Closed case, open wounds

Jamal Jackson loved pickles. If the jar was in front of him, the temptation was too strong. He'd grab five, maybe six, extolling their virtues as he devoured them. The lament would come later, when he'd curl up on the couch, moaning and cursing his excess.

But that was Jamal. Long before he was killed by a kitchen knife plunged 2 inches into his chest, he jumped headlong into whatever interested him, regardless of the consequences. Sometimes exuberance can cost you, particularly on the unforgiving streets where Jamal carved his path. He made his share of mistakes, even as he successfully sidestepped the alcohol and drug abuse that scarred his neighborhood.

''He had only one big weakness: girls," said Leo Papile, his former AAU basketball coach. ''He was like a young Cassius Clay. Women couldn't resist him."

''Once we were at a basketball tournament in Jacksonville," recalled Kyle Snowden, Jackson's AAU teammate. ''There were a bunch of foreign exchange students staying at our hotel.

''These girls could barely speak a word of English, but that didn't stop Jamal. He had no idea what they were saying, and they had no idea what he was saying, but it didn't matter. They were still drawn to him."

His charisma was not limited to the social scene. His East Boston team won back-to-back city basketball championships in 1991 and 1992 and a Division 2 state championship in '92, and Jamal was the reason. He had it all -- the size, the skills, the savvy -- but his grades were poor, preventing him from drawing interest from glamorous college programs. Cleveland State took him on as a Proposition 48 student in 1993, and the highlight reels started flowing the following season.

Papile, who now doubles as the Celtics' director of player personnel, once showed NBA All-Star Paul Pierce some footage of Jackson.

''Paul was enthralled," Papile said. ''He said, 'I feel like I'm watching me.' I told him, 'Actually, I think Jamal was a little better than you were at that age.' "

''He was special," said former Patriots tight end Jermaine Wiggins, Jamal's childhood friend and high school basketball teammate. ''Destined for greatness."

The horrific twist to the success story proved to be all too sad, and all too familiar. Jamal Jackson's life abruptly ended Aug. 18, 1995, face down in a pool of blood. He was 22 years old, stabbed in the chest four hours before he was scheduled to board a plane back to Cleveland, where he had led Cleveland State in scoring and rebounding the previous season.

The man who stabbed him, Reginald Howard, claimed self-defense and was acquitted of second-degree murder charges, largely based on the testimony of his cousin, Traci Washington, who was Jackson's girlfriend.

Ten years have passed since Jackson's hoop dreams died on the streets of Boston. No one went to prison for his death. His passing devastated his sister, his mother, and his grandmother, and left a stain on his community.

''It still bothers me deeply," said Mike Rubin, his coach at East Boston. ''Where's the justice? Jamal was so special. He was a great kid, a great talent. He could score. He was a gifted passer and a tremendous defender. There's no doubt in my mind he was an NBA player."

Maybe it was Jamal Jackson's irrepressible smile that left its indelible mark. Maybe it was his indefatigable approach to the game he loved -- ''The most relentless competitor I've ever seen at any level," declared Papile. Maybe it was his devotion to his grandmother, Ruth Jackson, who raised him, that has caused the outrage to linger. Or maybe, as Wiggins surmised, it's the persistent ache of another promising life wasted, another sickening reminder of what could have been.

''We talked all the time about how we were going to be pro athletes," Wiggins said. ''You have to understand how big it is when someone actually makes it. We grew up never seeing anyone do it.

''Don't you ever wonder why there aren't more professional athletes who come out of Boston? Because there is so much going against you. As kids, we found ourselves asking, 'Is it really possible, or is it just something we're fantasizing about?' "

Jackson's mother, Arnett Branch, was sleeping in her Brockton home when the telephone jarred her awake sometime after 5 a.m. on that fateful August morning. It was Boston City Hospital. Her son, they told her, had been stabbed. She raced to the emergency room, but by the time she arrived, he was lying still, his head protruding from a white body bag.

''His body was still warm," Branch testified at Howard's trial. ''I kept hugging him, but he wouldn't wake up. His head was sticking out of the bag, and there were scratches on his face."

Sharon Jackson, Jamal's sister who was 24 at the time, fell to the floor when they told her the news.

''My legs just stopped working," she said.

She was so distraught that she stopped eating, bathing, and, temporarily, even talking. She wrapped the shirt he was wearing the night he was killed in a plastic bag and tucked it away in her drawer. She was a fixture at the cemetery where Jamal was buried, staring blankly for hours at his grave. Once when she arrived and found the cemetery locked, she smashed open the fence and spent the night sleeping next to his headstone.

''Jamal's death destroyed me," she said. ''I wasn't functioning. I dropped to about 85 pounds. I was in shock. It was as if somebody sucked the life right out of me."

Arnett Branch was a child herself when she gave birth to Sharon, then Jamal. She was too young to care for them properly, so her mother, Ruth, a devout Jehovah's Witness, took them in and made sure her grandchildren treated adults -- and each other -- with respect.

''She did a wonderful job with those kids," said Rubin. ''She gave them all the tools to succeed."

Ruth pleaded with Jamal to spend his summers in Cleveland, away from the temptations of the city.

''She was worried about who he was hanging around with," Sharon said.

Jamal minded his grandmother in the summer of 1995 until mid-August, when he sneaked home for a visit. He wanted to see Traci Washington, the woman he couldn't stay away from, in spite of a volatile relationship that often seemed unhealthy to both families.

On the afternoon of Aug. 17, he visited Washington at her beauty salon on Tremont Street and got a haircut. He made arrangements to meet her later that night at the Roxy, a popular nightclub in Boston. Howard, who testified that he was present for that conversation, asked Washington after Jackson left if she had told him about Shawn Davis, whom Washington was also seeing that summer.

''It was none of his [Jamal's] business," Washington said at the trial.

According to Washington's testimony, she and Jackson danced and shared a bottle of champagne at the Roxy, but later got into an argument. Washington said Jamal shoved her, so she left the club. Shawn Davis was waiting outside, and the two of them shared a cab back to her salon, where they retreated to a small bedroom in the back. Howard also arrived there sometime after 2 a.m. because, he said, he had misplaced his keys to his aunt's house where he was staying.

Jackson, according to witnesses who were with him, ended up at Massachusetts General Hospital, checking on the status of his friend, Colin Burton, who had been stabbed in a fight outside the club. He called Washington from the hospital and asked if he could come over. Washington testified that she told him not to come.

But Jackson had his own key, and he arrived at Traci's shop at 670 Tremont Street sometime after 4 a.m. He let himself into the salon, saw Howard on the couch in the front room, then knocked on the locked door of the bedroom, where Washington and Davis were sleeping.

According to testimony from Howard and Davis, when Davis opened the door, Jackson said, ''What are you doing with my girl?"

He and Washington began arguing, according to Howard, and Washington asked him to leave.

Howard testified that Jackson said, ''I'm not going anywhere."

In her testimony to the grand jury and her initial statement to police, Washington said she did not feel threatened by Jackson, and even instructed her cousin Howard at one point to ''Chill. I can handle this."

''Here is where the story varies," said Charles Bartoloni, the Suffolk County Assistant District Attorney who prosecuted Howard. ''According to Reggie Howard, Jamal came at him with a knife. He said it was self-defense. But in Traci's testimony to police, she said Jamal was unarmed."

Both Howard and Davis testified that during the time Washington and Jackson argued, Jackson left the bedroom and went into the kitchen. Davis said Jackson returned with a knife. Howard testified that Jackson returned with ''something in his pocket, but I couldn't see what it was." Howard testified that he, too, went into the kitchen, retrieved a knife, and hid it in the back of his boxer shorts.

In his testimony, Davis said Jackson ripped open his shirt and said, ''We can get it on. I don't care. Whatever." Davis testified that Jackson made a ''jerking motion" toward Howard with the knife in his hands. Davis said Jackson and Howard ''bumped each other." Howard testified that when Jackson lunged toward him, he swung at him with the knife he had concealed in his underwear.

''I remember Jamal stepping back and saying, 'I've been stabbed,' " Davis testified. ''He said, 'Traci, Traci, I'm going to die.' "

Bartoloni had every reason to believe that Washington's testimony during the trial would conflict with the testimony of both Howard and Davis. In her statements to the grand jury just 11 days after Jackson was killed, she said Jackson remained in the bedroom during their argument and she never saw him with a knife. On two separate occasions, when she was asked if Jackson left the bedroom, she answered no.

But her story changed during the November trial. She testified Jackson did, in fact, leave the bedroom and go into the kitchen. When pressed by defense attorney Robert Sheketoff as to why she was changing her testimony, she answered, ''Everything wasn't clear to me then."

Washington, who has left the state and is employed by Black Entertainment Television, returned a call from the Globe, but, upon learning that it was to discuss the 10th anniversary of Jackson's death, said she was too busy to talk and would call back. When a reporter reached her two weeks later, Washington said, ''I have no comment. If you call me again, I'll have you up on harassment charges."

In the moments after Jackson was stabbed, according to Washington and Howard, he stumbled to the front of the beauty salon and was hunched over in the doorway. Both Davis and Howard testified that they dressed quickly and fled the building. Washington testified that she picked up two knives and washed them in the sink. Asked by Bartoloni why she did that, Washington answered, ''Scared and nervous."

In her original testimony to the grand jury, Washington testified that she found the knife that Howard used to stab Jackson in the bedroom, and another knife lying next to Jackson's body. During the trial, however, she testified that she found the second knife in Jackson's pocket. Asked again why her testimony had changed, Washington answered, ''I remember now."

''She was supposed to be our star witness," said Bartoloni. ''On the night of the stabbing, Traci told police she and Jamal had argued, nothing major, and Reggie came in when he heard the noise, and Jamal was stabbed. But somewhere along the way, she changed her mind about what happened.

''Suddenly, Jamal was the aggressor and she felt her life was in danger. Suddenly, she remembers Jamal leaving the bedroom and going into the kitchen. Her testimony changed just enough to get her cousin off. It gave the jury reasonable doubt."

It was one of many inconsistencies in testimony during the trial. Washington testified that she and Davis did not have sexual relations on the night of the stabbing. Davis testified that they did. Washington testified that after Howard fled the scene, he called her and instructed her to tell police that Jackson ''came in that way." Howard disputed that when he took the stand, calling it ''a made-up story."

''She had no credibility as a witness," said Sheketoff. ''Neither she or Shawn Davis were believable. They couldn't keep their stories straight."

During the trial, Bartoloni noted that Washington waited ''anywhere from 5 to 10 minutes" -- just long enough for Davis and Howard to dress and leave the apartment, and for Washington to wash the knives -- before she called 911. Washington testified that she called 911 while Howard was still in the salon, but Howard testified he did not hear her make such a call.

''There are a couple of things I still find particularly reprehensible about this case," Bartoloni said. ''The first one is, after Jamal was stabbed, he staggered to the front room to try and get some help, but ended up collapsing in the doorway. When Shawn Davis and Reggie Howard ran off, they had to pry his body out of the way to get out of the apartment. At that point, Jamal was still alive.

''The other is that Traci Washington waited to call for help. We can't be sure if those extra minutes would have made a difference, but this was clearly not a case of saying, 'Oh no, he's been stabbed. Let's call 911.' Shawn Davis and Reginald Howard had enough time to get dressed. Traci Washington had enough time to wash off the knives. The sergeant who responded to the 911 call testified he was two blocks away and was there in 'a matter of seconds.' "

By the time authorities arrived at 4:25 a.m., Washington and Jackson were the only two people in the apartment. Jackson was bleeding heavily from his chest and was unresponsive. He was pronounced dead at Boston City Hospital 20 minutes later.

His death shocked the basketball community and infuriated his family.

''They were supposed to be his friends," said Sharon Jackson.

During his arraignment, Howard wore a shirt that said, ''I loved Jamal, too."

He later testified that he knew Jackson only slightly.

On Nov. 18, 1996, after six hours of jury deliberation, Howard was acquitted of second-degree murder charges. Jackson's mother, Arnett, collapsed upon hearing the verdict. Her husband, William Branch, declared the trial ''a joke," and Sharon, clutching a picture of her brother, cursed at Howard and Washington as they left the courtroom.

''Everyone told us it would end badly for Jamal if he stayed with Traci," said Branch. ''We should have listened. She kept flying out to Cleveland State. She was jealous, overpossessive. She was messing up his studies. I told Jamal, 'She's no good. Get rid of her.' But he couldn't. He was in love."

During Howard's trial, Washington testified that Jamal was the jealous one and had physically harmed her. She insisted they were ''not committed" at the time of his death, even though she told the grand jury he was her boyfriend.

Jamal's family pushed to have the case re-tried. The details, they insisted, didn't add up. Sharon, who viewed Jamal's body, wanted to know how it was that her brother used ''excessive force," which accounted for Howard's self-defense plea, when it was Jamal's body, she said, that was covered with scratches and bruises. ''No one else had a mark on them," she said.

Branch, despondent over her son's killing, fell into an even deeper depression when her husband, William, died three years later.

''I stopped wanting to live after that," Branch said. ''I didn't care anymore. And all these so-called friends I had disappeared once Jamal died. All they ever talked about was the money Jamal was going to make in the NBA. I didn't care about the money. I just wanted my son."

Branch, who suffers from diabetes, stopped taking her medication. She developed serious health problems, including a number of infections. She recently had her toe amputated, and may lose her foot.

''I stopped fighting," she said.

She has her own regrets. She wishes she had been a larger influence in her son's life. She wishes she did more to persuade Jamal to stay away from the old neighborhood. He would not turn his back on his friends, even the ones associated with gangs. Although he didn't have a police record, he traveled with many who did. In fact, during a night out with the boys in the weeks before his death, he was stabbed and injured slightly when he was with the wrong people at the wrong time.

''Kids growing up in the city are faced with a lot of temptations," said Wiggins. ''We try to grind it out and stay above water. Jamal took the cards he was dealt and tried to get out. He tried to do it without turning his back on the people he had known his whole life."

A decade has passed, yet Jackson's friends and family remain tormented by what they could have or should have done. Mike Boyd, his coach at Cleveland State, still laments his inability to keep Jackson on campus.

''We knew there were influences in Boston that were dangerous for him," said Boyd. ''For the most part, we kept tabs on him. But then I went on a Nike trip, and Jamal just took off. He left me a message saying, 'Coach, I'm going home. Don't worry. I'll be back Friday.' "

Sharon Jackson said she suffered a nervous breakdown and was institutionalized in the wake of her brother's death. She remains in counseling, searching for ways to put her brother's tragic end behind her.

''Jamal never had a lot of anger," Sharon Jackson said. ''He wasn't big on revenge. I wish I could be more like him. I want them to pay for what they did."

Less than one year after he was acquitted of the murder, Howard was killed in a car accident on Martha's Vineyard. He was 26.

''A small measure of justice, but there are still too many questions," Rubin said. ''What happened that night? Reggie knew, and Traci knows, but Jamal isn't here to tell us."

Efforts to reach Davis for comment were unsuccessful.

Sheketoff said the person who should have been brought up on charges for Jackson's death was Washington.

''My client was just a guy who crashed on the couch," Sheketoff said. ''She was the villain in the case. She set up those two guys. She knew Jamal Jackson had a key to the place. She knew he was leaving in the morning and would end up there. She knew there would be a confrontation of some kind.

''I don't know why she would do something like that. Some kind of ego game, I guess. But it cost one person his life, and another person almost two years in jail.

''It's a waste. A total waste."

Sharon Jackson has a son and a daughter, both of whom bear the middle name Jamal. She still lives in the city, and she worries. How can she protect her kids? She remembers Jamal when he was young, swimming like a frog, sucking his thumb and lying in her lap, just like her own children do now.

''My grandmother always told Jamal not to leave the street," Jackson said. ''But he couldn't help it. Once, he took off on his bike. He was showing off, doing flips. Some kids jumped him and took the wheels.

''I'll never forget his face, dragging that bike home. He couldn't understand why they did it.

''He didn't have a mean streak. He would never leave his friends to die, like they left him."

In the final year of his life, Jamal Jackson lived up the street from Rubin on Rector Road in Mattapan. He visited him often, sharing his dreams of playing professional basketball.

''One night he showed up at my house," Rubin said. ''He said, 'Coach, I need to borrow your suit.' I said, 'Which one, Jamal?' He said, 'The brown one, Coach.' It was my best suit. He wanted to wear it to a club, to impress the ladies. I told him, 'I better get this back in one piece.' He just smiled. Sure enough, the next day he brought it back, in perfect condition."

Jackson told his friends he'd borrow that suit again, the day he was drafted by an NBA team.

Charles Bartoloni has tried countless cases since 1995, but he has never forgotten Jackson -- or the fact that no one was convicted in the wake of his death.

''Jamal Jackson was 6 foot 6," Bartoloni said. ''If he used excessive force, then how come there was no sign of a struggle? How come he had scratches and there were no bruises or marks of any kind on the other three people? His death destroyed his family, his community. And for what?"

Sharon Jackson carries her brother's license in her wallet. She saved his favorite cologne, and sniffs it whenever she needs to remember him a little more clearly. A picture of Jamal, young and handsome and strong, hangs on her wall. They grew up together, but they won't grow old together, and that is the wound that will never heal. Last Thursday, there was an empty spot at the Thanksgiving table, just as there has been for the past decade.

''I used to make him pancakes," Sharon Jackson said. ''I used to iron his pants."

''The world is wicked," said Jamal's mother. ''Jamal was killed by people he trusted -- people he cared about. He's at peace now, but I'm not. I won't be again until I'm with him."

Mike Rubin is the headmaster at East Boston High School. He tells each new wave of students how Jamal Jackson died too soon.

''You hope even one youngster can look at Jamal's life and learn from it," Rubin said. ''I tell my own sons all the time, 'You face choices every day. If you choose the wrong friend, or the wrong crowd, it can have life-altering repercussions.' "

Jackson was so close to making it. That's what bothers Wiggins, who has been in the NFL for six seasons, won a Super Bowl ring with New England in 2002, and currently plays for the Minnesota Vikings. He fulfilled his dream of going pro alone.

''Jamal would have made a much bigger splash in the NBA than I've made in the NFL," Wiggins said. ''And I would have loved watching it.

''I'll never forget Jamal. He was special. He exuded cool."

The cool kid who loved girls, basketball, and pickles is forever young, forever charming, forever a haunting reminder of yet another heartbreak in the city.