le lives forever.
Dunham grabbed Isaiah by the back of his hoodie, spun him away from the car, and drove him face-first into the asphalt. The teenager’s head struck the pavement with enough force to briefly disorient him. Before he could process what was happening, Dunham’s knee was on the back of his neck.
Veronica Thompson, 42, was walking to her car after grocery shopping when she saw the takedown. She immediately began recording on her phone.
‘Get off him,’ she screamed. ‘He’s just a kid. He’s not fighting you.’
‘Suspect is resisting,’ Dunham shouted back as he struggled to get Isaiah’s arms behind his back.
Isaiah wasn’t resisting. He was dying.
The impact had knocked the air from his lungs. The pressure on his neck was cutting off what little airway remained. The panic and trauma triggered a full asthma attack. His chest seized. His throat closed. Every attempt to inhale produced nothing but a desperate wheeze.
‘He can’t breathe,’ Veronica yelled. ‘Look at him. He needs help.’
‘He’s high on something,’ Dunham responded, finally securing the handcuffs. ‘Whatever he took is making him act like this.’
Isaiah’s vision began to darken. His last conscious thought was that he was going to die in a parking lot because he wanted a video game.
Dunham kept his knee on the teenager’s neck for approximately 90 seconds after Isaiah had stopped moving. Multiple witnesses would later testify that they screamed at the officer to check on the boy.
Veronica’s recording shows Isaiah’s body going completely limp. His face, pressed against the asphalt, had taken on a bluish tint.
‘He’s not breathing,’ she yelled. ‘Call 911. This kid is dying.’
Dunham stood up and looked down at Isaiah with an expression witnesses described as unconcerned.
‘He’s faking,’ the officer said. ‘Stop being dramatic. He took something and now he’s trying to get sympathy.’
Veronica knelt beside Isaiah and could hear the terrible wheezing sound coming from his throat. ‘He told you he has asthma. He needs his inhaler. He said it’s in the car.’
Other witnesses had gathered by now. A man named James Patterson began recording from a different angle. A woman was already on the phone with 911, reporting a medical emergency.
Dunham radioed for backup. ‘This is unit 23. I’ve got a suspect in custody at the shopping center on Ponce near Briercliff. Possible drug overdose. Need medical on scene.’
‘It’s not a drug overdose,’ Veronica screamed at him. ‘It’s asthma. Why won’t you listen?’
Dunham ignored her and walked to the BMW, peering through the windows as if searching for evidence. Inside, he would have seen Isaiah’s phone on the passenger seat and a GameStop bag in the back. Nothing indicating drugs or criminal activity.
Isaiah remained on the ground, his condition worsening by the second. His chest heaved desperately, but barely any air moved in or out. His face had progressed from blue-tinged to a darker, more dangerous color.
An ambulance arrived four minutes later, though witnesses described it as feeling like an eternity.
Paramedic Angela Rodriguez took one look at Isaiah and immediately understood the severity of the situation.
‘How long has he been like this?’ she demanded, pulling out a stethoscope and oxygen mask.
‘Maybe five minutes,’ Veronica said. ‘He told the cop he has asthma and needed his inhaler, but the cop didn’t listen.’
Rodriguez’s partner cut through Isaiah’s hoodie to access his chest. They got the oxygen mask on, and Rodriguez listened to his lungs. What she heard made her face go tight with concern.
‘This is severe bronchospasm,’ she told her partner. ‘Get me the albuterol now. We need to intubate if this doesn’t work fast.’
‘Where’s his inhaler?’ her partner asked.
