concerns
By Lisa FalkenbergOctober 21, 2014 Updated: October 22, 2014 1:43pm

55







Image 1 out of 3
Eric Kayne
Activist Quannell X along with local community leaders and hip-hop stars had a protest in 2013 calling for justice for the shooting death of Trayvon Martin.
In the phone recording, Quanell X's voice is firm and reassuring, with only a hint of impatience.

"I need yes-or-no answers. Don't give me details. Give me answers," the Houston community activist tells the desperate mother on the other end, as her toddler grandson is heard squirming around on her lap.


It was Royce Eckley's own quest for answers in her son's January 2013 death that drove her to seek the help of a familiar face she'd seen many times on TV, a longtime pot-stirrer and influential police go-between who has achieved minor celebrity status in Houston's black communities.

Eckley, a chatty retired telephone operator who lives in Katy, tries to keep it short. Her 37-year-old son Marcus, who grew up in Houston, died on Jan. 4, 2013 in the small Louisiana town of Leonville where he lived with his wife and children. Authorities said it was suicide. Eckley has serious doubts.

Her son and his wife were working through problems, but Eckley had never known him to be depressed. There was no exit wound on his body, although that's possible with a .32-caliber pistol, which police say he used to shoot himself in the mouth. Officials were slow in providing records, some of which contained errors.

RELATED

Falkenberg: Truth trumps outcry over sermon subpoenas Falkenberg: A 13-year-old mother now has a family, her baby and a Falkenberg: solid message, clumsy delivery Falkenberg: Abbott should give up losing battle on gay marriage Falkenberg: Can Patrick champion poor and vouchers in same
In the conversation recorded in February 2013, which Eckley played for me, Quanell asks twice about an autopsy report. The second time, he hears Eckley's answer: "No, they didn't do one. He went from the house to the funeral home."

"They didn't give you an autopsy report?" he says. "Jesus Christ."

After a few minutes, Quanell has a plan: "Here's the deal. I would want to get my people into Louisiana, get them on the ground, start asking questions, speak to the right people," he says.

It was exactly what Eckley wanted to hear. She had been calling authorities and become an amateur sleuth, setting up a web site and even installing an app on her smart phone that automatically recorded conversations. She got nowhere.

"OK, sister, let me ask you this question," Quanell says. "Can you afford to retain us to work this case?"

"How much, I mean, how much would I have to pay you?" says Eckley, who hadn't realized the "activist" she often saw on the TV news protesting racism and injustice in press conferences charged a fee.

"Ma'am, it would cost at least $4,500 for us to work this case, at least that," Quanell says.

"If you're able to raise the money, I'm able to put my people on the ground and get there myself," Quanell says. He leaves Eckley with this assurance: "I want to say this: whatever answers you don't have now, I will get those answers for you."

LOCAL

Man sets himself on fire outside Harris courthouse The East Gate of Fort Hood links directly to the streets of Killeen. Map reveals when Texas counties hit their peak incomes Efaw, left, and Gavin MacPherson laugh with friends after building paper hats during the weekly bingo game at the SPJST Lodge #88 in the Heights. The senior citizens are now sharing their bingo nights with young professionals in their 20s and 30s. Czech bingo hall in the Heights not going anywhere, says chairman Attorney to take helm as justice of peace in NW Harris County Law on the side of Fort Worth cop who killed neighbor's dog Grand jury investigates HPD officer in fatal shooting of unarmed
"Oh my God, thank you," Eckley says.

A few days later, she was in a Denny's parking lot on Fry Road with $1,400 she raised in part from former coworkers at the phone company, relatives and friends. With her grandson in tow, she says she climbed into Quanell's car. She handed him the money, he handed her a pink paper contract with lots of small print. He said he'd work with her on the balance she owed.

The "retainer agreement" was with a consulting firm called QX Advisors Inc. The very first paragraph warns: "this agreement is CONFIDENTIAL and may not be shared with a third party without written consent."



Eckley said she and Quanell probably corresponded, sporadically, always with her initiating. Once, she said, Quanell told her he was trying to get a permit for a rally in Leonville, but nothing came of it. She said she never saw any proof that he was working on the case. Her last communication with him came in July.

Then, one day, she said, he stopped responding to her calls, texts and emails. She inquired as to whether he was hitting the same walls she had, whether he was in over his head. She asked for her money back. Nothing.

She searched online and realized others had complained of similar experiences. In 2011, KHOU's Jeremy Rogalski began a series of reports on Houston-area residents who had had similar experiences.

"I don't know how he gets away with doing that," Eckley told me. "That's not right. Now, when I see him, it more or less turns my stomach."

For his part, Quanell X told me in a phone interview his firm did "quite a bit" on the complicated case and his efforts were ongoing. He said he hadn't stopped communicating with Eckley. He'd just told her to be patient.

"All we can do is help her. We're not magicians. We just can't make the motive or the reasoning magically appear," he said.

Quanell said he'd been to Louisiana twice himself. He said he'd had a "long conversation" with the district attorney and met with a law enforcement officer he wouldn't name. He said he'd encountered obstacles, including Eckley herself, whom he accused of repeatedly attacking Marcus' wife, Astrea, on social media and suggesting she played a role in the death.

Eckley called the latter a "bald-faced lie." Astrea said Eckley never attacked her on social media.

Meanwhile, St. Landry Parish District Attorney Earl Taylor said he and his first assistant "have no recollection as to speaking with Mr. Quanell X."

Quanell's firm, QX Advisors, was registered in October of 2011, around the time KHOU's Rogalski was investigating the activist. Quanell says there's no connection. State comptroller records showed late last month that QX Advisors had forfeited business rights, apparently for failure to pay taxes. Quanell called it a "tax dispute." This week, records showed the firm's status had changed to "active," indicating a resolution.

The Better Business Bureau of Greater Houston and South Texas gives the firm an F, in part for not responding to complaints.

Asked why he insisted on a confidentiality agreement, Quanell said it was in clients' best interest.

"That's the way it was structured by my lawyers," he said. "You deal with a lot of personal matters in the work that I do. Those should be confidential."

It's hard for Eckley to believe Quanell has done anything in her best interest. She says the whole nightmare of her son's death and lingering questions has been like a "Lifetime movie" and Quanell only made it worse.

"He told me 'you're a real mother and if something would happen to me I would hope my mother would be just like you are,'" Eckley said.

There's no question that Quanell X has used his influence for good. He has helped police obtain confessions in murder cases. He appeared on The View this summer alongside a teen rape victim whose assault was broadcast and mocked on social media.

But stories like Eckley's revive questions about the fees Quanell is charging for his help. And about whether the good for which Quanell gets the headlines and the airtime and the community crediblity is for social justice, or money.