This Is My America(87)

My eyes begin to well as I think about how much time we’ve lost with Daddy. I look back out to the courtroom. Dean catches my eye and he mouths, You got this. I smile. Our friendship took a hit, but we’re strong. Something in me knows it will be able to survive.

The judge calls the attorneys to the front to review the appeal. He and Stephen Jones Sr. talk back and forth, and then the prosecutor answers some questions.

“Your Honor, we’d like to submit an oral argument to go with our appeal,” Mr. Jones says.

“Objection,” the prosecutor says.

“I’ll allow it,” Judge Vandyne says.

The prosecution looks frustrated, but they weren’t expected to object. Especially being under scrutiny for their approach to the first trial since the media made Mrs. Evans’s statement public.

We should’ve known the district attorney’s team would try to pull something; they’ve never been fair to us before.



The room is silent when Stephen Jones Sr. begins to speak. He commands the courtroom with his words.

“A rush to judgment took this innocent man’s freedom from him.” He points to Daddy, and the courtroom hangs on every word. “His family has suffered seven long years knowing that, at the time of the murder, he had the best witnesses you could ask for—his arm around his pregnant wife, children playing at his feet—but their truth was unable to stand in the court of law because their voices were silenced. Overpowered by a desperate attempt to close a case. Now another family suffers. All because the prosecution charged the wrong man, and the real killer was free to murder again. Free to spread hate through racist organizations. Your Honor, let us end this injustice here and now with the Beaumont family and start to heal our community. Grant justice for James Beaumont.”

I watch Judge Vandyne as he takes in the argument, knowing that the other eight judges have already weighed in. They’ve had time to consider. To feel the weight of the personal impact this has had on our family. And front-row seats to the injustices throughout the entire process, all leading to Angela’s murder.

Ultimately, this decision comes down to whether the judges will affirm Daddy’s conviction or reverse it, forcing us to go to the Supreme Court. We hope it won’t go that way. We want Daddy home. Today.

I’m nervous. My heart is sinking. Judge Vandyne has the same expression Judge Williams had years ago when he confirmed what the jury’s decision would mean for Daddy. Death. His matter-of-fact demeanor always rubbed me the wrong way.



He thought he was being just, but what I’ve learned is you can’t separate humanity from the legal system. That’s what Mrs. Evans did. She didn’t think about our family. The real people affected. She closed that door years ago when the trial started. Now that she’s opened it up again, I wonder if she’ll ever be the same. The guilt eats at her. I hope Judge Williams lies restless at night, thinking about Daddy’s case.

Daddy looks at Mr. Jones, hoping for a sign, then turns to us. Our eyes are misty. The ache inside takes over again. Nothing here that I can control. I squeeze Jamal’s hand.

I just want the prosecution to make this easy, but I look over at them and they appear stubborn as ever. This feels too familiar. Tasha touches my shoulder as I clutch the bench with my free hand. The thought overwhelms me. I’m paralyzed by the realization that if we don’t win today, time might run out before we can even make it to the Supreme Court.

The prosecutor stands to make his oral argument.

“Let me review it,” the judge says.

The prosecutor hesitates, then hands over his brief and argument. He remains standing, waiting.

“Sit.”

“Your Honor?”

“Sit.”



Murmurs take over the crowd. The edge in the judge’s voice is harsh. He hits his gavel, and the court is silent. Mr. Jones puts his hand on Daddy’s to calm him.

Daddy whispers to Mr. Jones, who shakes his head slowly. He doesn’t seem to know where this is going. I squeeze Jamal’s hand.

“We have reviewed a signed affidavit from a Sheriff Brighton,” the judge says. “An official report filed by two witnesses stating that Richard Brighton was in the vicinity at the time of the crime, found by Officer Beverly Ridges in a sealed evidence bag, that was not turned over to the defense at trial. We have a ballistics report from a gun owned by Richard Brighton that matches the gun used in the killings of Mark and Cathy Davidson, and we have reviewed DNA samples never tested during the trial that are a match for Richard Brighton. Witnesses who previously testified they saw Jackson Ridges and James Beaumont in town close to the time that the Davidsons were murdered now say they were pressured to make false statements. One witness is named outright as a known repeat witness for the police.”

“Your Honor—” the prosecutor begins.

The judge doesn’t even acknowledge him.

“The prosecution does not object to a review of the appeal and wrote a statement to support the case. But as I read the statement, there are no apologies to the court. To Mr. James Beaumont. No statement regarding the police’s and the prosecution’s tampering with evidence, with witnesses.”

The courtroom starts buzzing. We can feel the judge moving toward a decision that has already been carefully considered by the other judges. Judge Vandyne has been given authority to continue presiding without more review.