Though he had been a free man for almost 15 years, Tyrone Jones felt that he lived under a cloud of suspicion.
Baltimore prosecutors agreed that he deserved a new trial and later dropped the murder conspiracy case against him. But no one had ever officially declared him innocent.
Until this year.
That’s when a judge finally confirmed what Jones had maintained from the start: He was wrongfully convicted in the killing of a teenager and was entitled to compensation and benefits.
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“What I wasn’t ready for was the feeling of one single judge believing in me,” Jones said in a recent interview. “By winning, that changed my perspective on myself and my life.”
The Maryland Board of Public Works recently signed off on a package to compensate Jones and provide him with benefits for the 3,611 days that he wrongly spent in prison.
Jones, 48, of Parkville, described the decision as life-changing, adding that he’s still processing his emotions. He’s planning to go back to school and focus on his two children.
“It just shows how recalcitrant the system is to acknowledging and remedying error,” said Michele Nethercott, who reinvestigated the case when she served as director of the Innocence Project Clinic at the University of Baltimore School of Law.
“I’m glad for him, and I’m glad some justice finally prevailed,” she added. “Personally, I wish it had not taken this long.”
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A byzantine journey

Jones had always maintained that he played basketball and then walked a few blocks away to a carryout restaurant called CC’s on June 24, 1998, when Tyree Wright was gunned down on East Federal Street in East Baltimore while sitting on the front steps of his home. He was 16.
Baltimore Police arrested Jones minutes after the killing.
Prosecutors alleged that he accompanied the gunman but was not the shooter. Under Maryland law, they contended, he was still criminally liable.
In 1999, Jones was found not guilty in Baltimore Circuit Court of first- and second-degree murder. But he was found guilty of conspiracy to commit first-degree murder and sentenced to life in prison.
No one else ever faced prosecution.
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When he handed down the sentence, Circuit Judge John N. Prevas commented that the case was “extremely vexatious.”
“If you can come forward with any evidence that demonstrates that you did not do it, I will be more than happy to set you free,” Prevas said.
The Baltimore State’s Attorney’s Office agreed in 2010 that Jones was entitled to a new trial because it had failed to disclose exculpatory evidence: a police report revealing that the star witness told officers that he neither saw the shooting nor the perpetrators. More than three months later, prosecutors dropped the case.
Jones was free.
Fast forward to 2023.
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Jones filed a petition for compensation and benefits under the Walter Lomax Act, a law that overhauled how the state pays people who’ve been wrongfully convicted of crimes.
But Administrative Law Judge Patrick E. Maher ruled that Jones was ineligible. That’s because at the time, conspiracy to commit first-degree murder in Maryland was considered a misdemeanor not a felony.

So even though Jones received a life sentence and served almost 10 years in prison, he was out of luck.
Lawmakers then revised the act to cover situations like his case. The change took effect on July 1, 2024.
Jones said he hoped that prosecutors would agree to a settlement.
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That’s not what happened.
‘One of the best feelings in the world’
Prosecutors instead opposed Jones’ petition for compensation and benefits.
“We had always left the door open for communication with the State’s Attorney’s Office to try to reach a resolution that would save everyone a lot of time and energy and, most importantly, save Mr. Jones from having to go through another legal proceeding,” said Neel Lalchandani, one of Jones’ attorneys and a partner at Brown, Goldstein & Levy in Baltimore. “But we weren’t getting any traction.”

So Lalchandani prepared to fight.
The legal battle culminated over two days in a small room at the Office of Administrative Hearings in Hunt Valley.
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Jones said he was nervous and anxious. But when he saw what he described as his “all-star team of lawyers,” he felt more optimistic.
They called a total of seven witnesses from Jan. 28 to Jan. 29, including Jones’ former fiancée, Sabrena Smith, and Tyeisha Benton, a classmate at Paul Laurence Dunbar High School who returned to the witness stand more than 25 years later to again corroborate his alibi.
David Balash, a consultant who spent 20 years with the Michigan State Police, debunked one of the critical pieces of evidence that had been used to convict Jones: primer gunshot residue.
Jones, he testified, had one particle of gunshot residue on his left hand. That was not a large enough sample to make a finding.
Plus, Balash said, the trial testimony about that evidence was false and misleading.
Balash opined that Jones had likely touched a contaminated surface.
For the first time since his trial, Jones also retook the witness stand.
At trial, Jones said, he could not account for how that particle of gunshot residue ended up on his hand. Emotionally and mentally, that was a backbreaker.
Assistant State’s Attorney Genevieve Vallar on cross-examination did not aggressively question him, Jones said.
Vallar also revealed that prosecutors no longer had the court file.
“Why are we even here?” Jones said he thought.

In a statement, James Bentley, a spokesperson for the Baltimore State’s Attorney’s Office, said that it “could not establish factual innocence.”
That’s partly because the office no longer had records due to file retention policies. Prosecutors had “no option but to submit all available information into the record” and allow the administrative law judge to make a decision, Bentley said.
When Jones later saw the PowerPoint his legal team put together that laid out the factors that led to his conviction, he felt overwhelmed.
Faulty eyewitness testimony. Junk science. Official misconduct.
“Wrongful convictions happen all the time. And at this point, we know what causes them,” said Catalina Odio, one of Jones’ attorneys and an associate at Brown, Goldstein & Levy. “Some of the most common ones were dispositive in Mr. Jones’ case.”
As an innocent man, Jones said, he had yearned for someone to spell out everything that was wrong with his case. No matter how the administrative law judge ruled, he felt like he won.
“Other than having my kids,” Jones said, “it was one of the best feelings in the world.”
‘I felt pretty decent that day’
On April 28, Jones awoke from a nap to a text message from one of his attorneys along with several missed calls.
So Jones said he walked to a playground near his home, paced around in a circle and called his legal team back.
The administrative law judge had ruled in his favor. He was entitled to compensation and benefits.
In his head, Jones had pictured that moment. He envisioned he would experience a rush of emotions and run out the door while screaming and praising God.
Instead, he felt more excited for his attorneys.
“I know they had worked extremely hard, and to see us win, and for them to get a victory, I felt pretty decent that day,” Jones said.

‘Made me feel like the state of Maryland apologized’
Before the Maryland Board of Public Works on May 7 approved more than $975,000 in compensation, Jones met with Gov. Wes Moore in private.
Moore, he said, was surprisingly believable and genuine.
“He actually made me feel like the state of Maryland apologized,” Jones said. “Because I thought it was going to be some bullshit. I’m going to be honest.”
Moore, a Democrat, reiterated his apology at a public meeting.
He described spending time with people who’ve been wrongfully convicted as “one of the hardest parts of this entire job.”
“I’m sorry. This should have never happened,” Moore said. “And I know there are no words that can undo the injustice and what was taken away from you and your family, but I hope you do know that the words we are sharing are sincere.”
Jones said he’s looking to further his education at Morgan State University and study finance and business.
He’s thought about starting his own business. Maybe a trucking company or a driving school. But he said he does not want to move too fast.
In the meantime, Jones said, he’s focused on helping his daughter, Kennedi, 13, and son, Kaden, 10, who has autism.
The Walter Lomax Act is extraordinary, Jones said.
Because of advances in technology and an increase in the number of people dedicated to addressing wrongful convictions, he said, he hopes in the future that the law will no longer be needed.
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