This Is My America(83)

I expect to see relief in Sheriff Brighton’s face now that Jamal is under arrest, but he’s frantically looking between Beverly on the ground and his brother in another police car. He barely seems to register when an officer drives away with Jamal. His face looks anything but relieved.





THE TRUTH SHALL


SET US FREE


Mama, Corinne, and I are huddled in a cold conference room. Across the way is Jamal in a smaller interview room. He’s still handcuffed, but at least not in a holding cell. I feel like I’m turning sideways.

I had the same disoriented feeling seeing Quincy ride in the ambulance with Beverly: the ground pulling at me, so I don’t know what’s up or down. It didn’t help that the officers seemed just as confused.

Sheriff Brighton walks down the hallway, stopping at Jamal’s door. I stand, until I see he’s stopped by a man in a gray suit who isn’t dressed like the rest of the Galveston County police force. The sheriff insists on speaking with Jamal. He’s turned away. My body shakes with relief, hoping this is one step closer to clearing Jamal’s name.



Steve enters our conference room. Mama clutches her shirt and stands.

“Sit.” Steve gestures with his hand. “This is going to be a while.”

“Are they gonna let us talk to Jamal?” I ask.

“No.” Steve points to Jamal’s room. “Once they complete his paperwork, they’ll let me join him.”

I clear my throat. “What’s next?” I sip lukewarm water from a Styrofoam cup.

“Outside investigators have been called in. They’ve given approval for the ballistics on the gun found at the Pike to be done by an external unit.”

I exhale. My biggest fear was that Jamal’s fingerprints would be planted on the gun or they’d use it against him without any real evidence.

Corinne smiles, even though I know she doesn’t know what that means to us. She just knows we’re happy about it.

The plainclothes officer in gray, I realize, is from internal affairs. Not Galveston County police. I still don’t know who to trust. What kind of involvement Sheriff Brighton had. Did he know? Was he part of a cover-up? Or just couldn’t—didn’t want to—see the truth?

I rub my temples, then glance down at my phone for an update from Quincy. I want to be at the hospital for him and Beverly. As usual, I’m pulled in two places at once.

No news yet.

Mama brushes her forehead, the strain showing in her red eyes.



“You got any answers?” Corinne whispers to me.

“Jamal’s safe.” I squeeze Corinne’s arm, gentle. “That’s all that matters now.”

Corinne rests her head on Mama and fidgets with her shirt.

I take a long breath. Jamal’s under arrest, but Richard’s actions might have put the focus on his guilt. I only hope Beverly won’t have long-term injuries. By the time the ambulance pulled away, she was alert. Talking. Her shoulder was hit, but the other cops said she’d survive.

Out the window, I see Dean enter the police station with his parents. Mama glances at me, and I shrug. I didn’t contact him.

A few minutes later, Officer Clyde appears from the back of the station, his face ashen. He’s changed his uniform, the blood on his shirt now gone. I’m relieved. The front-desk officer points toward Mrs. Evans, and Officer Clyde meets her. They talk close, in hushed words. Dean and I catch glances, but he doesn’t move toward me.

Officer Clyde enters our conference room. His silver hair is disheveled, stress on his face.

“Mrs. Evans is here to make a statement, and she’d like your family to be there. It’s unusual, but we’ll allow it if you agree.”

Mama and I exchange glances. Lost at what she could possibly say to us when we got bigger things going on. Mama nods at Officer Clyde.

Steve motions for Officer Clyde to step out to talk to him before the Evanses enter.

Mr. Evans holds one arm around a rigid Mrs. Evans, whispering what must be words of comfort when they finally enter with Officer Clyde and another plainclothes officer. Dean doesn’t meet my eyes and takes a seat next to his dad.



Mrs. Evans puts down a photo. The photo. The one from the lynching. She closes her eyes as tears form. A coldness settles in my chest.

I study Dean’s mom. Whatever she’s been through has been ingrained in her since she was a kid. Her father left imprints of his beliefs on her. How much she’s held on to is a mystery. Still, it’s a choice.

“When I was ten years old, I witnessed a murder. One that my father, Charles Greene, Grand Wizard of the Galveston County chapter of the Ku Klux Klan, was involved in. They murdered a man named Minh Nguyen.”

I expect her to stop, but she chokes through several more names from the photo that she thinks we should know about, those who witnessed the murder like her. Two names jump out. “Cathy Marcom Davidson. Richard Brighton.”

“Wait. As in Cathy Davidson, Mark Davidson’s wife?” I ask.

Steve hushes me. I bite my cheek, holding back questions I’m dying to get answered.

Mrs. Evans stares down at the table, as if looking at us will make her stop talking. She begins with the night of the lynching.

“I couldn’t sleep after what I saw. It was so brutal. My father said that the man was nothing. Not to be so upset. But I couldn’t stop thinking about him…hanging there…wondering if his family knew…In the middle of the night, I snuck to the phone and called the police to leave a tip about the body. I didn’t think they’d trace the phone and show up at our house like they did.”