40 years after a North Miami Beach woman's murder, police say they found her killer
In June 1986, Shirley Brant was in her North Miami Beach office working as a real estate broker when she was shot in the face and killed. Now, nearly four decades after her murder, police say they have finally found her killer.
Jeffrey Taylor, 64, was jailed Friday in connection with Brant's death. Authorities say new fingerprint technology helped them match Taylor's prints to evidence collected at the scene, according to his arrest warrant.
On June 13, 1986, Brant was working at Brant Realty Corporation on Northeast 18th Avenue. She was talking on the phone with a friend while a coworker was nearby, entering data into a computer, according to police.
Police say two men walked into the second-story office. One of them, later identified as Taylor, demanded that Brant hang up the phone in what police called an attempted robbery. When Brant refused and began to scream, Taylor shot her in the face.
Brant's last words were 'don't shoot,' according to a Miami Herald story at the time.
Police say Taylor pulled the phone receiver from the base of the landline and left it lying on the floor under Brant. Both men then fled.
Brant was taken to Parkway Regional Hospital but later died from her injuries. An autopsy confirmed she was killed by a single gunshot wound to the head.
At the time, investigators collected fingerprints from the scene, including from a phone found under Brant's desk. However, for still unclear reasons, the prints were never entered into a fingerprint database, known as AFIS.
Brant's family issued a $25,000 reward at the time for information leading to the arrest of the man who shot Brant with a small-caliber weapon, according to a 1986 Miami Herald story.
The case went cold until January 2023, when the North Miami Beach Police Department formed a Cold Case Unit to reopen unsolved murders. Investigators found the old fingerprints and submitted them for new testing. In March 2025, they got a match: Jeffrey Taylor.
Taylor is charged with second-degree murder with a firearm. Jail records show he is locked up at Turner Guilford Knight Correctional Center and was denied bond.
Brant's death haunted her family, who remember her as a loving mother, wife and member of the community whose funeral was attended by 600 people.
'She was ahead of her time... breaking the glass ceiling, and she gave her money to philanthropy,' her son Ben Brant told reporters at a press conference outside the North Miami Beach Police headquarters on Friday.
Weeks after her death, her husband, Lawrence Brant, who ran a successful dental practice in North Miami Beach, started a fund to help stop handgun crime: The Shirley Brant Memorial Fund Against Handgun Crime.
'People have been calling up and saying, 'What can I do?' What they can do is they can vote for elected officials who want to do something about gun control,' Lawrence Brant told the Herald in 1986.
That same year he also told the Herald: 'Guns don't kill people — people with guns kill people,' responding to the NRA's slogan, 'Guns don't kill people, people kill people.'
Lawrence Brant died in 2016.
'This arrest is a testament to the power of collaboration, determination, and never giving up,' North Miami Beach Police Chief Juan Pinillos said in a statement on Friday.
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Miami Herald
a day ago
- Miami Herald
A daughter with DACA, a mother without papers, and a goodbye they can't bear
Michelle Valdes' mom thinks she sees immigration agents everywhere: in the lobby of the building where she cares for elderly clients, at the local outlet mall, on downtown corners. The fear is constant. Driving to work, going to the store —just leaving the house feels too risky for her. At work, while she cooks and cleans in her clients' homes, she listens as stories of immigration detentions, deportations and constantly changing laws and policies play loudly in English from the TV. The 67-year-old undocumented Colombian national who has lived in the United States for more than a third of her life has stopped driving completely, opting for Uber, and ducking down in the backseat when she sees police officers. As a Jehovah's Witness, she has chosen not to do her door-to-door ministry and only attends church on Zoom. But what keeps her up at night these days is that she will soon go without seeing her daughter, likely for close to a decade. She is preparing to leave the United States after 23 years, leaving behind her 31-year-old daughter, a DACA recipient or 'Dreamer' who came to the United States when she was 8 and is still in the process of gaining her green card. Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals, or DACA, is a federal program that protects undocumented people who came to the U.S. as children from deportation. 'I don't want to feel like I'm going to be spending two months in some detention center in the middle of God knows where, where none of my family members see me,' she said in Spanish during an interview with the Herald. She asked not to use her name for this story because she fears she could be targeted. 'I'm done,' she said. Her daughter's immigration situation is also precarious, even though she is married to a U.S. citizen. His family, from Cuba, got lucky when they won the visa lottery. But her family did not have such luck. Valdes' family did what immigrants often do: They fled danger, asked for political asylum, hired lawyers and filed paperwork. And they lost. Last year, only 19.3% of Colombian asylum cases were approved, according to researchers at Syracuse University. Even in 2006, when violence was at a very high point in Colombia, only 32% of asylum cases were approved. Their family's story reveals the toll a constantly changing and exceedingly complicated immigration system has on families who tried to 'do the right thing' and legalize their status. Now, under President Trump's administration, which has ramped up enforcement and the optics around it, being undocumented has become even more hazardous. People who have been living and working in the shadows in the United States are now being forced to decide if the reward of seeking a better life is still worth the risk. And those who are following the rules are afraid the rules will keep changing. The mother has already started packing boxes. Denied asylum Valdes' mom had never heard of the American Dream. She said she had never even heard the phrase 'el sueño americano' before coming to the United States. The family fled Colombia in 2002, leaving behind comfort and status. Valdes' mother had been an architect in Cartagena, a city on the South American nation's Caribbean coast. The family had a driver, a cook and a nanny. But violence by the Fuerzas Armadas Revolucionarias de Colombia, the rebel group known as FARC, was encroaching on their lives: armed robbery at their home, threatening calls and the kidnapping of her cousin, a wealthy businessperson. The family was forced to pay a ransom for his release. The early 2000s in Colombia, under President Andrés Pastrana, were years of intense violence by guerrilla gangs such as the FARC, who targeted wealthier Colombians. 'They would just pick up anybody who they believed they could get money from,' said Valdes. Her aunt would often call Valdes' mom from Florida, telling her their family would be safer here. The family arrived on a tourist visa in 2002, found a lawyer and applied for asylum. It was denied in 2004. Under U.S. immigration policy, people who have suffered persecution due to factors such as race, religion, nationality, membership to a social group, or political opinion can apply for asylum. It must be filed within a year of arrival in the United States. Valdes' family's interview did not go well and they were placed in removal proceedings. They appealed and in 2006 took the case to the U.S. Board of Immigration Appeals. The family's asylum application claimed that Valdes' mom would be killed by the FARC guerilla gang if she returned to Colombia, in connection with her cousin's kidnapping. But the court ultimately found holes in her case, and said her fear is not well founded and that she failed to prove that she would be in danger if she returned to Colombia. Their final motion was denied in part because it was filed 45 days late, according to the court filing. Valdes was just 11 years old when the courts denied her family's final plea to stay in the United States. The family was issued removal orders. 'I feel like I made a mistake asking for asylum,' said Valdes' mother. 'I wasn't guided well because I was scared and didn't know what to do.' She says predatory lawyers charged her close to $40,000 but never told her the truth about her odds of winning the case. 'It's pure show,' she said in Spanish. 'I believed they would help, but they did nothing.' By then, Valdes and her brothers were attending public schools in West Palm Beach, a right undocumented children have because of a supreme court ruling which passed narrowly in the early '80s. 'I just kind of poured my whole life into school, just to kind of distract myself from other things going on in life, specifically with immigration,' she said. In fifth grade, she won the science fair. At Roosevelt Middle School she was in the pre-med program and the national junior honor society. She always had A's and B's in school. But when her middle school national honor society was invited to Australia, she had to stay behind, unable to travel because she was undocumented. At Suncoast Community High School, she was invited to sing in a choir concert in Europe, but again, she could not go. In 2007, ICE detained Valdes' parents and her eldest brother. Her other brother and Valdes were picked up from school and reunited with their parents at the ICE office. Valdes' mom said the officer told her that since the family had a removal order, they needed to deport at least one person to prove they completed their quota for the day. But to this day, Valdes and her mother can't fully explain why the father was deported but they were released. Was it luck? Did the ICE officers sympathize with their family? Then 13, Valdes remembers standing in the Miami immigration office as agents took her father away. 'He was wearing jeans, a tan coat and a gray-blue fisherman's hat,' she said. 'What I remember the most is that there was, like, some sort of feeling that I got, that I knew that I was never gonna see him again.' He was deported in January of 2007, when Valdes was in seventh grade. It was the only semester she ever failed in school, she said. Her father died at 69 in Colombia in 2022. A petition for him to get legal status and return to the U.S., filed on his behalf of his son from a previous marriage, was approved a year after his death, said Valdes. '17 years too late,' she said, in tears. DACA as a lifeline In 2012, Valdes and her mother were preparing to leave the United States for good. Flights were booked. Boxes mailed. Then, just 14 days before departure, President Obama announced the Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals program. The program was meant to protect children like Valdes, who came to the U.S. at a young age. Valdes was 18. Her phone lit up with messages from people in her community who knew she was undocumented. She applied that October. As a 'Dreamer,' or DACA recipient, she's protected from deportation and able to work legally — but can't travel outside the country. Her two older brothers, Ricardo and Jean Paul, had already left the country by then. After attending public schools and graduating from high school, the brothers could not attend college or find work. So in 2011, they returned to Colombia, and their mother sent them money to attend university. They both still live there and haven't seen their mom in 14 years. Valdes' situation was slightly better, but without legal permanent residency, she didn't qualify for most scholarships. The one scholarship she did get was a $4,000 scholarship from the Global Education Center at Palm Beach State, but $1,500 was deducted in taxes because she was considered a foreign student. Starting in 2014, Florida universities provided in-state tuition waivers for undocumented students under certain conditions. But because Valdes didn't enroll in college within a year of graduating from high school, she lost access to the waiver. That waiver was recently canceled in Florida for undocumented students, and starting July 1, at least 6,500 DACA recipients in Florida enrolled in public universities will have to pay the out-of-state tuition rate. 'When people asked me what I wanted for my birthday, I would ask for money to pay my tuition,' she said. Throughout those years, people would come to Valdes asking for help filling out their work permit applications, DACA applications and other legal forms, and they would say, 'Wow, you are so good at it.' Although she never wanted to do anything law or immigration related, she kept getting pulled in that direction, and decided to get her paralegal certificate, Valdes said. She now works at an immigration law office. Her plan is to go to law school after getting hands on training. 'I always thought: When I turn 18, I'm an adult — 'why am I still tied to my mom's case?' ' she said. 'But nobody explained it.' At her job in the law office, she finally learned the full truth of her case. Her name is still listed on her mother's asylum application — the case that was denied in 2006. So she still had a final removal order connected to her name. That case, and its order of removal, still haunts her. Although she's married to a U.S. citizen, it will take her years to adjust her status to get a green card and permanent residency status. The process will involve her husband filing petitions and waivers explaining that it would be an extreme hardship for him if she were deported. Valdes will have to leave the country and re-enter. In all, the process could take around eight years. Former president Joe Biden had a program to help people like Valdes, whose family is of 'mixed-status' but the program was shut down by Republicans. Immigration attorneys say there are fewer and fewer pathways for people married to U.S. citizens to legalize their status. The roadblocks and complications frustrate Valdes to tears. Valdes said that it is not fair that 'under our immigration system, a child, at such a young age, has to suffer the consequences of the parents' mistakes.' 'No es justo, no es justo,' she said, crying. It's not fair. But immigration laws, enforcement and policies are changing every day. 'People say 'get in line, get in line, get in line,' and then you get in line, and it's like, 'Oh, too bad, you don't apply with that anymore, or we're just going to change the laws. Or, you know, you aged out, or you didn't submit by this day,' said Valdes. In the past weeks, ICE agents across the nation have even begun detaining people as they exit immigration courthouses. Some are individuals with final orders of deportation like Valdes and her mom. Just this week, the Supreme Court ruled that President Trump can revoke humanitarian parole for over 500,000 migrants from Cuba, Haiti, Nicaragua and Venezuela. President Trump has spoken favorably of DACA recipients, but nonetheless, 'Dreamers' still have to reapply every two years, and there is no guarantee their right to legally be in the U.S. will not be revoked. Immigration attorneys say DACA could be the next program to be shut down by the Supreme Court. 'How shaky is DACA? How solid is it?' Valdes asked. Same fear, different country Valdes' mom says she now feels the same fear in the United States as she did in Colombia — maybe worse. 'I'm scared. Terrified,' she said. 'I'm constantly looking over my shoulder, always on alert.' For years, she tried to hold on. But after 23 years, she's tired of living in limbo. Valdes and her mom try not to think much about the fact that they are leaving each other, focusing more on the present and getting through each day. Valdes' mom says her ultimate goal was always for her daughter to get an education in the United States, and now that her daughter has a job, a husband, and is planting roots, she feels like she can go and let her daughter live her life. She left Colombia because she was 'tired of being followed. I was tired of being paranoid. I was tired of never being able to have my freedom, to just live, because I was always so scared. And fast forward, 23 years later, I'm just in the same boat in a different country,' she said. The hardest part for Valdes is imagining being pregnant and then giving birth without her mom by her side. But, she says, 'Now I tell her, I totally understand. It's your turn to finish living your life, Mom. I want her to be at peace, and I want her to rest.' As her mother prepares to leave, Michelle is left with the frustration of knowing that there's nothing she can do. 'I am still helpless. I still can't help her. I still can't help myself. It's a looming darkness you carry every day,' said Valdes.
Miami Herald
2 days ago
- Miami Herald
Outraged Broward sheriff lashes out at state attorney for arresting 3 deputies
Broward Sheriff Gregory Tony blasted the State Attorney's Office for arresting three corrections deputies who are accused of battering a woman they booked into jail almost three years ago. Tony said the deputies never should have been arrested, that the woman they're accused of beating attacked and injured them and he is reinstating them. 'So, we're moving forward from an internal-affairs standpoint. Our investigation has been completed. All three deputies will be reinstated to full capacity, and they've been either exonerated of these false allegations or it's been unfounded,' he said at a press briefing Friday morning. The State Attorney's Office arrested Sgt. Zakiyya Polk, Deputy Cleopatra Johnnie and Deputy Denia Walker last week on aggravated battery charges stemming from an Oct. 4, 2022, incident involving a woman being booked into jail on a charge of driving under the influence. Each faces up to 15 years in prison if convicted on the second-degree felony charge. Eric Schwartzreich, Polk's attorney, said she and the other 'detention deputies have not committed any crimes, or any policy violations.' 'As a criminal defense attorney that represents those that find themselves thrust into the criminal justice system, which at times includes deputies, this is the first time that the Sheriff and I have stood in solidarity and both of us agree that these deputies should not be charged with any crimes,' Schwartzreich said in an email to the Miami Herald. 'This is an important case for all of law enforcement. I applaud the Sheriff on his response and for standing up for the men and women who keep us safe.' According to the deputies' arrest warrant, the woman, 38-year-old Samantha Caputo, became argumentative when the deputies told her to remove her bra as she was changing from her personal clothes to her jail uniform. Polk pushed Caputo, and then Johnnie and Walker punched and kicked her several times, the warrant states. Walker and Polk also pepper-sprayed Caputo, and Polk shot prongs into her with her Taser stun gun, according to the warrant. After the struggle, Caputo had a hematoma under her right eye, bruises and a scar from the Taser prongs, the warrant states. The jail nurse treated her for her injuries, and she was hospitalized days later because the Taser wound became infected, according to the warrant. Tony stressed that security-camera footage shows the deputies used an appropriate amount of force in controlling Caputo. He said Caputo 'struck, scratched and bit' one of the deputies, puncturing the skin and fracturing her finger. 'The video is crystal clear that [the deputies] had demonstrated only the level of force necessary to get this individual back into compliance,' Tony said. 'Our standard is reasonable, necessary force in proportion to the threat to that which we face.' Tony struck out at Broward State Attorney Harold Pryor's office for pursuing charges against the deputies yet declining to charge in many cases against deputies and other public employees whom the sheriff's office recommends for prosecution. Referring to Polk, Johnnie and Walker as 'the select three,' Tony questioned why Pryor's office pursued them while ignoring other public-corruption leads from the sheriff's office. 'This is most certainly a miscarriage of justice and exhibits symptoms of public corruption in itself,' Tony said. Tony said that in his two terms he has taken deputy misconduct so seriously that he has fired 141 of them. He said he holds his deputies to strict standards when they use force. Pryor responded in a statement that it took almost three years to charge the deputies because prosecutors didn't begin looking at the case until Caputo's attorneys filed a motion to dismiss a charge of battery on a law-enforcement officer. Public Corruption Unit prosecutors then viewed the security-camera footage and decided to charge the deputies, Pryor said. They also dropped the battery charge against Caputo, according to court documents. 'All individuals charged with a crime are presumed innocent unless and until they are proven guilty. At no time were the detention deputies placed in front of the national media in handcuffs, they were allowed to surrender to the jail at a time that was arranged with their defense attorneys in advance, and they were released from the jail on agreed bonds of $7,500 without going through magistrate court,' Pryor said. Tony said he was outraged the charge against Caputo was dropped. 'You don't get a free pass to strike, injure or harm any of my God damn deputies in this agency,' he said. 'None of them!' Johnnie's attorney did not immediately respond to a Herald request for comments. Information about Walker's legal representation was not immediately available. All three deputies were released from jail on May 29, the same day they were arrested. Tony brought up the case of former Broward Sheriff's Office Deputy Ronald Thurston and other examples of what he said were mishandled cases by Pryor's office. READ MORE: Broward school security specialist is accused of abusing student Thurston was fired for excessive force in 2022. The sheriff's office recommended the State Attorney's Office charge him with battery the previous year, but prosecutors declined. He was arrested three years later on charges of aggravated child abuse and aggravated battery after being hired by Broward County Public Schools to work security at Blanche Ely High School in Pompano Beach. Pryor defended his office's handling of both cases against Thurston. 'Thurston was criminally charged in February of this year on an unrelated matter and is currently facing criminal prosecution by our agency,' Pryor said. 'As with all cases, we will file criminal charges when we have facts and evidence to support them.'
The Hill
2 days ago
- The Hill
DC park will close after all for WorldPride weekend
The National Park Service said Friday it would temporarily close the park at the center of Washington's historic LGBTQ neighborhood ahead of the city's annual Pride weekend, moving forward with plans that local officials believed had been scrapped. The temporary closure of DuPont Circle Park came at the request of the U.S. Park Police (USPP), the Park Service said in an order uploaded Friday to its website approving the installation of anti-scale fencing around the park's perimeter through 6 p.m. Sunday. 'Less restrictive measures will not suffice due to the security-based assessment of the USPP that this park area needs to be kept clear,' the Park Service said. In a letter dated June 4, Major Frank Hilsher wrote to Kevin Griess, superintendent of National Mall and Memorial Parks, that the USPP's closure request 'is based solely on several previous years of assaultive, destructive and disorderly behavior exhibited in Dupont Circle during the DC Pride weekend.' 'The USPP maintains that a physical barrier effecting a full closure of Dupont Circle is necessary,' Hilsher wrote, to 'secure the park, deter potential violence, reduce the risk of destructive acts and decrease the need for extensive law enforcement presences.' An earlier letter sent in April to USPP Chief Jessica M.E. Taylor from Pamela A. Smith, chief of Washington's Metropolitan Police Department, recommended that tall no-climb fences be temporarily installed around the park. 'Over the years, DuPont Circle Park has been a popular location for Pride attendees to congregate, despite not being a sanctioned Pride event,' Smith wrote in the letter. 'In the past five years, the Metropolitan Police Department and the United States Park Police have taken proactive steps, including increased police presence and enhanced lighting around the park.' 'However, significant challenges persisted, including unpermitted large gathering with sound equipment, illegal vending and grilling, alcohol use, multiple physical altercation, and vandalism of the historic fountain and statue,' she added. Smith withdrew MPD's request to temporarily close the park earlier this week 'after hearing from community leaders and residents,' she wrote in a June 3 letter to Taylor. In the same letter, Smith pointed to specific disruptions that influenced her initial request, including a 2019 arrest in DuPont Circle Park after parkgoers heard gunshots and vandalism during Pride weekend in 2023 that resulted in roughly $175,000 in damage to the park's more than 100-year-old fountain. The park's closure is another obstacle for those in charge of WorldPride, an international LGBTQ Pride celebration taking place this year in Washington. The Capital Pride Alliance, the organizers of WorldPride DC, have hit several snags related to Trump administration policies that disproportionately affect LGBTQ people. In April, the group issued a travel advisory for transgender visitors from abroad, citing President Trump's executive order recognizing only two sexes, male and female, and a new State Department policy barring trans, nonbinary and intersex Americans from updating the sex designations on their passports. The same month, the Capital Pride Alliance announced it was moving WorldPride events from the Kennedy Center to 'ensure our entire LGBTQ+ community will be welcome' following Trump's takeover of the cultural institution in February. In posts on Truth Social, Trump said drag performances at the Kennedy Center 'will stop' under his leadership and called drag, an art form that is deeply rooted in LGBTQ culture and history, 'anti-American propaganda.' The White House has also declined to issue a proclamation for Pride month. In an emailed statement, the Capital Pride Alliance said it 'is frustrated and disappointed in the National Park Service's decision – again – to close Dupont Circle during the culmination of WorldPride this weekend.' 'This beloved landmark is central to the community that WorldPride intends to celebrate and honor. It's much more than a park, for generations it's been a gathering place for DC's LGBTQ+ community, hosting first amendment assemblies and memorial services for those we lost to the AIDS epidemic and following tragic events like the Pulse nightclub shooting,' the group said. 'This sudden move was made overnight without consultation with the Capital Pride Alliance or other local officials.' No official WorldPride activities were planned in DuPont Circle Park, the Capital Pride Alliance said, 'thus no events will be impacted.' D.C. Councilmember Brooke Pinto (D-Ward 2), representing the DuPont Circle neighborhood, said she is 'extremely disappointed and frustrated' that the park will not remain open for Pride weekend. 'This closure is disheartening to me and so many in our community who wanted to celebrate World Pride at this iconic symbol of our city's historic LGBTQ+ community,' Pinto wrote Friday in a post on the social platform X. '. I wish I had better news to share.' 'World Pride will continue this weekend and it will be a time of celebration and commitment to uplift our LGBTQ+ neighbors,' she added.
