Lisa Ann Coleman Executed for the Starvation Death of a 9-Year-Old Boy | Texas death row inmate..
A Texas woman has been executed for the 2004 torture and starvation death of her girlfriend’s 9-year-old son. 28-year-old Lisa Ann Coleman died at 6:24 Wednesday evening. The Supreme Court denied her final appeal hours before her execution. It is rare for a woman to be executed in the states.
She is only the 15th woman to be executed since the death penalty resumed in 1976, but during that same amount of time around 1,400 men have been put to death. The journalists who were present at the time of the execution are reporting the death went smoothly and Coleman seemed peaceful. She was pronounced dead 12 minutes after being lethally injected.
Something WFAA implied was almost too quick considering her crime. The death took just 12 minutes, far shorter than that of Davonte Williams, a 9-year-old boy who died over a period of weeks. Coleman’s calm execution is a far cry from the botched executions we have seen this year. July 26th, 2000, Arlington, Texas. At 11:39 a.m.
, a 911 call comes from a small apartment on Highland Drive. The caller, Marcella Williams, says her son isn’t breathing. The line suddenly disconnects. When first responders arrive minutes later, they find a scene that stops them cold. The apartment is quiet, the kind of quiet that feels wrong. In the living room, a golf club rests against the wall.
The kitchen cabinets are full, boxes of cereal, canned food, bread, snacks. Nothing looks unusual. But down the hallway, in a back bedroom, paramedics find the reason this call will shake Texas for years. Davonte Marcel Williams lies on the floor, already in rigor mortis. He is just a young boy, weighs only 35 lb, the size of a toddler.
His skin shows hundreds of marks, old, new, healed, never healed. It’s clear he’s been gone for hours. Coleman tells paramedics he stopped breathing minutes ago, but the body tells a different story. Nothing looks forced, nothing looks chaotic, and yet, standing inside a home full of food, authorities realize they are staring at a child who died from having none.
This moment becomes the beginning of one of the most painful and controversial child death cases in Texas history. The case that will lead prosecutors to charge Marcella Williams and her partner, Lisa Ann Coleman, with capital murder. And ultimately, it will send Coleman all the way to death row. Long before her name appeared in court files, Lisa Ann Coleman’s life was shaped by instability and childhood adversity.
Lisa Coleman was born on October 6th, 1975 in Tarrant County, Texas. Her childhood was marked by severe trauma and instability from the very beginning. Coleman was conceived when her mother was sexually molested by Coleman’s step-grandfather. She spent much of her early years moving between foster homes, where she experienced horrific abuse.
A child abuse expert would later testify that Coleman had been sexually abused as a toddler by her foster parents. She was also beaten with extension cords by an uncle. Her relationship with her biological mother was distant and troubled. Her mother nicknamed her pig and rarely visited while Coleman was in the foster care system.
The abuse continued as she grew older. As a preteen, Coleman was stabbed by a cousin. In her teenage years, another relative provided her with drugs and alcohol. Coleman dropped out of school after completing 10th grade. At just 16 years old, she became a mother herself. By early adulthood, her life had spiraled further.
She was incarcerated twice, first for burglary and later for possession with intent to deliver a controlled substance. This pattern of abandonment, violence, sexual abuse, and criminal behavior shaped Coleman’s formative years. The trauma she endured as a child and teenager would follow her into adulthood, creating a foundation of instability that preceded the tragic events that would later define her story.
By the age of 12, Coleman was already navigating a life filled with conflict. She was injured during a family altercation, another sign of how unstable her surroundings had become. In her early teens, other adults introduced her to substances she was far too young to handle, adding more risk to her daily life.
School could not anchor her. She left after the 10th grade, already carrying years of emotional strain. At 16, Coleman became a mother. With no strong support network and no stable environment, she struggled with responsibility long before she was prepared for it. Her adulthood unfolded quickly.
She faced financial hardship, limited opportunities, and eventually, two convictions, one for burglary and one for drug-related activity. Each time she left prison, she returned to the same unstable circumstances she had grown up in. During her later trial, her defense team described her background as a continuous cycle of hardship, beginning in childhood and continuing through adolescence and adulthood.
They argued that Coleman never received meaningful help or intervention and that she carried old wounds into every decision she made. By the early 2000s, she entered a relationship with Marcella Williams. Both women came from difficult backgrounds and both were struggling to manage their own lives.
Together, they created a home that lacked stability and structure. And inside that home was a young child living in the middle of their instability, a child whose fate would change everything. In 1999, CPS investigators documented a series of injuries on Davonte that raised immediate alarm. He had bruises on his back, swelling on his lip, and thinning hair that suggested chronic stress or poor nutrition.
Most concerning was an injury in his lower body area indicating harm consistent with physical mistreatment. Doctors noted that the injuries could not be explained by ordinary childhood accidents. During interviews, CPS learned that Marcella’s partner at the time, Lisa Ann Coleman, had been involved in disciplining the children.
Case workers concluded that Davonte had experienced physical abuse in the home and that his environment was no longer safe. The decision was swift. Davonte and his 1-year-old sister were removed from the household and placed into foster care. For Marcella, the removal was devastating. To regain custody, she was required to complete parenting classes, maintain steady housing, attend regular CPS meetings, and most importantly, separate from Coleman.
After a full year, Marcella eventually met the state’s requirements. In 2000, after a full year of parenting classes, supervised visits, home checks, and strict compliance with CPS requirements, Marcella Williams finally regained custody of her children. It was a fragile victory, one shaped by months of scrutiny and an understanding that her household would remain under close watch.
CPS made its rule unmistakably clear. Lisa Ann Coleman could not return to the home. Case workers believed that Coleman’s presence had contributed to the physical harm documented in 1999. Marcella agreed to the condition, signed it in writing, and reassured CPS that she understood the consequences if she violated it.
For a short while, the home appeared stable. Marcella tried to rebuild routines for Davonte and his sister, but stability was something she struggled to maintain. And the pressures of parenting three young children alone became overwhelming. In November 2000, she gave birth to her third child, another responsibility added to an already delicate situation.
As months passed, Coleman slowly re-entered Marcella’s life. First through brief visits, then longer stays. Eventually, she returned to living inside the apartment full-time. The reunion was quiet and unannounced. CPS was never informed, and Marcella did not attempt to update her case worker. What began as emotional dependence soon became secrecy as the family tried to avoid raising suspicion.
Neighbors noticed that the apartment’s activity changed. Some days they heard arguing. Other days, the home seemed unusually still. CPS began to receive new concerns, and investigators reopened their file. Marcella and Coleman reassured them that everything was fine, offering explanations that sounded plausible on the surface, but did not fully match the concerns being raised.
By late 2002, case workers were monitoring the Williams home once again. But this time, the family’s response was different. Instead of cooperating, Marcella and Coleman began pulling away, avoiding visits, refusing to answer the door, and finding ways to sidestep the system. And in the middle of all these choices was Davonte, a child whose life depended on consistent care, regular medical attention, and the protection of adults who understood the importance of transparency.
Instead, he was slowly being hidden from the outside world. The first major warning sign appeared in the fall of 2002 when CPS received a report alleging both physical and medical neglect inside the Williams household. Case workers began a new round of home visits, expecting to see the children and evaluate their well-being.
But, each attempt led to the same outcome. No one answered the door. Between November 13th and December 30th, 2002, CPS visited the home nine separate times. Not once were they able to speak to Marcella, Coleman, or the children. The lights were sometimes on. Voices were heard inside on a few occasions, but no one opened the door, and no child was ever seen.
As CPS pressure increased, Marcella and Coleman found new ways to avoid oversight. They told the children’s school that the family had moved out of the district. They stopped taking the kids to the doctor. They stopped attending scheduled check-ins. When neighbors asked questions, they said little.
And most crucially, they stopped letting Devonte be seen anywhere outside the apartment. Teachers who once worked with him no longer received updates. Medical providers had no records showing recent appointments. Case workers began to worry that Marcella and Coleman were deliberately concealing the children, especially Devonte, whose developmental delays required regular attention.
By early 2003, it became clear that the household had pulled back from every outside system intended to protect the children. CPS documented each failed visit, noting that the lack of contact made it impossible to determine whether the children were safe. Without confirmation of immediate danger, and with no direct access to the family, the case stalled.
From the outside, it looked as though the family had simply moved or withdrawn. Inside the apartment, however, Devonte’s world was shrinking. The boy who once attended school, interacted with teachers, and had regular check-ups was now hidden from every adult who could intervene. No teacher saw him again.
No doctor evaluated him again. No case worker laid eyes on him again. For more than a year and a half, Devonte disappeared from every system designed to notice when a child is in danger. And by the time authorities finally saw him again, it would be too late. July 26th, 2004, late morning in Arlington, Texas. At 11:39 a.m.
, a 911 dispatcher receives a call from Marcella Williams. Her voice is tense, rushed. She says her 9-year-old son isn’t breathing. Before the dispatcher can finish giving CPR instructions, the line suddenly disconnects. Moments later, first responders arrive at the small apartment on Highland Drive. Inside, the home looks ordinary. The air conditioner hums softly.
Kitchen cabinets are full. Boxes of cereal, bread, canned goods, snacks stacked neatly on shelves. The living room is still. A golf club leans against the wall, unnoticed at first glance. Nothing looks chaotic. Nothing looks disturbed. But, down the hallway, in a back bedroom, paramedics find Devonte Marcel Williams, and everything changes.
He is lying on the floor, cold to the touch. Rigor mortis is already fully set in, meaning he has been dead for hours, despite the claim that he stopped breathing moments earlier. At 9 years old, Devonte weighs only 35 lb, the size of a toddler. His body is covered with hundreds of marks, old, faded, healing, and new.
Case workers later count roughly 250 scars, a record of long-term suffering. As investigators begin examining the apartment, they make discoveries that deepen the tragedy. In a pantry, they find signs that the space had been used to confine the child, an area with limited ventilation and clear evidence of isolation.
Plastic extension cords are found in the home, tied and frayed in ways that raise immediate alarm about how the child may have been restrained. A fresh injury is visible on Devonte’s lip, and near his ear is a healing tear that investigators say did not happen naturally. The medical examiner rules that Devonte died from malnutrition, with pneumonia contributing to his death.
Despite living in a home where food was abundant, the child had not been provided consistent nourishment. His body, deprived of protein for so long, had begun breaking down its own tissue. Neighbors later report they had rarely seen the boy outside in the months before his death. School officials hadn’t seen him in over a year.
Doctors hadn’t seen him. CPS hadn’t seen him. For more than 18 months, Devonte had slipped out of sight, hidden by the two adults responsible for his care. To paramedics standing in that small bedroom, the contrast was devastating. A home full of food, two adults living normally, and a child who had starved to death.
This was no longer a case of poor parenting or medical neglect. It was a crime scene that would soon draw in detectives, prosecutors, CPS, and the entire state of Texas. Within hours of the autopsy findings, Arlington police arrest both Lisa and Coleman and Marcella Williams. The initial charges are injury to a child, with each woman held on a $200,000 Devonte’s two sisters, ages 6 and 3, are immediately removed and placed in foster care.
A CPS spokesperson later confirms that the girls appear healthy. As investigators continue interviewing witnesses, reviewing medical records, and documenting the condition of the apartment, the case rapidly escalates. The combination of malnutrition, untreated injuries, and confinement places the cause of death beyond neglect.
Prosecutors begin reviewing whether the actions in the home constitute capital murder. The most critical factor becomes the legal requirement for an aggravating circumstance necessary for a capital murder charge in Texas. In this case, prosecutors identify kidnapping as that aggravator, citing evidence that Devonte had been restrained and kept isolated inside the apartment.
Unable to leave freely, both women are offered the same deal. Plead guilty to capital murder and receive life in prison with parole eligibility after 40 years. Marcella Williams accepts the offer. She tells the court she understands the consequences and acknowledges her role in failing to protect her son. She is sentenced to life in prison with parole eligibility beginning in 2044.
Lisa Ann Coleman takes a different path. She rejects the plea deal, choosing to go to trial. Her attorneys argue that the prosecution is exaggerating her role, that there was no kidnapping because Devonte lived in his own home, and that his death resulted from poor parenting rather than intentional murder. But, once Coleman declines the deal, the tone of the case shifts.
Prosecutors begin preparing for a full capital murder trial. The evidence, the injuries, the confinement, the malnutrition, the history with CPS, will now be presented to a jury in its entirety. Coleman’s decision sets the stage for the most critical chapter of the case, a courtroom, 12 jurors, and a verdict that will determine whether she spends her life in prison or faces the death penalty.
On June 7th, 2006, the courtroom of Judge Everett Young in Tarrant County opened for one of the most emotionally charged trials in the county’s history. Lisa Ann Coleman, now facing capital murder, sat quietly at the defense table. Across the aisle, prosecutors prepared to present a case built on medical records, photographs, CPS documents, and years of documented concern.
The prosecution began its opening statement bluntly. Devonte lived in a home filled with food, yet the child died weighing just 35 lb. They argued that Coleman and Marcella Williams intentionally withheld nourishment, kept him isolated, and contributed to a pattern of abuse that ended in his death. They showed the jury photographs of the apartment, photographs of the pantry where investigators believed Devonte had been confined, and images documenting the scars and injuries on his body.
Then came the testimony of Dr. Daniel Kanzelberger, the Tarrant County medical examiner. He told the jury that Devonte’s body had so little body fat that he initially suspected blunt trauma before determining that malnutrition was the primary cause of death. His wounds healed slowly, he testified, because his diet lacked sufficient protein.
He described the overall picture as one of long-term deprivation. His testimony marked a turning point. Jurors leaned forward, taking notes, visibly shaken. One of the most impactful moments came when Devonte’s younger sister, by then adopted, took the stand. She testified that Coleman lived in the apartment, and that she had seen Devonte tied up at times.
Her testimony was brief, but prosecutors relied on it to strengthen the claim that the child was restricted and not free to move around the home. The defense pushed back hard. Attorney Michael Highschool argued that Coleman did not live full-time in the apartment, that Marcella was primarily responsible for the children, and that the state was ignoring Devonte’s premature birth and developmental delays.
He maintained that the boy was small because of medical issues, not intentional deprivation. A defense physician testified that Devonte died from inhaling his own vomit, not starvation. Another defense expert argued that the blood on the golf club was from transfer, not impact. Meaning Devonte was not struck with it.
They also argued that the state’s kidnapping theory was flawed. How could a child be kidnapped in his own home? But prosecutors countered that confinement in Texas law can occur inside a residence, and evidence showed the child was isolated, restrained, and prevented from leaving. That theory, kidnapping, became the foundation for elevating the charge to capital murder.
After only 1 hour of deliberation, the jury returned with a verdict, guilty of capital murder. During the sentencing phase, Coleman’s attorneys highlighted her traumatic childhood, the violence she experienced, and support throughout her life. They presented experts who described the long-term effects of early trauma.
The jury acknowledged her past, but ultimately rejected the mitigating arguments. Lisa Ann Coleman was sentenced to death. Once on death row, Coleman’s legal battle shifted from defending her actions to challenging the legal foundation of her conviction. Her appellate attorneys, John Stickles and later Brad Levinson from the office of capital writs, focused on one central issue.
Was it legally possible to kidnap a child inside his own home? Their argument was simple. Devonte lived there, slept there, kept his belongings there. They argued that restricting a child’s movement inside a home should not qualify as kidnapping under Texas law, and without kidnapping, the death penalty should not apply.
The defense also pointed to statements from neighbors who said they had seen Devonte walking freely around the apartment complex days before his death. Coleman’s attorneys further argued that she had been treated more harshly because of her race and because she was a black lesbian. Claiming bias influenced the decision to pursue the death penalty instead of offering her the same life sentence Marcella accepted.
But the state pushed back, arguing that confinement can occur anywhere, including a home, if a child is intentionally restrained and prevented from leaving. They argued the pantry, the extension cords, and the long period where no one outside the household saw Devonte all supported the kidnapping element. In September 2014, the Fifth Circuit Court of Appeals issued its ruling.
They rejected Coleman’s claims, including the kidnapping challenge, stating that the evidence supported the jury’s finding that Devonte had been unlawfully restrained. Coleman’s attorneys then turned to the United States Supreme Court, hoping the justices would review the kidnapping interpretation and the concerns about bias.
The Supreme Court declined to take the case. With that, all appeals were exhausted. On September 17th, 2014, after years on death row and nearly a decade after Devonte’s death, the state of Texas carried out the sentence by lethal injection using pentobarbital. Coleman became the 15th woman executed in the United States since 1976.
Her case left behind legal debates, questions of responsibility, and a painful reminder of how systems failed long before any courtroom ever opened. At dawn on September 17th, 2014, Coleman awoke in the death row unit of the Texas Department of Criminal Justice TDCJ outpost near Huntsville. Quiet corridors, guards moving steadily.
The day ahead would be her last aboard this earth. She had no special request publicly recorded for a last meal indulgence. Like many modern death row cases in Texas, the traditional elaborate last meal request was either minimal or not publicly detailed. What is certain is that by early evening she was escorted to the execution chamber.
In the final hours, Coleman met with her spiritual adviser, made final calls to family and loved ones, and prepared mentally for what lay ahead. She asked for calm. She asked for strength. Witnesses later reported she nodded and mouthed kisses to relatives who watched behind glass. She told them she was all right.
At approximately 6:12 p.m. Central Time in the execution chamber, the lethal dose of pentobarbital was initiated. 12 minutes later, at 6:24 p.m., Coleman was pronounced dead. As the drug took effect and the breathing slowed, Coleman’s final statement was clear and direct. I just want to tell my family I love them, my son, I love him.
God is good. I’m done. In the very last audible words, she looked toward her witnesses, said softly, love you all. She closed her eyes, took a couple of short breaths, and then there was no further movement. In those final minutes, surrounded by the sterile walls of the Huntsville Unit Death Chamber, the culmination of a decade-long legal journey filled with appeals, debates over kidnapping charges, and questions of bias came to its grim conclusion.
The woman who once called an apartment home, who faced the courtroom, who described a life of trauma and survival, now faced the only verdict left. The irreversible finality of state-sanctioned execution. Outside the chamber, the impact rippled across systems. For the family of the victim, for CPS reform advocates, for prosecutors and defense attorneys alike, this was not just the end of foam-lined IV lines and a drug dose.
It was a closing chapter in a case that had challenged definitions of abuse, confinement, and responsibility. But inside the chamber, in the final 24 hours, words mattered. Love, faith, a quiet assertion of end, and then stillness.
