March 20
TEXAS:
Intellectually disabled man who murdered Dallas cop shouldn't be executed, DA
says
Dallas County District Attorney John Creuzot announced Tuesday he no longer
believes that a man sentenced to death for murdering a Dallas police officer in
November 2005 should be executed for his crime.
Juan Lizcano should instead spend the rest of his life in prison without the
possibility of parole, Creuzot said.
The change in position follows a Supreme Court ruling in February that stopped
Texas from executing another intellectually disabled murderer, saying the
state's judgment of such disabilities relies on inaccurate stereotypes. The
DA's office had opposed a reduced sentence for Lizcano before Creuzot took
office Jan. 1.
Lizcano does not have a scheduled execution date.
Attorneys for Lizcano, now 42, argued in his November 2007 trial that he should
not face the death penalty because of his intellectual disabilities.
Lizcano's trial attorney, Brook Busbee, said Tuesday that she always thought
her client would end up with a life sentence. She said there was never any
evidence to show he wasn't mentally disabled.
"I was frustrated during the trial because everybody knew the man was
intellectually disabled and didn't care," Busbee said.
At Lizcano's trial, Busbee and attorney Juan Sanchez presented evidence that he
grew up intellectually slow and extremely poor in a Mexican village. He also
scored low on IQ tests. He was promoted to 6th grade at age 15 simply because
he was too old to remain in elementary school.
Creuzot's decision, Busbee said, "was the right thing to do."
The district attorney at the time, Craig Watkins, who led the state in
death-penalty convictions during his tenure, convinced the jury that Lizcano
should pay with his life for fatally shooting 28-year-old Officer Brian
Jackson, who was responding to a late-night domestic violence call at the home
of Lizcano's ex-girlfriend in Old East Dallas. The former girlfriend called 911
twice to report Lizcano had threatened her with a gun.
Jackson was searching for Lizcano when Lizcano shot him.
"He's a murderer," Jackson's widow, Jo-Ann Jackson, who married him just two
months before his slaying, said of Lizcano in 2013. "He knew what he was
doing."
She declined to comment Tuesday.
Lizcano will now likely move from the Ellis Unit in Livingston, which houses
death-row inmates, to another unit in the Texas prison system.
"You don't get any real sunshine on death row. All he ever wanted to do was go
outside," Busbee said. "Now he can."
Lizcano moved to the U.S. from Mexico illegally in 2000. His attorneys said he
did so to send money home to his family.
(source: Dallas Morning News)
VIRGINIA:
Layne facing death penalty in Caswell County
The death penalty is being sought against Donald Scott Layne in Caswell County
Superior Court after a rule 24 hearing was held Tuesday, March 19.
Layne is charged with capital murder after the shooting death of Juanita
Hankins in Sep. 2018.
Assistant District Attorney Stephanie Reese filed a motion seeking capital
murder charges during the hearing.
Defense attorney Ben Holloman noted an objection to the state seeking capital
murder.
Layne will have 2 attorneys appointed to his case from the capital defenders
office in North Carolina.
(source: Chatham Star Tribune)
NORTH CAROLINA:
Prosecutors to pursue death penalty against Danville man in N.C. killing
North Carolina prosecutors are pursuing the death penalty against Donald Scott
Layne — a former Danville businessman charged with attacking a former employee
and killing her mother — after a hearing in Caswell County Superior Court on
Tuesday morning.
In October, the Caswell County’s district attorney’s office filed an
application for what is termed a Rule 24 pre-trial hearing, which signals their
intent to argue for capital punishment.
Layne, 52, is charged with 1st-degree counts of murder, attempted murder, rape,
sexual offense and kidnapping along with one count of felonious breaking and
entering.
(source: Martinsville Bulletin)
FLORIDA:
State to seek death penalty in Blackwater prison murder
State Attorney Bill Eddins plans to seek the death penalty in a murder at
Blackwater Correctional Institution.
The grand jury in Santa Rosa County indicted Thomas H. Fletcher for 1st degree
murder in the death of Kenneth Jeff Davis.
Davis was 33 years old when he was found unresponsive in his cell on September
22, 2018.
According to court documents, Fletcher was sentenced to life in prison in 1995
for the 1st degree murder of his alleged drug dealer during a robbery.
Davis was sentenced to 25 years in prison for trying to kill his ex-wife and
her boyfriend with an explosive device in Walton County in 2015.
According to the state attorney's office, Fletcher’s next scheduled court date
is March 28 in Santa Rosa County.
The Florida Dept. of Corrections website shows Fletcher is currently
incarcerated at the Florida State Prison in Raiford.
(source: WEAR TV news)
ALABAMA:
DA to seek death penalty in 1999 slayings
A prosecutor says he'll seek the death penalty against a man charged in the
slayings of 2 Alabama teenagers nearly 20 years ago.
District Attorney Kirke Adams says 45-year-old Coley McCraney can be prosecuted
for capital murder in the killings of 17-year-olds Tracie Hawlett and J.B.
Beasley.
Adams told a news conference Monday that one of the multiple capital counts
against the man includes a charge that one of the victims was sexually
assaulted during her slaying in 1999.
Authorities say they used DNA matching to confirm that evidence from the
killings was tied to McCraney.
The prosecutor says he decided years ago to pursue the slayings as a
death-penalty case.
McCraney was arrested Saturday. A defense lawyer says the man is cooperating
with authorities.
(source: Associated Press)
TENNESSEE:
Tennessee House OKs bill to nix 1 court death penalty review
As U.S. executions hover near historically low levels, a bill passed by the
Tennessee House aims to remove 1 state court's review before putting inmates to
death.
The House voted 73-22 Monday for Republican Rep. Mary Littleton's legislation
to skip Tennessee's Court of Criminal Appeals and provide automatic state
Supreme Court death penalty reviews. The Senate could follow this week.
Court of Criminal Appeals Judge John Everett Williams has said his court's last
4 death penalty reviews took 3 to 6 months. Federal courts account for most of
the sometimes-3-decades of death penalty court reviews.
The bill is named for Dickson County Sheriff's Sgt. Daniel Baker, who was
killed in May. Baker's family applauded from the gallery Monday. 2 people
charged in Baker's death are approaching trial.
Tennessee executed 3 inmates in 2018.
(source: Associated Press)
**************
Tennessee should do away with outdated, ineffective death penalty
Of the 30 states that still have the death penalty, a third of them have not
used it in a decade or more. Up until last year, Tennessee was counted in that
group.
The writing is on the wall: The death penalty is in rapid decline. New death
sentences are down 60 % since 2000, and last year was the 4th in a row that the
country executed fewer than 30 people.
All of the 25 executions occurred in only 8 states, with Texas bearing
responsibility for more than 1/2 of them. The state with the 2nd most
executions? Tennessee. The Volunteer State carried out 3 executions, 2 of them
with the electric chair.
This development is out of character for Tennessee and completely out of step
with the national trend on this issue. Up until last year Tennessee had
executed only six people since reinstatement of the death penalty, all
post-2000. In that same time period, the state had also seen 3 people
exonerated from its death row and another released because of overwhelming
evidence of innocence.
Sentencing is arbitrary, and that is cruel and unusual punishment
The state’s previous caution in this area makes sense. As of 2017, 55 percent
of death sentences in the state had been reversed. That’s an extraordinary
error rate. Not only that, but a recent study found that the state’s use of the
system was highly arbitrary, labeling it “a cruel lottery.”
This mirrors data across the country. Use of capital punishment is highly
concentrated, meaning that the location where someone commits a crime is a much
larger determinate in sentencing than what they actually did.
To date, all executions across the nation, post-reinstatement, have come from
fewer than 16 % of counties.
As good scholars know, arbitrariness in sentencing led to the death penalty
being banned by the U.S. Supreme Court in the 1970s because randomness in
sentencing meets the definition of cruel and unusual punishment, thereby
violating the Eighth Amendment.
While marching completely out of step with most trends around the death
penalty, Tennessee is in keeping with one: Areas that use the death penalty
continuously have higher rates of violent crime compared to those who do not
use it or who repeal it.
Tennessee already leads the nation in violent crime rates, but last year it saw
yet another spike with rates far outpacing the national average and in direct
contrast to most of the nation, which saw a dip in crime.
The state spends untold millions carrying out and defending the practice of
capital punishment. It has obviously done a pathetic job of ensuring innocent
people are not caught up in the system, as it has done with actually improving
community safety. We have thousands of rape kits backlogged that are waiting to
be tested before the statute of limitations runs out in this state.
In Memphis there is a 38 % clearance rate for homicides, and the rest of the
state doesn’t fare much better. By the way, clearance means identification of a
suspect; it doesn’t mean conviction. And we haven’t even touched on the
atrocious solvency rate for other crimes.
This arbitrariness, a daunting amount of innocence discovered in the system, a
lack of a deterrent effect and the exorbitant costs of carrying out the death
penalty – costs that contribute to fewer crimes being solved or deterred in the
first place – are leading lawmakers across the country to abandon the practice.
(And no, the process taking too long is not why it’s so expensive). Notably,
this abandonment isn’t being driven by who you might think.
As of this writing, 8 states have Republican-led efforts to repeal the death
penalty this year. 5 of those efforts are in states with Republican control.
Wyoming nearly passed repeal this year, and Ohio’s Republican governor has
called for a halt on all executions as he works to examine the state’s
protocol.
The death penalty is a failed big-government program with all the fallibility
and misallocation of resources of any other government program. Conservatives
across the country are realizing that it not only does not align with their
values, it also wastes precious resources. Standing in stark contrast to these
common-sense reforms is Tennessee, whose re-launching of the electric chair is
drawing attention for all the wrong reasons, making the state looks backwards
and out of touch. Lawmakers in the state are also bizarrely attempting to
curtail the appellate process for capital cases, despite the already
embarrassing 55 % reversal rate for capital trials and the admonishment of
Tennessee State Supreme Court Justice Jeff Bivens, along with many other
judges.
The reasonable thing to do here would be to abandon the practice. A national
study that looked at opinions of police chiefs found that these lawmakers
ranked the death penalty as the least effective tool in their arsenal and said
the No. 1 thing they needed to deter and solve more crime is more resources. We
should take the money being was being wasted on the death penalty and give it
to them.
I expect more out of my state and out of my lawmakers. It’s time to wise up, do
away with this outdated system and start directing our resources towards
programs that actually work. Anything less is frankly unacceptable at this
point.
(source: Opinion, Hannah Cox is the national manager for Conservatives
Concerned About the Death Penalty----The Tennessean)
INDIANA:
In heartbreak of death penalty case, attorneys find inspiration
Hands clasped, they watched.
It was a sight neither of them ever expected to see. As their client,
42-year-old Domineque Ray, lay strapped to a gurney in an execution chamber,
Peter Racher and Theresa Willard were powerless.
The Indianapolis attorneys had spent years — in Peter’s case, nearly 2 decades
— trying to save Domineque’s life through the law, but their efforts were
defeated Feb. 7. The execution had been stayed mere hours before this moment,
but then the U.S. Supreme Court allowed the state of Alabama to proceed with
its order to kill Peter and Theresa’s client.
Together, Peter and Theresa watched as lethal liquid coursed into Domineque’s
body. They watched as an armed guard examined every inch of his body, checking
for signs of life. And then they watched as the curtain was drawn shut, an
unceremonious end to a life.
Meanwhile in Montgomery, co-counsel Josh Tatum sat in his hotel room, waiting.
Theresa and Peter weren’t allowed to have their cellphones at the execution, so
Josh was left in a blackout period as he awaited word about the end of
Domineque’s life.
When he’d heard the execution would proceed that balmy Alabama night, Josh felt
paralyzed. Now, alone with his thoughts, Josh could do nothing but think of
Domineque and what had brought him — brought all of them — to this point. How
had these Indianapolis civil attorneys ended up on a death penalty case in
Alabama? How had they come to this heart-wrenching moment of watching their
client die?
But even now, not two months since Domineque’s last breath, the Plews Shadley
Racher and Braun attorneys say they’re glad — thankful, even — to have had the
heartbreaking experience of representing a client on death row. Their grief is
raw, but it’s also their inspiration.
The case
The underlying crime that led to Domineque’s death was the Selma rape and
murder of 15-year-old Tiffany Harville in 1995. Nearly 2 years later, Marcus
Owden walked into a police station and implicated both himself and Domineque in
the crimes.
Domineque maintained his innocence, but a jury still returned a guilty verdict
and recommended the death penalty. According to the Plews attorneys, what the
jurors didn’t know about Domineque likely made the difference between life and
death.
Abandoned with his brother, Europe, in a Chicago warehouse at 4 years old,
Domineque spent his life moving from home to home and city to city, living with
different family members and suffering multiple abuses at their hands. As an
adult, he was diagnosed with schizotypal personality disorder.
But the jury heard nothing of Domineque’s story or mental illness in 1999, and
nearly two decades later, the Plews attorneys would use that omission as a
basis for their post-conviction relief argument. Hearing a defendant’s life
story has been proven to make a difference in capital sentencing decisions,
said Robert Dunham, executive director of the Death Penalty Information
Project.
Dunham pointed to the life without parole sentence imposed on James Holmes, the
perpetrator of the 2012 Aurora, Colorado, movie theater shooting. During
Holmes’ sentencing, the defense presented evidence of the defendant’s mental
illness.
“Someone who is mentally ill is less morally culpable,” Dunham said. “It
doesn’t make the act any less horrible, but it does make the person who
committed the act less morally blameworthy.”
Indianapolis
Seated at a large wooden table in a spacious conference room, Theresa gets a
faraway look in her eyes as she remembers Domineque’s hard-fought PCR
proceedings. To her, it was never just about avoiding the death penalty, it was
about justice and whether it had been served.
The attorneys don’t pretend Domineque was a saint. None of us are, Theresa
says. But, Peter says, it’s also “not at all clear” that Domineque was actually
Tiffany’s rapist and killer.
A major issue in the PCR proceedings was the fact that co-defendant Marcus
Dowden was schizophrenic. The Plews team presented evidence that the state knew
about Dowden’s mental illness and withheld it, but still they were unable to
convince state or federal courts to grant relief.
Asked why the court system never ruled in Domineque’s favor, the three
attorneys grow quiet, lost in thought. No one can ever truly know what’s in a
judge’s mind, but the Plews lawyers have theories.
From Theresa’s perspective, Tiffany’s death was a heinous crime, and the courts
wanted justice. Peter says politics are mixed into the fray, noting Alabama’s
appellate judges are elected, and those who don’t uphold death penalty
sentences could risk defeat.
Josh points to the significant burden defendants — especially those facing
death — must meet to obtain relief. Plus, he, Peter and Theresa are civil
attorneys from Indiana. They did their best, but the Hoosier attorneys still
faced the inherent disadvantage of litigating a criminal case in a foreign
jurisdiction.
The result
It’s not uncommon for death row inmates to have out-of-state PCR counsel, said
Emily Olson-Gault, director and chief counsel of the American Bar Association
Death Penalty Representation Project. Peter initially joined Domineque’s legal
team in 2002 as a volunteer for the project.
It’s also not uncommon for civil attorneys to volunteer to represent capital
defendants during PCR proceedings, Olson-Gault said. Death row inmates don’t
have the right to counsel at that point in the process, but civil attorneys who
take a case pro bono can apply their knowledge of civil procedure to the civil
nature of PCR proceedings, she said.
Even though capital defendants aren’t entitled to PCR counsel, Olson-Gault
emphasized the importance of post-conviction proceedings.
“Whenever we hear that a death row prisoner was wrongfully convicted or
improperly sentenced because of intellectual disability or racial bias, that
information came out in post-conviction,” she said.
Atmore, Alabama
It’s February, but it’s southern Alabama, so it’s hot.
It’s getting late on Feb. 7, and Peter and Theresa are in the back of a police
vehicle, sitting alongside Domineque’s imam, waiting to be allowed in the
prison. When word that the execution would proceed spread, the trio was
instructed to wait at a local service station for a police escort.
Once inside, Peter notices the prison staff are dressed in their Sunday best.
The whole scene feels stiff and choreographed, a reality he thinks is meant to
detach the state actors from the person whose life they will soon end.
When the curtain opens, Domineque is strapped to a gurney, the lower two-thirds
of his body wrapped in sheets. For his final words, he utters the Shahada, the
core Islamic creed, in Arabic. His left hand is in a fist, while his right
pointer finger is extended. The gesture, the imam says, is meant to symbolize
the oneness of Allah in the Islamic faith.
As the lethal injection begins, Theresa closely watches Domineque’s chest,
noticing as the rise and fall slows, then stops. Domineque lifts his head once
to look at his left arm, then lowers his head and closes his eyes.
Across the state in Montgomery, Josh is in a hotel room, venting his
frustrations to his friends via text. He learns the execution is complete when
he sees a tweet from the Alabama attorney general. “Tonight,” the statement
says, “Ray’s long-delayed appointment with justice is finally met.”
Not the end
Indianapolis
Back home in the historic Delaware Street building that houses the Plews
office, Josh flips through a journal he kept during Domineque’s case. The pages
record the emotions of the process — the anger he felt when he saw the AG’s
tweet; the solace he felt as he drove home in collective grief with Peter and
Theresa; the surprise he felt when Domineque’s life came to an end.
None of them expected Domineque to die on Feb. 7. They thought the stay would
give them more time. Peter’s parting words to Domineque earlier that day had
been, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Grief has manifested in unexpected ways. Peter has been avoiding responding to
messages expressing condolences. Theresa’s heart hasn’t been in her work. And
seated in the conference room, Josh gets lost in his journal, burying his head
in the small blue notebook as he re-reads his journey.
But the grief isn’t scaring the attorneys away from hard cases. If anything,
the end of Domineque’s life has sparked a new life in their passion for
fighting injustice. As they look to what’s next in their careers, Peter,
Theresa and Josh have resolved to take cases with a real societal impact.
Was Domineque’s case heartbreaking? Yes. But was the heartbreak worth it?
“I wouldn’t have missed it,” Theresa declares.
(source: The Indiana Lawyer)
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