and Wiener Man. Q. What did Bruiser do after you got out of the vehicle? A. Him and Chucky was in the vehicle talking. Q. All right. So did Bruiser get in the vehicle? A. Yes. Q. What did you see the defendant, Charles Mamou, do then, the next thing you saw him do? A. He got out of the vehicle and went into the store. Q. Did you see him come out of the store with anything? A. Yes. Q. What did he come out of the store with? A. Two brown bags. Looked like something to drink was in them. Q. All right. What did he do after he came out of the store? Where did he go and what did he do? A. He got in the driver’s seat and drove off. Q. All right. Did he say anything to you before he drove off? A. No.
Q. What were you doing then after you saw the defendant and the person you identified as Bruiser drive off in a vehicle driven by the defendant? What were you doing? A. I was talking to Lonnie and another guy named Wiener Man. Q. And while you were outside the store talking, did you hear anything unusual? A. Yes. Q. What did you hear? A. Sounded like a gunshot. Q. One or more? A. One. Q. After you heard what sounded like a gunshot, did someone come to the location where you were at? A. Yes. Q. Do you know who this person was? A. No. Q. Without telling me what they said, did they say something? A. Yes. Q. As a result of what they said, what did you do, if anything? A. I got in the car with Lonnie, and we rode over on West Fuqua by the entrance to the Almeda Manor neighborhood, the entrance to the subdivision. Q. What was there at that location? A. It was a lot of people around, and Bruiser was laying on the ground. Q. Now, did you get out of the vehicle? A. Yes, I did. Q. Did you go to where Bruiser was? A. Yes, I did. Q. Did you hear anything Bruiser was saying? A. Yes, I did. Q. What was he saying? Judge, We object to hearsay. The Court, It’s overruled. Q. What did you hear him say? A. He said, My boys shot me, and he just kept saying it over and over. Q. After you saw Bruiser laying there, what did you do? A. I walked over about two houses down with another friend of mine from the neighborhood, and I used his phone. Q. Okay. And who did you call? A. I called my wife.
The witness then goes on to testify he fled Houston out of fear for his life. He said he didn’t ‘feel safe’. When questioned by the defense –
Q. Did Lonnie and Weiner Man stick around with you for the police to get there that night? A. I was with them when the police and the paramedics got there. Q. And you offered information to them and gave them your name? A. No. Q. Police ask you what your name was? A. No
Q. How long after you saw Bruiser and Mr. Mamou drive off did you hear what you thought might have been a gunshot? A. Maybe four or five minutes. Q. And who are you talking to at the time that that happens? A. Lonnie and Wiener Man.
Q. When you talked to Sergeant Herman from Houston Homicide Department, do you tell him basically what you‘ve told us here today? A. Yes.
Q. Now, did you introduce Bruiser to Charles Mamou? A. No, I didn’t.
After the testimony of Joseph Melancon, the medical examiner was called to the stand and autopsy photographs of ‘Bruiser’ were shared with the jury, including close up views of the gunshot entrance wound and his face. The deceased man’s big sister then testified regarding the loss of her brother and how it impacted her family.
Charles Mamou was not on trial for the murder of Anthony Williams (Bruiser). He was on trial for the kidnapping and murder of Mary Carmouche in a case I’ve detailed extensively and some of those details can be found here. The prosecution pushed for a death sentence after they already had a ‘guilty’ verdict. Going into the punishment phase, they knew they already had the upper hand and were privvy to things – Mamou only found out this past year.
The jury only heard the above testimony – which seems pretty cut and dry. What I’m sharing here is what the jury never heard, what HPD knew all along, and I would venture to guess the prosecution did as well since Lynn McClellan supplied Det. Novak with a grand jury subpoena in connection with this investigation on September 23, 1999, during the Mamou trial. This is what the jury never heard:
Unlike his testimony, according to the HPD file, Joseph Melancon contacted police on October 16, 1998, after he heard police wanted to talk to him. Sgt. Herrmann recorded what Joseph Melancon stated at that time.
Joseph Melancon stated the possible suspect, Chucky Mamou, called him and came and picked him up and they went to the Shannon’s Club on Buffalo Speedway and Fuqua. Joseph Melancon stated this was some time around 11:00 PM. Joseph Melancon stated just after he and Chucky Mamou arrived at the Club, Chucky Mamou met the complainant and they started talking.
Joseph Melancon stated, in a short while, Chucky came and told him he had to do some business, and at that time Chucky Mamou and the complainant left the Shannon’s Club. Joseph Melancon stated he remained at the Shannon’s Club and he was visiting with a man called Weiner Man and also a man named Lonnie. Joseph Melancon stated while they were talking someone came up and told Weiner Man that the complainant had been shot.
This original statement, made less than two months after the murder, is a far cry from Melancon’s testimony. There is more that police knew.
The next actual ‘witness’ police spoke to that knew anything about the incident was the man known as Weiner Man. On December 7, 1998, police talked to him. According to police records, he stated, ‘he was at the club in the next block south of where the complainant got shot.’ Police went on to say, ‘after he learned the complainant had been shot, he went to where the complainant was laying on the parking lot of the auto repair shop.’ ‘he heard the complainant say that my home boy shot me.’
The first two statements in the file made by individuals who might know something, Joseph Melancon and Weiner Man – both contradict the testimony used at Mamou’s trial. According to Weiner Man, he doesn’t mention Mamou, and he says he was in a club at the time of the shooting. Investigators also spoke to Mamou’s father early on in the investigation and were told he’d seen his son, Charles Mamou, in Louisiana that Sunday, as there had been a family wedding on the day of the shooting.
On September 20, 1999, during Mamou’s trial, Detective Novak of HPD, the investigator that weighed heavily in the highly questionable case built against Mamou, re-opened the Anthony Gibson (Bruiser) case. He immediately spoke to a cousin of Joseph Melancon’s who made a video statement that was summarized in the police file. His description of what Melancon told him happened is different than the others. According to the police summary, “They all three met up and went over to Mannies to discuss what they were going to do. He says that Bruiser and Chucky then bought a beer at the store and that Bruiser and Chucky then left and went back to Mannies. He says that his cousin, Joey, then told him that a few minutes later he heard some gunshots and he took off running. He stated that he had never met Chucky Mamou nor had ever seen him. He says that he learned through his conversation with his cousin that the guy was Chucky Mamou and that Chucky and his cousin grew up with one another in Sunset, Louisiana, and Opelousas, Louisiana, and attended school together. He stated that Joey told him that it was a marijuana deal and that Chucky was paying $7,500 for the marijuana. He said his cousin helped set up the dope deal. He says that his cousin also was standing in close proximity to Mannies and saw the sport utility vehicle pull up at Mannies and soon afterwards he heard two gunshots and that is when his cousin took off running. He says that his cousin fled to Dallas after Chucky threatened to kill him if he ever told.”
In contrast to the testimony, Melancon’s cousin has the three parties meeting up at Mannies prior to anything happening. It indicates Melancon arranged the exchange and also states twice that Melancon took off running, rather than getting in a vehicle with Lonnie, as he testified, and going toward the shooting. Of note, it also says that Bruiser, Mamou and Melancon all met up at Mannies, ‘and after Bruiser and Chucky got to know one another they took his cousin back to the store and let him off’. So – in this version, Melancon introduced Bruiser and Mamou and all three were in a car together at one point. This contradicts every previous statement.
On September 21, 1999, Sgt. Novak takes a written statement from a man named Adam Peterson. He describes what he saw in the parking lot of the convenience store, after he pulled up and saw Bruiser there. ‘When I was talking to Bruiser, I noticed a sport utility vehicle that was dark in color either black or green, pull into the parking lot. I saw Joey walk over to the sport utility vehicle on the driver’s side. Joey and the driver were talking. I then got out of the truck and walked in the store.’
Peterson goes on to describe the driver of the vehicle going in the store and purchasing a beer. Peterson drove away from the parking lot, and didn’t know anything else. When shown a photo spread which included Charles Mamou, he could not identify anyone. Of note, Peterson also says, ‘I talked with Joey very briefly. Joey is a cousin to Joseph Malbrough. Joey told me that he had just been on Main and that was a bunch of women out there. And my response to him was if there were so many women out there, then why wasn’t he out there. His response was that I had just left from out there.’ What’s interesting about this portion of the statement – Joseph Melancon will later tell police he’s never heard of this man and didn’t speak to him in the parking lot. Also interesting – this witness told police Melancon was not in a car with anyone, but rather at the store when the vehicle pulled up that had its occupant go in and buy a beer.
On September 22, 1999, Weiner Man went to the homicide office. Again, this investigation was occurring during Mamou’s trial. Weiner Man stated, ‘He had gone to the Buffalo Store and saw Bruiser and Lonnie in the parking lot. He stated he talked to Bruiser and that he told him not to leave.’
He went on, ‘He stated he told Bruiser that he was hungry and he went to Shannon’s and ordered a hamburger. He stated that Bruiser came in the club and shortly thereafter, Joey entered the club. He stated that Joey was dressed up in a crisp white shirt like he was clubbing. He stated that Joey went over to Bruiser and they spoke out of his hearing and that Joey left the club and Bruiser and Lonnie followed.’ The witness than stated, ‘that he remained inside Shannon’s and a short time later Cedric came running and told him that Bruiser had been shot. Eric stated that he went to the parking lot of Mannies and tried to talk to Bruiser and that Bruiser told him, My homeboy did this.”
This statement was made by someone who, by all appearances, had nothing to gain, and it contradicts everything said on the stand. It doesn’t even mention Charles Mamou being with Melancon.
Then – once again – police spoke with Joseph Melancon, days before he testified, on October 4, 1999. This is what he told police during that interview:
I brought my wife the car, she got in, I told her that me and Chucky, we was gonna go out, I’d talk to her later. Got in with Chucky. Umm, we left. When we was gettin’ on 635 we supposed to be going to Jamaica, and, uh, Chucky got a phone call. And, he, when he got off the phone, he said he needed to go take care of something, umm, and then we would go out. I was ridin’ with him, I said fine. We pulled up at a store off of Buffalo, I was familiar with the area, I have some cousins that live in the area. We pulled up at Buffalo. Umm, Bruiser, umm, Weinerman, and Lonnie was standing out. I got out the truck. Bruiser got in the truck. I was talking to Lonnie and Weinerman, umm, next thing I know, Chucky got out the truck, and he went inside the store. So, I asked Bruiser what was going on, Bruiser kinda looked at me like, it’s wasn’t none of my business, he said Chucky’s just going in the store, and buy us a couple a beers, then we gonna go around the corner, and we gonna be right back. So, I walked away from the truck, continued to talk to Lonnie and Weinerman. They left. They made a left on, umm, Almeda. Me, Lonnie and Wienerman was talking and we heard something. And Weinerman said, did you all, did you hear that? And I said, yeah, it kinda sounded like a gunshot. And we just went on talking. The next five, six minutes, guy came running from down the street, said Bruiser had been shot. I jumped in the car with Lonnie, rode to the, I saw Bruiser laying down, he had been shot. Umm, got out there, you know, I saw him layin down, and I knew Bruiser, we used to play basketball in the neighborhood, umm, off Almeda Manor, the neighborhood right approaching where he got shot at. I just, kinda, I was shocked. I was real shocked. Umm, I saw him laying down there. One of my other partners was out there, Chris. I told Chris, I said, uh, man, let me go use your phone…”
Just when you think there can’t be more contradictions – there are. In his video statement, Melancon describes Mamou getting a phone call in the car regarding a drug transaction. He states that Chucky said, “you got that for me?” to the person on the other end of the line. Melancon doesn’t mention setting up the deal or introducing anybody.
When asked about talking to Adam Peterson, who also went by the name Tim, in the convenience store parking lot, the man that Detective Novak had spoken to and who detailed a conversation with Melancon in the parking lot, Melancon states, ‘No. I don’t know. I don’t recall.’
‘Tim’s’ real name is Adam Peterson.
‘Tim. I don’t know a Tim. I don’t know Adam Peterson.’
Did you walk up to anybody in a truck and start talking to anybody in a pick-up truck?
‘No.’
While you were in front of the Buffalo Store?
‘Uh-uh.’
You positive?
‘I’m positive. The only conversation I had was with Lonnie and Weinerman. And we was just talking, just shooting the breeze. And I didn’t, no. I didn’t go up to no pick-up.’
Try as they might, detectives couldn’t get any of Joseph Melancon’s versions of what happened that night to match anybody else’s.
They asked him, “Did he say anything to you, to let you know where he was going? That he was going to come back and pick you up?”
‘No.’
Police had Melancon’s earlier statements when he described being inside Shannon’s Club with Mamou, stating, ‘a short while Chucky came and told him he had to do some business, and at that time Chucky Mamou and the complainant left the Shannon’s Club.’
That is a lot for one person to get confused – two people in a club and one coming to say he was leaving vs. two people in a convenience store parking lot and one not saying anything when he left. Detective Novak and HPD had done a lot to secure the conviction, so it seems this contradiction, along with all the others was irrelevant to the detective and the District Attorney.
Melancon’s interview proceeded.
Investigators had been told by Melancon’s cousin that Mamou had threatened him. Yet when they asked, “Did Chucky Mamou ever threaten to kill you?”
On this particular day, Melancon replied, ‘No.’
At any time?
‘MMM-mmm.’
Melancon’s cousin had also told police that Melancon had told him it was a marijuana deal. So they asked, “Did he say specifically what he had?”
‘No, he didn’t never say, you got the dope for me. He never said nothin’ he just said, do you have that for me.’
Police had also heard from Melancon’s cousin that Melancon had introduced Mamou and Bruiser. But on this day, “Who introduced Chucky to Bruiser?”
‘I don’t know. I…’
“Why is everybody telling us that the introduction was made by you? And again – you’re not in any kind of trouble.”
‘I don’t know.’
“You’re not in any kind of trouble. And I’m not sitting here trying to tell you, we’re trying to make a dope case on you, cause that’s not – “
‘Right.’
“Cause that’s not what we’re trying to do. I’m trying to get you to tell me the truth about what happened. Is it coincidental, are you wanting me to believe it’s coincidental that Bruiser and Chucky got together?
‘Yeah.’
During all three conversations with Melancon that are on record, including this lengthy recorded video, Melancon never mentions seeing Bruiser as he was dying or hearing him make any statements. It seems reasonable that if Melancon had been standing over Bruiser as he spoke his last words, he would have relayed that information to police previously, or shared that information with his cousin. He does, however, comment when detectives show him a photo of Charles Mamou, ‘Yep. Been dreaming about it. I’ll never forget his face’ It isn’t until October 13, 1999, nine days after his last recorded interview with police and over a year after the murder of Bruiser took place – that Joseph Melancon testifies to something he has never once stated on the record before, ‘He said, My boys shot me, and he just kept saying it over and over.’ According to his testimony he’d stood over a dying man and heard him speak, yet in over twelve months, several interviews, and versions he’d told his own cousin, he’d never said that before.
Lynn Mclellen succeeded in acquiring a death sentence, and the jury nor Mamou ever heard any of the witness statements that were sitting in HPD’s case file. Melancon’s own statements don’t support each other and every other existing witness doesn’t support Melancon’s testimony. What’s also interesting – anyone who says Mamou was ‘involved’ was told that by someone else. Charles Mamou is out of appeals and waiting on his execution date.
All posts and details of this case, can be found here. Anyone with information regarding this case or the above case that was used to obtain a death sentence, can contact me, 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
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
Had I a pen, that could send message to self, I’d pour out my heart, there’d be nothing left.
Given a chance to change my path, I’d speak these words to detour my past.
I know life is already hard, You’ve seen so much.
I know the pain you hold inside, The nights in bed when you cry.
I know momma is strung out on drugs, That’s why the tears, ‘cause you feel no love.
I know you steal, ‘cause there’s no food. No money for clothes, so you steal those too.
Oh, there will be beatings, but you will survive. There’s always a chance when you are alive.
But pretty soon they will take you away, To live with an aunt, where you wish you could stay.
I think that’s enough, of telling your past. Now you must listen, so you can last.
Your future is bright, but there’s darkness ahead, Choices to make that weigh just like lead.
There are roads to travel and one you must not. Crime is no future, so you must stop.
I know you get hungry, when times are hard, But miss a few meals and you will not starve.
The clothes on your back will last for years, Don’t worry about trying to get new gear.
You have no idea what is ahead, Even though you think you’re better off dead.
Let me tell of the ill chosen road, Where life is hell, there’s sorrow of soul.
Where doing what’s wrong, is accepted as right, And there’s fights in the day and screams at night.
Being in prison, is living in hell, Your entire life crammed in a cell.
Sun up, sun down, you’re told what to do. Does all this sound appealing to you?
Yes, I know the things you will see, But you must be strong if you want to be free.
Pay attention in class, and don’t be a fool. Play basketball, get a job after school.
Stay away from the drugs, don’t pick up the gun. One pull of the trigger, your life will be done.
The chance you were given will be taken away, And as you look back, there is nothing to say.
So, listen to me and have a good life. Be a father to kids and a husband to wife.
Now be successful and have much wealth. I hope that you listen, to this letter to self.
ABOUT THE WRITER. Mr. Mann is a third place winner in our most recent writing contest. I’m always excited to share a new voice here, and I hope he continues to pursue writing and shares his work with us again. Mark Mann can be contacted at:
Mark Mann J06393/K11335 Tomoka C.I. 3950 Tiger Bay Road Daytona Beach, FL 32124
I constantly ask the relatively preserved looking 62-year-old man in the mirror, “How in the hell did you Iet me get caught up in this madness?” I can’t help but reflect back on the 15-year-old boy who thought he could navigate the mean streets of Detroit and live and survive on his own. Little did he know his backward and irresponsible thinking would lead him toward a world of trouble. The man staring sternly back at me in that rusted, steel framed plastic mirror constantly reminds me of the boy whose bad choices and poor decisions caused a litany of problems…
Without addressing the neglect, abuse and trauma you experienced when you were just a little fella, those experiences build up and contributed to you exploring and resorting to an unhealthy outlet that lead to criminality and a propensity for violence. Some 47 years ago, your young thoughts influenced and ruled everything about you. Jewels, you had so much going for you, and you threw it all away for what amounts to insignificant, temporary gratification.
Man, do you remember when you were hired as a files clerk for the Genesee County Department of Social Services and were one of the only male employees in an office full of women? You were being vetted at 17-years-old to become a permanent employee with the Michigan Department of Social Services to work as a staff member at W.J. Maxey Boy’s Training School. You always excelled in your endeavors, stood out amongst most of your peers. In grade school many of your fellow students displayed jealousy because you were always getting A’s and B’s and winning spelling bees. Had you stayed on track and not dropped out of school, no telling where you would be right now. I know you could’ve been anything you put your mind to – a doctor, a lawyer, judge, scientist, even an astronaut, but you were drawn to what you thought was the fascinating street-life. A life that ultimately caused you to lose your freedom. I know you’re probably saying, “Why didn’t you pull up on me back then and give me some game because maybe I would’ve taken a different path.”
I can’t turn back the unstoppable hands of time, they wait on no one. If I had the chance to do it all over again, I would make sure you knew and learned the ropes to get through the life that unfolded before your young, innocent eyes. If given the chance, I would lend you some advice…
Make amends by trying to right the wrongs you’ve done. Learn to forgive yourself for those you’ve harmed. Face your fears and insecurities without pause. Be comfortable with being uncomfortable. Rebuild the community you helped to destroy. Make something of your life and live righteously. Love yourself and others. Be compassionate, kind, loving, and patient. Help as many people as you possibly can without reward. Do everything you can to make this world better.
You should know some good came out of who you once were. You were beyond brilliant, and had you embraced your God given greatness and utilized your inner-most being, tapped into the core of your existence, man, there’s absolutely no limits to where you could’ve soared in this universe. I hope you will one day find it in your heart to forgive me for leading you astray with my wayward thinking, because from that foolish thinking, an attitude of destruction formed, and it filtered into very dangerous and negative behavior that contributed to people getting hurt and you messing up your life. I am not going to blame the environment, the neglect, abuse, or trauma that we experienced, but I want you to understand one thing, all of this wasn’t our fault. There were other factors beyond our control that made it hard for us to navigate in this world simply because of the color of our skin. Yeah, the deck has always been stacked against us, there have been systems strategically placed for us, as black men, to fail, and blindly destroy one another. But you and I have the spirits of our ancestors flowing in our soul and we will and shall overcome all the obstacles, struggles, trials and tribulations we may come to face.
They say everything happens for a reason, so I will venture to say it’s no accident things turned out the way they did. On some real, 100 stuff, it all boils down to one’s thoughts causing it all.
ABOUT THE WRITER. Ricardo Ferrell is one of the two third place winners in our most recent writing contest – we had a tie! Mr. Ferrell doesn’t just write, but also spends his time trying to do exactly what he referred to in his essay – make the world better. He is involved in several projects, and keeps himself busy trying to advocate for those around him, as well as those on the outside. Ricardo Ferrell can be contacted at:
Ricardo Ferrell #140701 Gus Harrison Correctional Facility 2727 E. Beecher Street Adrian, MI 49221
This story is for my brother, Ty. It’s about sturdy white t-shirts and durable black boots. Ty happened to be wearing both when he died. Today he would have turned fifty.
My brother died on a Harley Davidson. Actually the bike was on him when he finally came to rest face down in a lonely Idaho field. He had a broken neck and a B.A.C of 0.29. I imagine Ty smiling as he barreled headlong into the sinking September sun. Three short years have passed since my cousin erected a six-foot wooden cross at the crash site. If only the cool grey dirt could speak.
The rub is, Ty didn’t try to negotiate the familiar curve. There were no skid marks, just a beeline into oblivion. My brother had belonged to a Harley’s Only club. Over a twenty-five year period, he had ridden that Heritage Softtail from Mexico to Canada and everywhere in between. He died two miles from home.
After Ty’s body was cremated, my niece, his youngest, drove west to scatter her dad’s ashes across a windswept Oregon beach. That same day in Utah, her mother, Sue, Ty’s estranged wife, shot herself in the right temple with the 9mm Taurus my brother had inherited from me fifteen years prior when I was sentenced to life in prison. Sometimes I feel like I’m trapped in a soap opera.
I hurt a lot of people who loved me. One f those people was my little brother. His life was never quite the same after I abandoned him. When I selfishly planned and carried out a murder, I hadn’t thought about how the ripple effect would harm so many others who were left to clean up and live with my mess. How would things have been for them if I hadn’t imploded?
Somewhere between missionary and murderer, amid the muddled decades of my life, I lost a prized Hard Rock Café Las Vegas t-shirt to a karaoke groupie named Venna. By the time I realized she had take it from my closet and left a less-desirable Miller High Life tee in its place, she had moved away.
I ended up logging a lot of miles in that shirt. My brother called it a ‘wifebeater’ and laughed out loud when he first saw me wearing it on a fishing trip, and I spent a good deal of time trying to wear it out, everything from singing karaoke, gambling, hunting geese and ducks, camping, skiing, snowmobiling. Turns out Hanes makes a tough shirt – almost as tough as black Doc Marten boots.
Though my brother chose not to visit me in prison, he did write me one letter. That letter remains sealed and locked in a plastic box under my bunk. His daughter had enclosed the sealed letter with some photos she sent me after Ty’s sudden death. She said she had found the letter addressed and stamped in Ty’s business safe.
Exactly what that letter says, only my brother knew – at least until I find the courage to open and read it. I imagine myself dying of cancer and reading it just before my last breath.
Among the photos my niece sent, one stands out. Ty is standing on the deck of a chartered fishing boat off the coast of Mazatlan, Mexico, with a drink in his hand. One of Ty’s friends, Sean Bybee, used to call Ty Dean Martin, because he had some sort of alcoholic beverage in his hand at all times, or at least it seemed so.
At any rate, in that photo my brother was wearing the black Docs and the wife beater. He had them on when he crashed, and he wore them on a vacation with his family. I have to wonder if he wore those inherited items often, and if maybe he was reaching out to me in some way, maybe trying to somehow live vicariously. Maybe the articles of clothing were his bond with me. Lord knows a part of me resides in that shirt and those boots. No amount of laundering will ever remove every particle of mud, blood, sweat and tears.
It’s been said we shouldn’t judge a man until we’ve walked a mile in his shoes. I suppose this maxim applies to boots and t-shirts as well. I don’t know how many miles Ty logged in them, but part of himself is surely woven into their fabric. Too bad clothing can’t speak.
They say God works in mysterious ways, sometimes tragedy benefits us unexpectedly. Surely Christ’s gruesome death on the cross benefits all who believe that his blood has washed away the stain of sin. That said, when Ty died, his funeral notice was posted online. My estranged son of 23 years saw it and drove nonstop from Phoenix to see the uncle he had never met before he was cremated. Zac hit the jackpot when he walked into that Mormon churchhouse and met the hundreds of people gathered to celebrate Ty’s life. He met Ty’s daughter and all of his cousins, reunited with his grandmother, and felt the ground shake in smalltown Rigby, Idaho, when 127 Harleys idled down Main Street in tribute to my kid brother.
Two weeks later Zac walked through the doors of this prison to reconcile with me, the father he hadn’t seen or spoken to since a memorable fishing trip at age five. When he came through the visiting room door two days before my third grandchild was born, accompanied by the other two and his beautiful wife, I was both proud and sad.
My elation was bittersweet because it took Ty’s death to bring about this reunion, and I realized Ty would could never walk through that door, only the black Docs and wife beater Zac had worn. My mother had appropriately presented the items to Zac after they had been removed from Ty’s lifeless body. A stranger had written the first chapter in the story of that white t-shirt. Ty and I had added chapters of our own to the saga and woven the black boots into the narrative. Now it will be up to Zac to continue the legacy. His chapter might be somewhat tame in comparison. Zac is a doctor now and a staunch Mormon to boot. He doesn’t gamble, ride motorcycles or drink beer.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR. We recieved this piece from Mr. Briggs as an entry to a previous writing contest. Every judge was impressed with the strength of Mr. Briggs’ writing as well as his ability to express himself. He was not chosen as a winner in the contest because his work didn’t exactly fill the prompt – but his work is exactly what this site is here for. I hope we hear from him again. And I’ll aways wonder if he ever opened the letter. Mr. Briggs can be contacted at:
Todd R. Briggs #66972 Idaho State Correctional Center, G Block P.O. Box 70010 Boise, Idaho 83707
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.
