Jones immediately brought up an incident seared into her memory. During his trial, as she and Corley were returning from recess, they passed a few feet behind his chair. According to Jones, McGowan leaned back a little, looked right at her, and said, "I'm gonna kill you, bitch."
"The threat was so obvious," Jones says. "You could see by his body language and his face. I had no doubt if he didn't have handcuffs on that day, I'd be dead. I shook for the rest of the trial."
Michelle Mallin wrongly identified Tim Cole as her attacker.
Cole died in prison.
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"Nah. That didn't actually happen," McGowan says. "My mother was in the courtroom, right there." He would have never talked like that with her present, he says. "I was so traumatized going through that stuff, I was in shock. It would've looked even worse if I'd said that, 'I'm gonna kill you bitch.' No, man, I didn't say that. If I had said that, I would've remembered that. I know I didn't say that. Even though I was going through a hell of a situation."
All those years later, Jones brought this up at their meeting for reasons more practical than emotional. "I need to know you're not going to hurt my family," she recalls saying.
McGowan looked at her in disbelief. "He just looked very confused," she remembers. "He was like, 'What are you talking about? Of course I wouldn't hurt you or your family.'"
"You said right there you were going to kill me," Jones replied. She remembers McGowan looking at his girlfriend then, and her looking back, "like, 'You didn't tell me this part.'" Jones started to cry. McGowan told her he was sure he'd never said such a thing.
"Thomas, I was right there," Mike Corley said gently. "I heard it."
They never resolved what was or wasn't said. Regardless, Jones says, it's irrelevant now.
"I had to come to a point to forgive him about this. He's a young black man being accused by a young white woman. I don't think we were hugely racially tense at that point, but I can see how he probably viewed that, was like, 'I'm going down no matter what and there's nothing I can do about it.' How upset would I be? How sad would I be?"
After their conversation, Craig Watkins, the Dallas County district attorney who's made his name aggressively pursuing exoneration cases, came in to talk with her and McGowan. "He commended both of us for our bravery," Jones says. "Then he looked right at me and he said, 'I don't want to ever hear you say you feel guilty about this, because it's not your fault.''
Guilt and remorse follow everyone associated with exonerations, not just victims. Corley, who's now chief of police in Brownswood, Texas, is still trying to figure out how he and the Richardson Police Department could have made such a serious mistake.
"This is a negative for me, in my career, my life and everything else," he says. Dallas County has since instituted a double-blind system for showing photos of suspects; the officer showing them has no idea who the suspect is, so he can't inadvertently give any hints.
But even if these guidelines are followed, some variables in exonerations are hard to control. Jennifer Thompson is another rape victim whose alleged rapist was set free. She's spoken publicly about her experience, and even co-wrote a book with the man she wrongly accused. Both Mallin and Thompson say that the public reaction to their stories is often hostile, even violent.
Someone runs a website calling for Mallin to be arrested and incarcerated for murder, since Cole died in prison based on her testimony. Thompson has heard more horrible things than she can count, she says. A recent comment on an article about her case opined that she should be raped again and left for dead in a ditch. An Observer story about McGowan's exoneration brought similarly vicious comments about Jones.
"Looking back on it, honestly I understand why women don't come forward," Thompson says. "It's scary and then people judge you as a bad human being, not as a victim who made an honest mistake."
That type of vitriol is one reason why Jones uses a pseudonym when she talks about her case, which is often. She wants people to know what victims go through, she says. In many ways, the crime is never really over for them.
"Thomas, he's out, he's leading his life," she explains. "But with a rape victim, it just never goes anywhere. The state didn't come and give me $2 million and say we're sorry this happened to you. There are people who say you're a piece of crap because this happened. It's a totally different phenomenon with a rape victim than an exoneree. You do get victimized again. Quite frankly, I think the second time's almost worse than the first time, because you have that much more to deal with."
A month or so after she met McGowan, Jones was notified by the DA's office that they'd found a possible DNA match for her rapist. His name was Kenneth Wayne Woodson, alias Kenneth Bell, and he was already locked up on a burglary charge. After first denying that he had anything to do with the rape, he eventually confessed to everything.