“Relax, Janae.” He patted the sofa cushion next to him. “You don’t have to apologize that this is your home.”
She sighed and then sat down.
“Before all this”—Calvin waved his hand in front of him, from his neck to his feet, drawing attention to his impressive choice of clothing; even dressed casually, he looked like he was going somewhere important—“before college and law school, I grew up about twenty minutes from here in Kingsessing.”
She gave him a knowing look. “How did you do it? How did you get out of there?”
Calvin looked pensive. “Ultimately, I believe that everyone controls their own destiny. Yeah, there’s racism and even sometimes your own people can try to hold you back, but nothing can defeat a determined spirit.” He looked her in the eyes. “I worked hard, real hard. But I made mistakes, too.”
Janae’s brow wrinkled.
“I chose not to deal with anything or anyone that even slightly resembled my past.” Calvin chuckled under his breath. “I called myself beyond that. Instead, I dressed right, I acted right, and I dated the right people. I got exactly what I wanted.”
Janae pressed her back into the sofa, unsure what to say.
“That’s why it took me, um, a minute to join Roger on Malik’s case. You and Malik reminded me too much of how I grew up.” He paused. “I’m glad I came to my senses, though.” His eyes met hers, again. “It was the best decision I’ve made in a long time.” He took a long swig of his coffee.
“Calvin . . .” She paused. Her finger circled the rim of her mug. “Calvin, a lot of successful people make the same choice you did. Who wants to come back to the hood when they’ve escaped it?”
Calvin shook his head. “That doesn’t mean it’s right. You remember at the restaurant you said you wanted Malik to be the kind of man I am?”
She nodded. “I meant it.”
“You have helped me see that I want to be the kind of man who stays and does what’s right. Our community needs all the resourceful people it can to help save our children—to save all our lives.”
Janae closed her eyes and took a deep breath.
THEY TALKED FOR SEVERAL HOURS, UNTIL CALVIN’S CELL PHONE INTERRUPTED them. Before answering the call, he leaned over to the other end of the sofa and showed Janae the screen. The phone identified the call as coming from the Philadelphia district attorney’s office. She dropped her legs from the sofa to the floor and planted them firmly beneath her. Calvin scooted forward with the phone to his ear. She moved closer to him.
“This is Calvin Moore,” he said with his eyes on Janae. “ADA Dembe. How can I help you?”
Janae gnawed at her bottom lip. She leaned closer to Calvin, her head nearly touching him. She tugged on his shirtsleeve and pleaded for information with her eyes.
He shook his head, stood, and walked to the kitchen. She slumped heavily into the soft surface of the sofa. She covered her face with her hands.
“That is completely unacceptable,” Calvin huffed. “I understand that the two cases are distinct. But you know as well as I do we are dealing with the same perpetrator, and I will not accept anything less than a total discharge.”
“The Michael Gaines murder is much more cut-and-dry,” ADA Dembe argued. “The partial fingerprints implicate someone else. I grant you that, and that is why I am filing the paperwork immediately for the charges to be dismissed against Jonathan King. He will be out of detention as early as tomorrow morning.”
“I am pleased that you are moving quickly on your error with regard to Mr. King. However, I expect the same paperwork to be filed on behalf of Malik Williams.”
“I am unwilling to do that at this time,” she retorted.
“Dembe, the standard is reasonable doubt. It’s no longer reasonable for you to try him for the murder, not in light of the bullet analysis and the testimony at the waiver hearing. Are you aware of the lineup that—” Calvin looked down at his watch. “It should be taking place about now.”
“I am,” she hissed. “But even if your witness IDs this potential suspect, it only benefits Jonathan King, not Malik Williams. There’s the whole issue of him arguing with the victim just hours before the murder,” she ticked off. “He had the motive. He could have dumped the gun. That’s how I see it. I have won on far less.”
“Don’t force our hand. This is already a PR nightmare for the mayor’s office. Your officer essentially lied on the stand. And motive, please. There was testimony that completely contradicted the argument between my client and the victim.”
“By an addict,” she retorted.
“Look, we’ve already got the media’s attention, as well as the ears of U.S. congressmen and senators. How do you think it will play out? ‘Local prosecutor, after flawed investigation, insists on condemning minority youth when evidence points to serial criminal and murder suspect who preys on kids’?”
“Are you threatening an officer of the court?”
“No, I am telling you exactly what we will do. What you know Roger and I are capable of.”
There was a long, awkward pause. Calvin could hear the prosecutor’s exasperated breaths. “Before I do anything on this case, with everything swirling around it, I have to talk to the DA. That’s going to have to wait until Monday.”
“Not good enough. Every day my client is behind bars is damaging to him. You have the DA’s home number. Call him. This needs to end now. I’ll wait for your call. But I am not waiting long.”
Chapter Thirty-one
THE EVENING BEFORE MALIK’S RELEASE, JANAE WAS A BUNDLE OF ENERGY. She filled up her refrigerator with Malik’s favorite foods. She planned to make him a meal of thanksgiving, including mac and cheese, ham, candied yams, and greens his first night home. Their home was alive with music as Malik’s speakers blasted songs that he loved. Janae danced to TI’s “Live Your Life” while cleaning.
After Janae washed, dusted, or vacuumed every surface in the common areas of the apartment, she stood outside her son’s room with her hand on the doorknob. It had been two months since she’d been in there. Now she swung the door wide open and stepped over the threshold. She could still smell the faint scent of him. She smiled. She picked up his room slowly, taking the time to just be close to her son’s things. She hung his book bag on the back of his desk chair. She changed his sheets and fluffed his pillows. Underneath one of the pillows was the card she had given him on his fifteenth birthday. Inside she had written Happy Birthday to the BEST son in the whole world! Janae pressed the card to her lips and kissed it and then returned it to its spot under the pillow her son would shortly rest his head on.
When she was done, Janae placed a box wrapped in blue paper and a silver bow on top of the dresser. Inside it was a handsome olive necktie that Calvin helped her pick out for Malik. It was a token of a new beginning for the two of them.
Janae hoped for a better job, with benefits and room for promotion. She wanted Malik to go to a better school that would challenge him, and that one day they both would go to college.
Before leaving Malik’s room, Janae picked up a hoodie that she had tossed to the middle of the floor, along with a few other items intended for the trash. She stepped out of his room but left the door open.
Morning finally came. There was a chill in the air, but the sun was shining brightly. Janae felt alive and hopeful. Her heart pounded in her chest as she anticipated Malik walking through the doors, in just minutes—liberated.
The place where they held Malik was a tall, dingy, gray stone structure that seemed to touch the bottom of the sky. Janae did not go inside the detention center. The next time she saw her son she wanted it to be in his own clothing, outside the walls of the suffocating justice system—completely free.
The black heavy metal doors opened. Janae stood with her hands to her mouth. She didn’t bother to fight back the tears. She looked up and saw his sneakers first.
“Malik!” she called. She laughed out loud when she noticed the bottoms of his pant legs were
inches above where they should have been. He had grown over the weeks. His haircut was a short, clean fade. His smile was the same. It consumed his entire face. She climbed the steps between them by twos. Janae stopped just short of touching him. She took in a long breath and offered up thanks to God, to everyone who helped her, before snatching him into her arms.
“My baby,” she cried.
Malik folded his arms around his mother. He nuzzled his head deep into the crook of her neck. She could feel the quiet tears that escaped from his eyes.
“I love you. I love you so much.”
“I love you too, Mom.”
Calvin stood inches away.
Still enfolded in Malik’s embrace, Janae reached out her hand to Calvin. She pulled him close, and the three of them held each other.
Acknowledgments
I thank God for allowing me to live this dream—it is nothing but the blessing of the Lord.
My editor, Tracy Sherrod, is amazing! I thank you for helping me achieve my vision with Endangered. And thanks to Tara Gavin for first showing this book to Tracy. It was Scott Eagan, my agent, who would not give up on Endangered when the noes started coming in. Thanks so much for believing in the story.
I remember when Charles, my husband, finished reading the first draft. He told me that “This one is the one,” and he was right. Thank you for everything. My daughters, Sydney and Haley, are my motivation. Girls, I am living my dream so you can live yours.
There are so many others to thank, like my sister Mae, who has read everything I’ve written. And of course, I thank my mommy, Dolores Love. You raised us right, and it means everything to me that you get to see this.
Finally, to you, the reader, thanks in advance for your support.
About the Author
A native of Philadelphia, JEAN LOVE CUSH worked for the Philadelphia District Attorney’s Office directly out of law school before spending three years as a family law attorney, helping low-income women escape domestic-abuse situations. After moving to Fort Wayne, Indiana, she hosted a weekly radio show called A View from Summit, where she covered such topics as public safety, urban violence, and inner-city education. Jean now lives in Illinois with her husband and two daughters.
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Credits
Cover design by Milan Bozic
Cover photograph © Barron Claiborne
Copyright
This book is a work of fiction. References to real people, events, establishments, organizations, or locales are intended only to provide a sense of authenticity, and are used fictitiously. All other characters, and all incidents and dialogue, are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real.
ENDANGERED. Copyright © 2014 by Jean Love Cush. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
FIRST EDITION
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data has been applied for.
ISBN: 978-0-06-231623-3
EPUB Edition JULY 2014 ISBN 9780062316363
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