Dec. 3, 2007, 11:58PM
Early release, deportation of inmate draw criticism
Victims advocate says man convicted in girl's death got a sweetheart deal
By SUSAN CARROLL

It's been 16 years since a bullet tore through the wall of Valerie Vargas' home during her 13th birthday party.

The bullet passed over the heads of the two boys playing Monopoly, ricocheted off a bookcase and hit 12-year-old Jennifer Sue Mroz in the heart. The blue-eyed honors student dropped to the floor as a car sped away from the southwest Houston home.

Ever since that Saturday night, Nov. 16, 1991, Jean Friedell, Jennifer's mother, has been waiting for justice. In 1993, after a jury trial, she had the satisfaction of watching the driver in the drive-by shooting, Eduardo Washington Blondett, sentenced to 70 years in prison.

At the time, she was happy with the message sent by the long sentence. Now, she's not so sure.

She recently learned that Blondett, a legal permanent resident, had been released by Texas prison officials in January after his first parole hearing, and then deported to his native Ecuador. Green card holders who commit serious crimes, such as murder, are subject to deportation.

"It's disappointing," Friedell said. "I thought he would do at least half his sentence."

The case is drawing criticism from Andy Kahan, the city of Houston's crime victims advocate, who has scheduled a news conference at 10 a.m. today at the Crime Stoppers of Houston office to discuss the case.


Another still at large
Derek Mroz was just 13, a year older than his sister, when she was killed.

A few months ago, he e-mailed Kahan, asking what became of his sister's case. Kahan checked around and confirmed that the suspected shooter, Guido Osorio, was still a fugitive.

Osorio, who was 16 at the time of the shooting, was arrested in January 1992 and charged with Jennifer's murder. But before trial, Osorio, a native of Colombia, was released on bond and disappeared. Despite the lack of news on Osorio, Kahan figured Blondett would still be in custody, since he was sentenced to 70 years. Convicted murderers almost never get parole when they're first eligible, he said.

But, just in case, Kahan checked with the Texas Department of Criminal Justice and found Blondett was no longer in state custody. A spokesman for TDCJ, Jason Clark, confirmed Blondett's parole in November 2006 and his transfer to immigration officials on Jan. 22. There were no minutes of the parole board meeting available, officials said.

Immigration and Customs Enforcement spokeswoman Leticia Zamarripa said Blondett was deported in March.


A sweetheart deal
Kahan called it a sweetheart deal, since inmates like Blondett don't have to complete parole after deportation.

Rissie Owens, the chairwoman of the Texas Board of Pardons and Paroles, said inmates eligible for parole and deportation are treated no differently than other inmates.

"We review people for parole based on public safety, whether it's on our streets or someone else's streets," Owens said. She said she couldn't comment on the Blondett case.

As of March 2006, Texas had 923 inmates who claimed Mexican citizenship incarcerated for homicide, according to a Senate Criminal Justice Committee report prepared for the Legislature. Of those, more than a third — 371 — were eligible for parole and deportation. About 580 of the more than 1,400 inmates claiming Mexican citizenship and incarcerated in Texas for sexual assault were eligible for parole and deportation, according to the report.

According to Board of Pardons and Paroles records, board member Jackie DeNoyelles and Commissioner James Paul Kiel, both based in the Palestine parole office, granted Blondett's parole on the condition that he be turned over to immigration officials. DeNoyelles and Kiel could not be reached for comment on Monday.


Tempered grief
Sixteen years after Jennifer's death, her mother's grief has tempered. She prefers the happy memories of Jennifer dancing. She laughed remembering the time in the car they sang the Wilson Phillips song Hold On at the top of their lungs.

Then, moments later, Friedell was in tears, remembering the night of the shooting. Police called her to the emergency room of Ben Taub General Hospital, but wouldn't say what happened to Jennifer, her only daughter.

Then Friedell saw the hospital chaplain coming toward her, and she knew.
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