SAN DIEGO, CA -- What remained of inmate James Leonard Acuna's troubled life was delivered to his family in a box months after his decomposed body was found hidden in a cell at the Richard J. Donovan Correctional Facility in Otay Mesa on April 24, 2017.

Sorting through the items merely added to the grief already experienced by Acuna's niece, Jacqueline Carbajal, 48, of Covina, who was unaware of her uncle's death until the inmate's brother discovered online news reports and informed family members -- months after the 58-year-old prisoner's remains were unceremoniously cremated and his ashes scattered at sea.

The contents, a few personal belongings, provided some insight into Acuna's existence behind bars: blood-stained shorts, dentures, schoolwork from classes for inmates and a nine-page personal journal detailing his activities over Easter weekend, just days before he is believed to have died.

"We were all devastated," Carbajal told Patch. "We didn't know he was in prison. We had been looking for him for a long time. Sometimes it feels like we just found out a couple of days ago."

Carbajal's quest for information and what little she was able to obtain was a "shocking" experience, she said, leaving Acuna's relatives with more questions than answers.

Now that the family has come to grips with Acuna's death they want answers from the California Department of Corrections and Rehabilitation (CDCR).

"What happened to him? Who did this? Why did they do this, and why did they falsify records and leave him to rot?" asked Carbajal. She said the family has been given the runaround in their quest for the truth.

"I think somebody hurt him," said Carbajal, who recalled her uncle as being a "very strong person who took very good care of himself."

Circumstances surrounding Acuna's death – believed to have occurred on April 21 or April 22, 2017 – are, at the very least, suspicious and shrouded in mystery nearly 18 months later.

Acuna's body was discovered April 24 hidden under a blanket on his bed. Prison officials were alerted to the death by complaints of an odor they initially believed was created by a sewage problem. A day after Acuna was last seen alive, another inmate attempted to enter his cell, but was told by his cellmate that Acuna had the flu. Later, the cellmate also attempted to block correctional officers from checking on Acuna's welfare.

Prison officials have provided no public explanation for their failure to immediately discover Acuna's death despite required inmate headcounts. They haven't explained why medical personnel, who were supposed to dispense Acuna's daily medications, failed to notice he didn't appear at the "pill window" where inmates receive their medicine, or why Acuna's prison medication records were later falsified -- information revealed to Patch by sources within CDCR.

A review of the incident by the state's Office of Inspector General (OIG), the independent watchdog agency that monitors the corrections department, noted that CDCR's Office of Internal Affairs (OIA) opened an investigation into allegations of misconduct against eight correctional officers, two licensed psychiatric technicians and one teacher in connection with Acuna's death. The OIA "refused to investigate" related alleged misconduct by four additional officers and three other psychiatric technicians "even though the allegations are supported by evidence."

Shaun Spillane, an OIG spokesman, told Patch that after its findings were published in August 2017 CDCR expanded its probe to include the seven other individuals it initially refused to investigate. That investigation is now complete but the OIG said details can't be released because the case is currently wending its way through the disciplinary and appeals process, a cumbersome procedure hidden from public view that can take months, if not years, to resolve.

"We see no reason to believe there were any attempts to cover up anything," Spillane said, and "we are still available to review any and all reports upon request."

So far, CDCR said disciplinary action has been taken against seven employees involved in the incident, but it is unknown whether additional employees will be punished as the result of the re-opened OIA investigation. Jeffrey Callison, a spokesperson for CDCR, declined to say what kind of discipline the seven employees received citing personnel matters.

Post Mortem Uncertainty

A photo of James Acuna in the 1980s. Photo courtesy of Jacqueline Carbajal

The San Diego County Medical Examiner's Office ruled the cause of death "undetermined" because decomposition was so advanced. The pathologist performing the autopsy concluded while it was possible Acuna died of natural causes "homicidal violence cannot be completely excluded," indicating the body showed "signs of minor blunt force injury of head and extremities."



Acuna's autopsy report indicated he suffered from chronic hepatitis C and had a history of schizoaffective disorder. He was last seen by prison medical staff on April 20 for complaints of back and wrist pain. The post mortem also revealed an old stab wound to his left chest and a gunshot wound to the neck.

An inspection of Acuna's prison medical records showed that he had been involved in a fight with another inmate on April 11 during which the two prisoners punched each other several times in the face and body. Guards ended the fight by using pepper spray on both inmates and striking Acuna's opponent with a baton.

But one paragraph in the autopsy report raises troubling questions.

According to the report, "subsequent investigation revealed [Acuna's] cellmate was incarcerated for the death of his father who was found decomposed under a mattress in his home. During an interview with a mental health care professional in the correctional facility, the cellmate stated he had murdered his former cellmate to get a cell to himself when he was incarcerated in Kern County."

The Medical Examiner's Office told Patch the subsequent investigation referenced in the autopsy report entailed interviews with homicide investigators from the San Diego County Sheriff's Department and CDCR investigators who attended the autopsy. Also present at the post mortem were forensic technicians and a representative of the OIG.

Both CDCR and the Sheriff's Department have refused Patch's requests to release their investigation reports. Lt. Rich Williams with the Sheriff's Department's Homicide Unit declined to say how extensive the agency's investigation was or whether investigators were told the cellmate claimed he had killed another inmate in Kern County.

CDCR officials also refused to provide the cellmate's name, citing state laws dealing with inmate privacy. However, Patch was independently able to confirm the cellmate's identity.

"The question is whether there's information that would reasonably lead CDCR to believe it's a homicide," said Don Specter, executive director of the Prison Law Office in Berkeley, which advocates for prisoners.

"If the cellmate did kill him, is there a question whether CDCR should've known the cellmate was dangerous and Mr. Acuna was in danger? That's difficult to answer without knowing the details," Specter said. "He's a person. If he died because the state didn't fulfill its obligation to keep him safe, that's a big problem. Going to prison wasn't supposed to be a death sentence but it appears it was for Mr. Acuna."

Sara Leslie, with the advocacy group California Prison Focus, said she wasn't surprised by the failure of officials to notify Acuna's family.

"Once someone enters the system, they are at the mercy of CDCR," Leslie said. "The reality of how we treat these people is very serious."

Cellmate's Violent Past

Matthew Roberts booking photo. Photo courtesy of CDCR

Only one person may know what actually happened when Acuna returned to his cell after playing soccer with fellow inmates on the sweltering afternoon of April 21, 2017 – Matthew Jeremy Roberts, his 38-year-old cellmate. Roberts was doing time for killing his father and hiding the body, according to sources within CDCR.



It's unclear how closely investigators scrutinized Roberts' actions between the time Acuna returned to his cell and the time his body was discovered. To what extent investigators considered or tried to confirm the truthfulness of Roberts' claim to have killed a previous cellmate is also unknown.

Jeffrey Callison, a CDCR spokesman, said Roberts "has no significant documented disciplinary issues" on his record and that an autopsy of his former cellmate in Kern County determined he died from heart failure.

Sheriff's Lt. Michael Blevins told Patch last April that shortly after his office was notified of Acuna's death, investigators interviewed several prison officials and inmates, including Roberts, who didn't make "much of a response at all."

Following Acuna's death, Roberts was transferred to Salinas Valley State, near the scene of his original crime.

Callison said transfers of this kind are common within the state prison system because of the need to house inmates in the appropriate institution based on individual case factors.

Roberts did not respond to Patch's request for an interview, while Callison said the agency "is legally prohibited from arranging interviews with specified inmates."

Whether Roberts was telling the truth about a previous inmate killing or not – and CDCR statements seem to indicate he was not -- the circumstances surrounding Acuna's death have eerie similarities to the crime that landed Roberts in a cell with Acuna.

A Green Bedsheet And Yellow Rope

A photo of the travel trailer where Salinas officers found the body of Jerry Roberts. Photo courtesy of Monterey County District Attorney's Office

Roberts was charged with murder and elder abuse for killing his father, retired correctional officer Jerry Roberts, within days of his 70th birthday in February 2015.



Salinas police officers were conducting a welfare check on the night of Feb. 16 when they discovered the elder Roberts' body wrapped in a green Ralph Lauren bedsheet tied with yellow rope and hidden under the mattress in a travel trailer parked in front of his home, according to court testimony.

Officers had been met at the front door by Roberts, who told them his father was out for a walk. However, police were drawn to the trailer when one detective said "something smelled bad as if there was possibly a deceased body inside." A subsequent search uncovered the father's concealed body.

The advanced state of decomposition made it impossible to determine the date of death, but the pathologist conducting the autopsy estimated the elder Roberts had been dead for three to 10 days. Investigators ultimately concluded the father had been dead for at least five days and may have been killed prior to his birthday.

Jerry Roberts' daughter, only identified by her first name Jennifer, told detectives she'd gone to her father's house twice on Feb. 16 once at noon and once around 4 p.m. On her first visit, she said her brother told her their father was "out for a walk." When she returned four hours later Roberts told her he was "still on a walk."

Further police investigation revealed Roberts had disposed of material from the home, lunched with his mother and withdrawn $720 from his father's bank account during the time his father was believed to be lying dead in the trailer.

In May 2016 Roberts pleaded no contest to a reduced charge of voluntary manslaughter and was sentenced to 22 years in prison as a three strikes offender.

One of those strikes came a decade earlier when Roberts was convicted of attempted murder and assault with a firearm and received a six-year prison sentence for shooting his stepfather Larry Bryant, a retired Monterey County sheriff's detective, in the head. Bryant survived and later requested leniency for his stepson, who reportedly suffered from paranoid schizophrenia.

Repeated attempts by Patch to contact Bryant and his wife Linda for comment were unsuccessful.

But sources familiar with Roberts' background, who asked to remain anonymous for fear of retribution, said Roberts had a long history of violence before finding himself behind bars.

Belated Grief, Confusion

A photo of James Acuna in the 1980s. Photo courtesy of Jacqueline Carbajal

While Acuna's family doesn't know much about his cellmate, they do have fond memories of a relative who led an unremarkable life punctuated by frequent brushes with the law culminating in a 16-year sentence for assault with a deadly weapon.



Born in Salinas, Acuna moved with his family to Los Angeles as a child. A high school dropout, he was raised by his sister, Carbajal's mother, after the death of his parents and worked in construction while living at various times in the gritty sections of downtown Los Angeles and nearby Glendale.

Carbajal, who considered Acuna more of a brother than an uncle while they were growing up together, portrayed Acuna as a "great person, hard worker, very active, very giving" and a man who "lived to spend money."

Family members were aware of Acuna's first incarceration in 1984 for robbery but lost touch with him about 18 years ago. Carbajal said a few times she drove around downtown LA looking for him without success.

That may have been because, unknown to relatives, Acuna was serving an eight-year sentence for a residential burglary committed in 1999. Between prison sentences, Acuna also spent time in and out of the Los Angeles County Jail on misdemeanor charges including vandalism and drunk driving. At the time of his death Acuna was serving his third state prison sentence.

"We didn't know he was in prison," Carbajal said. "We'd been looking for him for a long time. We were just shocked to know he was in prison."

But learning Acuna had died behind bars through the news media months after his death because of the failure of prison authorities to notify the family was even more traumatic, Carbajal said. It only got worse after she was forced to navigate the labyrinth of bureaucratic obfuscation.

Carbajal said she contacted the Medical Examiner's Office, the prison and even the Sheriff's Department to try to track down Acuna's body and determine why the family hadn't been notified despite the fact prison records contained the names of relatives, including her mother who'd lived at the same address in the Los Angeles area for more than 40 years.

Instead, Carbajal said, "they took it upon themselves to be next-of-kin" and a prison employee made the decision on disposing of Acuna's remains, "when there was family just around the corner."

"We could have put him to rest," Carbajal said. "After everything we've gone through, that would have given us closure."

Carbajal's journey through the bureaucracy ended at the prison gate with Lt. Gabriel Hernandez. According to Carbajal, in 10 separate conversations, he told her Acuna's file did contain a list of immediate family members - his parents, Carbajal's mother, his two brothers and "a wife we didn't know about."

"He was not very nice, very sarcastic," Carbajal recalled. "He tried to blame the Sheriff's Department. Then he told me there's a person at Donovan who handles all the deaths. I was dealing with somebody who knew more than what he was telling me."

Acuna's death certificate indicated family members were "unknown" and the county Medical Examiner's Office told Patch that it had gone to great extent to contact family members, although it refused to identify the relatives it tried to contact, citing "privacy considerations."

Alex Bell, a spokeswoman for the Medical Examiner's Office, told Patch in an email statement the office has a standard procedure to locate and notify the next-of-kin that involves attempting to identify to identify relatives through CDCR, searching databases, contacting the Social Security Administration, and using a genealogy search to locate possible relatives.

"Many of the attempts to contact the decedent's family went unanswered," Bell said. "CDCR was listed as next-of-kin after efforts to identify and get a response from possible family members were unsuccessful."

CDCR spokesman Callison said prison staff "worked diligently to locate and notify his next of kin but to no avail," and after those efforts were exhausted CDCR made arrangements with the medical examiner for the unclaimed body.

"Approximately four months later Acuna family members contacted CDCR and communication was enabled," said Callison.

There's been at least one documented case where prison officials failed to notify relatives after an inmate died. The family of Joseph Damien Duran settled a $750,000 lawsuit with state and Amador County officials in 2016 after they allegedly failed to notify the family of Duran's death before scattering his ashes at sea.

Only one disciplinary action was taken in connection with Duran's death: A CDCR employee was fired for leaking information to a Sacramento Bee reporter who covered the case extensively.

Memories In A Box

The cover of a nine-page journal by James Acuna provided to his family after his death. Journal provided by Jacqueline Carbajal

In the end, Acuna's family had just the small box of personal items to help them piece together his life behind bars on what became his last trip to prison.



Besides "raggedy old shorts with blood on them," a picture of his mugshot and a few personal hygiene items, there were three folders containing box schoolwork from math, language arts and other GED classes Acuna was attending. Inside were certificates of participation in a stress management group; a multiplication competition award and four "Striving to Achieve" awards.

"It looks like he was trying to get himself out of there by showing what he can do," Carbajal said. "Unfortunately, he didn't have the life everyone else did. He had a harder life, and it led him down a road where he didn't make right choices, and he learned the hard way."

There was also a nine-page handwritten journal - replete with misspellings - that provided a peek into what was mostly a mundane life behind bars over Easter weekend a few days before he died.

Acuna detailed what he ate for Easter dinner, his thoughts on Catholicism, experiences going to church as a boy and soccer playing in the prison yard. Acuna also expressed his love of chess and the trouble he had finding others to play the game with him besides a friend who'd arrived at the prison on the same bus. His cellmate was barely mentioned.

What Acuna did chronicle in some detail was his interaction with correctional officers, although it is not known if his entry was in reference to the fight several days before he died.

"The C.O.s hate me because I'm tuffer (sic) than them. Because of the way they hit me with there (sic) butons (sic) on the day I got into a fight…," Acuna wrote in his scrawling cursive. "I won that fight. They spread two cans of pepper spray. But I didn't stop fighting till they hit me with there (sic) buton (sic). That f*** me up more than the whole fight."

Acuna's last entry, which appears to be the morning after Easter, recounts breakfast with Roberts: "We just got back from chow. We had honey buns. They were like a glasd (sic) donut. I gave one to my cellie and sold the other one. Right now I'm waiting for my eficers (sic) and then go to school."

Five days later Acuna was dead.

"The abuse and the neglect he went through is just hard to believe... just leaving him," Carbajal said. "They literally left him there to rot."

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Special Correspondent Bob Porterfield contributed to this story. This story follows up on an April 2018 report by Patch.

Photo composite via Shutterstock and CDCR booking photo of James Acuna

