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Lauren Collins on the unraveling of an expert on serial killers.
David Grand's impossible-to-put-down stories of mutiny and murder. Subscribe at newyorker.com slash dark, and you'll get access to all of it, plus a free New Yorker tote bag. I must say, the very best tote bag around. That's newyorker.com slash dark. Previously on In the Dark. He's told me. I told him, you know, I know he's here saying he told you that he did, but he did it in an indirect way. Right. Odell got away with everything.
He got privilege, a lot of privilege. He worked something out with someone, either the DA or some other agency, because he didn't stay in jail long. He sent me a friend request and everything. And I'm like, who? After he killed your mom and your sister. This was probably like maybe a month or two after. He was like, yeah, yeah, yeah, can you send me some money? Like asking people for money. He's been asking a lot of people for money in this area. One morning last fall, our producer Samara got a Facebook alert on her phone.
Odell Cookie Hallman had gotten in touch. Samara found our producer, Natalie. We turned on a recorder. Okay, so here's what happened. Okay, so I had sent a friend request to Odell's Facebook page, and that was a couple weeks ago. And now he just typed, like as we were speaking, he typed, I hope you're not setting me up. What we got to talk about. Okay, so I'm going to write, Hi, Odell. I'm not setting you up.
I'm a reporter. We just want to talk to you. This is season two of In the Dark, an investigative podcast by APM Reports. I'm Madeline Barron. This season is about the case of Curtis Flowers, a black man from a small town in Mississippi who spent the past 21 years fighting for his life and a white prosecutor who spent that same time trying just as hard to
to execute him. It had been a year and a half since Odell Hallman had killed his ex-girlfriend, Markita Hill, and her mother, Carolyn, and another man, and tried to kill his own son. Odell Hallman was now serving three life sentences in Parchman Prison. For the first time in Odell's life, there were no deals left to be made that would get him out of prison, no freedom any prosecutor could offer him to keep him on their side.
And yet Odell Hallman remains the greatest obstacle to Curtis Flowers getting out of prison. Because Odell's testimony, his story of Curtis Flowers confessing to him, right now is the only piece of direct evidence that the DA, Doug Evans, has. Everything else is circumstantial. And Odell Hallman has never wavered from that story. He's never even come close.
He's Doug Evans' star witness. Reliable, compelling, willing to testify as often as he's needed. And not someone who talks to reporters. And yet, here he was, messaging Samara on Facebook. Because it turns out, Odell Hallman, this triple murderer, who's in prison, supposedly under strict supervision, this guy has a cell phone. How much my info worth, he messaged to Samara.
"'Can't pay you anything,' Samara told him. And with that, Odell fell silent. We waited four days. And then we texted Odell to see if he'd talk. But all he would text back was, quote, "'I respect your job, and I understand what you're trying to get, but I don't open up for free. Sorry.'" Again, Odell went dark. But then, after a few days, he was back. Odell messaged Samara on Facebook. This time, he'd prepared an offer—
He said he would answer a total of five questions per day, no more than that, but it was going to cost us. It was going to cost $500. Odell explained that if we put $500 on his canteen account at the prison, then, quote, I will answer all your questions as truthfully as possible. Then I need you to write a book on me. Samara told him no. None of that was going to happen. Again, Odell went dark. And this is how it went.
Odell wanting us to pay him, us telling him absolutely not, until finally, Odell realized he wasn't going to get any money out of us. And then one day, Odell sent Samara a message, saying he might be willing to talk. What's up? Are you there? I'm behind my tent. Behind your tent? Yeah, I'm behind my tent. I got to let the tent up. I got to be behind when I'm on the phone.
Odell told Samara he was talking to her from inside a tent he'd made on his bunk. It was like a blanket fort. He told her he'd put it up so he could have some privacy when he made calls from his contraband cell phone in Parchman Prison. Not surprisingly, the audio quality of the call wasn't great. Hold on for a minute. Yeah, yeah. Hey, post man, be quiet. I'm having some business, man. Hey, I'm back.
We'd finally gotten in touch with Odell Hallman, the man whose testimony right now is the only piece of direct evidence in the case against Curtis Flowers. We had so many questions for him, but Odell wanted to talk about Odell. He seemed into the idea of having someone to talk to. According to Odell, prison really wasn't all that bad. He'd been reading a lot, mostly fantasy novels.
Like this one I'm reading right now. It's a novel of dragons. You know what I'm saying? It's a novel of dragons. In the old world, when dragons used to come and burn people and fight for people and shit like that, you had three or four different kinds of dragons and shit. And Odell said a lot of things in his life hadn't changed as much as you might expect.
He said his cell was full of contraband, all kinds of stuff. It's just full of shit. Contraband that you don't suppose to have. Just name it. It's in here. Like what? Drugs. Drugs. Can't get in no more trouble. Can't get in no more trouble. Odell was running a little business out of his cell. He even made a transaction while he was talking with Samara. Del Rowe. Del Rowe, here's your money. Here's your money right here.
I said, "Here go your money!" I be having so much stuff going on in town. I be making a lot of money. But eventually, Odell got around to talking about the Curtis Flowers case. In court, Odell had always testified that he didn't get anything in exchange for helping the prosecution. That was one of the things that made him so credible to the jurors, that Odell had come forward on his own to tell the truth about a horrific crime because his conscience was bothering him.
But on the phone from Parchman, Odell told a different story of how in 2001 he came to switch sides and went from being a witness for the defense, saying his sister was lying, to being a witness for the DA, Doug Evans. Man, I had got caught up doing some old drug charges. Corporal drug charges. He had charges on my head. And that's how it all got started.
Odell was talking to Samara about how in 2001 he had these two drug charges hanging over his head. These are the two drug charges I talked about in the previous episode, the ones for getting caught with crack. And Odell told Samara that D.A. Doug Evans called him in the jail and started talking to him about the Curtis Flowers case. Doug Evans found out that I had got caught up on a charge. So he called the jail.
Odell said that Evans told him, look, I know you were lying when you testified for the defense, and I'm giving you the chance to make it right. And Odell said he saw an opportunity. You know, you can beat it in court.
But why go to court, sitting on an account of money on a lawyer and shit? But you got knowledge in your head that the DA wants. Odell said when he'd gotten caught up in a situation, he could have spent a lot of money on a lawyer. But why do that when you have knowledge in your head that the DA wants? So therefore, when an opportunity came to me, I just took it. And so, Odell said, when an opportunity came to him, he took it.
And he sat down with Doug Evans' investigator, John Johnson, and switched sides. He made those two videos that turned him into a state's witness. And he wrote Doug Evans that letter, saying that Curtis Flowers had confessed to the murders at Tardy Furniture. And it worked. Just like I discovered in Odell's criminal records, those two drug charges, Odell said, they did go away. So I just never got to the grand jury. I ain't take no plea. It's just, you know what I'm saying?
They just made it go away. Yeah. I helped them, they helped me. That's what it all boiled down to. Odell told Samara, I helped them, they helped me. That's what it all boiled down to. It was a deal, plain and simple. And it wasn't just one deal, according to Odell. Odell said these deals went on for years as he continued to testify in the Flowers trials. You know, I was a criminal. I'm a criminal.
But Odell said he got away with a lot of this because of the DA, Doug Evans. We had a good relationship.
Hold on, hold on, hold on, hold on. Let me get this. Hold on. Peacock. Calm down, man. I'm talking on the phone. Peacock. Peacock.
Odell told Samara all this very matter-of-factly. Look, I'm a criminal and I'm a drug dealer, and I had something valuable that Doug Evans wanted. And so obviously I'm not going to be doing a whole lot of prison time when I get caught with drugs. I was a local drug dealer. I used to get jammed up like every month. Them motherfuckers used to jam me up and all the time, I said. So they locked me up. I get locked up. I called Doug Evans.
Doug, they locked me up for some bullshit. What they got you for? Drugs? Say some drugs. Doug Evans said he'd rather have a murder in prison than a drug, though. He'd rather see a murder in prison than a drug, though, right? Do what Doug said. I use them son of bitches just like they use me. Shit.
But Odell said he was a little surprised when he didn't get punished for trying to run over the sheriff's deputy, Brad Carver, with his car back in 2014. They tried to hem me up, and I had drugs on me. And I ran over a police car, getting on down. I was supposed to have been locked up. He should have thrown me away a long time ago instead of using me to keep Curtis locked up.
But what about this story Odell Hallman testified to in court? The one about Curtis Flowers confessing to the murders at Hardy Furniture? The story that Odell said he'd used to get all of these deals? The one that Odell Hallman had testified to under oath in four trials? By this point, I'd already looked at every other major piece of evidence in the case against Curtis Flowers. The route, the gun, the other two snitches. None of it had held up to scrutiny.
And now, all that was left was this one story, this one confession. And then, from his cell in Parchman Prison, on a spotty cell phone connection, from underneath his tent, Odell Hallman told Samara that story was a lie. For years, he up telling me he killed some people. Hell no, he ain't never told me that. That was a lie. I don't know nothing about this shit. It was all make-believe.
And with that, the DA Doug Evans' star witness had reversed himself on a contraband cell phone from inside Parchman Prison. Odell didn't express any remorse about having lied under oath. It wasn't like his conscience was eating him up. This triple murderer was
wasn't too concerned that he had lied in a trial that could send a man to his death. He offered no apology, nothing. He really didn't care. The story was a lie. Doug Evans' star witness had recanted. And that could matter a great deal to Curtis's case. But just how much, I have no way of knowing. Because the case is under appeal right now. And because it's under appeal, because of the timing,
It's quite possible that what we found out could end up being used by Curtis Flowers' attorneys. And that includes not just what Odell Hallman told us, but what all the other witnesses we talked to told us too. The witnesses who told us different stories from the ones they testified to at trial. The witnesses who told us they didn't actually remember seeing Curtis Flowers on the day of the murders. The witnesses who told us that they felt intimidated by law enforcement.
The reason all of this could be particularly important right now is because of where the appeal of Curtis Flowers stands. After the sixth trial in 2010, that's the latest one, Curtis appealed his conviction and death sentence like he always does. Only this time, something different happened. Curtis did not win his appeal. The Mississippi Supreme Court did not overturn his conviction.
So what's happening now is that Curtis has a separate team of lawyers who are working on a type of appeal called a post-conviction. It's different from a regular appeal because in a post-conviction, what matters the most is new evidence, new information, things that were not known at the time of the trial, evidence that if it had been known and presented to the jurors, might have led the jurors to reach a different conclusion, might have led them to find Curtis Flowers not guilty.
Odell Hallman and Curtis Flowers are now both in Parchman Prison. Odell, in a cell that is, by his own account, full of drugs, talking on a contraband cell phone, setting up a fort, running a business, getting written up for all kinds of infractions. Curtis Flowers is now 48. He lives in an 8x12 cell on a unit reserved mostly for inmates on death row. Curtis is in the cell alone.
There's just a bed and a toilet and a sink. And this unit is loud. People are yelling all the time. And the sound echoes off the concrete walls. Most days, Curtis is only allowed to leave his cell for an hour to exercise in a metal cage outside. The rest of the time, 23 hours a day, he's in his cell by himself. I haven't been able to talk to Curtis about what this is like.
The prison won't let me visit him or talk to him on the phone, and his lawyers told him not to write back to me. But his parents and friends had told me that Curtis spends his time writing letters to his family, praying and reading. One of his friends told me that one of the books that Curtis has read is a novel called A Lesson Before Dying. The book is based on the real story of a black teenager from Louisiana who was executed in 1947.
after an all-white jury found him guilty of killing a white store owner. The cells at Parchman Prison don't have air conditioning, and in the summer, they can easily reach more than 100 degrees. Curtis's mother, Lola, told me that it's hard for Curtis to get much sleep in his cell, so he'll just sit on his bunk and sweat. And they be so hot, they just be sweating, just raining wet, sweat. Mm-hmm.
And Curtis said, it'd be so many mosquitoes come in they cell at night and rats. He said, the man next door caught five rats on one little strip of that rat trap, the stick and stuff. I don't know. You know, you just hate to see them in there locked away and everybody else out enjoying themselves and everything. It's hard sometimes just looking at them sitting up in there.
His mother Lola told me that since going into prison, Curtis has gained weight and developed diabetes, and that lately, Curtis has stopped leaving his cell to exercise because it gets too hot in the cage under the open sun. Curtis Flowers has been locked up since 1997. In a few years, the scales will tip, and Curtis will be able to say that he spent more than half his life in prison. We'll be right back after the break.
He killed at least 19 people during the 1980s in South Africa. Very dark times. People were desperate. We were looking for him. We couldn't find him. And nobody knew where he was. Every single one of his victims was black. He reached such a stage where he was now hunting. World of Secrets from the BBC World Service. Season 3, The Apartheid Killer. Search for World of Secrets wherever you get your BBC podcasts.
One weekend last summer, back when I was just getting started on my reporting, Curtis's sister, Priscilla, invited me and our producer, Natalie, to a birthday party at her house. It was for her daughter, Curtis's niece. There was a tent set up in the backyard, and Priscilla's husband was taking turns grilling fish and serving as a DJ.
This is a party. This is my sister-in-law, Carla. Hi. Y'all want something to eat? I'm going to take a cup and a back cup. A lot of members of the Flowers family were there. Curtis's mother, Lola, and his father, Archie. Other relatives, friends. Everyone was dancing together on the porch. She calls me.
After a few minutes, I looked over and realized that Lola Flowers, Curtis's mother, wasn't there anymore. I leaned over to ask her husband, Archie, where she went. He pointed to the inside of the house. She's in there talking on the phone to Curtis, he said. We stayed at the party for at least another hour, but Curtis's mother never came back outside. Having a family member in prison is a very particular kind of loss. In some ways, Curtis is gone.
But in others, he's still right here, on the phone, talking about how his day went. Sometimes, the fact that Curtis is just a phone call away means that Lola feels pulled back and forth between these two worlds. Curtis's world, solitary confinement in Parchman Prison, and the world of Wynonna, where the rest of her family is, like this night, in her daughter's backyard, at the birthday party.
Even after 21 years, it's still just as hard for Curtis's family and friends to accept that Curtis, their son, their brother, their cousin, their friend, had been taken from them. They feel Curtis's absence all the time, not just at a birthday party or on Christmas, but every single day. When Curtis went into jail, he was just 26 years old, and that 26-year-old Curtis was
It's still how a lot of people in Winona think of him. It's like Curtis has been frozen in 1997. These memories of Curtis from back before he was arrested, I've heard them from so many people over the past year. I've learned that Curtis liked to play basketball with his cousin Kittery. Kittery said Curtis would try to act like he was Larry Bird, like he was some kind of three-point expert. And so he would stop at half court and jack up a three. He may make one out of 20 points.
But he would try it, though. I'm just telling you just how he would. He would do funny stuff like that and get sat down on the bench, and he would sit over there and be laughing. Would you ever tease him about it? Mess with him all the time about that. I mean, you need to stop all that, man.
I've learned that Curtis liked to go fishing and hang out with his family. He liked all kinds of music, old-fashioned gospel, hip-hop. One of Curtis's friends told me he remembered that Curtis liked that song Crossroads by Bone Thugs-N-Harmony. For Curtis's uncle, Roscoe Campbell, looking back on his memories of Curtis now after so many years, it seems almost like a dream.
These simple moments they shared. Summer days spent driving around, listening to music. Just him and Curtis, the two of them, together. You can still picture it. See, we get on them dirt roads. We get on them old country roads. We get us a six-pack or half a case of beer. We get on that dirt road. We just ride and drink some beers and enjoy. That's the way we do it. So we get in the back of the country road and go all the way to Carrollton. Go all the way to V.
And then, one day, Curtis was gone.
Curtis's world, all of his friends and family, birthdays, fishing, family reunions, that world was still there. But Curtis was no longer in it. Roscoe still talks to Curtis on the phone, but it's been about a year since he's visited Curtis in prison. Roscoe told me that even though he knows he should visit Curtis, and even though he wants to see him, that sometimes it's just too hard. No, I don't like it. I just can't stand to go down there because it hurts me so bad.
When I go down there, I just don't feel right for something I know my nephew didn't do. It hurts just to talk about it. It hurts. It's like taking a piece out your heart and laying it on the ground and stomping it. That's how bad it makes you feel. And then they talk about death row and all this. And Lord knows if something happened to him, something probably happened to me. My heart ain't going to be able to take it.
All them years. When you got somebody like that, that long for nothing, that hurts. Over the past year, I spent a fair amount of time with Curtis's parents. I got to know Curtis's father, Archie Flowers. He's 76 and retired. And Mr. Flowers is not a talkative man. The first time I met him, when I came to interview him and his wife, he barely spoke. And over time, I learned why. Talking about Curtis is hard for everyone in the Flowers family.
But for Curtis's father, Archie, it seemed especially hard. Whenever he would start to talk about Curtis, he would catch himself, sigh, and stop, so he wouldn't start crying. But after I got to know Curtis's father over many months, he started to tell me about his son.
He told me that Curtis started singing gospel when he was really little because Archie Flowers sang in a gospel group, and he would take his son Curtis with him to practices. You know, he just loved to sing, sing, sing. And I said, well, next time we go somewhere, you're going to get up and sing. Curtis started performing with his father's group, and it turned out Curtis could sing. Ooh, I said, boy, you better than I am. Yeah.
Archie Flowers still sings with his son when he goes to visit him every two weeks at Parchman Prison.
In those visits, Archie and his son are separated by a plexiglass barrier, so they can see each other, or they have to use a phone to talk or to sing. But I'm all right when I sing because he's so happy. You know, he'd be glad and smiling, and then he'd get to thinking up some songs. Daddy, we ought to try this. We ought to try this. Yeah, we got a song that he loved to sing, and we'd get together. Let's say you love Jesus.
Say you love Jesus. If you love Jesus, you ought to show some sign. Yeah, he can, oh, he can tell that one up. Oh, you ought to hear me. Yeah, I ain't just bragging on him, but he's good.
Archie Flowers is part of a gospel group called the Melody Kings. One night, Archie invited me and our producer Natalie to come check out a practice in a meeting room at the public library in Greenwood, Mississippi. Hi. Hey. Good, how are you? I've been working on my song creation.
Yeah, we're public radio reporters, so... Archie Flowers introduced us to his group. Most of the men were in their 60s, 70s, or 80s, with the exception of one of their soloists, who's in his 20s. So what kind of singer is Mr. Flowers? He's good. Yeah. He's good. He's everybody's favorite. Archie! You want to see out here, Archie? Yeah.
For me, man. Do people really call him out like that? He's picking me all the time. Archie! That night, the Melody Kings were there to practice for a big show to celebrate the group's anniversary. They were picking out which songs to sing, including one of their favorites. It's called Who'll Be a Witness. Archie Flowers sings the lead on that one. You're going to hear him sing it. We're going to do a little acapella for you. How about that? That would be great.
What's the name of the song again? Who'll be a witness? You ready? Tell me who'll be a witness. Who'll be a witness.
But along, who'll be a witness? Oh, yeah. Who'll be a witness? My mother was a witness. And my father was a witness. Oh, my sister was a witness. Even my brother was a witness.
That's it. Then y'all came back. That was fantastic. That was amazing. That was worth the trip.
While we were leaving, one of the group's members, a man named Paul Sally, gave me a flyer for the group's anniversary show. A week later, I went to the Melody King's 56th anniversary performance.
at a community center in Greenwood. It was one big room with long tables set up with chairs. Nearly 100 people were there. And at the front of the room was a makeshift stage with a banner on the wall behind it that said Melody Kings in white and maroon paint with white and maroon balloons on either side. This was exactly the kind of event that Curtis, if he wasn't in prison, would have been here for. The night included a procession.
One by one, each member of the Melody Kings was introduced and walked toward the stage. They were all wearing matching maroon suits, pink ties, and white dress shirts. Archie Flowers is actually one of the newest members. He's only been in the group for a decade or so. And now we will have Mr. Archie Flowers, tenor, lead singer, treasurer.
The Melody Kings took the stage. Archie Flowers told me that even after all these years,
Sometimes, when he's singing with his group, he forgets that his son Curtis isn't there, and he turns around to look at him. You know, sometimes I'd be on a song, and it just, I'd turn my head, sometimes I'd be looking for him to be standing there, you know. That's the way, you get feeling good on a song, you say, well, he ought to, your mind says, well, he ought to be back there, you know, he ought to be helping you sing. Ooh, I miss Curtis. Mm, it is rough.
When Archie Flowers sings, sometimes it almost feels like Curtis is right there with him, like how it was years ago. They both love this song. In the one video I have of Curtis, recorded back in the 90s, Curtis is singing the same song. Hey!
Curtis sounds a lot like his father, especially when you hear these two men, father and son, back-to-back on these two recordings separated by 20-some years. I pray you
This is what you got to do. You got to pray. Jesus will make your life better. Oh, I know he will. I will wait. Oh, yeah. I will wait. Oh, God. I will wait. Oh, God.
One day last year, I went to see another member of Curtis's family, Curtis's daughter. Her name is Crystal, and she was just three years old when Curtis was arrested. She's now 24, and when I met her, she was eight months pregnant. Do you know if you're having a boy or a girl? Having a girl. Ariel. Ariel. This man. First baby. How do you feel? Scared.
Crystal said she was hoping to be able to bring her baby to see Curtis in prison so he could meet his granddaughter. That's why I'm trying to go ahead and get on his visitation list so when I have the baby I can take her to see him. Because I've got like three weeks left before I have him. She came close. Back in 2010, when Crystal was just 16, she testified in her father's sixth trial. The goal of her testimony was to try to convince the jurors to spare her father's life.
She told the jurors he's a nice person. Curtis's lawyer asked her, do you love your father? And Crystal said yes. I was so scared. I was scared. I was so scared. Like when I got off the stand, like my dad, he wouldn't even look at me. I don't know why, but when I got off the stand, but he sent his lawyer back there to give me his watch and his handkerchief. I just cried. And I still got his watch right to today. I still have it. Yeah, what has this been like for you?
It's hard. I miss him. I just want to be around him. I want him to come home. He's got it right all the time. What do you write about? All the things of just about. He always tell me he come home. I got faith that he come home. I hope he come home. Just tell him how much he miss me. He excited about being a grandparent. Do you imagine what it would be like if you were to someday get out of prison? Yes. I would be with him right about now.
One of the few people Curtis Flowers has been able to meet with in prison is a criminal investigator named Max Mays. He's been working on Curtis's defense for about nine years.
Curtis's parents told me there's no one on Curtis's defense team, past or present. They trust more than Max Mays. Max Mays told me that he's been direct with Curtis about what might happen in his case. I said, do you realize that they're trying to kill you? He said, yeah. I said, at some point in time, if the courts do not continue to overturn your case, you will probably be put to death. He said, I know that. He said, well, let me explain something to you.
If they put me to death, I'd be better off than the place I am in right now. He said, and the person that will have to live with that is Doug Evans, the district attorney. Doug knows that I didn't commit this crime, so he'll have to live the rest of his life knowing that a person that's been put to death that shouldn't have been put to death. And that's Curtis' attitude. It sounds like it's like him and Doug Evans. Like they're locked in this thing.
It's him against Doug Evans. It's not him versus the system. It is basically Curtis Flowers versus Doug Evans. And in the end, who's going to win? Next time on In the Dark, what was going on at the trials of Curtis Flowers? Take me for the judge. The judge asked me a question. Saying who do you serve?
In the Dark is reported and produced by me, Madeline Barron, senior producer Samara Fremark, producer Natalie Jablonski, associate producer Raymond Tungakar, and reporters Parker Yesko and Will Kraft. In the Dark is edited by Catherine Winter. Web editors are Dave Mann and Andy Cruz.
The editor-in-chief of APM Reports is Chris Worthington. This episode was mixed by Corey Schreppel. Original music by Gary Meister and Johnny Vince Evans. Additional music for this episode, courtesy of the Melody Kings, including this song you're hearing right now, which we recorded at the Melody Kings' 56th anniversary show last fall. I want to be guilty by me
You can see a video of Archie Flowers singing with the Melody Kings on our website, inthedarkpodcast.org. You can also read about what life is like inside Parchman Prison and learn more about what Odell Hallman's recanting might mean for Curtis' case. Again, that's at inthedarkpodcast.org. I'm David Remnick, host of the New Yorker Radio Hour.
There's nothing like finding a story you can really sink into that lets you tune out the noise and focus on what matters. In print or here on the podcast, The New Yorker brings you thoughtfulness and depth and even humor that you can't find anywhere else. So please join me every week for The New Yorker Radio Hour, wherever you listen to podcasts. From PR.