This Is My America(85)

X FACTOR


Stephen Jones Sr. enters the police station the following morning. My hand covers my mouth—because it’s not my regular old Steve—it’s the living legend. Tall, with a gray beard, but same bald head, dark skin, and wide smile. A Black woman trails behind, dressed in all black and wearing cop-looking sunglasses. She smiles, but it’s a hard one.

“Mr. Jones,” I croak out from the hallway behind the desk.

“Yes,” his voice booms. He’s got an aura of importance. I can see why he stands out in court.

“I…I’m Tracy Beaumont,” I fumble out.

The desk officer immediately lets him pass through.

Mr. Jones slaps my shoulder. “It is a pleasure to finally meet you, Ms. Beaumont. This is Dom, my lead investigator.”



My hands tremble as I show them to the conference room we’ve taken over since last night. Mama’s home resting after dropping off Corinne at Tasha’s, where she’ll be staying for a few days. My chest swells with pride thinking about the moment Mama will meet the founder of Innocence X.

Steve soon enters, but it’s clear who’s taken over as alpha dog here. Mr. Jones has officers delivering him coffee and getting access to a computer in the conference room.

Over the next hour, we fill them in on everything we know. Including new suspicions that Daddy’s and Jamal’s cases are connected. Stephen Jones writes notes furiously. He makes calls and researches the story about the girl who was killed in the crowd by a gunshot.

“You think the gun is the same one?” Mr. Jones asks Steve.

“Sheriff brought in his son, Chris, last night,” Steve says. “He revised his statement. He was the first to find Angela, not Jamal. Richard is now suspected of attacking Angela, which led to her death. He needed that gun. May be the same one used in the Davidsons’ murder. Chris admitted his uncle knew about the meetup, delayed his arrival. He’s now spilling on the underground hate group and confirms his friend Scott stole his uncle’s gun and shot at the crowd at the Black Lives Matter march in April. Thought it would be funny. Suspects and witnesses have been filing in all morning.”

Mr. Jones lets out a long whistle. “This will be one hell of a story.”



I’ve gone over all the possible headlines in my story, too.

CORRUPTION IN CROWNING and JUSTICE FOR THE BEAUMONTS are my favorites.

“What’s this mean for our young client, Jamal Beaumont?” Mr. Jones looks to me.

“Steve said the charges are dropped.” I touch my hands to my face, still in disbelief.

“A few more official loopholes to go through,” Steve says. “But the DA’s receptive to dropping charges. He may need to serve some community service for running with a warrant.”

“Under these circumstances, I would hope that’s all. And even that feels unnecessary.” Mr. Jones nods at Dom. A secret language between the two. She’s already up and out, calling the district attorney’s office.

“Now, to complicated matters,” Mr. Jones says to me. “Has Steve told you that while we might have evidence to prove your father’s innocence, there are more hoops to go through?”

I hesitate before speaking, fold my hands in my lap.

“How long?”

“I’ve read enough of your letters to know you’re a relentless advocate. That’s why I can’t in good faith give you a date. This will still be a fight, although we have a lot going for us already.”

I rub my hands over my mouth in frustration.

“Gun ballistics have changed over time,” Mr. Jones says. “It’s not exactly a science anymore. I’ve seen things fall apart with this. We don’t know if the gun is tied to the Davidson murders, but we do know there’s a connection to an affiliated member of a hate group and the death of two young women. We’ll need to press hard on the evidence and get more witnesses who might be willing to come forward, or get an admission. Mrs. Evans’s statement will be key, but I want more.”



Dom returns, taking down names of people to interview and asking how we came to certain conclusions. I wait for more questions from Mr. Jones, but he’s done. He jumps on his phone, emailing and texting.

I look up when I hear a familiar voice.

Quincy.

My heart melts. I move to the door, open it, and flash a wide smile. Behind him is Beverly. An overwhelming joy fills me when I see her. She’s moving slow, her shoulder bandaged and her arm in a brace. She winces with each step. There’s a crowd of her fellow officers around, but her focus is on us.

Beverly took a bullet for my brother, risked her life when another officer was quick to take a shot when Richard yelled, “Gun!” She protects and serves.

We’d given Beverly a hard time about trusting the law, but we were mistaken: she is what the law was always supposed to be.

I hesitate, then reach out to hold Quincy. I’m worried that somehow if I look him in the eye, he’ll be able to see my guilt about his sister being shot. He doesn’t give me another second to question. He flings his arms around me and lifts me up. I let go of my fear and hold him tight. Quincy puts me down. I reach for Beverly but stop because she looks too fragile.



“You should be resting,” I say.

“Had to see it through, make sure Jamal gets released.” She turns to Mr. Jones. “And shake this man’s hand.”