It’s a report from last week’s homecoming party.

UPDATE: Link fixed. Sorry about that.

Also, here’s an interview with Ben Vernia, one of Cory’s attorneys:

There’s something poignant, modern, and beautiful about completing the journey from subject of an activist Facebook page calling for your release, to out of prison, free, and . . . starting your own Facebook page.

Oddly, no one bothered to notify his attorneys before releasing him. But he’s now home with his family.

More to come.

As I understand it, part of the problem is that the Mississippi Department of Corrections had no record of Maye’s incarceration from the night of the raid in late 2001 until his trial in early 2004. I’m not sure why that is, though I guess it might have something to do with the fact that on the night of the raid, Jefferson Davis County Sheriff Henry McCullum had Maye surreptitiously moved from his jail to the Forrest County jail for Maye’s safety.

Anyway, in order to give Maye credit for that time, they had to clear up the clerical error. Technically, Maye has only served 9 1/2 years of his 10-year sentence, though with time for good behavior, he should be well over his sentence. It apparently also took some time to calculate that good behavior credit, which obviously wasn’t a factor when Maye was sentenced to death, and then to life without parole.

Maye attorney Abe Pafford said this morning that this all now seems to be taken care of, and they’re just waiting on a release date. For reasons that also aren’t exactly clear, it could be another week or more before that happens.

Please note that this is not a non-profit. Your donation will go directly to Maye, through Evans. But it is not tax-deductible. And because Cory’s lawyers all worked the case pro-bono, your donation will not be going to pay his legal bills. Instead, you’ll be helping the guy get his life together once he gets out. I know he’s strongly considering moving out of Southern Mississippi. That’s probably smart. And I’d imagine your donation could help with that. If you’re interested in helping in a non-monetary way, you can write Evans at the snail mail address at the link, or email him here.

I will personally vouch for the fund’s legitimacy, and that 100 percent of the money will get to Maye. (Unless you use PayPal, in which case they’ll take a cut.) Evans will also send you a receipt if you request one.

I had originally planned to post a video interview with Cory Maye for you this afternoon. But he’s understandably overwhelmed with emotion today. I’ll touch a bit more on this in a piece I’m working on for Huffington Post, but just after the plea was finalized, Maye read a statement he had written to the family of Ron Jones, Jr.. He then left the courtroom for a witness room in the back. I went in to talk with him. Cory Maye always smiles. Bob Evans, his attorney, thinks it may have rubbed the jury the wrong way during his trial. Evans says even on the day he was sentenced to death, he was smiling. But just moments after learning he’d soon be free this morning, Cory Maye wasn’t smiling. His eyes were dropping tears.

I asked him what he was thinking. He started to answer, but couldn’t. So, Evans, Maye, attorney Ben Vernia and I sat for a few moments in silence. Evans then asked, “You’re thinking about Ron, aren’t you? About the Jones family?”

Maye nodded, and dropped his head into his hand.

“I can’t tell you how many times that happens,” Evans told me later. “He grieves for them.”

Until that moment, it’s an aspect of this story I don’t think I had really considered. It must be an incredible burden to know you’ve taken another man’s life, that you’ve caused a pain and sense of loss for all the people who knew and loved that person, and that for them, that pain and loss are permanent.

I’ve noted more than a few times here that Officer Ron Jones, Jr., was well-liked in this community, even among blacks, which is something that can’t be said of many white police officers in the area. Independent of how convinced Cory Maye, his family, his attorneys, or anyone else may be of his legal or moral innocence, independent of the fact that he was put in an awful predicament set in place by bad policies and bad judgment, independent of all of that, he will still always know that he killed a man, a man he respected, a man he now knows meant him no real harm the night all this happened. That’s a hell of a thing to carry around. And it isn’t something he’ll leave behind with his orange jumpsuit.

I took the photo above at the Lawrence County Jail, obviously in a lighter moment. It was a few hours after this morning’s plea. Maye had just told us he wanted to and of take his kids to Disneyland, then described the pot of gumbo his mother would be cooking for his homecoming celebration. The smile came back.

Since he wasn’t up for the video, Maye did ask me to pass along a note he wrote this morning to the people who have written him, advocated for him on the Internet, and otherwise supported him over the years.

So here’s a letter to you, from him:

I really don’t know where to start because I’ve missed out on so much in 9 1/2 years. I guess my first 3-4 weeks spent bonding with family & friends. Me and the kids will probably spend a lot of time fishing and going to the park for walks, where we can talk about about whatever comes to mind.

I know I must get a job as soon as possible. There are a few things my kids have asked for in the last few years that I haven’t been able to get them. I know they’re going to be really excited knowing I’m home, and that daddy will be there for their b-days, Christmas, and more. Maybe we’ll stay up all night watching movies, eating cookies and ice cream.

I guess I’m just ready to share all this love that I have built up inside of me all these years. No more late nights or days just wishing I can hold my kids & tell them that their daddy loves them with all his heart. I’m sure my not being physically present has affected them in many ways. I just pray that it’s not too late, and together we can work on healing one another.

I realize a lot of people are going to wonder why I accepted a plea. We just felt that regardless of the facts and evidence that pointed in my favor, there was the possibility that one or more jurors could not see it my way, causing a mistrial. That could leave me sitting here another nine months or more, or longer if it keeps repeating that way.

This is Mississippi, and some people refuse to let go of their old ways from the old days. I just didn’t want to put my family through any more heartache, and didn’t want to have to wait any longer. It was take a chance of a mistrial, or grab hold of my future and be the man/father/friend that I can be, and that my family loves and misses.

I’ll forever be grateful to all the friends and supporters that have been with me throughout all of this. I thank God daily because it’s good to know this world we live in can have many wonderful & caring people in it. I consider myself blessed to know you all are out there. I’ll forever be in your debt. Thanks a million, and may we continue to stay in touch.

Love,

Cory J. Maye

This is wonderful news. Much, much more to come.

MORE: I have a writeup now posted Huffington Post, though most of it is background. I’ll have more thorough coverage of this morning’s events, including an interview with Cory Maye, later today.

As I understand it, this decision means Maye is virtually guaranteed a new trial next year unless there’s plea agreement between his attorneys and the state.

My 2006 Reason feature on Maye here. And here’s Reason.tv’s documentary about Maye’s case:

Maye was convicted of capital murder in 2002 for shooting and killing police officer Ron Jones during a 2001 drug raid on Maye’s home. Maye says he didn’t now the men breaking into his home were police. Last year, the Mississippi Court of Appeals granted Maye a new trial on a claim that he should have been permitted to move the trial back to the country where the alleged crime was committed after his trial attorney requested it be moved to another county, then thought better of that request. That ruling dismissed some of his Maye’s other claims, but also neglected to address others. The state appealed the court’s ruling for a new trial on the venue claim. Once they did, Maye’s attorneys filed their own appeal, asking the court to address the other issues the appeals court dismissed or declined to discuss.

The Mississippi State Supreme Court has a pretty high rate of reversal when it takes up cases from the Mississippi Court of Appeals, which would seem to be bad news for Maye. But this case is more complex. The only thing that’s clear at this point is that the court is divided.

Looking at the votes to grant cert, four justices granted cert only to Maye’s claims. Three justices voted only to grant cert to the state’s claims. One justice voted to hear both, and one voted to hear neither. That makes for some complicated reading of the tea leaves.

The court could do several things, here. It could simply uphold the appeals court ruling and send the case back to Jefferson Davis County for a new trial. It could overturn on the venue issue, but grant a new trial on a different claim. It could both uphold the appeals court and rule in Maye’s favor on additional claims, which could limit the way the state is permitted to present its case at the new trial. Or, of course, it could overrule the appeals court, dismiss all of Maye’s claims, and Maye would be back to life without parole and no prospect of a new trial. There’s also a slim possibility that prior case law—particularly the case of Wheeler v. Mississippi—could compel the court to actually order an acquittal.

So this may actually be good for Maye, though I suspect he and his attorneys would have preferred the certainty of the court refusing cert and proceeding directly to the new trial.

My 2006 article on Maye’s story here. And here’s the award-winning Reason.tv documentary on Maye, Mississippi Drug War Blues.

It was eight years ago today that police in Prentiss, Mississippi broke into Cory Maye’s home on a drug warrant, putting him in the unimaginable position of having to determine if the armed men who had just kicked open his door were police or criminal intruders there to harm him and his young daughter. He’s been in prison ever since, separated from his kids and the rest of his family. He has spent about half that time on Death Row. It was also eight years ago that the family of Ron Jones needlessly lost a son and brother. Mississippi authorities put an innocent man in prison for life, let the actual target of the drug raid that night go free, and shattered two families.

Anyone think it’s the least bit more difficult to get high in Prentiss today than it was then?

There’s a flicker of light in this story, now. Maybe this time next year I’ll be able to post a photo or two of Cory and his kids enjoying their first Christmas together in nearly a decade.