Luke LaManna

Maybe, just maybe, they were dismissing the case because they didn't want to reveal their source. The same source who told them where Fred was going to be that night. Maybe even the same source who had slipped something into his drink. And now that the case was dismissed, Jeff doubted he would ever know the truth.

Three years later, on a cold Saturday morning in February 1973, Jeff was in his kitchen pouring himself a cup of coffee. He grabbed the newspaper off the table and saw the day's headline. It read, Informer Aids FBI. He turned to the story and nearly dropped his coffee in shock.

Three years later, on a cold Saturday morning in February 1973, Jeff was in his kitchen pouring himself a cup of coffee. He grabbed the newspaper off the table and saw the day's headline. It read, Informer Aids FBI. He turned to the story and nearly dropped his coffee in shock.

The article named Bill O'Neill, Fred's former chief of security, as an FBI informant who had been working with the feds since 1968. On the next page, Jeff saw Bill's familiar face. He was Fred's friend, his bodyguard. Jeff felt a rush of fury as he realized that Bill, the man Fred trusted with his life, had to be reporting Fred's movements back to the FBI.

The article named Bill O'Neill, Fred's former chief of security, as an FBI informant who had been working with the feds since 1968. On the next page, Jeff saw Bill's familiar face. He was Fred's friend, his bodyguard. Jeff felt a rush of fury as he realized that Bill, the man Fred trusted with his life, had to be reporting Fred's movements back to the FBI.

That's how they knew where Fred was on the night they raided his apartment. And that's how drugs made their way into Fred's drink. Jeff remembered how Bill had sobbed after Fred died. He now realized that this hadn't been a display of grief, but of guilt. Bill, the lovable loudmouth, had been a spy the entire time, and he had gotten Fred Hampton killed.

That's how they knew where Fred was on the night they raided his apartment. And that's how drugs made their way into Fred's drink. Jeff remembered how Bill had sobbed after Fred died. He now realized that this hadn't been a display of grief, but of guilt. Bill, the lovable loudmouth, had been a spy the entire time, and he had gotten Fred Hampton killed.

Jeff didn't want to believe it, but the more he thought about it, the more it began to make sense. After all, Bill never attended Fred's lectures on Panther politics because he didn't really care about the mission. Yet he always pushed for the Panthers to be more militaristic. He carried a gun himself and tried to get them to commit crimes.

Jeff didn't want to believe it, but the more he thought about it, the more it began to make sense. After all, Bill never attended Fred's lectures on Panther politics because he didn't really care about the mission. Yet he always pushed for the Panthers to be more militaristic. He carried a gun himself and tried to get them to commit crimes.

Jeff now realized that Bill had been trying to set them up, to give police just cause to arrest them, to harass and kill them. It was genius, and that made Jeff feel sick. On the night of the raid, Bill had been one of the last Panthers at the apartment before Fred and Deborah went to sleep.

Jeff now realized that Bill had been trying to set them up, to give police just cause to arrest them, to harass and kill them. It was genius, and that made Jeff feel sick. On the night of the raid, Bill had been one of the last Panthers at the apartment before Fred and Deborah went to sleep.

It would have been only too easy for him to slip sleeping pills into Fred's drink, and Fred never would have suspected Bill. He was his bodyguard, his last line of defense, the man who was supposed to shield him from danger. After the newspaper article outed Bill as an informant, Jeff and his partners took the Chicago Police Department to court for Fred's wrongful death and the unlawful raid.

It would have been only too easy for him to slip sleeping pills into Fred's drink, and Fred never would have suspected Bill. He was his bodyguard, his last line of defense, the man who was supposed to shield him from danger. After the newspaper article outed Bill as an informant, Jeff and his partners took the Chicago Police Department to court for Fred's wrongful death and the unlawful raid.

The trial lasted 18 months, and throughout that time, the FBI remained uncooperative about handing over documents. The trial ended with a deadlocked jury. But three years later, in April 1979, an appeals court called for the lawsuit to be heard again. That's when Chicago PD chose to settle the case out of court instead. Bill O'Neill was overwhelmed with guilt for his part in Fred's death.

The trial lasted 18 months, and throughout that time, the FBI remained uncooperative about handing over documents. The trial ended with a deadlocked jury. But three years later, in April 1979, an appeals court called for the lawsuit to be heard again. That's when Chicago PD chose to settle the case out of court instead. Bill O'Neill was overwhelmed with guilt for his part in Fred's death.

It would follow him for the rest of his life. In 1989, Bill gave an interview for a television documentary about Fred Hampton. He talked about what it was like to embed himself in the Panthers as an FBI informant. And in January 1990, Bill O'Neill committed suicide. In November 1982, almost 13 years after Fred was murdered, Deborah Johnson left a meeting with Fred's family and her lawyers.

It would follow him for the rest of his life. In 1989, Bill gave an interview for a television documentary about Fred Hampton. He talked about what it was like to embed himself in the Panthers as an FBI informant. And in January 1990, Bill O'Neill committed suicide. In November 1982, almost 13 years after Fred was murdered, Deborah Johnson left a meeting with Fred's family and her lawyers.

The Chicago PD was awarding them $1.85 million to be split between her, the other survivors of the raid, and Fred's family for damages. Of course, it was no consolation for the hell they had all gone through and the loss they had sustained. The police had robbed Deborah of her partner and her son, Fred Jr., of the chance to meet his father.

The Chicago PD was awarding them $1.85 million to be split between her, the other survivors of the raid, and Fred's family for damages. Of course, it was no consolation for the hell they had all gone through and the loss they had sustained. The police had robbed Deborah of her partner and her son, Fred Jr., of the chance to meet his father.

No amount of money could erase the pain of Fred's death or the echoes of trauma that haunted them all for the rest of their lives. Like Muhammad Ali and many other black power activists in the 1960s and 70s, Deborah changed what she called her slave name and started going by Akua Njeri. Akua went on to become an activist and an author. She taught Fred Jr.