We Are Not Like Them(87)
“By now, I’m sure you have all seen the video of Justin Dwyer murdered a couple of blocks from his home.”
No doubt images from the video are now flickering through everyone’s minds, priming us all for her announcement, exactly as she intended.
“This is a tragic event that could have been avoided. Justin was only fourteen years old when he was killed by police officers Kevin Murphy and Travis Cameron. After a thorough investigation and evaluation of the law, my office presented a case to the grand jury, which returned an indictment for first-degree murder against officers Murphy and Cameron.”
Sabrina lets her words simmer, just like she did at the fundraiser. I think about Jenny, what she’s doing right now as the whole city learns her husband’s fate. Is there a TV in the NICU? Is she watching?
Tamara stares above all of our heads into the middle distance. This poor woman has seen a video of her son being shot, crumpling into a heap in a dark alley. What must it be like for her to have this be one of the last images she has of her only child?
I turn my attention back to Sabrina as she concludes.
“This office has the utmost respect for the police force of Philadelphia and all efforts to protect our citizens and enforce the law. At the same time, no officer is above the law and we cannot allow this kind of state-sanctioned anti-Black violence to continue here in Philadelphia. We have an obligation as citizens and I have an obligation as the chief legal authority in this city to uphold justice. And to my mind justice means that every single person in this city and in this country lives in social conditions and under a social contract that allows them freedom, safety, and fair treatment under the law. We too often violate that contract when it comes to our Black citizens. And the time has beyond passed for that to change—not lip service—real change. And real change comes when people understand there will be consequences for violating that contract; real change comes when everyone pushes back against the status quo. In the past few weeks thousands of people have marched through our streets, all of them demanding an end to that status quo and demanding that I and other leaders relentlessly battle the insidious forces of corruption and racism that poison our police department. That’s just what I intend to do, now and in the future. Our city will not be able to heal until justice is served for the Dwyer family. And, mark my words, justice will be served here.” She pauses again and ends with a curt, “That will be all.”
Reporters immediately rush the platform shouting questions. I elbow my way to the front of the scrum. My height always helps in these situations, as I shoot my mic over a petite woman slightly in front of me. Tamara and her entourage are whisked out of the wood-paneled door before anyone can successfully thrust a microphone in their faces. But Sabrina holds back.
“Will Murphy and Cameron be arrested today?” The question is less surreal when it’s drowned out by a dozen other equally zealous reporters shouting similar inquiries.
Sabrina turns to look directly at me and at the camera perched on Bart’s shoulder.
“We are working with Officers Cameron and Murphy to arrange for them to turn themselves in by the end of the week. This isn’t a witch hunt. My office has no interest in causing any further disruption. As I said, we’re only here to make sure that justice is served for Justin Dwyer and that there is oversight in law enforcement.”
Sabrina scans the press pool, ready for another question. It comes from the CNN legal affairs reporter, whom I’ve always admired.
“Are you aware that Officer Murphy’s wife recently gave birth?”
I stop jostling the others for a better position and freeze in place.
“I wish Officer Murphy and his wife the best when it comes to raising a happy and healthy child.” Sabrina looks directly into Bart’s camera. “That’s what every parent deserves. That’s exactly why we’re here today.”
Chapter Fourteen JEN
By this time tomorrow we’ll know where we stand.
“I’ve never been so humiliated, Jen,” Kevin says, staring at the ceiling, still in his clothes.
Moments ago, I’d stripped off my sweats and T-shirt that smell like hospital and crawled into bed next to him in my bra and underwear. I’ve been at the NICU for ten hours and my eyelids are dry as sandpaper, but I’ve got to keep them open because he needs someone to listen to every single excruciating detail of turning himself in this afternoon—the fingerprinting, the mug shot, the paperwork, the shame of being on the other side, all the sympathetic I’m only doing my job shrugs from his fellow officers, who wouldn’t even look him in the eye. He’d thought Cameron would be there too, that they could have gone through the hell together, but Cameron isn’t surrendering until next week. His lawyer asked for more time. Kevin wanted to get it over with—and at least he didn’t have to spend a night in jail, thanks to the $50,000 bond Cookie and Frank scrounged together. I’d heard them talking in the kitchen a few days ago, about how they’d have to give up their dream of a little house not far from the beach in South Carolina. There goes their easy retirement filled only with the drama of grandkids and hurricane warnings. Even so, Cookie never hesitated, never even complained. She never will.
I can hardly focus on what Kevin’s saying since I know I’ve got to get up in a few hours to get back to the hospital. I just want to drift off picturing Chase’s little eyelashes, counting each individual strand framing his deep blue eyes, but Kevin needs me.