This Monday, August 19th at 11:37 PM I pulled out my vintage cell phone to check the date as I rotated Mister John’s yogurt. A message had been left for me at 11:32. I checked and noticed it was Myles, a fellow boxer I met at a club a decade ago. He is a young black man who I have coached in the past. When young men in the black community get in trouble, if they have any sense, they call a white man they know and trust. It seems crazy in our overtly racist world, but it is a good survival tactic to contact a person with a better chance at being connected to influential folks. In fact, I do know a couple of lawyers…

I stepped into the stockroom and called back immediately. Myles launched into his dilemma right off the bat, “James, I think I have information about a murder… The other day I was driving home and this pretty girl was broken down on the side of the road. She had called the police, but I stayed with her until they came, and then drove her home. The entire way home she was telling me about this being a tough time for her because she had just gotten her divorce finalized, and that the husband was the most abusive dude she had ever been with.”

“Well, she’s like, ‘I’m feeling something between us. We ought to get together.’”

“She was nice and all, but I wasn’t feelin’ comfortable about the situation. I drove her home, and she gave me a hug when she got out. Her kid—seven years old I think—was sitting on the steps. Somethin’ was weird though about this dude that was looking at me when I drove off—real hostile… He was nearby, not with her.”

“Anyway, she gave me her number and asked me to call her. I didn’t. Then, a couple days later, I felt bad about that and called her. She didn’t answer. I Googled her and found out that she was the one who had been killed with the shotgun with her child in the back seat. I felt like I should call and give a statement but they can’t come out tonight. I’m pacing the floors like crazy, can’t sleep. You know how I feel about them [police]. They’re commin’ out at seven am.”

I felt like I needed to reassure him, “Look man, you aren’t a suspect, the husband is. And they won’t be sending some meathead in a uniform out. This will be a detective with brains who will appreciate the info. Just be cool and make sure you tell him what time the cops came on her [roadside] call.”

Myles seemed relieved; I suppose just glad to hear this from someone whose judgment he trusted, who he also knew did not blindly trust the police. But when 9:00 A.M., and then 10:00 A.M. rolled around and he didn’t call I got nervous. I called and his phone was off. I called a few more times throughout the day and the phone was still off. Eventually, in the evening, Myles called me up and told me that the detective informed him that the murderer was the husband, and that he had killed himself with the same weapon at another location. He thanked me for the support. I bet he is glad he didn’t take the girl up on her suggestion that they hook up the next day, which turned out to be the day she was killed by her jealous ex-husband.