By Stephen Young
By Stephen Young
By Stephen Young
By Jim Schutze
By Rachel Watts
By Lauren Drewes Daniels
It was a case that quickly lured him to Austin where, late last August, he filed a sweeping $30 million lawsuit against city and county officials. In doing so, he will now add yet another chapter to a case that has already caused a national uproar.
In 1996, in an Austin courtroom, a bewildered, brown-eyed 11-year-old named Lacresha Candy Murray had been tried and found responsible for the death of tiny Jayla Belton, a 2-year-old who was being cared for in her grandparents' home. The trial and events that led to it had set off a fury of debate over whether justice had been served or, as many believed, rushed and ultimately denied.
On the afternoon of May 14, 1996, a barefoot Murray, accompanied by her grandfather, had carried the dying child into the emergency room of Austin's Brackenridge Hospital. In time there would be evidence to suggest the toddler had been listless and running a fever from the time her father dropped her off early that morning. An autopsy would show that the child had a severely damaged liver, four broken ribs and more than 30 bruises to her head, torso and legs.
Authorities determined that Murray was the last person with Jayla before the futile trip to the hospital.
Initially charged with negligent homicide, the soft-spoken Murray received a 20-year prison sentence. When a new trial was later ordered, the charge was elevated to capital murder, and she was again found guilty, her sentence extended to 25 years ("Innocence Lost," October 18, 2001).
With the dubious distinction of being the youngest convicted murderer in Texas judicial history, she went off to the Texas Youth Commission facility in Marlin, then Giddings, where she had served three years before the state's 3rd Court of Appeals reviewed the case and remanded it back to the Travis County courts where it would be determined if yet another trial was in order.
Murray had confessed to police while being held at the Texas Baptist Children's Home in nearby Round Rock in the days immediately after Jayla's death. The appellate judges ruled that the statement, made while Murray was separated from her family by CPS order, was inadmissible as evidence. The interrogation, which led to Murray confessing that she had dropped the infant and kicked her, had been conducted with neither an attorney nor parent on hand--a violation of Texas Family Code law. The transcript of the interview, in fact, showed that on no less than 39 occasions Murray insisted that she had no idea what caused Jayla Belton's death. Only after the interrogating officer, Sergeant Ernesto Pedraza, took a less accusatory tone and began "suggesting" what might have occurred did the youngster agree that it was "possible" she had accidentally dropped and kicked the baby.
Following the appellate court's ruling, Murray was released and returned to the court-ordered supervision of grandparents R.L. and Shirley Murray, who had adopted her when she was 2. There, she was forbidden to be alone with children, and court-assigned "trackers" monitored her comings and goings--all while awaiting Travis County District Attorney Ronnie Earle's decision whether to try the case a third time.
After two years and a mind-numbing litany of negotiations, Earle finally announced in August 2000 that there would be no new trial, despite his belief that Lacresha was guilty of causing the child's death. A third conviction, he admitted, would be difficult without Murray's statement. There was also Dr. Lloyd White, a veteran Nueces County medical examiner who had reviewed the evidence and was prepared to testify that the damage to the deceased child's liver had not occurred minutes before her death--as Travis County medical examiner Roberto Bayardo had previously testified--but, rather, 18 to 42 hours earlier. Additionally, Judy and Derrick Shaw, parents of Jayla, weary of allegations by Murray supporters and lawyers that they, in fact, had physically abused their child and should have been more thoroughly investigated, wished the matter closed.
Thus, all charges against young Murray were dismissed. She and her grandparents met privately with the Shaws and two Austin ministers serving as mediators in an hour-long conversation designed to bring an end to the controversy. On that Sunday afternoon, the media-shy Lacresha told waiting reporters only that "I want to get on with my life." Jayla Belton's mother said, "We have come to some closure, some healing."
Austin police issued a statement, saying that the investigation into Jayla's death remained open.
And with that--after four years of legal battling, "Free Lacresha" rallies, rehashing of Jayla's death and its aftermath by everyone from The New York Times to Amnesty International and angry claims that Earle has used the Murray prosecution as a re-election campaign tool--it appeared the volatile and tragic episode would become nothing more than a disturbing footnote in Texas' judicial history.
That was until Murray's grandfather contacted Hernandez and asked that he look into the possibility of civil litigation. With that invitation, the 63-year-old Dallas lawyer began researching the case and was soon gearing for a legal battle with the Travis County District Attorney's Office, the Austin police and Travis County Child Protective Services.