“What am I supposed to say, Gaby? ‘I can’t ever forgive your husband for what he did’？ ‘He’s part of the chain of systemic racism that’s killing men who look like my father and brother’？ ‘If you don’t think race is the problem here, then you’re completely clueless’？”
The fist in my stomach squeezes tighter at the fact that I even have to explain that.
“Um, hell yeah. That’s a start. How can you have a friendship if you can’t be honest with each other? I’m just gonna say it—you dance around things with her, from what I’ve seen over the years. I mean, I have about one white friend—you know, Kate, from work. She’s like a half friend to grab lunch with, but whatever, I still tell her what’s up all the time. And I call her out too. Like last week when she said our other coworker Lakeisha was being ‘ghetto’ in a meeting. Uh-uh, Katie, girl. We had to have a good, long talk. I mean, maybe I’m too much—don’t answer that—but that’s me. Bottom line: You should feel like you can say what you need to say to Jen. You need to get it all out there now.”
“You’re right, Gab. My mom said the same thing. I just have to find the time.”
“Story of your life, girl.”
“Speaking of, I’m late for a meeting. I gotta run.”
I abandon my Cheeto dreams, grab my notebook, and dash into the conference room. I’m three minutes late and Scotty gives me a withering once-over, but he doesn’t stop speaking. “Okay, who’s on Mummers?”
Every year with the stupid Mummers—a century-old tradition where a bunch of xenophobic old white men dress in blackface, brownface, redface, and women’s clothes to parade through the city on New Year’s Day. Shaun forwarded me a link this morning with an op-ed by Ernest Owens that ran in Philly mag a couple years ago with the headline WANT TO SOLVE THE MUMMERS’ DIVERSITY PROBLEM? JUST CALL IT “THE WHITE HERITAGE PARADE.”
I’m hardly going to raise my hand for this one, and Scotty has better sense than to even look my way. With everything happening this year you’d think they’d shut the parade down, but so far the mayor has simply issued a stern warning to the Mummers to be on their best behavior… or else.
My phone buzzes with a call. Because it’s a newsroom, no one bats an eye. When I see who it is, I launch myself toward the door, pointing at the phone to indicate to Scotty that I have to take it. He’ll be glad I did when he learns that it’s Sabrina Cowell, who is hopefully calling to say she’ll do the interview with me, especially since Scotty asks about it every other day. I haven’t seen her since the fundraiser. I also don’t recall giving her my number, but I’m not surprised that she managed to get it.
“Hello, this is Riley.”
“Hi, Riley, it’s Sabrina.”
“Oh, hi, Sabrina. How are you—”
“Listen, the OIS has completed their investigation of the shooting and kicked it over to us. We’re going for an indictment for Kevin Murphy and Travis Cameron.” She pauses. “My plan is to bring the case to the grand jury next week. We’re going for murder one. Now, I don’t think a grand jury will go for that, but it sends a message.”
The words hit me with such force I have to steady myself against the hallway wall. A part of me knew this was coming, and another thought Kevin would slip through the cracks of the justice system like so many others before him. Or at least he would face lesser charges, a slap on the wrist.
Then there’s Jenny in my head.
I asked for this. I wanted it. I courted Sabrina so she’d give me a scoop, and now I hate that I have this information.
“Riley?”
“I’m here.”
“We have some new information about Officer Murphy…” Her pause seems to last a lifetime. “That he may be… less culpable than Cameron.”
Less culpable. My heart is racing. “What information?” I’ve been pressing my source at the district to get the police reports for weeks now, but given how high-profile and sensitive the case is, I’ve had no luck.
“I can’t tell you that right now. What I can tell you is my singular goal here is justice, justice for Justin’s family. I’d be satisfied punishing the officer who’s most culpable, especially if we have evidence that justifies that and also sways public opinion. In fact, we would see it as a win for the Dwyers, especially if it saves Tamara Dwyer from a drawn-out trial reliving what happened to her son, and all the media attention that would come with it. But that would mean Officer Murphy testifying against his partner. I want every officer on the PPD to understand that they’ll be held accountable for their actions, but that they are also accountable to the larger ethos and credibility of the whole department—no more cover-ups, no more turning the other cheek, no more blind loyalty. Every officer has to hold the others to the highest standard, and that means honesty and transparency, from the top down. It also means we send a message to officers who don’t cooperate. In light of our talk and of your tricky position, I wanted to give you a heads-up on this.”
Why, I wonder. Is it because of my connection to Jen? I haven’t seen her for weeks though, and I don’t have any influence over what Kevin will do. So if that’s Sabrina’s angle here, she’s out of luck.
“Okay,” I offer noncommittally.
“Part of the reason I wanted to loop you in is because I’m considering doing the interview you asked for when I announce the indictments. This isn’t going to be an easy case, and shaping the story in the right way is going to be critical.”
“What do you mean by ‘shaping the story’？”
“You know as well as I do that the court of public opinion matters just as much as that of any court of law. I also don’t have to tell you these cases are difficult to prosecute; the legal bar favors cops, which is something that we’re going to have to change. I want a conviction here, I want some justice for the Dwyers, and I have a strategy for that. But I also want public pressure and attention. I want any potential jury pool and any Philadelphia citizen to understand what’s at stake here, and how and why I’m—we’re—trying to reform our city. That’s where you come in.”
In other words, I’m the stepping-stone for Sabrina’s soapbox. Which is fine; she’s not the first person to try to manipulate the media to her own ends and tilt her head toward the spotlight—she wouldn’t be where she is if she hadn’t. But still, the self-serving undertones and the means-to-an-end vibe make me wonder: Is Sabrina truly out for justice for Justin, or just out for Sabrina? But that line of thinking cuts too close to questioning my own motivations.
“In the meantime, this has to stay under wraps. If we can’t get this indictment, I don’t want the public to know we tried and failed. It wouldn’t be good for the DA’s office, the Dwyers, or the city of Philadelphia. There’s too much at risk. It’s a powder keg out there. I don’t want to be the one who lights the match.”
“Okay. I won’t repeat any of this, Sabrina.”
Whatever else this little disclosure is, it’s a test of trust too.