It took Jessica less than two minutes to find Hubie Phillips on Facebook. The profile matched the age, education, and background for the source they hoped to find. Although some details were blocked, they saw his profession was retired educator and that he’d been in Memphis since 1998. Although there had been no mention of Jericho or Tibbehah County, they decided to take a flyer and Jessica sent out a friend request. Within fifteen minutes, they heard back, asking, Do I know you? Tashi and Jessica decided direct and honest was the best way to proceed and answered back they were journalists looking into the death of Brandon Taylor.

For two days they heard nothing, but on the third day Jessica received a message from a man named Arthur Kelm from a Gmail account who said he’d like to meet and find out if they had the best interests in mind for his friend Hubie. He wanted to meet in Memphis at a public spot and they chose the food court at an aging mall in east Memphis on Poplar Avenue. Tashi went alone with her recorder and a notebook and found a small table outside a Starbucks, on the first floor, right by the entrance to Macy’s.

She drank a matcha green tea latte and checked her phone, waiting for thirty minutes and then an hour. She texted Jessica back at the Traveler’s Rest Motel saying, Looks like a no-show. But Jessica remained firm, saying, Kelm said he was running late. Stick tight. He’ll show.

Nearly an hour and a half from the agreed meeting time, a slight, older man with thinning gray hair, dressed in a short-sleeved plaid shirt and khakis, walked up to her table. He looked as bland and inoffensive as an insurance salesman. “Are you Jessica?”

“Tashi,” she said, giving her best welcoming smile, pointing to an empty chair. “Jessica is my producer. She couldn’t make it.”

The older man looked worried, his sagging cheeks ashen, his eyes, a clear blue, darting around the mall, looking as if a SWAT team might swoop in at any moment, knocking over coffee cups, muffins, and Danishes. “I agreed to meet Jessica. I don’t know you.”

“You don’t know Jessica, either,” Tashi said, still smiling. “But we showed you who we are and what we’re working on. Can I buy you some coffee or something to eat? There’s a Chick-fil-A right around the corner. We could talk there.”

The man didn’t sit, just kept on looking around the mall. Foot Locker, U.S. Apparel, a GNC store offering BUY ONE, GET ONE 50 PERCENT OFF! LIT ON-THE-GO IN TANGY ORANGE. He was skinny and slump-shouldered. His tennis shoes were sensible white canvas with spotless laces.

“I promise, I don’t bite.”