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Stop Snitchin’

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He again refused to testify, his reluctance allowing Travis to walk. Judge Brenda Burnham Unruh found Feaster in contempt. He was sentenced to 16 years in adult prison for violating his plea agreement.

"Tyree [Feaster] didn't know any better," Sandra Lester says. "That's what the streets taught him. He did apologize to me. He said he was scared. But what's he scared of? He'd be better off talking than facing big Bruno in jail. A lot in jail are mad about Tuna."

Finally, it was Davis' turn to face the court. Burnside testified that he'd seen Davis with a gun, but never saw him fire. Without other witnesses, that wasn't good enough for the court.

On November 14, Judge Teodosio found Davis not guilty of all charges except aggravated rioting.

Lester was outraged. She's convinced Davis killed Shawrica. That's the word in Manchester-Thornton. "We know what's what on the street," she says. "I think Davis has no conscience. I think his mother threw the gun away. My friend. Ha. I told him he was going to hell in gasoline drawers."

As Davis celebrated with his family, the case seemed all but closed. All suspects, except for Feaster, were back on the street. The chance for new indictments appeared slim. "All you doing is sending a message to these kids that they can do whatever they want," Lester says. "These kids, they don't look at death like we used to. To them, Shawrica is just a number. Just part of the game. They may be kids, but they aren't normal kids."

On an unusually warm December day, Ozzy Wimberely, a dapper man in shiny loafers, cuts hair at Ray & Jim's Barber Shop on Copley Road, just around the corner from where Shawrica and Feaster attended high school.

Though Hilltopper territory, the street appears to be anything but a war zone. Kids ride bikes on the sidewalk, middle-aged men on cell phones hug carryout orders, and grandmas lug bags from the pharmacy.

If there is a fear of gangs at Ray & Jim's, it's a silent one. When asked about how they perceive snitching, one man zips his mouth shut. The rest stare into magazines or down at their trousers. Here, the rule is to simply mind your own business. "When it gets dark, we're all going in," Wimberely says with a laugh. "It doesn't really affect us. I haven't seen any of it."

As 16-year-old Jared Brown gets his hair cut, he shrugs off the thought of gang retaliation. "People might get scared," he says. "You know, getting shot or jumped. But it's not really all that. We just try and stay away from that stuff."

When Shawrica Lester is mentioned, a few men shake their heads. "One thing I read was that some of these witnesses, these kids threatened their families," says Rodney Decatur. "It's a security issue more than anything else. I'm not saying that I wouldn't snitch, but it would be something I'd have to think about."

Lester understands — to a point. "People justify it any way they can," Lester says. "They tell themselves that Tuna is dead, can't nothing bring her back, or that it's part of the game. I get it. But I'm asking those parents to put themselves in my shoes. It's all about not telling until it happens to you. Now, I'm telling. We got to get this badness out of here."

Since Shawrica's murder, Lester rarely leaves the house. She has a job waiting, but she isn't ready to return. She and daughter Kenya both dropped out of college. Lester is on medication, barely able to get a decent night's rest.

"I dream of her every night," she says. "God is my therapy. I know he has plans. And if you don't believe in God, then there's something called karma. And I believe those boys are gonna get what's coming to them. I'm mad at them, but I love them. I have to. That's what God wants."

As for the V-Nots, life goes on as usual. In September, DeMarco Deck was picked up for carrying a concealed weapon. He told Judge Unruh that he was carrying the gun because of death threats he'd received after testifying against Davis and Travis. He was given two more years of probation.

Even though Feaster has been locked up since his arrest, jail hasn't seemed to keep him out of trouble. He's been in two fistfights since his incarceration. Though he continues his high-school education in jail, he's failing all his classes. He has yet to be transferred to adult prison. Instead, he waits in Summit County Jail as his lawyer appeals his 16-year sentence. And it looks like the very threats that saved Davis from prison are now keeping him from returning to high school. Thanks to fear of retaliation, Superintendent Sylvester Small says that Davis will be placed in an alternative school. "We have a lot of concerned parents," Small says. "For his safety and the safety of other students, we'll wait for this thing to cool off before we integrate him back into the system."

Shawrica's case now sits on top of a big pile of unsolved homicides. Parnell is still investigating, but without cooperative witnesses, he knows it'll be tough.

"It's well known that if you talk, there are serious repercussions," the detective admits. "And not just from gangs, but anyone. These kids — if the police aren't in their neighborhoods, they don't fear them. And they definitely don't fear you. They only have fear if the police are right there with you. Now, you tell me — how are we gonna make that happen?"

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