Five years, and counting, without trial

SAN MARCOS — On Nov. 10, 2022, DeVonte Amerson’s childhood friend and co-defendant, Cyrus Gray III, stepped outside of the jail walls for the first time in nearly five years. He let the sunshine hit his face and felt the warm embrace of his mother and father. Back inside the Hays County Jail, DeVonte sat in the shadows of his cell, where he has been held on a capital murder charge since 2018.

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It’s 4:30 a.m. at the Hays County Jail, breakfast: “Breakfast at 4:30. No, I’m not participating in that. Four-thirty in the morning to eat breakfast and go back to sleep? That makes no sense to me,” said DeVonte. Instead, he passes his plate along to someone else and thinks about his time prior to this jail cell. He thinks of his mom, son and friends and lets himself imagine that he isn’t inside a jail in San Marcos, three hours away from the people he loves the most.

At 8 a.m., he gets his tablet and begins planning out his day, filling it with writing lyrics, reading and making plans for the future. “I try to always do something productive, always come up with some game plan or create something. I try to stay creative. Do something instead of nothing,” he said.

Every day has been the same for the past five years and four months. Wake up, plan, write, read, eat and repeat.

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It was July 7, 2023 at 9:31 a.m. inside the visitation center at the Hays County Jail. The appointment was at 9:40 a.m., but nine minutes felt like a lifetime. The door opened. Inside, DeVonte stood in dark-colored clothing behind glass. Sitting down, he followed the instructions and gestured to pick up the phone on the other side. Immediately, he says, “Hi, how are you? Nice to meet you.”

DeVonte is shy and quiet, similar to what his mother had described a few weeks prior.

“DeVonte was a real sweet child growing up … He always took everyone underneath his wing. He never went anywhere where he didn’t make a friend,” said Chelesta Amerson, DeVonte’s mother.

The conversation was light; nothing could be recorded here. Talks of Netflix, school, books, music — heavily on music, it’s an obvious passion — filled the silence. It did not seem his spirit had been broken from the years inside. There was a shared interest in reading. His most recent book was “Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus.”

Twenty minutes went by quickly. Waves were exchanged and the door shut — DeVonte behind it.

It was 11:30 a.m., two days later and 10 minutes into the “20-minute phone call.” His answers must be said quickly because the phone call is actually 17 minutes, with three minutes taken up by  payment procedures.

This was the third time meeting and the once-shy man opened up.

“You’re the first person I’ve had interaction with since, like, 2019, to actually come up here and visit me in person … It’s kind of weird for me,” he admitted, but he had gotten more comfortable. DeVonte told his story from memory with ease, implying it’s one he thinks of often.

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DeVonte is a son, brother and father. In his early 20s, he created a clothing brand alongside producing beats for up-and-coming artists, whom he would eventually join on tour throughout the nation. His passion for music stemmed from his father and a creative environment.

“I’m heavily into music and the music industry. I grew up around that; my father was actually someone in the music industry,” he explained. “I’m extremely passionate about it … I love [writing lyrics]. It’s really like an emotional release for me.”

At 23, DeVonte became a father to Kyze; though young, the newborn quickly was his purpose in life. Taking night shifts in order to be in the child’s life as much as he could, DeVonte made a promise to provide Kyze with a better childhood than he had: “Once I had my son, I always told myself that I would be giving him everything that I didn’t have [growing up]. I’m not saying I didn’t have it good growing up; I’m not saying I didn’t have my father because I did, but I tried to be there for my son in the way my father couldn’t be there for me … Being more active in his day-to-day life, like going outside playing and actually throwing the ball around … doing more of that instead of just being around and talking to him every now and then. Really, just trying to be more present in his life and for him to have a real relationship with me,”DeVonte said.

“He was a very dedicated father; he was very hands-on. He would take night jobs so that his son wouldn’t have to go to daycare during the day … His son was always wanting to go with dad,” Chelesta described.

On March 5, 2018, DeVonte was leaving Chelesta’s apartment in Houston to take his son to his mother. After he put Kyze in the car seat, DeVonte saw lights turn on atop unmarked cars around him. The sight didn’t stir him, as he lived in Houston and this was common. It wasn’t until the officers shouted, “San Marcos Police Department!” and were coming toward him with guns on display that DeVonte realized they were there for him.

“I just laid down and I put my hands behind my back before they even got on top of me. And then one of the officers put his knee on my back and I started screaming for my mother until she came out and the whole time the [officer] was telling me to shut up,” recalled DeVonte. His voice was shaky as he made his next statement: “I don’t know; it was a scary moment for me because this was around the Trayvon Martin stuff. All of that was just starting and things just became serious around that time, so I was scared for those reasons.”

DeVonte said he lied on the ground, scared, screaming his mother’s name, while thoughts of other Black men and their outcome in these situations — cuffed, face down with an officer’s knee on their back, immobile — filled his mind. Behind him, his son screamed just as loud, if not louder, than his father.

“My grandson’s in that car. Can I get my grandson out of the car?” Chelesta pled.

Confused, DeVonte was placed inside the patrol car and watched his mom and son fade in the distance as the three-hour car ride to San Marcos began.

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In the early hours of Dec. 6, 2015, Justin Gage, 20, was shot multiple times in what the police labeled a "robbery gone bad.” Gage succumbed to his injuries hours later. According to the San Marcos Police Department, three Black men, between 5’8” and 5’10”, wearing masks attacked the late 20-year-old and his friend. The friend was uninjured.

In 2018, SMPD arrested DeVonte, 25, and Gray, 23, for the murder of Justin Gage. The two were not together at the time of the arrests.

Since their arrests five years ago, Gray’s 2022 trial was declared a mistrial after jury members contracted COVID-19. He’s also had 14 pretrial motion resets and five trial cancellations. DeVonte has had his pretrial motions reset 27 times and two trial cancellations. He has yet to go to trial.

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“I was confused,” DeVonte said, describing his arrest. “[I’ve thought about] that whole encounter. They actually sat in the car and waited for me to come out of the house instead of coming and knocking on the door to get me … I had just got back in town from Dallas; I was doing music stuff with my friend … I wasn’t even in Houston for 24 hours when I got arrested.”

His arrival to San Marcos consisted of standard intake procedures, such as fingerprinting, metal detectors and changing clothes. His sleeping quarters were in a 24-man dorm.

Throughout the last few years, DeVonte said he has struggled legally. He has applied for trial three times and has “basically been denied all three of them."

"I’m not sure if it shows up that way [online], but the fact that I’m not going is basically denying me,” he said. He feels that his court-appointed attorney is not adequately representing him, forcing his family to do the work. The Amersons are now on their second attorney after requesting a replacement for the first. Since his incarceration, he has taken the time to educate himself on the legal system to the best of his ability.

“I went four and a half years without a bond. I only got my first bond because Cyrus got his first bond after the trial and the only reason I got that was because I told my mother to be at his court date … That will actually have to force them into doing something because my people are there asking what’s going on,” explained DeVonte. “I never had a bond until that $500,000 bond, which is the same thing as having no bond.”

The Amerson family is not in a position to make bail on a $500,000 bond. Even recently, with the bond being lowered to $250,000, it is still not an option, especially with Chelesta taking on a bigger role in her grandson’s life.

“I have to step in more for my grandson, especially when it comes to the financial part. School’s getting ready to start. I let his mom know, I’ll get the supplies; I’ll get his shoes,” Chelesta said. “If I had the money, I’m definitely going to spend it on an attorney … DeVonte always says, ‘If we do come across money, don’t spend it on bond. Spend it on an attorney.’”

Feeling as though every decision in his case is contingent on Gray's, DeVonte worries that preventing a trial has become a tactic for the legal system. “At this point, I feel like their best shot is basically keeping me in limbo, like where I’m at right now. As long as they keep [avoiding trial], they’ve gotten what they want, [which is to keep me incarcerated],” he said.

The constant resets, waiting on a trial for five years and seemingly unwilling attorneys have taken away any regard for the justice system the mother and son may have held.

“I definitely don’t believe in [the justice system]. I say that because the [district attorney offered] ‘15 years to turn on Cyrus.’ You don’t even care … Who offers anybody 15 years on a murder trial? You don’t. So, [they’re] basically telling us that they have nothing. I honestly don’t like San Marcos. I feel like [San Marcos police] think they are above the law. I feel like a lot of things go on under the radar,” stated Chelesta.

DeVonte shared a similar sentiment to his mother: “I don’t trust it at all … It’s gotten to the point where I just let it be what it is. It’s out of my control.”

“There’s no justice on either side. They can’t give my son back these years and they can’t give the parents of the deceased their son back. I understand the other family wants closure. Closure is good — if it’s the right closure,” said Chelesta.

Enduring five years, and counting, without a trial date in sight, has taken a toll on Chelesta. DeVonte is her only son out of three children and to go this long without having him home has been difficult.

“The five years is torture … Every parent knows their child. I know who I raised,” said Chelesta. “It’s hard knowing that your child is in a position that you can absolutely do nothing to help them … I have two daughters and my son was very active with his sisters, so it’s not just me, it’s everyone missing him.”

The relationship between Chelesta and DeVonte, mother and son, is strong. It’s clear that there is an immense love between them.

“I’m sending money to the jail every week; I can’t afford to not hear his voice every day because he’s my son,” Chelesta stressed.

“[My mother is] practically like my best friend and somebody I can always talk to, somebody I can always depend on no matter what,” said DeVonte, his voice softening.

Though missing home and praying for a trial, he has remained resilient during his incarceration.

“As far as my situation, it’s been terrible. It’s been bad,” said DeVonte. “It’s made me feel that I really can’t trust the [justice] system, but as far as my incarceration goes, I have a real strong mind and I’m not easily beaten down.”

According to an email sent to Amy Kamp, Founder of Hays County Jail Advocates, on July 18, which was obtained by the Hays Free Press/News-Dispatch, Hays County DA Kelly Higgins announced the prosecutor’s intent to dismiss Gray’s case. The trial that was set to begin on Monday, July 24 has been canceled, according to Hays County court records.

DeVonte is set to have another pretrial hearing on Aug. 1.