STRUGGLES AWAIT 15 MEN FREED IN TAINTED MANSFIELD DRUG CASE

Mansfield- They returned to the city where they were betrayed, feeling
bitter and filled with hatred for the man who put them in prison.

In the past 10 days, a group of men have left prisons across the
country and headed back to Mansfield.

They were convicted in a massive drug conspiracy that collapsed Jan.
25 when a federal judge dismissed 15 cases.

Each spent 2 1/2 years behind bars because of an informant's pyramid
of lies. They call the time in prison "wasted years." As they struggle
to mend their lives, their elation at being released is slowly giving
way to the fear that they are marked men, easy targets for police who
want to send them back.

Federal prosecutors who worked to convict them were forced to ask for
their release. The prosecutors said the informant, Jerrell Bray, who
worked closely with DEA agent Lee Lucas, lied so much that they had no
choice but to drop the cases against the men - most of whom had
pleaded guilty.

In all, charges against 23 of 26 people were thrown
out.

The U.S. Justice Department is investigating how the case could have
gone so wrong. A federal grand jury has begun hearing testimony.

Living with anger, frustration

Back home in Mansfield last week, some of the men squirmed upon
hearing Bray's name. They said they had considered him annoying before
they were arrested because he pestered them about buying drugs.

The men said they have grown to hate Bray for lying about them during
the investigation.

"There was no transaction with me and Bray," yelped Charles Mathews,
24, who was sentenced to more than five years in prison.

"Nothing. I didn't like him from the first time I saw
him.

"Being in prison for something that I didn't do ate away at
me."

Some jok ingly called Bray "police" before the ar rests because they
believed that he was a snitch. Who else would spend so much time
annoying people and hanging around in places where he wasn't wanted?

Bray was so offended that he got into fights over being called a rat,
but he kept hanging around.

"If there's one regret, it's the people I associated with," said Jerry
Moton, referring to Bray. "I learned my lesson."

Moton, 30, was sentenced to three years in prison. He pleaded guilty
to drug charges because he feared spending decades in prison if he
went to trial and lost.

Dwayne Nabors watched Bray sidle up to his car-detailing business,
Platinum Status, on Park Avenue West and spend hours talking about
buying and selling cars.

Nabors' bitterness goes beyond Bray and to the government that used
him to get convictions.

He remembers seeing investigators park in a nearby car dealership to
watch his shop, and he wants answers as to why he was set up.

"I used to say, 'Let them watch. There's nothing here,' " Nabors, 35,
said last week in an interview near the parking lot of his old business.

It was Nabors' first visit since he was arrested. He looked at the
shell of the building that once handled business from car dealers
across the city, and he groaned.

Defense attorneys said the DEA and Mansfield authorities targeted the
men because they drove expensive cars with booming stereos and
expensive custom rims. The men's families said police needed Bray to
get inside the group, and they sent him to Nabors.

"This is how they implicated me," he said. "This business is what
started it."

Many times, Bray used "stand-ins" - friends who delivered Bray's
cocaine to a meeting with Lucas, the DEA agent. The stand-ins would
sell the drugs to Lucas, and Bray would later identify the stand-ins
as other people, court records show.

Robert Harris was one of Bray's stand-ins. He unwittingly met with
Lucas and Bray at a home in Mansfield in October 2005 and counted
money Bray handed him from a drug sale. Instead of accusing Harris of
being part of the deal, Bray said Danny Brown sold the cocaine. Brown
was acquitted at trial.

Later, Bray turned on Harris, who was charged with dealing drugs,
pleaded guilty and was sentenced to five years in prison.

"I have to start all over now," Harris said.

But where?

Trying to find their footing again

Few of the men said they want to make their roots in Mansfield. Some
worry about finding good jobs to support their children. All of them
fear being arrested again.

Many want to leave. Nabors is looking at possibilities in Columbus or
Atlanta.

Moton was working for American Express in Columbus before his arrest,
and he said he would love to return but fears the time in prison, even
unjustly, tarnishes his resume.

"They have to leave," said Moton's father, Jerry Sr.

"Mansfield is too small of a town. The police want to send them
back."

Within hours of being released from prison, Nolan Lovett received a
painful welcome home by an officer who wanted to know what the
22-year-old was doing standing in front of a friend's house.

"What's up, Nolan?" the officer smirked.

Lovett was stunned: "I'm out less than a day, and my name is already
on the police scanner."

Last week, Lovett refused to leave his mother's car before he covered
his head with a large hooded sweatshirt. His eyes shift constantly.

Mansfield Mayor Donald Culliver, Police Chief Philip Messer and
Richland County Sheriff J. Steve Sheldon did not return repeated
messages left at their offices last week.

Lovett, Mathews and Harris - the youngest men shipped to prison - are
struggling. Lovett and Mathews wrote to each other in prison about
their case. Lovett, 22, said they would be released soon; Mathews, 24,
said it was impossible.

Today, they depend on their parents - for rides, for clothes, for
spending money.

"They're so far behind the ball that they don't even know what they're
facing," said Danielle Carter, Lovett's mother. "They were charged
with federal drug conspiracy. You can't make that go away real fast."