When Horace Roberts Jr. was freed after 20 years in prison following his conviction for the murder of a Jurupa Valley woman he did not commit, he emerged into a changed world.

Among the innovations occurring while Roberts was behind bars from 1998 to 2018 was the improvement of DNA technology that allows investigators to identify criminal suspects more precisely and from smaller sample sizes.

That technology sprung Roberts from his “lion’s den” and pointed authorities to three men who were convicted of killing Terry Cheek, Roberts’ former mistress, and who are scheduled to be imprisoned in January. Roberts testified against the men who not only let Roberts take the fall for the crime but also framed him. 

“I was relieved,” Roberts, 66, said in a recent interview about his post-prison life from his home in South Carolina. “I was just glad that they were found guilty of what they did.”

While Roberts now says “I feel good about where I am” and an $11 million payout in 2021 from Riverside County to settle his wrongful-incarceration lawsuit has eased the transition, the return to a society that had moved on without him was initially difficult.

Roberts would wake up at night and wonder whether he was still sleeping in a cell.

“When I was in prison you had to think one way, and that was always survival. I had to put on this brave face and just stand my ground. When I got out, it’s different. It’s kind of hard to let my guard down and show that fear,” he said.

“Getting around by myself, I was scared,” Roberts said. “Scared to move around; I didn’t know how to react to that. I had not been just locked up but locked in. I had to learn how to go about and do things, shop, and not only that but interact with people on the outside.”

Horace Roberts Jr., second from right, poses with, from left, son Brandon, a grandson, daughter Candace, wife Debra and daughter Franchet in 2018 after serving 20 years in prison for a murder he did not commit. Roberts had not seen his children since they were minors. (Michael Semanchik, Executive Director of The Innocence Center, and Alissa Bjerkhoel)

Michael Semanchik, who as an attorney for the California Innocence Project took up Roberts’ case and who now leads The Innocence Center, has seen others struggle to adapt after long prison stays.

“It’s pretty common when people come home that they don’t like to be in big crowds, they keep their backs to the walls,” Semanchik said. “It’s an ingrained prison mentality that takes years to get past. Choices are so severely limited in prison. Horace could go to the commissary but there are like two types of toothpaste, and clients go into CVS and see 50 types of toothpaste, and that is overwhelming.”

But Roberts was quickly able to surround himself with family members who he said “100%” believed he was innocent.

Because his wife, Debra, moved east across the country with the 7-year-old twins and a 17-year-old stepdaughter to be closer to family, Roberts never saw his children during his incarceration in several California prisons.

So it was an emotional moment when Roberts reunited with his children — now all grown up — at an airport. And yes, Debra waited for him.

“It was pure joy. Tears of joy,” Roberts said. “It was like we had never left each other because we were able to communicate with them. I just wanted to be able to see them. I wouldn’t have traded that moment for the world.”

Roberts acknowledged that he had some catching up to do in other areas.

There was the creation in 2007 of a device that flummoxed Roberts, a computer that fits in your pocket with all sorts of gizmos embedded in it that can even make and receive phone calls.

The iWhat?

“A lot about these cell phones have changed,” Roberts said. I don’t know how to do anything other than (call and) answer, and I do a little texting. That technology, I’m 20 years behind it.”

History also changed as Roberts watched from his cell block.

Barack Obama, the first Black president, served two terms.

“It was a proud moment for me, but also the Black race,” Roberts said. “Who would have thought we would have lived to see a Black president?”

Donald Trump, who starred in the reality show “The Apprentice” while Roberts was imprisoned, had a new job — president of the United States — at the time Roberts was freed.

Roberts lamented that he returned to a less-respectful and more angry society.

Twice when he worked as a garbageman following his release, Roberts said, teens pulled guns on him over minor disputes.

“Old fool, get out of the way,” one said, according to Roberts.

“Things are too fast out there for these young people,” Roberts said. “They are too quick to react and not think. … I never knew teenagers were like they are now. They would rather pick up a gun than put up two fists. It’s hard for me to relate to that.”

As for that new DNA technology, Roberts is grateful that his attorney seized upon it to help him win his freedom.

“Without Mike Semanchik and his (California) Innocence Project, I’d probably most likely still be in jail,” Roberts said.

How he was convicted  

In April 1998, Cheek, 32, vanished on what was supposed to be a drive from her home in what is now Jurupa Valley to Roberts’ Temecula apartment to pick him up and drive to Quest Diagnostics in San Juan Capistrano, where Roberts supervised her on the night shift.

That day, Cheek, according to testimony, was driving Roberts’ pickup, which she sometimes borrowed. But she never arrived at Roberts’ apartment. The pickup was found abandoned on the shoulder of the 15 Freeway about two miles from Lee Lake near Corona, where Cheek’s body was discovered on rocks several days later.

Investigators zeroed in on Roberts, even though court records showed Cheek was going through a messy divorce with Googie Rene Harris Sr. Roberts didn’t help himself, trying to cover up his affair with Cheek when questioned by investigators and lying about his whereabouts the night she disappeared.

Relatives of Cheek claimed to have found a distinctive black purse belonging to Cheek in Roberts’ apartment when they gathered her belongings. And Roberts mistakenly claimed ownership of a watch found near Cheek’s body.

Roberts was convicted after a third trial and sentenced to life in prison. Harris Sr. testified in at least two of the trials and again at Roberts’ parole hearings.

In 2013, Semanchik submitted DNA evidence that revealed a match with Googie Rene Harris Jr., who was Cheek’s stepson. DNA found under Cheek’s fingernails belonged to Joaquin Latee Leal III — Harris Sr.’s nephew — according to testimony.

Prosecutors said Harris Sr. and Leal strangled Cheek in her garage as she left for work because Harris Sr. was concerned that his wife would take the home from him in the divorce. They loaded the body into the pickup and Harris Jr. and Leal took Cheek to the lake.

The Harrises and Leal were charged with murder — and Harris Sr. with a sentencing enhancement of murder for financial gain — and Roberts was declared factually innocent .

Harris Sr. and Leal were convicted of murder in August; a jury recommended that Harris Sr. — who still maintains his innocence — receive the death penalty and Leal be sentenced to life in prison without the possibility of parole.

A judge is scheduled to rule on their sentences on Jan. 10. Harris Jr., who testified against Leal and his father, pleaded guilty to accessory to a felony and is scheduled to report to jail in January to serve a one-year sentence.

Horace Roberts Jr. throws his prison clothes in the trash after being released in 2018 after serving 20 years for the murder of his mistress, Terry Cheek of Jurupa Valley. Roberts was exonerated after improved DNA technology pointed investigators toward three other men who have since been convicted. (Michael Semanchik, Executive Director of The Innocence Center)

First taste of  freedom

Roberts stayed the night in a cottage in San Diego the day he was freed.

“The first thing that following day, I got up, walked outside and I looked up and I was so thankful and grateful for that moment, just to be able to get out and do what I wanted to do and not have someone directing me on what they want me to do. It was so peaceful, and I enjoyed that peace,” Roberts said.

Terry Cheek was strangled to death by her husband, Googie Rene Harris Sr., and his nephew Joaquin Latee Leal Jr., at her Jurupa Valley home in 1998, jurors ruled in 2024. (Courtesy of Riverside County District Attorney’s Office)

Roberts said he likes keeping things simple these days.

He lives in Ladson, about 20 miles from Charleston, with Debra and their grandchildren, ages 3, 4 and 9.

Roberts used the lawsuit settlement from Riverside County to purchase a home and a couple of cars.

He said he has no interest in traveling the world, even though he can afford it.

One of his big goals was to learn taekwondo; He said he will receive a black belt in the martial art in March.

“It was easy to come home and it seemed like I fit right in,” Roberts said. “Home is where my heart is, anyway. Being home keeps me rooted and grounded. I don’t have to go outside of that and do too much or want anything. It’s all right here.

“I am in the right place, I believe,” Roberts said.

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