The Confession, Part 2
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This episode picks up where last week's episode left off. If you haven't heard that one, you might want to go back and listen to them in order. Late one night in October 1993, when Travell Coleman was 18 years old, he shot a man three times. He'd been riding his bicycle around East Harlem. He'd pointed a gun at a man and tried to rob him. Travell says the man reached for the gun, and then Travell shot him. He rode away on his bicycle without knowing what had happened to the man.

For years and years, he didn't tell anyone about that night. Travell never became a suspect for the shooting. He eventually signed a record deal and became a well-known rapper. He got married, had kids. But he could never stop thinking about that night in 1993. And then, in 2010, 17 years later, Travell walked into a police station and tried to turn himself in. He was 36 years old.

He says the police officer he spoke with didn't take him very seriously, and Travell left. But a few weeks later, he went back and tried again. This time, he spoke with a different officer. So he was like, all right, just wait here. So he went in. He was taking kind of long, you know. I was like, wow. So then he came back out. He said, look, I want you to step in here for a minute. And then they put me in a room like this.

You know, and then that's when I kind of knew something had happened. Travell told them what he remembered, what the man had looked like, exactly where the shooting had happened, and what kind of gun he'd used. Then he signed a confession. The last line of the confession read, And then afterwards, he says an assistant district attorney came in to tell him what had happened to the man.

What did he tell you? He told me that the guy died. He was like, yeah, he said, yeah, the guy did die that night. I'll never forget how I felt. I was like, just his words, it just echoed like the guy died. The police had been able to match Travell's description of the crime to an unsolved case in their homicide logbook.

The death of a 32-year-old man named John Henkel, who was shot around 1 a.m. on October 19, 1993. Trevelle Coleman was arrested for murder. You know, I know it sounds kind of strange, but at that point it was like, okay, well, you know, here we go then, you know? It kind of felt like, I know I'm going to be locked up, but at least mentally I won't be locked up anymore, you know what I mean? I'm Phoebe Judge. This is Criminal.

Travelle was taken to Rikers Island and held without bail. Because of his music career, his confession and arrest were discussed on music blogs, where people made fun of him for turning himself in, saying, quote, nobody does that, and what a dumbass. Travelle told the New York Post, the only thing I regret is that I have to leave my kids. His daughter was 12, and his twin sons were 7.

The victim, John Henkel's stepbrother, Robert Henkel, told a reporter, quote, I think he's an idiot. He has three kids and a wife. It was years and years and years ago. Finally, we're not always thinking about it. And now, it has to be dug up all again. After all this time, he should have just shut up. Travelle says other people in jail with him didn't understand what he'd done either. My family kind of understood, you know, where I was coming from. But, like, other people...

you know, I spoke to, you know, that really didn't know me used to say that, you know. Like, oh, why would you do that, you know? But people that saw what I was going through, you know, all of those years, they kind of, nobody even really asked me that. They were just like, oh, wow, are you all right, you know? Travelle's wife, Crystal, said in an interview, quote, he's locked up, but he's free. He's a different person now than what he was before.

Despite his confession, Trevelle pled not guilty on the advice of his attorney, who had told him he would likely be looking at a minimum of 15 years if he pled guilty. But if he pled not guilty, he'd get a trial and the possibility of being acquitted. But the jury convicted him of second-degree murder. The prosecutor in the case, Assistant District Attorney David Drucker, was the same lawyer who'd been at the police station when Trevelle confessed.

And he argued for Travelle to get the minimum sentence. The judge in the case told Travelle, quote, the circumstance of your being before the court now suggests to me a maturity and decency. What was your sentence? My sentence was 15 to life. What did you think when you heard that? I mean, I really didn't know what to feel. I just, you know, I felt like, you know, that was where, you know, my life had been headed.

You know what I mean? Like, I really felt like, you know, that was, that's what you get when you, you know what I mean, do something like that. You know what I mean? It could have been worse. Just, you know, it was kind of, it was kind of like, it was kind of like I was going through the motions of, it's like, it's like all of that, all of this stuff that was happening seemed like it already was like, it was already meant to happen. So it didn't really even matter. It was just like,

Okay, I know I'm going up north. I know I'm going to do a lot of time. So all of those are like just formalities to me, you know? It was kind of like, okay, you know, all right, I got the time now, so. Were you relieved in any way? Yeah, I was kind of relieved. I was kind of, you know, ready to, you know, move on, so to speak, you know? With that whole chapter, that whole, you know, the whole thing, you know?

I didn't know how I was going to do that, but I felt like that was going to help, you know, some type of way. After sentencing, Travell was transferred to Elmira Correctional Facility in upstate New York. His mother visited, and so did Crystal. But Elmira was about four hours away from the city, so it was difficult for them to come often. In 2021, he was transferred to Fishkill Correctional Facility in Beacon, New York.

That's where we spoke with him, in a small visiting room. I was interested in driving up here. It's a really old building. It looks like what you'd see in the movies of what an old prison looked like. Yeah, it definitely does. It has a lot of areas that's not even used. And you'll be like, wow, it looks like a haunted house movie or something. You know what I mean? Fishkill is a complex of old, gothic-looking brick buildings, some with steepled roofs.

There's not much air conditioning. None at all in the cells. It was built in the late 1800s and was originally the Matawan State Hospital for the criminally insane. Today, it's a medium-security prison. And Travell is one of about 1,300 people incarcerated there. A year after being transferred to Fishkill in 2022, Travell learned that the man who had prosecuted him 10 years earlier was still thinking about the case.

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Start Ritual or add Essential for Women 18 Plus to your subscription today. That's ritual.com slash criminal for 25% off. When did you first hear about Travelle Coleman's case? Last, this would have been April in 2022, I received an unusual email. Attorney Steve Zeidman, the man who had prosecuted Travelle Coleman, ADA David Drucker, asked Steve to look into Travelle's case.

David Drucker told Steve that Travell's case hadn't turned out the way he had hoped. He was so, I think it's fair to say, distressed about having to even have first prosecuted Travell years ago. He met Travell when Travell first walked into the precinct and confessed. And what he told me is he was hoping that he could convince the people above him to figure out some sort of a disposition that wouldn't involve Travell going to prison.

But because there had been, and obviously it's a serious case, a life was taken, it's irreparable harm, his bosses determined that no, you had to go ahead, indict him for murder and take the case to trial. And it clearly never sat well with him. So here we are 12 years later, him reaching out to me saying, what can you do to bring this man home?

I mean, that's not something that must happen every day, a prosecutor getting in touch. Mind-blowing. No, not only does it not happen, you know, in the course of doing this work, we reach out all the time to prosecutors. The original prosecutor who tried the case, the current elected DA. And it is beyond rare for us to get any kind of support when we reach out to them. So to have a prosecutor reach out to me, I nearly fell out of my chair. The New Yorker is called Steve Zeidman. Quote,

arguably New York's most well-known clemency lawyer. Will you explain what clemency is? Sure. Clemency is, it's an umbrella term. So there are two types of clemency. One is a pardon, and that's usually reserved for people who are home. And what that does is it erases the conviction, and it's usually for people facing something like deportation. Say they have an old conviction 20 years ago.

And the only way to get out from under that is for a pardon, to erase the conviction. The work that I do is a different form of clemency. It's sentence commutations. And it's actually much more controversial because it's for people who are in prison. You're asking the governor, sometimes you're asking the president to commute the sentence and send somebody home. So you spend most of your time trying to reverse or change the course of an individual's fate, basically.

That's right. And to me, this is perhaps the biggest problem with the criminal legal system. It's that once a sentence is imposed, there's an unwillingness to look back after five years, 10 years, 15 years and say, "Is the sentence that we imposed years ago, is it still necessary? Is it still just? Is it still appropriate?"

So that's what we're trying to do. That's what clemency allows you to do, is to say to the governor, for example, someone serving 50 life has been in for 30 years, saying this is a remarkably different person. They've accepted responsibility. Would you use your vast constitutional power to send them home? There's really no purpose served by them doing another 20 years. How hard is that? It's pushing a boulder up a hill.

The irony of clemency is that in every state, the governor has some version of it. In New York, the clemency power here is vast and unfettered. I mean, there's no legislative involvement. There's no appeal. There's no prosecutor. There's no committee. The governor could sign off tomorrow and grant clemency, send home hundreds of people. I know she certainly has thousands of applications on her desk. And the frustrating part is that this power exists and it exists permanently.

for hundreds of years, and governors are reluctant to use it. That's the shame of it. Why did you want to become a clemency lawyer? So let's say someone got 50 to life, even 15 to life. The trial's over. Three or four years later, their appeals are over, and they're left completely on their own. And if we want people to accept responsibility, we want them to genuinely feel and express remorse, to do everything they can to atone and repair, do we value it?

Do we even recognize it? And that's what I began to experience. So many people who have done so much to become better, to grow, to transform, that's what motivates for me the clemency work. Unless and until we get some sort of second-look legislation, some willingness to reconsider sentences once imposed, clemency is the only viable option. After David Drucker reached out, Steve Zeidman started reading about Trevelle Coleman's case.

Had you ever heard of a case like that before where someone is turning themselves in? You know, I've heard of people turning themselves in, but it's usually soon thereafter the crime. Or it's somebody who knows law enforcement is looking for them. So it's, you know, how much am I going to run or I can't run anymore. I've had enough. They're going to find me eventually. What makes this entirely unique is that Travelle was never a suspect in the first place.

And now, all these years later, the case, you know, it wasn't just a cold case. It was, I mean, it was dead and buried. It was frozen. There was no ongoing investigation. So, no, I've never experienced anything like someone coming forward 17 years after the fact. Again, when they weren't on the run, meaning no one was looking for them. It wasn't like detectives were calling. They were leaving letters at his family's house. None of that. So, no, this is absolutely extraordinary. So what happened next? Did you reach out to Travelle?

Well, first I connected with the prosecutor and tried to get a sense of what his, you know, how invested was he? What was his office willing to do? And it turned out that what he said to me is in the name of the district attorney, not just this individual, but they were willing to write a strong letter in support of clemency. So once I heard that, I went to meet Travell.

to see if, from his perspective, it's something he wanted to pursue. And again, from my perspective, did it seem like this was going to be a good working relationship? And spending a couple hours with Travelle, it was clear from my perspective that I was ready to go full speed ahead, and it turns out so was he. Why did he tell you that he had turned himself in? Travelle told me that he was struggling to live with this for almost 20 years. I really think it's not a... This is what he said. It was agonizing.

He just felt that there was something wrong he had to write. He had to face the music. And I know that's a cliche, but his conscience, it was overwhelming him. And I remember asking him, I said, Travell, you know, when you went to the precinct, did you have any expectation that you were coming home? And he paused for a moment and said, you know, honestly, no, no. Which is a remarkable thing. I mean, who does that? Who would walk into a precinct with the knowledge that the odds are that they're not going to see the light of day for decades? It's, I...

Remarkable doesn't even capture it. I mean, after spending more time with him, does it make more sense, his decision, just getting to know him and the type of person that he is? It does make sense when you get to know Travelle, but I have to say it's still remarkable to me that somebody would do this. Most of us feel like we do something horribly wrong, regardless how horrible. We try and put it behind us. We try and move forward years after, decades after.

So there's sort of the general how human beings act. But with Trevelle, yeah, you talk to Trevelle, it sort of makes sense. You know, when I think about some of the things that the prosecutor had said to me over the course of the time that I was preparing the clemency application, he said, you know, with Trevelle, he never wavered. There was no attempt at spin. He didn't try and justify. He didn't try and excuse. He wasn't trying to cut a deal.

Yeah, that's the other part of, I think, what captured so much of the prosecutor's heart. He said, there's nothing, there's no bitterness. I thought it was real interesting. He told me this, and I think he put it in his letter to the court as well, that while Travell was in city jail at Rikers Island, while his case was pending, the prosecutors are able to, which is a whole other story, listen in on phone calls.

And he said it wasn't just to me and law enforcement that Travell was upfront about what he did. There was no bitterness in his phone calls to friends and family. He was explaining why he did it, that it was the right thing to do, that he was comfortable with his decisions. So there's this remarkable, almost a serenity to him. In his letter included with Travell's clemency application, Prosecutor David Drucker wrote...

Many defendants display remorse, but it is rarely clear how much they are sorry for their crime and how much they are sorry for getting caught. With Mr. Coleman, there is no doubt his remorse is as genuine as any I or others I have talked to have ever seen. A decision to release Mr. Coleman now would be a very safe as well as humane decision. On behalf of the New York County District Attorney's Office, I strongly urge you to do just that.

The judge who presided over Trevelle's trial also sent Steve a letter to include. It began, "In more than 34 years on the bench, I never previously submitted a letter in support of a clemency application. I enthusiastically do so now on behalf of Trevelle Coleman." He wrote about Trevelle turning himself in, "In my experience, such an act of conscience is vanishingly rare."

Steve Zeidman submitted Travell's clemency application in August of last year. And there's no timetable. And I know that's the hardest thing, not only on Travell, every family I've ever worked with, with clemency. As soon as I let them know the application is in, you can imagine, right? Weeks go by. Are we going to get a decision soon? There's no timetable. So we submitted a year ago.

And I'm in touch with the governor's office, but has there been any decision one way or the other? No. It's just pending along with hundreds, if not thousands of others. We'll be right back. How does a case rise to the top when there's thousands sitting there? Yeah. How does a case suddenly capture the governor's attention or the governor's clemency staff's attention and attention?

What makes something rise to the top is, from my perspective, it's unknowable. You know, it's what can you find that is so unique? What can you point to? And, you know, one of the challenges that I think, I mean, for everybody who's seeking clemency, people inside and their families, is how do we compel governors, presidents to use this power? And I say that because it's been cast. And I say it, it's clemency has been cast as an act of mercy.

And so typically it's doled out December 24th or right before the new year. And you'll see these statements from governors, you know, consistent with the spirit of the holidays, et cetera, et cetera. And that I think is part of the problem because to me, it's not mercy. It should be more of an obligation. You know, it's a way to rectify the crisis of mass incarceration. And if we could get to a place where governors believe that or their staff believed it,

then I don't think we'd have to struggle with how do we make this one person so unique as opposed to saying, look, we know that there are far too many people in this country serving life and de facto life sentences and we need to rectify. So that to me is, that's the challenge about both for Travell and for everybody else I've ever worked with. You know, how do I somehow persuade a governor that this is the right thing to do beyond trying to make the case that someone is so unique and so exceptional? Having said that,

Travelle is the so unique, so exceptional. And frankly, you know, I do worry about that. You worry about setting a bar ridiculously high. The governor says, I'm granting clemency to Travelle. Absolutely the right thing. Is the message there that this is who it's reserved for? Someone who turns themselves in 17 years later? Someone who has a letter of support from the prosecutor and the judge? If that's the case, then there aren't going to be a lot of clemency grants. It's always felt to me this idea of the governor sitting down on Christmas Eve to...

grant clemency to be sort of a on the on a whim you know kind of just a gesture and and rather rather pat i mean you know really belittling this incredibly serious serious situation for someone's life you know who's gonna who's the governor gonna decide because it's christmas that they're gonna let out of jail you know it's always felt to me very odd and strange

Someone once said to me that they think the history of clemency grants on Christmas Eve is sort of a version of the pardons of turkeys on Thanksgiving. Yes, yes. Yeah, and it's comical, and you're exactly right. It's such a vast power, and it's so necessary.

Look, I'm trying to be optimistic. Governor Hochul mentioned, I think it was last December, that she was committed to ongoing clemency, rolling clemency, not just this Christmas Eve grant to one or two people. And last April, a few people did have their sentences commuted. I'm hoping that's a harbinger of things to come. We'll see. What will happen if he, if Travelle isn't granted clemency?

People have said to me, well, you know, you get so many letters, people serving 50 to life who've got 20 years to go before they're eligible for parole. Travell, on the other hand, he'll see the parole board in two or three years. And stating at the outset, you know, two or three years in state prison is still two or three years in state prison. What that also overlooks is when he gets to that 15-year term, right, the 15 to life that he's serving, he'll see the parole board. It's far from a guarantee of release.

And in fact, the parole board, like most parole boards across the country, are notorious for denying parole over and over to people who are convicted of violent crime. In 2016, the New York Times called the New York parole system a, quote, hurried, often chaotic procedure, and said that it was run like an assembly line. They found people arguing their cases in front of the board usually had less than 10 minutes to do so. And while each person was speaking...

The board members would often be reading through materials for their next interview. The Times found that the parole board hadn't been fully staffed for years. They also found that black men were less likely to be granted parole than white men were. And 90% of all violent offenders, regardless of race, were denied parole after their first appearance before the board.

There's no guarantee that when he hits that 15-year mark, he's coming home. It could be 16, 17, 20, 25, 35. It could be his natural life. So I'm very worried. Do you think you should get out early? I mean, do you think you've done your time? You know, that you've come to grips with what you did that night? And, I mean, I guess you've been living with it for your whole life, whether you've been in here or not. I mean, I'm not, I can't, I can't.

I don't think I'm the one that should say that I've done enough time. You know what I mean? Do I feel like, you know, I've come to grips with it? You know, I kind of, I do, I realize it all the time. I realized it, you know, for years now. You know what I mean? Like I said, that's what I mean. I mean, it's all in God's hands, man. Have you ever regretted confessing? No, I haven't.

No, because I really just thought that confessing would just help something. You know what I mean? Like, I wasn't sure what. I just knew something would come of it. You know, so I don't regret it. I don't regret it at all because I just think that it had to be done. Travelle's daughter is now 24, and his sons are 19. He talks to them on the phone whenever he can.

You know, they got too busy for me, you know what I mean, all of a sudden. But, you know, I speak to them. I speak to them for the most part. Do they understand what you did? Yeah, my daughter's a little bit older. You know, we kind of, you know, that's my little chum. We grew up, you know, kind of together, you know. So she definitely understood. You know, my sons, they were a little younger.

You know what I mean? So as they got older, they started, you know, they were kind of resentful at first, you know. But I think as they got older, you know, they start, you know, and they're going through life and they see that as, you know, men we have to, you know, and people in general, we have to be responsible for what we do, you know. So, you know, I think they're understanding that more and more, you know. What are you looking forward to? I'm looking forward to just...

just interaction with my family again, you know, just being out there. I'm really looking forward to being a part of my adult children's lives, you know what I mean? Because they were babies, they were just young, you know what I'm saying? So I just feel like I just want to be in their lives as adults and interacting with them. And I already can tell that I'm going to enjoy that very much.

Criminal is created by Lauren Spohr and me. Nadia Wilson is our senior producer. Katie Bishop is our supervising producer. Our producers are Susanna Robertson, Jackie Sajico, Lily Clark, Lena Sillison, Sam Kim, and Megan Kinane. This episode was mixed by Veronica Simonetti. Engineering by Russ Henry. Julian Alexander makes original illustrations for each episode of Criminal. You can see them at thisiscriminal.com.

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Criminal is recorded in the studios of North Carolina Public Radio, WUNC. We're part of the Vox Media Podcast Network. Discover more great shows at podcast.voxmedia.com. I'm Phoebe Judge. This is Criminal.