Giovanni Love liked to spend time in the woods of Maryland. He liked trying to find snakes and bugs he hadn’t seen before. He fed deer with apples and crackers from the palm of his hand.

“He’d try to get the deer to trust him,” said Damani Baker, the mother of his children. “He didn’t like when people picked on animals. He loved dogs, cats, bears, foxes — his favorite animal was wolves, because he loved the movie Twilight.”

But Love won’t see the woods near his home again. He spent his final days in the D.C. Jail, where he died in June at the age of 20.

The medical examiner’s office ruled his death a suicide by hanging. His family is still searching for answers about his death, scrambling to hold officials at the Department of Corrections accountable as they grieve.

Love is one of seven people to die in custody of the D.C. Department of Corrections this year. Four of those deaths, including Love’s, had not been previously reported or publicly disclosed. DOC has not historically required the public disclosure of deaths at its facilities, a spokesperson told DCist in August. Unlike other jurisdictions — including states like Nevada and Florida — D.C. has not had a system for notifying the public when someone dies at the D.C. Jail. Even the D.C. Council, which has oversight powers over the department, has no established system for learning about deaths in DOC custody. DOC did not notify the office of Ward 6 Councilmember Charles Allen, who chairs the committee overseeing DOC, about several of the in-custody deaths this year.

“Sunlight is the best disinfectant, and radio silence by the Department of Corrections about in-custody deaths has undermined community safety and trust,” wrote Allen in an emailed statement.

But following inquiries from DCist/WAMU, a DOC spokesperson said the agency will change its policy, and begin releasing a statement each time a person in DOC custody dies.

“We’re always looking for ways to improve our policies,” said the spokesperson in response to questions about why they made the change.

The deaths in DOC custody this year occurred from a range of causes, including heart disease and a homicide within the jail. Two of the deaths were ruled accidental overdoses (there have also been two nonfatal drug overdoses in the jail this year). Another two of the seven deaths are still pending official determination.

Advocates say the DOC’s failure to notify the public of any deaths in its custody allows the agency to escape accountability for keeping people safe.

Patrice Sulton, the Executive Director of DC Justice Lab, said she felt DOC’s failure to proactively disclose deaths in the facility was evidence of disrespect towards the jail’s residents, who are about 93% Black. “To just say the default is going to be we don’t even tell people when someone dies … it’s to me a really stark example of the devaluing of Black life.”

DOC does submit data on deaths, as required, to the federal government. That data shows that between 2009 and 2019, 48 people died in DOC custody—an average of between four and five deaths each year. A DOC spokesperson told DCist/WAMU that two people died in DOC custody in 2020, and four people died in custody in 2021.

A DOC spokesperson told DCist/WAMU in August that the agency had not proactively announced all resident deaths out of respect for the privacy of families during their grieving process.

Love’s family wanted the public to know about his death, they told DCist/WAMU. They knew that Love had struggled with his mental health and voiced suicidal thoughts. And, they say, Love had frequented the jail over the last year — which they believe means that medical staff and corrections officers at the jail were surely aware of his struggles.

“Do I feel like D.C. Jail failed him? Yes,” said his wife, Dominique Watson. “I forever will hold D.C. Jail accountable, because they were supposed to be watching him.”

A spokesperson for DOC declined to answer specific questions about Love’s death and experience in the jail, citing privacy concerns. But the spokesperson said that DOC followed all appropriate policies leading up to Love’s death, including completing scheduled rounds at least every 30 minutes in all general population housing units.

“The District of Columbia Department of Corrections (DOC) is committed to providing a safe and secure environment, to preserving life, preventing injury and responding appropriately to the special management needs of inmates,” the spokesperson wrote in an emailed statement. “DOC works hard to prevent suicide attempts within its facilities. Our policies require that all inmates committed to DOC receive an initial medical and mental health screening as part of the admissions process … Our condolences are with Mr. Love’s family during this difficult time.”

Brandon Burrell, Love’s attorney, wants DOC to disclose more details surrounding Love’s death.

The lawyer wants to know whether DOC was holding Love under suicide watch, or in a so-called “safe cell” at the jail. DOC declined to confirm where Love was being held at the time of his death. He also wants to know the extent to which jail staff knew Love had suicidal thoughts — a question that DOC also declined to answer.

DOC’s decision to withhold so much information surrounding Love’s death – including declining to inform the public it had happened – has left Burrell with doubts about the credibility of any of their statements, he said.

“The jail has been so not up-front about things…I take everything that the jail says or what happens there with a grain of salt,” he said. “There’s just too many people that seem to be dying at the jail.”

Sulton, with DC Justice Lab, says DOC’s failure to proactively disclose in-custody deaths is part of a broader pattern of secrecy.

“We have an environment where people are treated like animals and the only kind of contraband that is seriously policed is cameras and cellphones, so people can’t speak out about what’s happening there,” Sulton told DCist/WAMU. “It’s just beyond ridiculous that we can live so close to 1,500 people who are having an experience that no one who lives in this city gets to see or understand. We’ve never had meaningful visitation at that jail the entire time I’ve been a lawyer.”

Giovanni Love had been in and out of the D.C. Jail over the past year, his loved ones say. When he died, he was facing domestic violence-related charges. Burrell, Love’s attorney, declined to elaborate on the nature of the charges because Love had not been found guilty of them. Court records related to Love’s case are sealed, and therefore not publicly accessible.

His loved ones described him as a young man who was trying hard to be a better father to his kids and get his life in order before he aged out of the foster care system.

Watson said that in the months and years leading up to his death, Love was trying to get his GED and figure out how he was going to support himself and his family once he no longer had the support of the state. His housing situation was also unstable; Watson said the foster care system was putting him up in temporary hotel rooms.

“I watched how the foster care system did him,” she said. “He was fighting for his life every day … because he was almost about to age out. He died at 20. At 21, it’s a wrap. They cut you a check and you’re pretty much on your own. So every day he was working, working, working trying to get things done.”

Baker, the mother of Love’s children, said she had known Love since kindergarten. They had their first child when they were 17 years old. She said she knew that Love suffered from depression — and she wished that he could have received treatment in a different place.

“They could have put him somewhere where he could have been safer at,” she said. “When he was in jail, he felt like he wasn’t loved no more.” Watson and Baker also want to see video footage from around Love’s cell and receive information about which corrections officers were in charge of supervising him when he died.

Watson also doesn’t understand why she didn’t receive two letters Love had sent her until three weeks after he died. In one of them, he expressed suicidal thoughts. She wishes she could have received it earlier.

“I felt like [the reason] he gave up three days after writing the letter that he wanted to hurt himself is because he didn’t hear from me,” she says. “And I feel like if he would have known or would have heard from me, he would’ve never done that.”

A DOC spokesperson declined to answer questions about the mail delays, citing privacy concerns.

Watson and Baker both said they felt like Love’s death was part of a pattern of mistreatment and poor conditions at the D.C. Jail — from mail delays, to neglect by staff, to a lack of transparency.

“I want answers,” Watson said. “He wasn’t even 21 yet.”

Six other people died in DOC custody this year from a variety of causes, known and unknown.

In January, a woman named Raynell Hawkins suffered an accidental death while in DOC custody from combined adverse effects of drugs — buprenorphine, doxepin, olanzapine, sertraline, and trazodone. In March, a man named Segundo Mejia Escobar, also known as Juan Hernandez, died from heart disease while in DOC custody; the medical examiner’s office ruled his manner of death to be natural. In May, Ramone O’Neal died of an accidental overdose, from the combined effects of fentanyl, flourofentanyl, and zylazine. And that same month, Sean Lee died from blunt trauma to the neck; the medical examiner’s office ruled his death a homicide. In July, a man named Larry Cork also died in D.C. custody, but the medical examiner’s office said his cause and manner of death are still pending. And in August, Treyvon Littles died while in D.C. custody. His cause of death and manner of death are still pending, per the medical examiner’s office; His mother told DCist/WAMU last month that she was still awaiting his autopsy report and was planning to sue the D.C. Jail.

Allen said the series of deaths, including the two drug-related deaths, are a “call to action” for DOC to focus on how to keep residents safer. Allen says he has spoken with DOC Director Tom Faust about each of the deaths in DOC custody this year, and “the immediate need for a formal policy of prompt, consistent, and transparent communication with my office and the public” about deaths at the jail. Allen also said he spoke with Faust about the need to prevent contraband — particularly opioids — from entering the facility.

“This is an extremely vulnerable population, both in that they experience higher incidences of physical and behavioral health challenges than the general public and in terms of the District’s duty to protect them,” wrote Allen in an email.

The continued concerns about the situation at the D.C. Jail, including the presence of fentanyl in the facility, come as the city approaches the one-year anniversary of a surprise inspection of the jail by the U.S. Marshals Service. During the inspection, the Marshals Service said it found the conditions at the city’s Central Detention Facility so unacceptable that it would transfer hundreds of people in federal custody out of the D.C. Jail and send them to federal prisons instead. According to a memo the Marshals Service issued after the inspection, conditions in the jail were unsanitary, staff were abusive towards residents, and evidence of drug use was “pervasive” in the facility. In response to the memo, the city entered into a memorandum of understanding with the Marshals Service and promised to improve conditions.

But according to Love’s family, poor conditions and poor treatment by staff persist at the facility. Watson and Baker both told DCist/WAMU that Love had complained about being mistreated and harassed by DOC staff.

Despite the pain of her loss, Baker said she wanted to speak publicly about Love and his death because she thinks he would want her to. She’d like him to be remembered as a good father, and as a person who liked helping people. He liked camping, going to the beach, and swimming. He loved to learn and share facts about the human body. In the end, she says, he was still a kid.

“He was not a monster, but instead he was a child stuck in a man’s body because he never got the love he deserved as a little boy,” said Baker. “He was stuck in a place that didn’t understand him.”

If you or someone you know is having suicidal thoughts, the number for the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline is 988.