It's a common reaction, says Michelle Moore, a public defender who's represented many of Dallas County's exonerated men. "Most of them still believe the guy did it," she says. Unlike Jones, she says, many victims never change their minds.
That day, Jones also asked Chris Jenkins, who was working as a victim witness coordinator at the DA's office, for a current photo of him.
Michelle Mallin wrongly identified Tim Cole as her attacker.
Cole died in prison.
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"She pulled out a picture and handed it to me," Jones says. "I've already been told this isn't the right guy, that he's going to get exonerated, and I looked at it and just tossed it off and started bawling. Because that was the guy who raped me. So how are you going to let him out of prison? How?"
On a recent afternoon, Debbie Jones, now in her 40s, sat on the maroon couch in her therapist's office, wearing a black and white flowered sundress and sandals, her brown hair pinned away from her face. She cried often telling her story, taking her tortoiseshell glasses off and wiping her eyes. But she never stopped talking, her words precise and urgent.
After the exoneration, she says, her depression and guilt were so intense she considered suicide. "People don't understand how hard it is going through this, and what a horrible thing it is to find out that you were part of a man going to jail that was wrongly accused," she says."There's a lot of guilt with that."
Over time, the law enforcement community has begun piecing together ways to help the victims in exoneration cases. It's become clear that the exoneration process, while obviously important and just, has a way of re-victimizing the survivors of violent crimes.
Chris Jenkins, now a victim's advocate in Collin County, wrote a series of guidelines that she encourages other law enforcement agencies to use: Be aware that an exoneration can trigger guilt, anger, disbelief and confusion for a victim, she urged. Be prepared for lots of questions. Decide at what point in the DNA-testing process that you'll notify the victim — when the prisoner requests it, when the testing date has been set, afterward or not at all. If the crime is old, as it was in Debbie Jones' case, remember that the victim might never have been given the proper information at the time of the crime, such as her right to attend parole hearings and protest parole.
Jones did just that a year before McGowan was exonerated, and she has high praise for Dallas County prosecutors and the Richardson police. Dallas County seems to be ahead of the curve in its treatment of victims. Nationally, the Innocence Project encourages prosecutors and police agencies to work with victims as exonerations are taking place, spokesman Paul Cates says.
"We always do try to be very cognizant of the fact that the victims are suffering when this happens," he says. "We try to make sure the DA's office at least contacts them and notifies them of what happens. We're very sensitive to it." But there are still no widely used best practices or guidelines for prosecutors and police departments to follow.
Which helps explain why Michele Mallin had an entirely different experience than Jones. Mallin identified Tim Cole as the man who raped her in a parking lot at Texas Tech when she was a 19-year-old student. Cole was later exonerated by DNA evidence — but not before he died of an asthma attack in prison. The Tim Cole Act, passed a few years later, set aside financial compensation for the wrongly convicted.
Mallin, the only other victim in a Texas exoneration case to go public, was never offered counseling or support from the DA's office or the police department in Lubbock. After being informed that Cole was innocent, she says, she never heard from either entity again. "It would've been nice to hear they were sorry about what happened, but they don't seem to be," she says. "I don't know. It was like I didn't even exist."
By contrast, Jones found "a big brother" in Corley, who worked to make sure Jones didn't feel the same way. And his guidance led to a bit of a breakthrough.
A few months after McGowan got out of jail, he sent Jones a letter. She refused to even touch it. She took the envelope by its corner, almost as though it would infect her, and gave it to a friend to keep. She didn't even want it in the house, and she certainly never wanted to meet the man who, she was still certain, had raped her and threatened to kill her.
But Corley did meet with McGowan. When Jones learned of this, she was shocked. But gradually, her stance started to soften. Corley seemed so much more at peace after their meeting, she says. "I wanted that peace."
A year after McGowan was released, Jones told prosecutors she was ready to meet him. A meeting was arranged at the DA's office. Jones brought some family members; McGowan brought his girlfriend. "It was terrifying for me, and it was terrifying for him," Jones says. "I could tell."