“All I heard over and over in my head was that I had just been sentenced to LIFE for a murder I did not commit.  Like a modern day lynching, he [the judge] killed me legally, and he did it in the most painful way - in front of my family and loved ones. They were living this nightmare alongside me and suffering as much as I was throughout this whole ordeal.” - Mike Crump

Learn more about Mike’s case by reading Part 6 of Mike's own description of his wrongful conviction, presented by the Death Row Soul Collective on Facebook on June 10, 2022.

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Part 6 - The final nail in the coffin

Mike speaks…

After being convicted of Nike’s murder in March 1996, I had to prepare to face the judge once more. This time for my sentencing.

The shock from the day I was shown the arrest warrant for murder the previous year, still hadn’t worn off. I felt like that entire 6 months between my arrest in October 1995 and my conviction in March 1996, even afterwards, was a nightmare that I had been unable to wake up from. Instead, I woke up in a jail cell each morning, and had to face each day without my freedom, without my loved ones, without being able to do what I wanted to do, and having to follow the rules set upon me by the jail.

Don’t get me wrong, my life before my arrest was not a bed of roses. I was a lost teenager in many ways, not knowing what I wanted to do with my life. I knew I wanted to achieve something, and I wanted to live a successful, productive and positive life, but I hadn’t got there by the time of my arrest. In fact, before my arrest, I was doing something which I now sincerely regret. I was selling drugs. Yes, like Nike, I was also a small time dealer. I wasn’t getting rich doing that. I was just living day to day, but I was hoping and praying I would find a way to that bright future I envisioned for myself. I had even talked to my girlfriend about us eventually buying a home and settling down.

However, I was now in jail, and I hated it. Every second, every minute and every day felt like eternity, and I still couldn’t fathom how I had ended up behind bars in the first place. There had been no evidence to support my guilt in Nike’s murder. My conviction came down to the word of one eyewitness. I did not hold a grudge against her, however, I couldn’t understand why she had picked me out of that police photo line-up. Why me? What did I do to deserve this?

Nor could I comprehend why the police had focused their investigation on me, when I hadn’t even been there when Nike tragically lost his life. I was behind bars, paying the price for a crime I did not commit, and the real killer was still out there. I wanted to scream I was INNOCENT from the rooftops, but I no longer had a voice.

As I prepared myself for the sentencing in May 1996, I felt nervous as hell. I was going back into that courtroom to find out what the judge deemed a suitable punishment for taking the life of another young man. A man I had never met in my life, and a man I had most definitely not killed.

I tried to tell myself that the sentence didn’t matter. I was innocent, and I was going to fight the conviction no matter what the sentence was. However, I was still afraid. It felt so final. Like putting a rubber stamp on my conviction.

If it didn’t feel real up until that point, it was about to get VERY real.

The sentencing hearing was much like my trial in many ways. The same faces in the public gallery, the same judge, the same public defender, who I hadn’t seen or heard from since that one visit a few days after the trial in March. This time I was in jail clothes rather than a suit, and this time I was in handcuffs. I was now a dangerous and violent felon, according to the law and the “justice” system.

It felt so wrong. I wasn’t this person I was being portrayed to be. It hurt knowing that people now viewed me as this heinous killer, who took a young man away from his family, snubbing out his life in a matter of seconds.

My defender stood and said a few words to the judge, explaining that I was maintaining my innocence, that the evidence against me was poor, and he did not understand how I had been convicted based on the prosecution’s weak case.

I was then given the opportunity to speak, and I grabbed that opportunity with both hands - desperate to have my voice heard. I turned to Nike’s mom and told her how sorry I was for her loss, but that I was not the person who took her son’s life. I told her that the real perpetrator was still out there, and I was innocent. I wanted her to believe me. If Nike’s family knew that the wrong person was being punished for taking his life, then maybe they could help me?

I then turned to the judge and told him the same thing, imploring him to believe I was innocent. This one man had my life in his hands. He had all the power, and I was completely helpless. I was desperate to see a chink of light indicating that he knew I was innocent; that I had been wrongly convicted, but there was nothing, and he wasn’t going to show me any mercy.

I think that the rest of the courtroom heard the same as me - the words from the judge were that he was sentencing me to LIFE. The rest of his words were drowned out by the uproar which came from the public gallery. Once again, I barely heard all the noise. All I heard over and over in my head was that I had just been sentenced to LIFE for a murder I did not commit.

It wasn’t until later that I learnt that my life sentence was suspended to 40 years…..37 years for a murder I did not commit, and 3 years for possession of a firearm that I never possessed. It didn’t matter - Forty years was an eternity for me at the age of 19.

How did I feel being told that I would be behind bars until I was nearly 60 years old? I felt like that the judge had murdered ME. It may sound dramatic, but he really did take my life that day, and didn’t even have to shed any blood. Like a modern day lynching, he killed me legally, and he did it in the most painful way - in front of my family and loved ones. They were living this nightmare alongside me and suffering as much as I was throughout this whole ordeal.

To this day I truly believe that all those involved in my case - the police, the judge, the prosecution, the state…even my own public defender are accessories and co-defendants in MY murder. They all took part in framing me for Nike’s murder. They all contributed to taking my life in 1996, and they got away with it. That is a case that remains unsolved to this day.

The noise I heard from my mom after the sentence, is not something I ever want to hear again, and I could hardly bear to look at my sisters. Standing there in handcuffs, I could only watch on as they all fell apart in front of me. I couldn’t console them, I couldn’t wipe away their tears, and I definitely couldn’t tell them everything was going to be ok. At that point nothing felt ok. I was 19 years old and facing the next four decades incarcerated for a crime I did not commit.

As I left the courtroom that day, I looked towards Nike’s mom once again, hoping that she would see in my eyes that I was innocent. I had so much more to say. I knew the truth, and I knew I was innocent. To this day I have not changed my story or wavered from my complete innocence in Nike’s murder. However, no one wanted to hear what I had to say. Like the day of my trial I was muzzled like a dog, unable to speak my truth, and ushered out of the courtroom.

There was no way I could be left to rot in prison for the next 40 years. I had to hold onto hope that my appeal would be successful, but I had no idea how tough the coming months would be. I was now a convicted and sentenced murderer, and I was about to be thrown into the system. I was about to be transferred to a real prison many miles from my family. Instead of the love and warmth I enjoyed living with my mom and sisters, I was going to be housed with some of the most violent despicable people you can imagine, and my home was going to be one of the coldest and harshest prisons in the state.

At the age of 19, I was about to be thrown into a very adult world. It was a world I did not belong in, a world I did not deserve to be in, and a world I hated being part of.

It was also a world that I would be fighting to escape from way way beyond my teenage years.

*At the age of just 18 years old, Michael Crump was arrested and wrongfully convicted of the tragic murder of 21-year-old Eric “Nike” Jones in Virginia after an eyewitness misidentified Mike due to his hoodie.

*Please sign and share this petition, which the nonprofit UNCUFF THE INNOCENT will be using to support Michael Crump's case for freedom by urging Virginia’s Governor and Attorney General to investigate his wrongful conviction. 

#WrongfulConviction 

#InnocenceMatters 

#FreeMikeCrump