Charles Manson follower Leslie Van Houten, a former homecoming princess who at 19 helped carry out the shocking killings of a wealthy Los Angeles couple at the direction of the violent and manipulative cult leader, walked out of a California prison Tuesday after serving more than 50 years of a life sentence.

Van Houten, now 73 years old, “was released to parole supervision,” the California Department of Corrections and Rehabilitation said in a statement.

She left the California Institution for Women in Corona, east of Los Angeles, in the early morning hours and was driven to transitional housing, her attorney Nancy Tetreault said.

“She’s still trying to get used to the idea that this real,” Tetreault told The Associated Press.

Days earlier Gov. Gavin Newsom announced he would not fight a state appeals court ruling that Van Houten should be granted parole. He said it was unlikely the state Supreme Court would consider an appeal.

The 1969 slayings and subsequent trials captivated the nation during an era of strife marked by the Vietnam War, the Civil Rights Movement and the assassinations of Martin Luther King, Jr. and Robert F. Kennedy.

At a parole hearing in 2016, Van Houten said the murders were the start of what Manson believed was a coming race war he called “Helter Skelter,” after the Beatles song. He had his followers prepare to fight and learn to can food so they could go underground and live in a hole in the desert, she added.

Van Houten was sentenced to death in 1971 for helping Manson’s group carry out the killings of Leno LaBianca, a grocer in Los Angeles, and his wife, Rosemary. Her sentence was later commuted to life in prison when the California Supreme Court overturned the state's death penalty law in 1972. Voters and state lawmakers eventually reinstated the death penalty, but it did not apply retroactively.

The LaBiancas were killed in their home, and their blood was smeared on the walls afterward. Van Houten later described holding Rosemary LaBianca down with a pillowcase over her head as others stabbed her. Then, ordered by Manson follower Charles “Tex” Watson to “do something,” Van Houten said, she picked up a knife and stabbed the woman more than a dozen times.

The slayings happened the day after Manson followers killed actress Sharon Tate and four others. Van Houten, who was 19 at the time, did not participate in the Tate killings.

She is the first Manson follower who took part in the killings to walk free.

Van Houten is expected to spend about a year at a halfway house, adjusting to a world changed immeasurably by technology in the past half-century.

“She has to learn to use the internet. She has to learn to buy things without cash,” Tetreault said. “It's a very different world than when she went in.”

Van Houten, who will likely be on parole for about three years, hopes to get a job as soon as possible, Tetreault said. She earned a bachelor's and a master's degree in counseling while in prison and worked as a tutor for other incarcerated people.

Van Houten was found suitable for parole after a July 2020 hearing, but her release was blocked by Newsom, who maintained she was still a threat to society.

She filed an appeal with a trial court, which rejected it, and then turned to the appellate courts. The Second District Court of Appeal in May reversed Newsom's rejection of her parole in a 2-1 ruling, writing that there was “no evidence to support the Governor’s conclusions” about Van Houten’s fitness for release.

The judges took issue with Newsom’s claim that Van Houten did not adequately explain how she fell under Manson’s influence. At her parole hearings, she discussed at length how her parents’ divorce, her drug and alcohol abuse and a forced illegal abortion led her down a path that left her vulnerable.

They also disputed Newsom’s suggestion that her past violent acts were a cause for future concern were she to be released.

“Van Houten has shown extraordinary rehabilitative efforts, insight, remorse, realistic parole plans, support from family and friends, favorable institutional reports, and, at the time of the Governor’s decision, had received four successive grants of parole,” the judges said. They also noted her “many years” of therapy and substance abuse counseling.

The dissenting judge who sided with Newsom said there was some evidence Van Houten lacked insight into the heinous killings.

Newsom was disappointed by the appeals court decision, his office said.

“More than 50 years after the Manson cult committed these brutal killings, the victims’ families still feel the impact,” the governor’s office said in a July 7 statement.

In all, Van Houten had been recommended for parole five times since 2016. All of those recommendations were denied by either Newsom or former Gov. Jerry Brown.

Cory LaBianca, Leno LaBianca’s daughter, said last week that her family was heartbroken by the possibility that Van Houten could be released.

Anthony DiMaria, whose uncle Jay Sebring was killed along with Tate, said Tuesday her release was devastating to all the victims' families, who “collectively suffer the pain and loss” caused by the Manson cult.

Van Houten, a former high school cheerleader and homecoming princess, saw her life spiral out of control at 14 following her parents’ divorce. She turned to drugs and became pregnant but said her mother forced her to abort the fetus and bury it in the family’s backyard.

Van Houten became the youngest of Manson's followers when they met at an old movie ranch on the outskirts of Los Angeles where he had established his so-called family of followers.

Manson died in prison in 2017 of natural causes at age 83 after nearly half a century behind bars. Watson and fellow Manson follower Patricia Krenwinkel have each been denied parole multiple times. Krenwinkel was recommended for parole last year, but that was rejected by Newsom. Another follower, Susan Atkins, died in prison in 2009.

Johnny Pinchback spent 27 years behind bars for a crime he didn't commit.

"It was hell, right here on Earth," he said. "Pure hell."

Pinchback was convicted of aggravated sexual assault and sentenced to 99 years in prison.

"Man, it is very hurtful, very painful," he continued. "A whole bunch of guys that were sent there for rape crimes and child molestation, that couldn't defend themselves — they were raped themselves, beat up and raped themselves, and so many of them killed themselves."

Thanks to DNA evidence and the Texas Innocence Project, Pinchback has been a free man for 11 years but says his readjustment into society has been its own challenge.

"After I got out, you know, I was lost, man," Pinchback said. "When I got out, it was a shock, man. It was a cultural shock."

Despite how tough his experience has been on his psyche, Pinchback says formal therapy didn't work for him.

"They sent a few of us to it," he said. "We were like, 'Man, we do counseling and do therapy for each other.' And that's what we did."

Chantal Fahmy is a University of Texas San Antonio professor and has spent her career studying the formerly incarcerated.

She says reentry into society is its own punishment and takes a toll mentally.

"Their education really hasn't changed all that much. So, it's not like they're attaining these jobs that they weren't able to get prior," she said. "They're ineligible for a lot of forms of public assistance, like welfare. They're alienated from mainstream life, period."

A study from the University of Chicago compares the mental toll of being wrongfully imprisoned to the anguish suffered by military veterans and torture survivors.

Researchers say common effects among the exonerated include severe PTSD, persistent personality changes, depression and complex feelings of loss.

Fahmy says the resources specifically for exonerees are very limited, but for anyone leaving prison, family support can have a positive impact.

"When you have a solid support system in both of those ways, whether it's from family or whether it's from friends, your mental health is better," she said.

Anna Vasquez spent 13 years behind bars for a crime that never happened.

She and three other women were charged with gang raping two children, and their story was featured in the documentary "Southwest of Salem."

Ultimately, their conviction was thrown out due to inaccurate scientific testimony and an admission by the accuser that her father forced her to make false allegations.

Vasquez now serves as the director of outreach for the Innocence Project of Texas and says she hopes she can be that resource for people in her position.

"I think it brings them some comfort," she said. "You know, when I speak to them, it's not coming from an attorney, or a paralegal, you know, it is somebody that has actually been there, going through what they're going through. … It's just hard to relate to somebody that has never been in prison."

As technology has advanced, exonerations have become more common.

According to the National Registry of Exonerations, more than 3,000 people have been wrongly convicted and exonerated since 1989, amounting to 25,000 years lost behind bars.

"I'm still a work in progress, you know?" Vasquez said. "Actually, yesterday, it was my brother's, I guess, death anniversary. I don't know how I should say that, but it makes me mad when I think about [the fact] I only had two years with him. It's anger, frustration. Unbelievable that something like this could happen."

Those 3,000 people who have now been exonerated are also reintegrating into society while dealing with unimaginable trauma and potential mental health challenges.

"Talking about your feelings or your emotions in prison was not to be done, you know?" Vasquez said. "You hid under a cover and you cried. So, the way that I coped with it was, I was hopeful. But I will not tell you that I didn't have my bad days. And you know, I was depressed, but I always seem to pick myself up."

Pinchback says the time he spends with other people who have been wrongfully convicted is his own kind of therapy.

"I've got another friend about 10 minutes from here," he said. "He did 31 years wrongfully convicted, and sometimes we'll joke around and stuff like that about prison we'll be joking and stuff like, 'Hey man, I'm going to the commissary today. Would you bring me three soups?' … Then we'll say, 'Hey man, it is a blessing for that to be behind us.'"

Pinchback and Vasquez regularly speak to law students and tell their stories to make that story less common.

"That's my job," Pinchback said. "It's my job until I die, man, until I can't do it no more. It's my job."

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Seven months after Texas saw one of the nation's deadliest prison escapes, investigations into what went wrong have come back to one factor: The state's lockups are dangerously short-staffed.

On May 12, convicted murderer Gonzalo Lopez was on a prison transport bus in Central Texas when he managed to escape his handcuffs, cut into the driver's compartment and stab the driver with a makeshift weapon. He stole the officer's gun, wrestled him outside and hijacked the bus, driving about a mile before crashing and fleeing on foot.

Lopez evaded capture for weeks, until law enforcement responding to a welfare check at an area cabin on June 2 found Mark Collins and his four grandsons, ages 11 to 18, dead and the family's truck missing. That night, deputies south of San Antonio spotted the truck and stopped Lopez with spike strips, ultimately killing him in a shootout.

The tragedy drew shock and fury from community members and state officials. Lt. Gov. Dan Patrick called for a Texas Rangers investigation, and the Collinses' family plans to sue the Texas Department of Criminal Justice for its role in their loved ones' deaths, an agency spokesperson confirmed Friday.

This week, reports from TDCJ and an independent consulting group found that the escape, extended evasion and massacre of a family in Centerville were preceded by systemic failures among prison officers and their supervisors.

TDCJ found that a dozen officers, two sergeants, a captain, a lieutenant and a major at the Hughes Unit all failed to ensure Lopez was unarmed and properly restrained by haphazardly searching prisoners and their property and skipping safety checks (along with falsifying documents saying such checks and searches had been performed).

CGL, the consulting group, said staff at the prison "had become complacent, and circumvented security procedures in favor of hastily completing responsibilities in a cursory manner." The group said the failures seemed routine. Although they did not investigate other facilities, the consultants said it was possible such failures were occurring throughout the state's 100 prisons.

After the escape, prison spokesperson Amanda Hernandez said Friday, three employees resigned, and 15 others were disciplined. Some were fired, she said; others received probation or suspension.

But the seemingly routine bypassing of crucial security measures at the Hughes Unit was not a failure of only the employees, according to CGL. Short-staffing has long plagued the agency and been exacerbated in recent years.

Over two years, CGL stated, Texas prison officer vacancies grew from about 4,300 to more than 7,600 in April, the month before Lopez's escape, with Texas' prisons only about 68% staffed. The Hughes Unit in Gatesville, where Lopez lived, was 57% staffed.

"These staff shortages required the remaining staff to carry a heavier workload and increased the amount of overtime they were assigned," CGL wrote. "This contributed to establishing a weakened security environment that better facilitated inmate Lopez's escape."

TDCJ has long struggled against dangerous, chronic understaffing, but the number of officers reached critical lows during the pandemic. Since last summer, about 300 prison officers have also been working at two units now being used as state-run jails for Gov. Greg Abbott's Operation Lone Star, which largely hold migrants accused only of trespassing on private property. Short-staffing has been blamed for increased assaults on officers and prisoners, as well as malnourishment and even harsher living and working conditions.

TDCJ has recognized its staffing crisis, pushing to increase recruitment and retention by offering sign-on bonuses and, this April, bumping salaries by 15%, similar to actions taken to address the staffing crisis within the state's juvenile prisons. The number of officers has grown slightly since the raise, according to TDCJ records, with prisons staffed at 71% in October, compared with April's 68%.

But understaffing is still dire, especially at some large prisons. In October, 20 prisons were less than 50% staffed, according to prison data. And the Hughes Unit has fewer officers than in April, dropping from 57% staffed before the escape to 50%, with 275 open officer positions in a prison for nearly 3,000 men.

But in addressing understaffing's burden on the department, Hernandez said Friday that "while short-staffing was a significant contributor, it was not the sole cause."

Lopez, 46, was serving two life sentences for the death of José Guadalupe Ramirez, whom Lopez said he killed on an order from a Mexican drug cartel, and an attempted murder during a car chase. He'd been in prison since 2006 and had been confirmed as an ex-member of the Mexican Mafia, according to the prison review.

At the time of the escape, Lopez was on a bus with 15 other prisoners and two veteran prison officers, traveling from the Hughes Unit to the Estelle Unit in Huntsville for a medical appointment. He was kept in a section of the bus for high-security inmates, separated by metal caging from the armed driver, while the second officer with a shotgun sat at the rear of the bus behind the less-restricted prisoners.

A third seat up front meant for a third officer was empty because of short-staffing.

Not properly searched before the ride, Lopez climbed aboard with two makeshift metal weapons and what resembled a handcuff key in his mouth, other prisoners told investigators. Lopez quickly freed himself from his improperly placed restraints and spent about an hour and a half cutting his way through the metal caging to the driver's compartment.

He slid into the driving compartment, grabbed the officer's gun and stabbed him, the review said. The officer managed to stop the bus, and in a scuffle, stumbled outside the bus with Lopez fighting over the gun, he told investigators. The second officer, saying he thought the bus had crashed, jumped out the back and realized there was an escape attempt.

With the officer's gun, Lopez jumped back into the bus and drove off. With the second officer's shotgun, the driver shot out a tire, causing Lopez to crash about a mile down the road.

Shortly after, the police chief for the nearby town of Jewett approached the now-abandoned officers and, hearing about the escape, took off toward the scene. According to an investigation by The Marshall Project and the Houston Chronicle, the chief did not give chase or shoot after Lopez when he arrived to find the prisoner fleeing from the bus across a field into the brush.

Quickly after the escape, law enforcement swarmed the area on foot, with dogs and on horseback to search for the escaped murderer. But for weeks, they failed. TDCJ's review noted its staff misused their search dogs, bringing out multiple units' dogs and confusing the scents they were tracking.

Law enforcement was at a loss until authorities got a call on May 31 about a burglary nearby and took DNA swabs to check against Lopez. Nobody told locals of the development, however, according to the investigation by the news organizations. Two days later, minutes after learning the DNA matched Lopez, the sheriff's office got a call from someone worried about the Collinses.

At their rural cabin in Leon County, officers found the bodies of Collins, 66, and his four grandsons: Waylon, 18; Carson, 16; and Bryson and Hudson, both 11. They died of gunshot and stab wounds.

In a statement paired with the release of its investigative findings, TDCJ said it has since reduced transportation of prisoners, relying more on telemedicine for medical appointments. The agency also increased the required number of officers in transport buses from two to three and will arm them with pepper spray as well as guns.

Supervisors will also be required to verify that proper searches have been completed before transportation, though similar verifications were said to be falsified prior to Lopez's escape.

The department also upgraded its restraints in hopes of preventing future escapes, since Lopez was easily able to free himself. TDCJ is also having staff undergo new training focused on search procedures, weapons and prisoner transportation.

CGL warned TDCJ, however, of implementing corrective actions aimed at stopping Lopez's escape that could further exhaust their limited staff.

"Developing corrective actions to the escape that load more work on already overtaxed staff can result in further failures," the company wrote. "Given the low staff levels correctional officers are often require to perform the policy requirements of multiple positions."

"TDCJ must ask 'Are these policy requirements impossible to achieve given the current staffing crisis,'" the group added. "In certain circumstances we found this to be the case, and it likely contributes to staff taking security shortcuts."

In response, Hernandez said the agency was reviewing its policies and procedures and auditing job responsibilities to reallocate non-security work to other staff.

This article was first published on The Texas Tribune.

Ted Kaczynski, the man known as the “Unabomber,” was found dead in his prison cell Saturday morning, according to a Bureau of Prisons spokesperson. Kaczynski was found dead around 8 a.m. at a federal prison in North Carolina. A cause of death was not immediately known.He was 81. Kaczynski was arrested in 1996 after building and mailing bombs for 17 years. He first came to the attention of law enforcement in 1978 when his first bomb exploded in Chicago at a university. His bombs were untraceable, according to the FBI, and were delivered to random targets. The bombs he created killed three Americans and injured nearly two dozen more, according to the FBI.He lived in the mountains of Montana in a cabin. When he was arrested, authorities found bomb components, 40,000 journal pages that talked about the bombs and one live bomb, which was ready to be mailed. He pleaded guilty in January 1998. He spent two decades in a federal Supermax prison in Colorado then was moved to the federal prison medical facility in North Carolina.

COLUMBIA, S.C. — Recruiting and retaining prison workers is a growing issue for the country. The Bureau of Labor Statistics predicts a 10% drop in prison staffing in the next 10 years.

One state is leading the way to help close the gap in the shortage of correction officers.

“We were in bad shape just like everyone else; it’s a national problem," said Bryan Stirling, the South Carolina Department of Corrections director. “The unique challenge corrections have is the environment they have to work in.”

There is a growing crisis in our correction facilities. The lack of correctional officers is hurting facilities all over the country, even on the federal level.

The Justice Department budgeted for nearly 21,000 full-time officers in 2020 but only had nearly 14,000 of those positions filled in 2021.

The Bureau of Labor Statistics predicts there will be about 33,000 officer openings on average each year for the next 10 years.

“If you don’t have the core function of safety, you can’t reach the basic needs these folks have without staff,” Stirling said. “So, we have to do things differently. So, what does that mean? More aggressive recruiting, more aggressive pay scale."

In South Carolina, the state is trying to fix staffing issues, because those who work here know this job is can be demanding. Each officer is responsible for the safety of the public, the inmates, and their fellow officers. Staffing shortages make this job that much harder. That is why South Carolina has taken several different approaches to try and fix this.

“It could be a tough job, but any job can be a tough job,” said Lt. Genice Cole, with retention at Broad River Institute in SCDC. “We have increased the training to feel more comfortable and feel more welcome. It was previously four weeks. With it being eight weeks, we give them the opportunity to be inside in the housing units with staff that are certified to give them a little more comfort.”

“I have been doing this for three months,” said Alex Hassam, a recruit for SCDC. “Honestly, training has been fantastic. Communication has been good. There’s a lot of people to walk you through things to help you gain confidence. You’re never truly alone and always having somebody who has your back that is very nearby.”

South Carolina recently increased pay for their officers. According to Stirling, an officer can make more than $50,000 in their first year. The BLS reported the pre-pandemic starting salary average was around $32,000 a year.

“We have more aggressive recruiting, and a more aggressive pay scale. We just had a historic pay raise here in South Carolina; other states are doing pay raises as well. Other departments that hire are union based, and you can be close to six figures starting off. We are up 150 officers this year just in six months due to the raises given through the legislature.”

South Carolina has also lowered the age minimum to be a correctional officer to 18, which Stirling said has helped fill vacancies.

“We’re going to pair them with experienced officers, with someone that’s older inside the prison. We’re not going to just put them in a dorm by themselves,” Stirling said.

This staffing shortage issue is expected to grow, but South Carolina hopes other states can learn from each other and implement the best tactic for their situation.

A Philadelphia man who served 37 years in prison was cleared on Thursday in a 1980 murder case that was tainted by perjured testimony and he promptly sued the city over his conviction.

Willie Stokes left prison this month after a federal judge overturned his conviction. At a court hearing Thursday, city prosecutors said they would not retry him.

Stokes' lawyers say that prosecutors at the time never disclosed they had charged his chief accuser with perjury after the trial. The 60-year-old Stokes says he is not bitter and is "just excited to move forward" with his life.

As the Philadelphia Inquirer reported, the Philadelphia District Attorney's Office said that prosecutors were aware of the lie that a witness told in a statement accusing Stokes of confessing to the crime. Philadelphia homicide detectives working on the case at the time are accused of threatening that witness and bribing them with sex and drugs, the paper reported.

Matthew Stiegler, a supervisor of the District Attorney’s federal litigation unit said, “After a thorough and independent review, the federal court determined that Mr. Stokes was the victim of an egregious violation of his constitutional rights, and we are convinced that the federal court’s ruling was correct.”

According to the Philadelphia Inquirer, Stokes was previously convicted in the 1980 fatal shooting of a man named Leslie Campbell, during a dice game in North Philadelphia.

District Attorney Larry Krasner said in a January statement, “This remarkable case is marked by prosecutorial and policing practices that were too pervasive during the so-called tough-on-crime 1980s and 1990s, and unfortunately persist in far too many jurisdictions today.”

Watch the video above for more on this story.

Murder charges were dismissed Thursday against a man who spent 15 years in prison for the fire-related deaths of five children in suburban Detroit, the climax of an investigation that found misconduct by police and prosecutors.

Juwan Deering will not face a second trial, Oakland County prosecutor Karen McDonald said. A judge granted her request to close the case a week after Deering's convictions and life sentences were thrown out at her urging.

Wearing a three-piece suit, Deering, 50, walked into court shackled at the waist but departed as a free man with no restraints.

“It’s been a hard uphill battle... The sun couldn't shine on not a brighter day. This is the brightest for me," Deering said moments later as family members clung to him on a cloudless morning and other Detroit-area men exonerated of crimes stood nearby.

Deering praised the new prosecutor for her “exceptional” work.

“I told her it took a lot of strength to step up against the status quo,” he said.

McDonald, a former judge who was elected in 2020, took a fresh look at Deering's case at the request of the University of Michigan law school's Innocence Clinic.

Favorable evidence, including statements by a fire survivor, was not shared with his defense lawyer before the 2006 trial, and jurors didn't know that jail informants were given significant benefits for their testimony against Deering, McDonald said.

Deering has insisted he was innocent in a fire that killed children in his neighborhood in Royal Oak Township in 2000. No one could identify him as being at the house. Authorities at the time said the fire was revenge for unpaid drug debts.

The prosecutor said a dozen law enforcement professionals last week unanimously determined there was insufficient evidence to tie Deering to the fire. The investigation between 2000 and 2006 was “totally compromised by misconduct,” McDonald said.

“There is only one ethical and constitutional remedy,” she said in dropping the case.

Law students earlier had been trying to get a new trial for Deering, arguing that the fire analysis was based on “junk science.” Those requests were unsuccessful in Michigan’s appellate courts.

McDonald said it's possible the fire was not an arson as Deering's legal team has long maintained. She said state police are investigating it again.

“Once there was a belief that it was intentionally set, it was solve it at all costs. There was an unchecked culture here,” said Imran Syed of the law school. “Cutting corners has enormous consequences.”

Deering could be eligible for more than $700,000 from the state, under a law that pays $50,000 for every year spent in prison if new evidence is cited in a wrongful conviction.

DENVER, Co. — While serving a 21-year sentence for robbery, Marchell Taylor Bey wanted to put those mistakes in the past.

“I was always agitated. I was always snappy, agitated, impulsive, but I didn't know what was wrong,” he said.

While in prison, he educated himself about business, found a business partner, and when he got out, they got to work. But he soon found himself back inside.

“Thirty-six days later, after doing 21 years of incarceration, I went and robbed a Papa John's pizza. My brain just shut down,” he said.

While he takes ownership of his actions, Taylor Bey learned about ongoing research from the University of Denver that suggests he was also a prisoner of his own mind.

“I didn't know I had a traumatic brain injury. I didn't even know I had mental health issues,” Taylor Bey admitted.

The CDC defines a traumatic brain injury, or TBI, as an injury that can affect how the brain works, caused by a blow to the head. The CDC recognizes it as a major cause of disability.

New findings by researchers estimate 50-80% of America’s prison population has had a TBI. Outside of prison, less than 9% of the general population has this injury.

The statistics are worse for incarcerated women, with the study finding 97% have had a TBI and half have had multiple.

The results of this groundbreaking research was shocking to the study’s author, Dr. Kim Gorgens of the University of Denver, who has been speaking out about this issue for the last few years.

Dr. Gorgens’ research has shown that TBIs can impact someone’s ability for self-regulation, judgment, reasoning, and problem-solving, and that, she says, can lead inmates to re-offend once they are out of jail.

Corey Shively met Taylor Bey in prison and is now his business partner at their company, AYBOS Marketing. Thanks to the study, they both discovered TBIs they suffered when they were younger have impacted their judgment and impulse control, and are now getting help for it.

“Trauma is the only thing that we let get to a stage four, you know before we start to treat it, and the treatment is prison,” said Shively.

Along with growing their marketing business, they’ve made it their mission to educate their communities about traumatic brain injuries. The two business partners have created a campaign called Rebuild Your Mind, with the intention of getting the word out about TBIs and mental illness to communities where they are not normally talked about.

“We should have better resources in our community to be able to deal with this trauma upfront. We shouldn't have to wait till Marchell is 47 and I'm 40 years old for us to get some therapy, for us to get back to a baseline state of safety,” he said.

They’ve taken their mission to the Colorado State Capitol, with the hopes of changing policy across the nation.

They helped create a new law that mandates neuropsychological exams for inmates once they get sentenced. If a mental illness or brain injury is detected, psychologists make two plans: one for prison staff to manage the inmate and the other for the inmate on how they can better themselves, all with the hope of reducing recidivism.

Taylor Bey hopes this is just the first step in helping people like himself recognize their own disability to make themselves, and everyone around them, safer.

“They return back to a baseline state of safety so people can operate effectively, and they don't have to suffer in silence,” he said.

SACRAMENTO, Calif. —

A prolific serial torture-slayer dubbed "The Dating Game Killer" died Saturday while awaiting execution in California, authorities said. Rodney James Alcala was 77.

He died of natural causes at a hospital in San Joaquin Valley, California, prison officials said in a statement.

Alcala was sentenced to death in 2010 for five slayings in California between 1977 and 1979, including that of a 12-year-old girl, though authorities estimate he may have killed up to 130 people across the country.

Alcala received an additional 25 years to life in 2013 after pleading guilty to two homicides in New York.

He was charged again in 2016 after DNA evidence connected him to the 1977 death of a 28-year-old woman whose remains were found in a remote area of southwest Wyoming. But a prosecutor said Alcala was too ill to face trial in the death of the woman, who was six months pregnant when she died.

California's death row is in San Quentin State Prison near San Francisco, but for years Alcala had been housed more than 200 miles away at a prison in Corcoran where he could receive medical care around the clock.

Prosecutors said Alcala stalked women like prey and took earrings as trophies from some of his victims.

"You're talking about a guy who is hunting through Southern California looking for people to kill because he enjoys it," Orange County, California, prosecutor Matt Murphy said during his trial.

Investigators say his true victim count may never be known.

Earrings helped put him on death row, though Gov. Gavin Newsom has imposed a moratorium on executions so long as he is governor.

The mother of 12-year-old Robin Samsoe testified at his murder trial that a pair of gold ball earrings found in a jewelry pouch in Alcala's storage locker belonged to her daughter.

But Alcala claimed that the earrings were his and that a video clip from his 1978 appearance on "The Dating Game" shows him wearing the studs nearly a year before Samsoe died. He denied the slayings and cited inconsistencies in witness accounts and descriptions.

California prosecutors said Alcala also took earrings from at least two of his adult victims as trophies.

Two of the four women were posed nude after their deaths, one was raped with a claw hammer and all were repeatedly strangled and resuscitated to prolong their agony, prosecutors said.

Investigators said one victim's DNA was found on a rose-shaped earring in Alcala's possession and his DNA was found in her body.

He had been sentenced to death twice before in Samsoe's murder, but both convictions were overturned. He was charged in the slayings of the four adult women more than two decades later based on new DNA and other forensic evidence.

After the verdict, authorities released more than 100 photos of young women and girls found in Alcala's possession in hopes of linking him to other unsolved murders around the country.

"There is murder and rape and then there is the unequivocal carnage of a Rodney Alcala-style murder," Bruce Barcomb, the brother of 18-year-old victim Jill Barcomb, said as Alcala was sentenced to death.

As the delta variant surges across the country, the Department of Health and Human Services on Thursday announced it is investing $1.6 billion in an effort to boost COVID-19 testing and mitigation efforts in facilities that are at risk of outbreaks.

In a press release Thursday, the HHS said the funding — allocated to the agency in the latest round of COVID-19 stimulus — will fight the virus in areas with high-risk populations prone to outbreaks, including prisons, homeless shelters, and treatment and recovery facilities and domestic violence shelters.

"As we continue the vaccination program to get more Americans protected, it is important that we double down on our efforts to increase testing especially in vulnerable communities," HHS Secretary Xavier Becerra said in a statement. "Thanks to the American Rescue Plan, we can make sure high-risk environments like correctional facilities and shelters for those experiencing homelessness have greater capacity for testing to prevent potential outbreaks and continue our nation's progress in moving out of the pandemic."

According to the press release, the funding will be used to increase testing abilities, hire contact traces, purchase personal protective equipment and continue vaccinations among populations in such facilities.

HHS's announcement comes as the delta variant surges across the country. According to the CDC, the highly transmissible strain of COVID-19 currently accounts for 83% of cases throughout the country, and cases of the virus have ticked up for the first time in several months.

According to the CDC and top health officials in the White House, Americans who are vaccinated have significant protection from the delta variant and should feel comfortable going without masks and social distancing unless their local health department says otherwise.

However, to Americans who have not yet been fully vaccinated against COVID-19, the CDC says the delta variant poses a significant risk. Experts say the delta variant is 50% more transmissible than the beta variant, which was first detected in the U.K. in late 2020.

Health experts fear that as the delta variant continues to spread, communities in which vaccination rates are low may see a surge in hospitalizations and deaths linked to the virus.

A Utah man promised investors his business could turn dirt into gold and swindled millions of dollars from them over several years, according to federal officials. Now, he has been sentenced to prison for his role in an $8 million telemarketing fraud scheme. Marc Tager, 55, is the latest defendant to be sentenced in the scam that started in 2014, according to the Department of Justice. On April 14, he was sentenced to 43 months in federal prison for conspiracy to commit wire and mail fraud, money laundering and possession of a firearm by a convicted felon.Tager, from Sandy, Utah, was one of four men charged in connection with the scheme that scammed 140 people, most older than 65, according to a news release from the DOJ. Jonathon Shoucair, 69; Matthew Mangum, 51; and Kenneth Gross, 75, were sentenced last year.Officials say Tager, Shoucair and Mangum were the leaders of the scam and they told investors they had a revolutionary process developed by Mangum that could extract gold from dirt. Related video: Keep The Identity Thieves Away With These Simple Tips"Investors were told that the defendants controlled this proprietary, breakthrough, nanotechnology that used environmentally friendly means to recover microscopic particles of gold from dirt," reads the news release.Gross, from Porter Ranch, California, would cold-call potential investors, according to the DOJ, and then pass along interested parties to Tager and Shoucair, who would obtain funds from the victims."What investors did not know was that Tager and Shoucair first met while serving multi-year federal prison sentences together for previous fraud related convictions," reads the release. In 2005, Tager was serving a two-year sentence for mail fraud when he met Shoucair, who was serving a five-year prison sentence for running a $50 million telemarketing fraud, according to officials.Victims of the new scheme were told the money they invested would be used to pay for space, equipment and material to develop Mangum's supposed breakthrough process, according to the DOJ, and that once it was developed it would generate huge returns for investors. Instead, Tager, Shoucair and Mangum formed a consulting business and made "fraudulent statements to investors to secure funding that was only partially used to support the business, which was never profitable."To make their scheme seem legit, the trio created a website for the business, according to the DOJ, that said it owned an 80-acre mining claim with a substantial amount of mineral-rich ore and that their revolutionary mining technology could achieve 20 times the yield of traditional mining at a fraction of the cost. It also promised that "investors would achieve 100% percent returns on their money in 12 months."In total, $8 million was raised from investors through the use of a national telemarketing strategy, according to the DOJ. Officials estimated that only $3 million of the funds was used to pay for potentially legitimate business expenses."However, three million dollars of investors' money was spent for the personal benefit of Tager, Mangum, and Shoucair, with another two million dollars of the funds going to pay telemarketers, including Gross, who helped raise the funds," reads the release.The Utah US Attorney's Office prosecuted the case. The investigation was a collaboration by the Utah Department of Commerce Division of Securities, FBI and IRS.Shoucair, from North Hills, California, was sentenced last October to 72 months in federal prison for conspiracy to commit wire and mail fraud and money laundering.Mangum, from South Jordan, Utah, was sentenced in November to 48 months in federal prison for conspiracy to commit wire fraud and money laundering.

After spending years behind bars, the pandemic has allowed thousands of prisoners to reunite with their loved ones in home confinement. But is it short-lived?

Many inmates who were released claim they’ve built new lives and are contributing to society, as they wait for a decision from the government.

One of those anxiously waiting for a decision is Jeffrey Wingate, who has learned never to take anything for granted--not his family, and certainly not his freedom. For 20 years, he did everything with Jan, the love of his life. Jan was there to help him battle and beat two rounds of cancer.

But there was a secret Wingate held onto, up until it was too late. He admits he was using more pills than was prescribed to him.

“I was taking 30 oxycodone pills a day to alleviate the pain of rheumatoid arthritis. The pain was so unbearable I probably would have committed suicide,” he recalled.

Wingate wanted more than his doctor prescribed, so he started buying them illegally and selling them to friends until the feds caught on. After a week behind bars, he saw Jan for the first time.

“To look through that window and tell her that everything she heard was true was pretty tough,” Wingate said.

For six years, Wingate sat behind bars. He got treatment for his rheumatoid arthritis, and he overcame the drug dependency.

That wasn’t all. Wingate also earned three degrees. Those degrees were all aimed at one goal: to help those behind bars that seemed to have lost all hope.

“Until you see the face of someone with no hope in prison, you have never seen happiness. It’s unbelievable,” he said. “I had the chance to help more than one. I live for it.”

Wingate was still locked up in March 2020 when the COVID-19 pandemic broke out in the United States. That’s when his freedom, of sorts, came earlier than he expected. The Attorney General of the United States told the federal prison system to give low-risk inmates at-home detention, tying it to the CARES Act.

Since his home release last year, Wingate has begun to re-establish the time he lost with his family. He has taken back his “dad chores” around the house, fixing things and mowing lawns. He has also taken a part-time job at a law firm as a researcher.

But all that might change. In January of this year, former Attorney General William Barr issued a memo saying the Federal Bureau of Prisons should recall 7,000 prisoners, including Wingate. The final decision could be made later this year by the board of prisons.

“To send them back, I don’t know how we could do anything crueler,” said Kevin Ring, president of FAMM, a Washington D.C.-based organization that advocates for the rights of prisoners and their families. “It certainly won’t make us safer; it will cost us more money and it will really hurt families.”

Statistics from 2017 show a prisoner in confinement costs the government nearly $35,000 a year compared to the nearly $4,500 when in home confinement.

According to Ring, these people are not entirely free. He says they would certainly rather be in home confinement than prison, but they all have ankle monitors on. Every move they make is tracked and so there is still deprivation of their liberty. He says they’re allowed to go to work, but they must submit schedules ahead of time and they must get drug tested.

Victim advocate groups believe home release under the CARES Act saved thousands of lives.

Some of the biggest proponents keeping certain inmates at home are the exact same people that put them behind bars.

“This is setting aside how we felt as a government official. We had people in our care that we had to ensure survived. They are criminals, but they are people. I would tell my prosecutors all the time you cannot take the humanity out of what we do,” said Justin Herdman, a former US attorney for the northern district of Ohio.

Wingate agrees.

“Sending people back to prison that are making their transition--there are duties that we’ve picked up, contributing to house. Take us back out of the loop, it’s almost pure evil.”

But it’s something Wingate is ready to face.

Wingate’s fate will come down to how current Attorney General Merrick Garland feels or if President Biden or Congress steps in.

FAMM sent out a plea to Garland and President Biden. US Sen. Dick Durbin, an Illinois Democrat, also sent a letter to Garland, siding with people like Wingate.

So, for now, thousands of prisoners and their families are forced to just sit and wait.

We asked for interviews with the representative and senators who represent the area where Wingate lives: Congressman Andy Barr and Senators Mitch McConnell and Rand Paul.

None of them returned our request for comment.