As the Wicked Watch(84)
For me, it would be a day of waiting around to do a live hit by the courthouse steps for the noon newscast, which I didn’t appear on all that often. But for big stories like this one, I’m locked on them all day. The station sent Keith to sit in on the hearing. The state’s attorney objected to media attending, and cameras are never allowed in juvenile court. But the chief judge granted permission for reporters to sit in and take handwritten notes once they agreed to temporarily surrender their cell phones.
While the boys’ hearing was going on, I covered the protest and made a beeline to Louise Robinson, who was at the center of it all, bullhorn in hand, leading a chant: “Save our boys! Save our boys!” And “What do we want? Justice! When do we want it? Now!”
The boys’ hearing concluded with them being remanded to custody in juvenile detention. Keith shared his notes with me, though it clearly pained him to do so.
The boys were named in the petitions, though protocol dictated the media not publicize them. All bets were off, though, for Derek, because he was being charged as an adult.
*
News anchor Iris Smith: Two eleven-year-old boys were officially charged this morning in the murder of Masey James. Our Jordan Manning reports from Cook County Juvenile Court.
Jordan: The hearing for the two eleven-year-old boys wrapped up here just over an hour ago. As you can see behind me, protesters are still here but not nearly the number that staked out the courthouse before the hearing. We now know that the two boys, as you just said, will be charged with accessory to murder after the fact, a felony. They will be held in Cook County juvenile detention. As for the thirteen-year-old, the older brother of one of the suspects, he will be arraigned tomorrow in adult court. At today’s hearing, we learned that DNA evidence collected from the spot where the body was found matched evidence taken from the boys’ shoes and clothing.
Iris: Jordan, any word on a motive?
Jordan: That remains a mystery, and police are saying very little. But activist Louise Robinson had plenty to say during a protest march that she and members of the South Side Community Council led here earlier today. She told me, simply put, that the dots don’t connect.
Video clip of Louise Robinson: I’m here to save these boys. They are much younger than Masey. They’ve never attended the same schools as Masey. There is no link between these boys and Masey. Not one. When would they have encountered her? Where would the crime have taken place? These charges are an insult to our intelligence, and we demand that police go back to the drawing board, or wherever they need to go, to find out who did this. There’s nothing anybody could tell me to make me believe that these children are the perpetrators.
Jordan: Iris, Louise Robinson and other protesters I spoke with earlier want to know what happened to the police following up on the mysterious driver that witnesses saw Masey getting into the car with after school.
Iris: Have police offered an update on the driver? Has that person been cleared?
Jordan: That’s part of the problem. The protesters here feel police are laser focused on the boys. It’s a horrific case they want to close. And now the people here are accusing them of rushing to tidy it all up.
*
After a nerve-racking two days of brutal radio silence, Joey, clearly not acknowledging the urgency behind my voice mail, finally called me back, and we agreed to meet, immediately, at a gas station south of downtown. I pulled up behind him, leaving some space in between our cars. I was on 10 when I got out of the car.
“Did you get my message?” I asked.
“Yeah, that’s why I called you back,” he said bluntly, telegraphing that I had work to do to mend this fence. “I’m still on duty, so I don’t have a lot of time,” he said, which explained his badge dangling from a chain around his neck and his casual plainclothes attire—loose-fitting jeans, a flannel shirt, and Timberlands.
The distance between our cars, I began to feel, was symbolic of the distance I sensed between us.
I haven’t seen Joey in months. He really is a handsome man. That’s what you’re thinking about, Jordan, in the midst of all that’s happening?
“Did you find out anything about those guys?”
“Yes, but we need to talk about Bartlett and what you did first,” he said.
He is still irritated with me.
“What happened that day? What did Bartlett say?” I asked.
“Bartlett didn’t say anything; it was Fawcett. I passed the message on to him. I said I’d do it. Why couldn’t you wait for me?”
“Joe, I’m sorry, but you have to understand—”
“No, Jordan, you’re the one who needs to understand! Stay in your lane. You’re doing too much. You could end up doing more harm than good. You are a reporter, okay? You are not an investigator. I get it. You went to school and you studied forensics, and now you think you get to play both roles. That’s not how it works. Get your pen and your pad and write a story instead of trying to make the story about you.”
“Who uses a pen and pad? I have a laptop.” My sarcasm was disarming. Knocked him right off the soapbox he was prepared to stand on until I raised the white flag, which I did to keep things moving. He gave me the side-eye and shook his head, and we both laughed.
“Joey, okay, I’m sorry. Are we okay?” I reached over and caressed his forearm. “Because I need you. I really need you.”