Bergman?”
Mrs. Hartwell dabbed at her eyes. “It was my fault. I sent him to the store this morning to pick up a prescription for his grandma. She’s diabetic and had run out of insulin. I called Mr. Bergman at home, and he told me not to worry. He said he’d go in early and let my boy in. My boy wasn’t there to steal anything. I don’t understand how the officer could make a mistake like that. Billy Dean didn’t do anything wrong.”
That can’t be true . Angel stared at the set, unable to believe what she’d heard.
“We’ve been told that the officer mistook his gun for the real thing,” the reporter went on, “and that he was threatening to fire at her.”
The woman was crying in earnest now. “I’m sorry, I just can’t do this.”
A stern-looking man settled a long-fingered hand on Mrs. Hartwell’s shoulder. “It’s all right, Mavis.” The camera focused in on him. Tall and thin, he wore his black hair cropped close to his head and had on a business suit. “I’ll answer the questions. I’m Billy’s uncle, Ray Broadman.” Turning to face the camera he said, “It’s clear to me that what we have here is a case of outright prejudice. Officer Delaney saw an opportunity to kill a black boy and did so.”
Angel stared openmouthed at the television screen. “I can’t believe he said that.”
“The guy’s nuts, Angel.” Eric touched her shoulder.
“I need to hear this.” She leaned forward, and Eric’s hand dropped away.
“Billy was at the wrong place at the wrong time,” the man continued. “Like his mama says. He was a good boy. Do you want to know what was in his pocket when that woman killed him? His grandmother’s prescription and a candy bar—bought and paid for. He even had the receipt. Billy was not a thief. His so-called weapon was a birthday present. You know how boys are, always playing Rambo and GI Joe.”
“So you’re accusing the officer of being racist?” the reporter asked.
“What other explanation can there be? Officer Delaney claims she was doing her job. She might think killing a black boy isn’t a big deal, but she is dead wrong. I’ve already talked to a lawyer. Officer Delaney is going to pay for what she’s done, make no mistake about that. If the state of Oregon won’t bring her down for killing that boy, the black community will.”
The anchor closed the segment by showing footage of Angel and Brandon. “The officer responsible for Billy’s death refused to give us a statement other than to say she was sorry it happened. Is this another case of police brutality? Of excessive force? A racial incident? It’s still too soon to tell.”
A picture of Billy flashed on the screen. An adorable boy with a smile as big as Texas.
The reporter continued. “What happened to Billy Dean Hartwell? Was he an innocent bystander as his family says, or was he a gang member? Sources on the street tell us that Billy was not in any way affiliated with the gang that has been operating in the area. We’ll bring you the latest news on this case as it’s made available.”
Angel turned off the set and sat there in stunned disbelief. Billy had gone to the pharmacy for medication. Had she been mistaken all along in counting him as one of the gang members? He’d come out from hiding and looked scared and acted like he was giving up. She had assumed that he’d luredher out in the open so his pals could get a clean shot at her. Maybe he was coming to her for help, and the shooters took advantage of the situation. Angel stared into the fireplace, trying to assemble this new information.
Billy had made a purchase, but that didn’t change the fact that he’d run from her in that building, or that he’d raised his gun as if to shoot at her. Or had he? Maybe he’d started to raise his hands in surrender. Had she been so frightened, so fearful for her life, that she’d misread his intent?
“Don’t pay any attention to them, Angel.”
She jumped at the sound of
Mrs. Hartwell dabbed at her eyes. “It was my fault. I sent him to the store this morning to pick up a prescription for his grandma. She’s diabetic and had run out of insulin. I called Mr. Bergman at home, and he told me not to worry. He said he’d go in early and let my boy in. My boy wasn’t there to steal anything. I don’t understand how the officer could make a mistake like that. Billy Dean didn’t do anything wrong.”
That can’t be true . Angel stared at the set, unable to believe what she’d heard.
“We’ve been told that the officer mistook his gun for the real thing,” the reporter went on, “and that he was threatening to fire at her.”
The woman was crying in earnest now. “I’m sorry, I just can’t do this.”
A stern-looking man settled a long-fingered hand on Mrs. Hartwell’s shoulder. “It’s all right, Mavis.” The camera focused in on him. Tall and thin, he wore his black hair cropped close to his head and had on a business suit. “I’ll answer the questions. I’m Billy’s uncle, Ray Broadman.” Turning to face the camera he said, “It’s clear to me that what we have here is a case of outright prejudice. Officer Delaney saw an opportunity to kill a black boy and did so.”
Angel stared openmouthed at the television screen. “I can’t believe he said that.”
“The guy’s nuts, Angel.” Eric touched her shoulder.
“I need to hear this.” She leaned forward, and Eric’s hand dropped away.
“Billy was at the wrong place at the wrong time,” the man continued. “Like his mama says. He was a good boy. Do you want to know what was in his pocket when that woman killed him? His grandmother’s prescription and a candy bar—bought and paid for. He even had the receipt. Billy was not a thief. His so-called weapon was a birthday present. You know how boys are, always playing Rambo and GI Joe.”
“So you’re accusing the officer of being racist?” the reporter asked.
“What other explanation can there be? Officer Delaney claims she was doing her job. She might think killing a black boy isn’t a big deal, but she is dead wrong. I’ve already talked to a lawyer. Officer Delaney is going to pay for what she’s done, make no mistake about that. If the state of Oregon won’t bring her down for killing that boy, the black community will.”
The anchor closed the segment by showing footage of Angel and Brandon. “The officer responsible for Billy’s death refused to give us a statement other than to say she was sorry it happened. Is this another case of police brutality? Of excessive force? A racial incident? It’s still too soon to tell.”
A picture of Billy flashed on the screen. An adorable boy with a smile as big as Texas.
The reporter continued. “What happened to Billy Dean Hartwell? Was he an innocent bystander as his family says, or was he a gang member? Sources on the street tell us that Billy was not in any way affiliated with the gang that has been operating in the area. We’ll bring you the latest news on this case as it’s made available.”
Angel turned off the set and sat there in stunned disbelief. Billy had gone to the pharmacy for medication. Had she been mistaken all along in counting him as one of the gang members? He’d come out from hiding and looked scared and acted like he was giving up. She had assumed that he’d luredher out in the open so his pals could get a clean shot at her. Maybe he was coming to her for help, and the shooters took advantage of the situation. Angel stared into the fireplace, trying to assemble this new information.
Billy had made a purchase, but that didn’t change the fact that he’d run from her in that building, or that he’d raised his gun as if to shoot at her. Or had he? Maybe he’d started to raise his hands in surrender. Had she been so frightened, so fearful for her life, that she’d misread his intent?
“Don’t pay any attention to them, Angel.”
She jumped at the sound of
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