This Is My America
Page 12
I spot something.
On the ground, near the gap I’ve shoved myself through, is a cell phone.
The men turn around and walk toward the door, their mumbled voices talking about “a waste of time” and “what are we looking for?”
They finally leave. I breathe a sigh of relief and wait it out a few more minutes before crawling toward the gap, closer to the phone.
The phone looks like it had been flung on the ground, dropped in a rush. Hearts cover the case.
Angela’s phone.
It has to be. My left pocket has my cell in it already. I decide to tuck Angela’s phone safely next to Jamal’s burner in the secret compartment of my purse.
After ten minutes of silence, I push the door out slowly, then step outside.
“Hey!” a man’s voice yells. “Over there!”
I curse and take off running past the packing building, thrashing my arms around so the grass moves out of my way. Heart in my throat, I press on, hoping if I go around the building, I’ll be able to find the path. Make my way to the car and escape.
A voice yells, “Stop!”
I keep running until their words click together in my brain.
“Police! Stop! Or I’ll shoot.”
My chest screams out. Pounding. I don’t trust what’ll happen if I stop.
My instincts say to flee.
My brain says to stop.
I throw my hands up and turn, but I shut my eyes. I don’t want to see it happen.
I don’t move. I can’t move.
The sickly fear of death snakes up through my body.
They yell again, and I can’t help but force my eyes open.
One white officer keeps his weapon on me as he walks slowly toward me. My muscles tense, trying not to move and holding back from flinching. Even if the police leave me unharmed, a search would get rid of my only way of communicating with Jamal and give them Angela’s phone before I can take a look. Another tall and thin officer with silver hair follows behind the first, his face much younger than his hair indicates. His badge reads DAVIS CLYDE. He puts his hand on the other officer’s shoulder, and they exchange fierce whispers.
“Wait!” a woman’s voice cries out to the officers. “Wait. She’s with me. She called me.”
Beverly passes them, wearing her on-duty cop uniform. She steps between their guns and me. Wrapping one arm around me, she lets out a painful exhale. “She’s with me.”
I grab on to her tight, so she doesn’t let go. I’m too afraid to speak. To move.
“That’s the suspect’s sister.” The officer with the gun on me points with his free hand. “What are you doing at the scene of a crime?”
“Put the gun away,” Officer Clyde says to the other officer.
“Tell them what you’re doing here, Tracy,” Beverly says with wide eyes.
“I came by the dock. I had to see for myself because my brother wouldn’t do what you think he did.”
“She called to ask if this is still a crime scene.” Beverly hands over her phone to show the texts. “I didn’t want her walking around here by herself. I came to check on her. See.”
“Take a look, Clyde,” the other officer says.
Officer Clyde reviews Beverly’s phone, then asks for mine.
I hesitate as I reach in my left pocket. I bite the inside of my cheek, worry building that they’ll search me and find the other phones. I hand my phone over. Four texts from Beverly scroll up.
Cleared. Why?
You’re not there, are you?
Answer me.
I’m coming. Stay put.
“Looks legit,” Officer Clyde says. “This is still a crime scene, though, as we search for more evidence. You shouldn’t be here.”
I watch the other officer with the gun, knowing some of their evidence is in my purse. My stomach swallows itself. Turning and turning.
“Thought we were done collecting evidence,” Beverly says.
“There’s an unaccounted piece of evidence,” Officer Clyde says.
“I’ll walk her out,” Beverly says.
“Think that’s a good idea?” the other officer says. “We should question her. Aren’t you in school? You got something you wanna share with us…?”
“N-no. Um, no, sir,” I stutter.
“We need you to point out everywhere you’ve been, so we can add to the report. You’ve compromised the scene,” Beverly says.
I look her dead in the eye and tell her the truth about where I hid. Tell her I was scared it was the killer, not the cops, which is true enough. But I don’t tell her about the phone. I want to see it for myself before I turn it over to Beverly. And only Beverly. Then I go over the exact path I walked.
“I noticed blood on the grass, leading to the building.” I point out the blood that was out in the open, not marked off with police tape. “I followed the trail to the building.”
Officer Clyde pulls out his report, flipping the paper back and forth. Then calls out to Beverly, “This wasn’t in the report. We need to call this in. Did you touch any of it?”
I shake my head no. Heartbeat racing that maybe this could help Jamal. Then they’d be forced to look closer at the evidence.
Even though I want to stick around and see what happens, I’m shaken up. I’m glad I’m able to say I got out of here.
Alive.
It’s like a tight cork has wound itself inside me since they came after Jamal. I know it won’t be long before that cork winds tight again, but at least there’s relief for a moment.
When I’m safely in my car, I reach for Angela’s phone. I brush it off and turn the power button on.
BABY GOT BACK BURNERS
The power shuts off almost immediately. Dead battery. But not before I see I need a passcode. Dirt and grime fill every crevice. I blow into Angela’s dead phone, each breath a lifesaving wish it’s not destroyed. I shove the phone back in my pocket, the weight of all its possibilities burning through my clothing, onto my skin.
Now that I’m out of danger, Beverly should be the one I hand this off to, but I don’t want to lose the opportunity to look first. Especially if it could cast doubt on Jamal’s innocence.
I pull up to my house, see Mama’s pacing out on the stoop. She must know what happened if she left work and has been waiting on me.
“Answer your phone, girl.”
“I was at school.”
“School’s still in session.” Mama’s lips quirk to the side. “But here you are. They called to say you were absent…and I spoke to Beverly.”
Damn. I bite my lip.
“She said you almost got arrested out by the Pike.” A flash of the officer’s gun on me takes over my thoughts. My heart speeds up. Mama doesn’t look like she knows about that. Beverly must’ve kept that part from her. Shame also runs through me that after all my Know Your Rights workshops, the sight of the gun threw everything I knew out the window.
“Why can’t you stay out of trouble? I don’t need you getting into any, not now. Go find yourself a hobby or something.”
“I’m on the school newspaper.”
“One that pays and keeps you out of trouble.”
“I’ll look.” I mean it. We can’t keep up with the bills only with Mama’s wages.
Mama gives me a hug when I reach her. “You scared me.”
“I’m sorry, Mama. I just had to look. See it for myself.”
Mama squeezes my hand, then shakes her head. “Dr. Scott from the community center called. She was asking if you doing a workshop tomorrow—there were a couple of calls. I said you’d probably cancel.”
I pause. I should. I’ve got so much going on, but I’ve never missed doing a monthly workshop in over a year. Even if nobody shows up. Daddy said to do something. I can do this.
Upstairs I search through Jamal’s room for his iPhone charger for Angela’s phone. Then pull out the burner, see if Jamal sent another message since I deleted his last. Nothing.
I go online for how to crack the most common phone passwords. Clicking on a page about password generators, I review the list of password structures. Graduation, anniversaries, pets, kids, and birthdays are the most common.
I check Angela’s social media for anything like those I can play off. Her birthday stands out first, July 14. Like the date in Jamal’s notebook. I enter several number iterations, then use 0714.
Angela’s home screen pops up, and my eyes widen. I study it for a moment, make sure this isn’t a dream, before adjusting the settings to airplane mode with location services off.
First, I check Angela’s call log. The last two dialed are 911 and Jamal’s number; after those are several missed calls from Jamal. The most recent answered call, however, is from Chris. One minute and twenty seconds, another, two minutes and five seconds. All around ten in the evening Tuesday. My stomach sinks because this is the kind of evidence the police need. I hope that her phone bill can provide it for them, too. If they think to look.
Then I go through her text messages, finding a thread between her and Jamal. They texted multiple times a day. A surge in my stomach pulls; I feel betrayed I didn’t know this was happening between Jamal and Angela.
JAMAL 4/26:
I thought about what Tracy asked. Talking about my dad’s case on air isn’t the right place.
ANGELA 4/26:
But you said Tracy was right? This could get national attention.
JAMAL 4/26:
It’ll just make my moms mad. Chris’ll shut you out. He’s already angry.
If he thinks you helped get me on the show.
He’ll never tell you more about the Pike. Let’s wait it out.
ANGELA 4/26:
Chris won’t be much help anyway. He’s clammed up after talking to Scott.
It’s a dead end. This might be your shot.
I skip through more messages.
ANGELA 4/30:
He came to see me! Just showed up at my work.
JAMAL 4/30:
What!
What did he want?
ANGELA 4/30:
IDK. Chris must have told him I was asking about him.
JAMAL 4/30:
Are you okay?
I don’t want you seeing Chris anymore.
ANGELA 4/30:
Another week.
I promise. I just need to look through more photos.
Keep the memory card safe for me.
JAMAL 4/30:
All right. I’ll keep it in the production room so you can get to it.
ANGELA 5/1:
Chris is pissed. That’s why he showed up at the studio. I promise it’s over.
Where are you?
JAMAL 5/1:
Walking. Don’t wanna go home. Interview went to hell.
My sister goes too hard. This wasn’t her deal.
ANGELA 5/1:
Meet me at Herron?
JAMAL 5/1:
OK
ANGELA 5/4:
Chris is pissed at me. Scott told him I’ve been going around his back.
Using him for information.
He also knows I took it. I covered, though.
JAMAL 5/4
Return it. I’m tired of getting caught up in drama.
Let it go. You don’t need to do this. It’s a school paper.
Either end it with him for real or don’t deal with me.
ANGELA 5/4:
I’ll end it. No more. I promise.
Gotta go, your sister’s here.
The messages lead up to the day Angela was murdered. Jamal wanted her to drop something, and that same day Angela asked me to help, to keep it from Jamal. Angela needed information from Chris, and when Chris showed up at NBS World News, neither Jamal nor Angela looked happy. I thought Jamal ran because of the cops, but maybe that was only part of the reason.
I search through the rest of her phone, stopping at her photos, quickly scrolling through. It hurts to see Angela so happy and carefree. The selfies, pics with Mandy, and shots of her family. I pause when I see videos of Angela and Jamal.
I press play and hear Jamal’s laugh. It crushes me. My heart jumps hearing Jamal’s voice. The video lasts ten seconds.
“This is stupid, Ang.”
Off-screen Angela says, “What? No. You have to practice, Jamal.”
“I don’t want to. Come here, kiss me.”
Angela laughs, and the video goes on with them kissing. She captures the moment with her phone. Angela’s voice rocks me. My throat goes tight, eyes water. I play it again. Jamal will want to see this.
I take a moment. Wipe my eyes before viewing the next video. Jamal practicing for The Susan Touric Show. After some easy questions, he looks away from the camera and seems to lock eyes with Angela.
“What if I just say it? Put all the cards on the table.”
“Susan would hate that. She loves thinking she asked the question that broke the door open.”
“Are you sure she’s going to ask about my dad? What if she doesn’t? What’s our plan then? Tracy wants me to say something, but my moms would kill me if I bring it up.”
“She’s going to ask. At least she’s going to give you an opportunity to open the door. I know she didn’t want to agree to the interview terms; that was all NBS One. Oh, shoot, I was recording that whole…”
Jamal was planning to listen to me and say more on Touric’s show, but he decided not to. I scroll through her phone quickly, as if secrets will slip from my grasp and I’ll lose the chance to save Jamal. Then it rocks me why Jamal is gone.
Jamal knows who killed Angela.
He could tell the police, but not if he knows they won’t believe him. What if he claims Chris killed Angela? Chris is surrounded by people who’d protect him. I imagine handing over the phone and it being locked up with all the other evidence in the precinct that was ignored in Daddy’s case. Giving it to them would be like giving away all we’ve prayed for since Jamal ran. I hold on to a shriveled piece of hope that it’s better to keep the phone than to give it up.
This evidence might prove Jamal was worried for Angela, not out to hurt her. Without Jamal by my side, and with Angela gone, I know the only evidence left is that memory card.
I tuck Angela’s phone in the hidden compartment of my purse. Pull out the burner and ask Jamal about the memory card, hoping his answer reveals one of three things.
He has it.
He gave it to Quincy.
He left it at Herron Media.
SNITCHES GET STITCHES
The last place I want to be is school. The media, the students, even the teachers make it hard. But these are things I swallow. No choice to shy away if I ever stand the chance of discovering Angela’s exposé. I arrive at school, thankful there’s only one camera in sight. The rest gone since the memorial at school on Monday.
I mentally check off my list of people I need to talk to and set my goals of what I’m trying to accomplish today. Angela and Chris were always locked up together. That’s why it was shocking when I saw her with Jamal. A secret like that she had to have told Mandy; she was Angela’s best friend. Maybe also Natalie, the new editor of the paper. I despise her now. Still, she might know something. The chances she’ll help me are slim, but I gotta try. For Jamal.
Then there’s Jamal’s friends. Quincy at least fessed up to seeing Jamal. But Cuddy and Demarcus on the track team have been silent
. Claim they know nothing. That can’t be true. They had to at least know about Jamal and Angela.
I make my entrance through the west gate, my new escape into school. I’m also hoping to catch Cuddy and Demarcus coming in from early track practice. I’ve got my Know Your Rights workshop flyers in hand as a way to start a conversation.
I smile when I see Quincy waiting on the other side of the gate.
“How’d you know I’d be coming through this door?” I ask Quincy.
“How do you know I’m waiting for you?” His eyes twinkle when he gives a side grin.
“Tell me you’re not?”
“Hey, I gotta make sure you get into school safely. I’m a gentleman.”
“Ha!” I playfully punch his arm. “I was planning on talking to Cuddy and Demarcus, but I’m glad you’re here. Do you know anything about an exposé Angela was working on, maybe with Jamal, leading up to the Susan Touric interview?”
“Susan Touric’s show?” Quincy’s voice goes flat. “That’s what you want to talk about?”
I trust Quincy won’t betray Jamal, so I tell him everything I found on Angela’s phone.
“He…he was looking into some stuff. I don’t wanna say.” Quincy looks over his shoulder, his hands shoved in his light hoodie.
“What about Chris? Angela was texting Jamal about getting information from him leading up to Jamal’s interview. The day she died was the same day she planned to end it with Chris. I saw him at the station with a black eye. Did Jamal get into it with him because he knew what happened to Angela?”