A woman sentenced to teenager, is 35 years into Tampa murder

TAMPA – Until this week, Leisha Landlum has been accused of dying in a Florida prison for a crime she committed when she was 16.

On Wednesday, the judge gave her a chance of freedom.

Twenty years after Landrum and her ex-boyfriend were convicted of the brutal BL haughty death of 16-year-old Emily Clemons, Hillsboro Circuit Judge Robin Huson replied to Landrum for 35 years in prison.

With the credits she has already served, she completed 85% of her sentence, and there was a possibility of early release after 37-year-old Landlum was able to leave prison about nine years later.

It wasn’t an easy decision to come. At the end of almost a week of testimony, Husson spoke at length about the difficulty of writing sentences that robbed the severity of the crime, along with factors such as the defendant’s problematic upbringing, youth, her immaturity, and the likelihood of rehabilitation.

His voice trembles from time to time, and the judge looked at Landrum and Clemons’ mother, sitting on the other side of the courtroom.

“I was up at 4am this morning thinking about the incident and the impact it would have on you and you,” Husson said, pointing to each woman. “And that bothers me.”

Ententengeding was the result of a pair of U.S. Supreme Court decisions. More than a decade ago, the High Court held that it was unconstitutional for a juvenile defendant to be sentenced to life in prison without a meaningful chance of release. The verdict is rooted in scientific research showing that young people’s brains are not fully developed and their immaturity is less capable of understanding results.

As these sentences ran through state courts, they provided a path to redemption of the scores of prisoners who had been accused of for a lifetime incarcerated long ago.

Landrum was one of them.

In 2020, the judge first heard details about her background, including stories of emotional and physical abuse from her mother, time spent in foster care, and frequent movements to various schools.

Her life sentence was reaffirmed at the time. A successful appeal then appeared, bringing her back to court this week.

Judge Husson said Landrum’s friends, prison staff and psychology experts had changed – she’s become a better person in prison, accepting responsibility for her role in crime, and hearing that she’s at a low risk of getting into trouble again.

He also heard more about the murder.

Emily Clemons’ mother described her as “spanky,” energetic and “like a firecracker.” She was a school cheerleader, extroverted and had many friends.

She dates a boy, Rocky Almesta, and gets pregnant, but eventually loses her child. After they broke up, Almesta was joined by Landrum. She was pregnant too and gave birth to a daughter.

The tension between the two young women had been simmering for a long time. Landrum infuriated that Almesta still seemed to be watching Clemon. There was a threat. There was a fight. A voicemail was left on the answering machine at Clemons’ home.

On the evening of June 9th, 2004, Clemons received a call from the couple. She then went to the apartment where they lived, living off North 22nd Avenue, south of Bears Avenue in North Stampa.

What exactly happened there was not entirely clear. What is known is that Clemons was beaten with pots and pans, boom boxes and hammers. Prosecutors will determine that she hit the head at least 34 times. The teens wrapped her in a comforter and drag her into the trash can in the apartment.

She was barely alive when the sheriff’s deputies found her. She died in the hospital.

Donna Clemons is troubled by the image of her daughter at the funeral cas.

“We cannot remove a crime,” she told the court. “It’s done. It’s all permanent. And I can’t change it. She can’t change it. No one can.”

In the eyewitness stands, Clemons stared directly at Landrum, staring at the table.

“You should look down,” she said. “You’re sure to feel embarrassed.”

Assistant State Attorney Chinwe Fossett highlighted the extreme brutality of the crime. She reiterated that the murder was one of the worst he’d seen, and that Clemons’ injuries were “like breaking an egg on someone’s head.”

But there was more. The judge heard details about Landrum’s actions in the prison. She accumulated some disciplinary violations, but they tapered as they age.

Her defense presented numerous certificates for the self-generation program she completed. They include a “Victim Impact” panel, where prisoners face the impact their crimes have had on others.

In recent years, Landrum has converted to Islam. She was drawn to the reflective and philosophical teachings of faith. In court she wore a hijab. This covered the head worn by many Muslim women.

She serves women of all faiths as the scribe in the prison chapel. She has worked in a variety of prison jobs, including security order and positions that require critical trust. She also worked as a kitchen, laundry facility and library scribe.

“She’s out of the way to improve who she is,” said Aubrey Rand, a prison consultant and former Florida corrections officer, testified about the defense. “She’s mature, and with all the factors we considered in this case, she has a lower risk of committing another crime and believes she will become a productive citizen.”

Landrum maintains close relationships with her daughter.

“If it wasn’t about Raisha Landrum’s highly successful rehabilitation, there wouldn’t be anything,” assistant public defender Carolyn Schlemer told the judge.

Almesta also appeared before Judge Husson this month. However, in his case, the judge ordered a life sentence. Questions about his future risk of trouble and uneasy stories about his weapons being disposed of after stabbing prison pointed out that Armestes was not responsible for his role in crime.

It was different from Landrum. She downplayed her own role in conversations with some people, but she defended herself, she said she wasn’t there and that she was convicted of legal skills – that was what she said to mental health professionals, including her, who seemed most important.

An expert testified that he was asked if Landrum should be convicted of murder. Her answer was yes.

Landrum will begin offering an eight-year probation sentence upon her release.

The judge requested that the year be completed at Abe Brown Ministries, a Tampa nonprofit that helps former prisoners acquire jobs and develop skills to succeed in life.

He warned that any mistakes Landrum made on probation would send her back to prison forever.