Decade wait for trial to end for alleged killer
Houston police arrived to find a homeless woman lying dead on a stairwell near the old YMCA building downtown. Investigators noted that she had been strangled and was missing clothes, similar to a number of killings that year.
They had encountered strangulation after strangulation in 2010: another homeless woman slumped over on steps near the Co-Cathedral of the Sacred Heart, a black bra hanging around her neck; a transgender woman in her north Houston apartment; a young mother in a grassy field, nude from the waist down; and a partially clothed transgender woman in a Montrose parking lot.
A DNA profile linked some of the deaths to a chronically homeless man who was charged with double counts of capital murder. And now, after almost a decade in the Harris County Jail, Lucky Ward is scheduled to finally sit before a jury on Monday for his death penalty trial.
Ward, now 55, is the inmate with the longest wait for trial in the
Harris County Jail.
“Ten years is an exorbitant amount of time,” said Kenneth Williams, a professor who teaches courses on criminal procedure and capital punishment at the South Texas College of Law.
Ward has been labeled a serial killer, as well as one of the lockup’s most dangerous defendants. He is
the second person to face a possible death sentence at the urging of District Attorney Kim Ogg’s office.
Ward’s attorneys did not respond to several phone messages last week, and the Harris County District Attorney’s Office declined to comment in advance of the trial.
Jurors will decide on Ward’s guilt or innocence in the killings of 52-year-old Reita Long, who was found dead near the Co-Cathedral, and the 40-year-old transgender woman discovered in a north Houston apartment. She went by “Gypsy,” but is identified in court records as Carlos Rodriguez.
The other three deaths — Myra Ical, 51; Raquel A. Mundy, 24; and Carol E. Flood, 62 — might be incorporated in the punishment phase of Ward’s trial if he is convicted in the first two slayings. Prosecutors have said in court records that he is also a suspect in the 1985 slaying of Birdell Louis, another Houston woman who was strangled.
Lengthy wait for trial
As Ward’s case worked its way through the court, he remained in a high-security cell at the Harris County Jail, according to previous reports. He has been held without bond since his arrest in November 2010, all the while cycling through multiple defense teams, prosecutors and judges.
It isn’t entirely clear why his case took almost 10 years to get before a jury. But some court records reference difficulty finding witnesses until at least 2014, and DNA testing continued throughout the pretrial process. Hurricane
Harvey in 2017 canceled one trial setting.
David Kwok, associate professor at the University of Houston Law Center, said it’s typical for cases to be delayed because of procedural issues, such as crowded dockets or unavailable witnesses. That means the length of time for a “speedy trial” is not defined.
“There’s no hard and fast number, because delays occur at different points in the trial process,” he said.
But even for a death penalty trial, 10 years is unusual, and Ward has more than waited his turn for a shot at justice, Williams said.
Defendants need to go to trial fast, because evidence can dry up or witnesses can forget what they saw. But it’s most incumbent to usher cases through the courts quickly because the defendant is always presumed innocent until proven guilty, the professor said. If Ward is found innocent, then he has suffered extreme prejudice by being locked up for so long, he said.
“You could have an innocent person that’s been sitting in jail for 10 years,” Williams said. “If he’s as dangerous as they claim, it seems like you would want to try that person as expeditiously as they can.”
The slayings
After Ward’s arrest, police were quick to label him a serial killer. They pointed to five strangulation deaths, only two of which resulted in charges.
The scenes had common themes — three occurred near the downtown area and some of the dead were found partially clothed. Two of the victims were homeless, two were transgender, and one was a young mother who was stranded when her car was towed. They were all vulnerable, police said.
In Texas, prosecutors can seek the death penalty even if the crimes weren’t committed in the same act — just in the same course of conduct.
Jurors might have to overcome their own misconceptions about Houston’s homeless population during the trial, a local advocate said.
Many people assume homeless people are driven to the streets by mental illness, but that’s not the case for the majority, said Ana Rausch, vice president of operations for the Coalition for the Homeless of Houston. About 30 percent of people who are enrolled in one of the coalition’s homelessness programs report that they’re even dealing with a mental health issue, she said.
And studies show that people experiencing homelessness are more likely to be a victim of a crime than someone who is housed, but are less likely to commit crimes themselves.
“A lot of people think that homeless people are violent and drug addicts or lawbreakers,” Rausch said. “If you have a negative experience with someone that’s living outside, that’s going to stick with you.”
Ward’s mental health could be part of the trial, but attorney Allen Isbell told the Chronicle in 2018 that it wasn’t expected to be his defense. He said prosecutors had a high bar to prove Ward killed both people listed in the indictment, although they might be able to prove one.
During Ward’s initial court hearings, police said they found DNA on at least two scenes that matched his profile. When confronted about Long, Ward confessed to the murder, according to previous reports.
If their clients are convicted in death penalty trials, defense attorneys usually try to prove that the defendant is not a danger to society — in this case, the prison population.
‘High-maintenance’
Ward’s record dates back to 1984 with convictions for aggravated assault with a deadly weapon, theft, assault causing bodily injury, drug possession and prostitution.
His time awaiting trial has been marked by repeated jail violations for alleged threats, suicide attempts and misuse of medication.
Jail records show the former day laborer, who is also known as Lawayne Jackson, is adept at using everyday objects to escape from his cell, and on one occasion, he was happy to show guards how he could accomplish it.
“He’s considered one of our most dangerous, highmaintenance inmates,” sheriff’s office spokesman Jason Spencer said in a 2018 article. “He’s someone who requires constant attention, someone who’s frequently trying to agitate other inmates and staff.”