I don’t know this Mr. Defeat Of whom you speak. Chances are me and dude, We will never meet. My enemies lie and cheat To compete with my truth. You are certainly right, You don’t know me, And I don’t know you. But fact are facts And real is real. Yeah, I sold drugs, But I never robbed or killed. You say you feel my pain, How could you When it’s even too extreme For me to explain Without feeling strange. I mean… Imagine being buried alive Not inside oak or pine. This is concrete and iron, Sometimes the sun doesn’t shine – Hold on! Wait! Look at me when I am talking to you! I could easily be YOU!
ABOUT THE AUTHOR. Rogers LaCaze once lived on Death Row, but was resentenced to life this past week for a crime committed in 1995. He maintains his innocence. Mr. LaCaze can be contacted at: Rogers LaCaze, Sr. #356705 CBB L/L L.S.P. Angola, La. 70712
Things were different in Harris County, Texas, two decades ago. It could be said there was a thirst for blood that is less pronounced now. Charles Mamou will most likely get an execution date in the near future for a case that was prosecuted when securing a death penalty was a badge of honor, celebrated even. It was more acceptable in the halls of justice at that time to jam the pieces of the puzzle into place if investigators or a prosecutor ‘wanted’ a particular someone for a crime – or throw the pieces out if need be. Hopefully, things are different now. Mamou will pay with his life for the climate of the late 90’s, but it’s not too late to share what the prosecution knew when they tried the case. And what they know today for that matter. There was little interest in finding out what happened back when they could have, and a lot of interest in making a guilty verdict stick – which took some doing with no evidence.
Charles Mamou first wrote for this site in March, 2018. Out of curiosity, I looked up some articles about him after the first few pieces he submitted. Two things stood out – allegations of sexual assault, some articles saying he was charged with that crime, and a pair of his sunglasses that were reported to have been left near the body. It had to be true if he left his sunglasses, right? I envisioned the location to be an abandoned house on a block of old abandoned houses. It wasn’t until I started reading Mamou’s case file I learned the sunglasses were miles from the body that was found in a residential neighborhood – and the sexual assault? There is a lot more to that story as well.
Charles Mamou, Jr., was born and raised in Sunset, Louisiana, and early on he began taking care of his family and broke the law to do it. Like many before him and since, some of his most successful role models were drug dealers. And so began his life of crime. He wasn’t a choir boy, but he had a reputation for helping people out.
Houston, Texas, wasn’t Mamou’s stomping ground. He didn’t know the area like the back of his hand, but his dad lived there, as well as a couple cousins. He would travel to the area for ‘business’, if you can call it that. That is why he was there in December, 1998. He was involved in a transaction that included several other individuals, all of whom were residents of Houston. He wasn’t even driving his own car on that trip. He was staying with a couple in their apartment and was being driven by others tied to the same anticipated business transaction.
The evening of December 6, 1998, was mild and dry. Lantern Point Drive, where the ‘drug deal’ and attempted robbery eventually took place, had no lights, and according to police, it was a cloudy night. Samuel Johnson was driving the car Mamou was in. Terrence Dodson had been a participant in the transaction earlier in the day, but had since gone home. The car they met on the dark street where it all took place carried four passengers, including Mary Carmouche.
All surviving parties later admitted to their involvement in a drug deal gone wrong, although no one was ever charged with anything involved in that incident other than Charles Mamou, who was charged with kidnapping when he fled the scene after gunfire erupted and his partner drove away without him. The deceased individual had a loaded gun next to his body, leaving a good argument for self-defense. Mary Carmouche was driven to the location by three men who were there to rob Mamou, and she was in the back seat of the car he sped away in.
When security guards arrived shortly after the shooting,
which took place around midnight, one man was dead and two were injured. Both vehicles were gone.
The two surviving men both testified in court that the vehicle
Samuel Johnson was driving drove off first – leaving Charles Mamou behind. Mamou then jumped into the blue Lexus and
fled the scene.
According to the testimony of Kevin Walter, (Volume 16, of the
Reporter’s Record at page 137):
Q.
All right. Then where was the blue Lexus at the point you picked up the
gun?
A.
Taking off.
Q.
Where was the red car?
A.
Done took off.
Q.
It had taken off before the blue car?
A.
Yes.
Kevin Walter had no reason to lie
about which car took off first, and according to his testimony, Samuel Johnson
drove away first in the red car – leaving Charles Mamou, who then jumped in the
blue Lexus and drove away.
Dion Holley was the other
individual who was shot at the scene. His
testimony (Volume 18, of the Reporter’s Record at page 115) was as follows:
Q. All right. And what did you see?
A. I saw the red car backing up and turned
around in the street, and I saw the blue car leaving off.
Q. When you say you saw the red car backing up
and turning around, how did they make – if they’re going backwards, how did
they turn around and go the other way?
Is it like a three point turn where they stop, back up, and pull around;
or is it like a scene on shows where they’re able to hit the brakes and the car
spins around?
A. That’s pretty much how it was.
Q. So, it was a very quick thing?
A. Yes.
Q. Did it appear to you that the red car was
trying to get out of there really quick?
A. That’s correct.
Q. And then that vehicle was followed by your
mom’s Lexus?
A. That’s
correct.
Samuel Johnson, the driver of the red car and Mamou’s associate in the deal, later became a suspect in this case. Although his version of events contradicted all of the witnesses’ testimony, the prosecution went with his description of what took place. According to Samuel Johnson’s statement to police, he was not concerned about Charles Mamou or the car that could have held the drugs he was there to buy that night. He was not concerned about the shooting he had been involved in or the girl whose whereabouts he supposedly knew nothing about. The following is Johnson’s testimony regarding what happened next (Volume 19, of the Reporter’s Record at page 115):
Q.
You go directly home?
A.
Yeah.
Q.
Tell your wife what happened?
A.
No, she was asleep at the time
Q.
Pretty exciting events in our 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
The next morning Samuel Johnson got up in his usual fashion
and headed to work – where he was employed as an Orkin man, treating homes in the
Houston area.
Charles Mamou has always maintained that he followed Samuel Johnson back to the apartments, with Mary Carmouche in the car. According to Mamou there were other individuals present in the parking lot of the apartments when they arrived, along with himself, the victim and Johnson. Twenty years later, there are witnesses that support that.
Until his execution, I will be sharing everything I have learned over the last eighteen months. All of the information will be on a facebook page, Charles Mamou – How Wrongful Convictions Are Made, where I hope to share what the prosecution knew and what the defense failed to share. There will also be a catagory on this site, ‘Charles Mamou’, where every blog post will be kept.
Anyone with information regarding what took place in
December of 1998, please contact me at kimberleycarter@verizon.net.
Human
beings that can, at times, be so caring and helpful, thoughtful and graceful,
can at other times be so very ugly. When
you place a man amongst a group of men that do not possess the saving graces… a group of men that is nothing but ugly,
things can go very bad.
I
often hear on my FM radio snippets of humor.
Or a commercial. Maybe a child
speaking candidly, which is humorous or touching. I hear a thirty second piece of humanity – a piece
of the real world.
I have lost the laughter of children. Lost a million tiny human interactions that create warm, happy, positive feelings. I have gained violence, anger and willful ignorance. I have gained mean spirited humor and more forms of discrimination than I can name properly. I have gained a million negative pieces to replace the million positive pieces… and I despair.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR: The above is an excerpt from Jeremy Robinson’s, The Monster Factory, which he is currently revising. Jeremy lives in a Texas prison and can be contacted at: Jeremy Robinson #1313930 Polunsky Unit 3872 South FM 350 Livingston, TX 77351
“With time moving so fast and this date looming, I wanted to
make sure to let you know…”
That was part of a letter I got this weekend – a goodbye letter. Travis Runnels is a very private person and would be very disappointed in me if he knew I shared even that. He probably won’t find out though, and if it gets one person to call the governor on his behalf or sign his petition – I’ll take the chance.
I tried to imagine what he must feel like, living alone in a box and knowing he will likely be killed before Christmas. I panicked and became overwhelmed by a feeling of claustrophobia. I had to shake it off and clear my head. What I can’t possibly imagine is having to live in that knowledge as the minutes count down. Why would we do that to anybody? Whatever twisted emotion takes a hold of someone who intentionally takes a life – is no less twisted because an intentional murder takes place in a sterile environment by trained staff. It’s no less of a killing. If anything it’s even sicker. It’s not brought on by a storm of emotion. It’s planned, well thought out, costly – and includes an audience.
Travis Runnels killed someone and those that thrive on
vengeance will rev their engines and cheer at his passing, feeling justified. I know because I’ve gotten the hate mail. I can’t help those people.
For the rest of us – please call the Governor of Texas at 512-463-2000 and ask for mercy and this execution not to take place. Please make your feelings known. We have to be just as tireless as those that have the energy for vengeance – and in doing so, we will overcome.
There is also a Petition that was started by a very close friend of Travis’, hoping to commute the death sentence to a life sentence. Please sign it.
Words from Death Row…
“’You know, in my day your kind would’ve never gotten so much generous attention. We simply would’ve brought you out yonder, found a good ole tree to hang ya from. Just one less…’ he was saying just before he cut himself off.” – Charles ‘Chucky’ Mamou, Death Row – out of appeals
“It’s baffling that people can actually believe justice is being served by watching a man being strapped to a table and having an IV inserted into his arm to be filled with poison until it kills him. Justice…” – Travis Runnels, Death Row – scheduled to be executed December 11, 2019
I just heard on the radio they put him to death, And his last words were, “I can finally rest.” I feel ya bro, no more pain and misery, Rest in peace my friend, you’re finally free. – Troy Clark, executed by Texas, September 26, 1998
I’d been labeled a murderer by all those that mattered. There’d be no more tedious claims of innocence for doubters to discredit. There’d be no salvation for people like me as long as there are people like them. And there’d be no hope of a better tomorrow when my tomorrow was upon me today. – Chanton, Death Row
I seen Lil Jack get in that van. I seen Big Buck get in that van. I seen Thread get in that van. I seen Smoke get in that van. I seen Chester get in that van. I seen Ross get in that van. I seen Tick get in that van. I seen Savage get in that van. I seen Bones get in that van. I seen Diaz get in that van. They won’t get me, ‘cause I have a plan. I don’t want to kill myself, I don’t want to kill myself. – Pete Russell, Death Row
There is no valid argument for the premeditated taking of a life.
Terry Robinson has quietly maintained his innocence for two decades, and many would prefer it remain that way – quiet. It’s easier. For Robinson to be innocent, someone has to be guilty. When a death sentence weighs heavily on the word of family or close friends – there is typically silence. I’ve heard it described as ‘the dark time’ by different families from different parts of the country. Time marches on, no one talks, families break apart. To defend the one accused – is to imply the accuser did the unthinkable.
This is some of what happened twenty years ago.
A man was killed in 1999, and a family lost him forever at
the hands of someone. Mary Hoskins, Terry Robinson’s mother, also
lost her son. And so began the dark time,
and I imagine she wasn’t able to grieve openly, the way a mother should. No one
talks. No one compares statements. No
one reads the testimony. As the saying
goes – let sleeping dogs lie. Sometimes
the truth gets buried in the silence.
Mary Hoskins could have concocted an alibi for her son when
she was interviewed by police, but she didn’t.
Out of all the interviews and statements, hers had to be the most
difficult and because of that, probably the most accurate. She knew what she said could impact her son –
for better or worse. As hard as it was,
she didn’t give Robinson an ‘out’ for the time of the crime – she told what she
knew. That very fact, speaks to her
integrity. And when she became aware
police were looking for her son – she tried her best to give them information
on where they might find him. She didn’t
want him hurt in the search. Following
is the interview of Mary Hoskins:
Mrs. Hoskins stated
that she is the mother of Terry Robinson, and that back on the Sunday that this
incident happened, she stated that she had got off of work around 3:30 PM. She stated that she works at the N.C. Special
Care Center, and that when she got home, that Terry and his girlfriend,
Shahara, were there. She stated that
she’s not sure of what time they left, but that it was still light
outside. She stated that Montreal
Bullock who lives next door to them came over, and she thinks that Terry and Shahara
left with him. Mrs. Hoskins stated that
she didn’t see Terry again until the next night. She stated that Shahara told
her that they went to her mother’s house, and her mother brought them back out
to her house and they stayed in the barn that Sunday night.
The defense didn’t call any witnesses, so although Mary
Hoskin’s interview could have called into question the credibility of Ronald
Bullock and Jesse Hill – Mary wasn’t given that opportunity. No defense was presented.
Sophia Hoskins, Robinson’s sister, was also interviewed by police. She didn’t give her brother an alibi or say what she thought might help defend him. She gave a brief, credible interview.
Sophia stated that
Terry is her brother, and that on Sunday afternoon that Terry and Shahara were
at the house. She stated that she left to go to work at Harris Teeter around
4:30 P.M. and that she got off work that night around 9:30 P.M. She stated that when she got home, that she
went to the bathroom, and then to her bedroom. She stated that she didn’t see
Terry or Shahara after she got back from work.
Again, the defense chose not to call Sophia Hoskins to the
stand, although her interview contradicts the trial testimony of Ronald Bullock
and Jesse Hill, who both told police that Robinson was with Ronald Bullock organizing
a robbery on Sunday afternoon and not with his girlfriend. Jesse Hill was interviewed by police and said
that Ronald Bullock and Terry Robinson were at his house at 3:00 discussing the
plans and asking him to participate.
The jury never heard anything regarding the interviews of
Mary Hoskins or Sophia Hoskins, nor did the defense call them to testify. Nor was the jury given the opportunity to hear
from the girlfriend who was said to have spent time with Robinson for a good
part of that day – although it appears investigators didn’t even interview her,
as I see nothing regarding that in the case file.
Instead they heard from Jesse Hill, Terry Robinson’s cousin,
whose interview with police contradicted both Mary and Sophia.
Mr. Hill stated that
yesterday around 3:00 P.M. while he was on Kincaid Avenue, his two cousins,
Terry Robinson and Montreal Bullock came over in a gray four door car. He stated that they told him that they needed
some money, and that they were going to rob the Pizza Inn. Mr. Hill stated that he told them they were
crazy. Mr. Hill stated that they then
took him over to his mother’s house on Stantonsbury Road and dropped him
off. He stated that later that night he
asked his sister to take him back over on Kincaid Avenue.
The above interview goes on and contradicts Mr. Hill’s own
trial testimony on some points, as well as contradicting Mr. Bullock’s trial
testimony, the other individual who testified Terry Robinson committed murder. While stating that Terry Robinson was
planning a robbery, in contrast to the information Robinson’s mother and sister
had both given to the police – Jesse Hill also gave himself a solid alibi for
the evening, stating he was at his mother’s house.
If the police questioned Mr. Hill’s mother, I have not been
able to find those records.
Without a defense, the prosecution didn’t have to deal with any of the contradictions. But the reality is, Terry Robinson couldn’t have been planning a robbery with Bullock and Hill at 3:00 that afternoon if he was at his mother’s home with his girlfriend. The jury didn’t get the opportunity to decide who they believed because they were never presented any of that information.
Terry Robinson was sentenced to death two decades ago and
has spent every day since then on death row.
If anybody has any information regarding the whereabouts of Terry Robinson
or his accusers on any part of Sunday, May 16, 1999, please contact me. kimberleycarter@verizon.net
Whether you support the death penalty or not, most can agree the ultimate punishment should require impeccable integrity and absolute proof. Everyone from the detectives, to the defense attorneys, to the prosecutors, to the jury, to the judge and even the witnesses, who are sometimes involved in the crime – all need to have unquestionable integrity and lack all prejudice. That’s the only way it could work.
That level of blanket integrity and lack of prejudice doesn’t exist. We don’t have the ability to judge the moral character and integrity levels of all the individuals involved. Knowing that, incorporating a death penalty in our system results in innocent people living on death row and some being executed.
Terry Robinson has been on death row for twenty years and
has always maintained his innocence.
This post will begin a new catagory on this site and will be dedicated to taking a closer look at why Terry Robinson was sentenced to death. Comments and private messages are welcome and highly encouraged. Unfortunately, once someone hears a person is sentenced to death – they assume something happened in court to prove that, and the public never hears what actually took place in the courtroom. In Mr. Robinson’s situation the prosecution presented a case, and the defense rested.
In this country, we are innocent until ‘proven’ guilty. Terry Robinson has always maintained his innocence, inluding having no knowledge of what happened at the Pizza Inn on May 16, 1999, in Wilson, NC.
Following is the voluntary statement of Ronald Bullock, the
man who said Terry Robinson committed murder, given at 1:35 a.m. on May 18,
1999:
Mr. Bullock states
that he and Duck walked to the Pizza Inn last night. Mr. Bullock states that he had a .380 automatic,
chrome in color. Mr. Bullock states that
they went there to rob the place. Mr. Bullock states that they ran in the place
and he stopped at the drive-thru cash register.
Mr. Bullock states that Duck ran out of his sight. He heard one shot. Mr. Bullock states that he ran to the back of
the woods and he changed clothes. Mr. Bullock stated he then went one way, and
Duck went the other. Mr. Bullock states
that he lost his gun. Mr. Bullock states
that the gun had some bullets in the magazine but not in the chamber or head.
And so began Terry Robinson’s journey to death row. He recently told me going to prison might have saved his life, as he wasn’t living the life he should have been at the time. He also expressed that he viewed the man who made the above statement as a son and still does in some ways.
I tried to contact Mr. Bullock repeatedly before I began this project, hoping to learn more about what happened that night, to no avail.
There wasn’t a lot presented during the trial, but it will all be looked at here.
During the trial, Mr. Bullock had a lot more to say about the events that took place that entire day, and went into detail regarding Terry Robinson and his activities on the day of the crime, Sunday, May 16, 1999 – activities Terry Robinson denies. If anybody remembers seeing Terry Robinson or Ronald Bullock at any time on Sunday, May 16, 1999, please contact me.
I didn’t realize my ‘normal’ wasn’t normal until I got transferred to a less restricted housing unit. Before that, my normal was trying to sleep through the yelling and banging, being forced to show my genitals, including bending over and spreading my cheeks, every time I left my cell – hands cuffed behind my back once I did.
The ‘normal’ I was being subjected to was making it less and less likely that once released – I would be able to function around ‘normal’ people.
I just hope my new normal will undo the damage my old normal caused…
ABOUT THE WRITER: Mr. Reaves is a new writer to our site, and I hope we see more from him. He said a lot in four sentences – I’m excited to see what he sends in next. Mr. Reaves can be contacted at:
Solitary confinement is exactly that… solitary.
There are a lot of people who live there, but because they are each
locked away in a separate box, it’s easy to forget there are people around you. I spent almost twelve years in solitary,
twenty three hours of every day in my cell and everything brought to me. I was only just released over forty-five days
ago.
While in solitary, inmates are handcuffed and escorted any time they leave their cell. Literally. So for nearly twelve years, every single time I would go to a visit or medical, there were two staff members on each side of me.
The day I left solitary, I was no longer cuffed and had no
escort. I walked out of 12-building – alone…
to join a line of inmates that were getting on a prison bus to go to a new
unit. To say that I felt very weird – conspicuous
– would be an understatement. I can’t
overstate how uncomfortable I felt. I
knew that it would be a tough transition, and for months I had worked hard to
prepare myself, but in real time, the feeling of displacement was
overwhelming. Had a person been able to
hear my thoughts, they would have heard an almost psychotic back and forth
monologue with myself.
‘People are staring at
me…’
‘Yes! This is what you WANTED, dummy!’
‘Where do I go now? Where do I walk?’
‘What’s next…’
I didn’t know anyone and was struggling to converse, to keep eye contact. I found my voice wasn’t loud enough, and I was mumbling. It all affected my confidence, which compounded the problems and made them worse. I couldn’t believe what was happening. Apparently, having an awareness of the problem wasn’t going to be enough to solve it. Even as I write this, after a month and a half out, I feel stupid trying to convey the sense of displacement. Solitary damaged me, hurt my ability to relate to others in a normal way.
I was in solitary for attempting an escape. The policy on this states that I was to be
released after ten years, but TDCJ had other ideas. The policy also states that
the security tag, called a ‘Security Precaution Designator’ was to be dropped
after ten years. Of course, TDCJ refuses
to drop the designator, and rather than release me to minimum custody, where I
rightfully belong, they released me to the most restrictive level of custody,
G5. G5, aka ‘closed custody’, is very
violent and full of drugs. Walking into
the section, I could smell K2 burning and see all the walls and doors had burn
marks from fires being set. The noise
level was high.
My first cellmate was just thirty years old and only had
twenty-nine months left until he discharged his sentence flat. This meant he had no incentive to behave well. He didn’t care about making parole. He was
also what’s called a ‘wet head’, meaning when he was free, his drug of choice was
marijuana laced with embalming fluid. Sadly, this had damaged his mind. He could hear invisible people whispering, and
believed a female CO and an inmate were having sex behind the toilet. He was
jittery and very suspicious. I’d been in
the cell – my very first cell since leaving solitary, mind you – ten days, and
he hit me. We fought, and the sergeant
moved both of us to new cells.
My new cellmate was also a ‘wet head’… I wasn’t in the cell five minutes before we
were fighting. This cellmate refused to let me unpack my property, going so far
as to try and restrain me. I’d been out
of solitary for less than two weeks and had participated in two fights and seen
at least fifteen. I was very discouraged.
The next cellmate was okay.
We got along for a few weeks, and then TDCJ moved me from G5 to a better
custody level – G4. Here I can walk to
the chow hall and eat. I get four hours
a day out of my cell. My first day out I
wanted to mail a letter but didn’t know where the mail drop was. Of course I didn’t want to reveal my ignorance
and ask, so I waited until chow and followed a guy that had a letter in his
pocket. Once at the chow hall I sat wondering where the salt and pepper shakers
were and how to get my cup of juice refilled.
Apparently, one simply holds up the cup and the inmate worker… I
hesitate to call him a waiter… refills it.
After eating, I followed the other inmates back to our section and then
copied them as they racked up, went into their cells. Each day found me
imitating some other inmate’s actions, relearning basic things about schedules
and rules.
It’s been almost fifty days of fear and uncertainty. I find myself longing for the solitude, the safety and the predictability of solitary confinement, having to forcefully shift my mental gears to appreciate all the good things that come with being in population. I attend church and am to begin school soon. I got a sunburn. Yes, a happy occasion after twelve years without sun. I get fresh air and hot food – the quality hasn’t improved, but it’s no longer cold and spoiled. Soon, I might receive a visit with my children, contact rather than through glass, and I’m allowed to use the offender telephones and speak with people. I remind myself daily that ‘predictable solitude’ becomes a very lonely place. I’m still lonely, but now I at least have people around me.
There’s no doubt that not only does solitary confinement damage inmates, but that the damage is more insidious, more subtle than I could have ever believed. If the transition from solitary to general population was this difficult for me, how… almost… impossible will it be for me to integrate into society after having served thirty flat years in prison? Do not read that wrong. I haven’t given up. I will continue to improve.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Jeremy Robinson is author of The Monster Factory and is currently working on several projects. He can be contacted at: Jeremy Robinson #1313930 Polunsky Unit 3872 South FM 350 Livingston, TX 77351
That’s what a homicide detective in Houston told me last
week.
Charles Mamou has spent two decades on death row for the
murder of Mary Carmouche – a crime he has always denied committing.
What the case lacks in physical evidence, it makes up for in questions. In 1999 the prosecution didn’t have much, but when they went looking for a man in connection to the murder, Mamou’s younger cousin, that man quickly told police that Mamou confessed to him. The cousin’s original recorded statement and his actual courtroom testimony are vastly different versions of the ‘confession’, and in between the two versions there also exists a letter the witness wrote saying that Mamou ‘didn’t tell me shit‘. The jury never saw that letter or a transcript of the cousin’s original statement, although a comparison of the video statement and testimony was written about on this site and can be seen here.
Letter written to Charles Mamou from his cousin – the key witness – who testified that Mamou confessed to him.
In an absence of evidence, the prosecution, with the help of Mamou’s cousin, painted a picture of Charles Mamou meant to secure a conviction – not based on evidence. Mamou was accused of crimes he was never tried for, and the jury was also shown graphic autopsy photos of a victim of a crime Charles Mamou was never charged with. They heard heartwrenching testimony from family members of victims of crimes that were not connected to Mary Carmouche.
The jury was also told by the prosecution and Mamou’s cousin
that Mamou sexually assaulted the victim, although he was never charged with
that crime. Sexual assault become part
of the picture painted by prosecutors and reported as fact in the media.
Following is one version of the sexual assault the jury heard, as described by a prosecutor in the courtroom.
“He marches her to the
back, and he makes her commit oral sodomy, makes her suck his penis. Imagine that ladies and gentlemen. That’s what he did, as she’s there. And imagine the look on her face, the terror
in her eyes and how afraid she is. She’s
only seventeen, and she doesn’t want to die.”
This year – two decades after the trial and after a recent
records request – it was learned Joyce Carter, the Chief Medical Examiner at
the time, ordered a rape kit collected when the body was discovered.
Charles Mamou never knew the kit was collected and never saw the results.
The prosecution never mentioned the rape kit during trial, although they were aware it existed and records indicate the prosecutor requested that HPD process the kit months before the trial took place. At this point in time, Charles Mamou has only just learned the rape kit existed, and has never seen the results of the processed kit.
Autopsy Evidence Request Form, received in the Lab on December 9, 1998.
Finding the results of the rape kit was only one of the reasons I flew to Texas this year. There was something else interesting revealed in the recent
HPD records request.
Two pieces of biological evidence were signed out of the lab this year – twenty years after the crime. Under ‘status’ on each of the related forms it states, ‘Report Written or to Follow’. Even more interesting, both signed out items were described as, ‘Sealed envelopes said to contain biological evidence’. Both items were signed out this year – one in April, 2019, and one in June, 2019. Both items were signed out by Mary K. Childs-Henry, who was mentioned in several articles in the Houston Chronicle in the early 2000’s. Those articles can be seen here:
Evidence signed out on April 17, 2019 and June 2, 2019
About a week after I returned home from my trip, in a phone conversation with D. Wilker at HPD – who contacted me – I was informed the rape kit was “irrelevant”. She also told me that, yes – Mary K. Childs-Henry did have the evidence in her possession at one time. I was told the evidence was now back where it belongs. I was told the evidence was not tested, as previously noted on the documentation, and that Ms. Childs-Henry had removed the evidence to ‘catalogue’ it.
The investigator who called me did not explain why biological evidence from a twenty year old case would need to be physically removed from storage to be catalogued two decades later. Not one piece – but two pieces within two months. Nor was it explained why the paperwork would say it was removed for testing – not cataloguing. It is also unclear how long the biological evidence was not located in storage, under what conditions it was stored while it was not in storage, what the evidence removed actually was, what the procedures are for chain of custody when evidence is removed from storage for cataloguing and if it was manipulated in any way while it was out of storage.
When I asked Ms. Wilker if she considered the matter closed – she informed me she did. She also told me that if the defense wanted to test something – they should have done that years ago. As stated above, Charles Mamou found out this year that a rape kit was collected.
As it stands, Charles Mamou will be executed for the murder of Mary Carmouche, a crime he has always denied committing. There is at least one relevant witnesses who was not spoken to by investigators at the time of the crime, there is a rape kit the defendant only recently learned exists and has never seen the results of, there are several contradictions in the star witness’ testimony of a confession and his original statement, as well as a letter in his own writing saying he didn’t know anything – and an overwhelming lack of evidence.
There is a timeline that makes it impossible for Charles
Mamou to have completed all he is accused of in the time it took to get from
the drug deal gone wrong, where the crime originated, and to the apartment
complex where witnesses saw him not long after.
Although I was told the ‘the rape kit is irrelevant’ by HPD, it was relevant when the prosecution requested that it be processed twenty years ago. They requested that it be processed – because they wanted to see the results. It only became ‘irrelevant’ to the state of Texas after they did see the results – results the defense has yet to see and results the jury was never aware existed.
I tried to contact the court appointed attorney that originally defended Charles Mamou as the investigator at the Houston Police Department told me that he was aware of the rape kit, but he has not responded to my requests.
Anyone with information regarding this case can contact me at kimberleycarter@verizon.net. Anything you share with me will be confidential.
TO CONTACT CHARLES MAMOU: Charles Mamou #999333 Polunsky Unit 12-CD-53 3872 South FM 350 Livingston, TX 77351
I hate being on Texas Death Row. The air.
The stripping nude four times a day on average so officers have
something to do or look at. The cold,
faux-food. The redundant radio station
playing the same ole’ commercialized songs every half hour. I hate my current existence so much, I even
hate telling you about it.
We’re all enigmas here. Each emotionally abused and scarred in some way, shape or form. This is a place where a guy named Marty McFly can change his name into something catchy and it sticks like a new skin – Big Mac, Marty the Leotard, Mc-Dawg. Guys can rename themselves after their city, town, zip code, favorite animal, or even a car – something they never would have thought of had they been free. That’s one thing I don’t hate. I find the names quite creative and the choices interesting. At one point, I went by the name Louisiana because others couldn’t pronounce my last name correctly.
In some regard I think I’m better off than some in here,
having battled my own thoughts of suicide and self-harm. There are times that are comforting, like
when it’s quiet and I can read a good book and see the words come to life on the
inner stage within my mind. There’s
nothing greater than that.
Then – there’s visitation.
I love getting visits and a chance to get out of this cell, to be
allowed to interact with ‘freeworld’ people and have a moment of
nostalgia. I saw a kid race another
across the floor, and it brought back memories of seeing my own daughter doing
the same exact thing two decades earlier.
I wasn’t much of a talker when I was free, but I’ve since
acquired a taste for conversing. People
fascinate me and I want to know and understand how they see the world, and how
different cultures can be.
I recently did a BBC interview with a lovely reporter. It was my understanding the segment was to be focused on my beloved friend, Mary, who was here to visit me. Perhaps I understood the angle. Perhaps I didn’t. Or, maybe, I was a self-centered bastard who thought that – once the camera began to roll – it was ‘action time’ and all about me. Which would explain why I wanted to shave away the grey hairs from my face before the interview. Why I urgently smoothed the Olay moisturizer sample I received inside one of my girlie magazines on my face to give me a glow when the big lights came on. And maybe it explains why the first thing that came out of my mouth was, “Where’s my glam team?”
A few days before the interview I had to have a tooth
removed, and I found myself talking on the opposite side of my mouth so the
camera didn’t catch the side-gap in my mouth.
I am many things – true. Add ‘vain’
to the long list.
I attempted to change the narrative of the interview by
talking about me, my case and this environment as the British reporter shifted
right to left in her chair out of patient frustration. She was chasing a story. I was chasing freedom and wanted the world to
know it while I still had a chance to express it. I could tell she ‘understood’. Somewhere, hidden beneath her eyes, she knew
I was a lonely soul, cast into a lonelier sea.
I may have seemed a bit ornery to her, or she may have even thought I
was a meshugana. I’ve been called the
latter a few times.
The reporter was a true pro. Smooth. She sensed it when my own oxygen began to run out. She had to have seen it in the finality of my expressions. The desperation of my emotions. The expression of agony of two decades of being mentally lynched within the halls of solitary confinement.
“Can I ask you one final question?” she asked with a
smile. I invited her to ask me anything,
confident that nothing asked would be too complicated for me, until she asked, “Do
you have any regrets?”
Mentally? I began to
perspire. Emotionally – I could see
air-bubbles form with no words. I was caught
off guard. Speechless. Suffering from a ten-second delay of censorship. Was this a trick question? Was she asking about my case? My life as a whole? I was truly confused and didn’t like it. I rubbed my head, looked into the camera and
explained that I was innocent in every way from the conviction that molested my
freedom from me. Sure – it wasn’t what
she wanted. But, it was what I
needed. I needed to say it.
I’ve been told an Italian saying that goes, “Vivere Senza Rimpianti” – to live with no regrets. And when I came back online mentally, that was the only thought I had. So, I told her, “I have no regrets.” Perhaps I regret saying that without fully explaining what I meant. Perhaps not.
What no one can see is that I’m not the same person I was
when I was free, thinking I knew everything about everything, when in reality I
knew nothing about anything. I’ve traded
in gangster rap lyrics for informative literature. I now get intoxicated on history, philosophy,
politics, psychology. Not beer, wine or
champagne. I’m a different person today
because… and I HATE to admit this, but
my limited environment gave me access to unlimited knowledge.
Since I’ve been on death row, I’ve met so many people from
all over the world. People I have no
doubt I would have never encountered had such a wicked kismet not fallen upon
me. People I love more than I love myself. People who have educated me, visited me,
defended me and my innocence and have taken care of me as if I was always one
of their own. A love that transcends mere
words of affection. A love that does not
judge my past, but supports my future. A
love that isn’t defined by social acceptance or traditional neglect for those
like me who are incarcerated.
I believe that if you regret some things, you will learn to regret
all things. I love who I am. It’s my past mistakes that have made me who I
am today. I learned from them. I grew from them. You can wish that certain outcomes never happened
the way they did, but regrets?
Traditionally, our mental wells have been poisoned into not challenging clichés
and social norms when we know a challenge is needed.
When I told the reporter, “I regret nothing,” I meant that. For I could not and do not want to entertain an existence where I live without my friends who are family. I wouldn’t trade my freedom for them. Living would be a ‘regret’ if I didn’t have them in my life. Vivere Senza Rimpianti!
ABOUT THE AUTHOR. Charles “Chucky” Mamou is living on Death Row in Texas. He is out of appeals and has always maintained his innocence.
He can be contacted at: Charles Mamou #999333 Polunsky Unit 12-CD-53 3872 South FM 350 Livingston, TX 77351
