“Please Hurry—I’m Going to Die”: The 911 Call, the House Police Left and the Seven-Year Hunt for Derrell Brown
The words were barely louder than a whisper.
A young woman was speaking to a 911 dispatcher from inside a home in Grand Rapids, Michigan. Her voice was difficult to hear, but the fear behind it was unmistakable.
Someone was trying to kill her.
Her aunt, she appeared to say, had already been killed.
“Can you just hurry up, please? I’m gonna die,” the transcript records her saying.
Her name was Keyona Griffin. She was 25 years old.
Police were dispatched to the address. Officers arrived minutes after the telephone call ended, approached the house and tried to make contact with someone inside. No one answered the door.
The officers did not enter.
They left the property without discovering what was waiting behind the closed door—and without finding the man who would later become one of the most wanted fugitives in the United States.
Hours later, officers returned following another emergency call. This time, two women were found dead inside the house: Keyona Griffin and her 47-year-old aunt, Cherletta Baber-Bey.
Cherletta’s boyfriend, Derrell Demon Brown, was gone.
More than seven years later, he remains gone.
Brown has been charged with two counts of open murder, but he has never faced those accusations in court. He remains entitled to the presumption of innocence unless prosecutors prove the charges beyond a reasonable doubt. No jury has heard the complete case, no defense attorney has challenged the evidence at trial and no judge has imposed a sentence.
The legal process cannot move forward because the accused man has not been captured.
Today, Brown’s face appears on the U.S. Marshals Service’s 15 Most Wanted list. The agency offers a reward of up to $25,000 for information leading to his arrest and warns that he should be considered armed and dangerous.
But the story of the search cannot be separated from the hours before it began.
It is the story of a desperate call, a police response that ended at the door and a family forced to live with a question that can never be answered with certainty:
Could Keyona Griffin have been saved?
A quiet morning becomes an emergency
March 13, 2019, began as an ordinary Wednesday in Grand Rapids. The city was emerging from winter, and the homes along its residential streets offered no outward sign of the violence authorities say was unfolding inside one of them.
Keyona was at the house where her aunt Cherletta lived. Brown, who was in a relationship with Cherletta, had also lived at the residence, according to investigators.
At some point that morning, Keyona called 911.
The call was not clear or orderly. It did not sound like a witness safely reporting an emergency from across the street. Keyona was whispering, and the dispatcher repeatedly tried to understand what she was saying and confirm the address.
Keyona said that someone was trying to kill her. She also appeared to tell the dispatcher that her aunt had already been killed.
The dispatcher assured her that police were being sent.
Then the call ended.
According to information later released by Grand Rapids police, officers reached the house approximately seven minutes and 41 seconds after the call ended. That response time would later become one of the most frequently repeated facts in public discussions of the case.
It demonstrated that officers had not taken an hour to arrive. They were there within minutes.
But arriving at an address and identifying what is occurring inside are not the same thing.
The responding officers approached the house, knocked and attempted to make contact. No one opened the door. They checked around the outside but reported seeing no visible emergency that would give them a clear legal basis to force entry.
Police officers generally need a warrant to enter a private home. Exceptions can apply when they reasonably believe someone inside faces an immediate threat of serious injury or death. The legal issue in emergencies is often not whether danger actually existed—it is whether officers had enough reliable information at that moment to reasonably recognize the danger.
The officers left.
What information they understood from the dispatch, how clearly Keyona’s statements had been relayed and whether the circumstances justified a forced entry became deeply painful questions after the truth was discovered.
The second call
At approximately 1 p.m., Keyona’s brother entered the home.
What he found prompted another 911 call.
This time, the emergency was unmistakable. He reported blood inside the house and said that his sister was not moving.
Officers returned and entered.
Keyona Griffin and Cherletta Baber-Bey were dead. Both had suffered multiple gunshot wounds, according to the case outline later published by federal authorities.
The first police response, once a routine check at a home where no one answered, was suddenly reinterpreted through the knowledge of what had been inside.
Grand Rapids police officials publicly acknowledged the emotional weight of the incident. Officers were described as “beating themselves up” after learning what had happened.
That did not resolve the family’s grief or anger.
For Keyona’s relatives, the sequence was devastatingly simple: she called for help, police arrived, police left, and she was later found dead.
The official perspective was more complicated. Responders had to act on the information available to them, the conditions visible from outside and the legal limits on entering a private residence.
Both realities could exist at once. Officers may not have understood the full danger, while Keyona was nevertheless in exactly the kind of emergency that requires immediate intervention.
The gap between those two realities became one of the defining tragedies of the case.
Investigators focus on Brown
Attention soon turned to Derrell Brown.
Brown was Cherletta’s boyfriend and had been associated with the home. According to police, he could not be located after the killings.
At first, authorities publicly described him as a person of interest. That term did not mean he had been formally accused of murder. Investigators continued assembling evidence and attempting to determine what had happened inside the home.
They also searched for Brown beyond Grand Rapids.
Nearly eleven months later, in February 2020, Kent County prosecutors authorized two counts of open murder against him. “Open murder” under Michigan procedure allows prosecutors to pursue the appropriate degree of murder based on the evidence presented.
The charges transformed Brown’s status. He was no longer merely someone detectives wanted to interview. He was a criminal defendant accused of causing two deaths.
But he was not in custody.
Federal authorities also sought him for unlawful flight to avoid prosecution, permitting the U.S. Marshals Service to play a central role in the nationwide hunt.
According to the Marshals Service, investigators believe Brown fled Michigan immediately after the killings. The agency also believes he has received assistance while avoiding authorities.
That possibility is important because remaining a fugitive for years requires more than movement. A person needs money, shelter, transportation or access to people willing—knowingly or unknowingly—to provide support.
Brown may have found those things under another identity.
Three aliases and one face
The U.S. Marshals Service lists three known aliases for Brown:
JJ Robinson
Michael Richardson
Marcus Wright
An alias can provide temporary distance from a wanted name, especially when casual acquaintances never ask for official identification. It can help a fugitive rent a room informally, enter a relationship or obtain work paid outside conventional systems.
But an alias cannot completely replace a face, a voice, mannerisms or the history known by people from an earlier life.
Brown was born on February 3, 1974. Federal authorities list him as a Black male, approximately 5 feet 8 inches tall and weighing around 180 pounds, with black hair and brown eyes.
Those details are a starting point rather than a guarantee of his present appearance. Weight changes. Hair can be shaved or colored. Facial hair can be grown or removed. Seven years of aging may alter how a person looks.
That is why investigators circulate multiple photographs when available and ask the public to focus on relatively stable facial features instead of clothing or hairstyle.
Yet public attention also carries risks.
An innocent person can resemble a wanted fugitive. Social-media speculation can spread an incorrect name or location rapidly, endangering bystanders and disrupting legitimate investigative work.
Anyone who believes they have seen Brown should not confront, follow or attempt to detain the person. The Marshals Service describes him as armed and dangerous. Information should be submitted directly to law enforcement, allowing trained investigators to evaluate it safely.
A search that crossed state lines
Reports over the years have connected the search to multiple states and cities where Brown may have had personal connections or possible opportunities to hide.
That does not mean every reported sighting was genuine. Fugitive investigations frequently generate tips that are sincere but mistaken. Photographs can be outdated, similarities can be misleading and rumors can gain authority simply through repetition.
Authorities must compare each tip with travel records, known associates, communications, financial activity and other evidence that may not be visible to the public.
The absence of an arrest suggests either that Brown has been exceptionally successful at minimizing traceable activity, that someone has helped conceal him, that he has moved repeatedly—or that authorities have not yet received the one accurate tip capable of narrowing the search.
The U.S. Marshals Service elevated Brown to its 15 Most Wanted list in January 2023. Placement on that list is reserved for fugitives considered particularly dangerous and difficult to apprehend. It brings national publicity and the resources of specialized fugitive investigators.
The current reward is $25,000.
The official notice does not say that Brown has been proven responsible for the killings. It says he is wanted for double murder and unlawful flight to avoid prosecution. That legal distinction matters.
An arrest would not be the end of the case. It would be the beginning of the courtroom process the victims’ family has been denied for years.
What the first officers knew
The police response remains inseparable from the manhunt because every later event is viewed through the first 911 call.
Listening to an enhanced recording or reading a written transcript makes Keyona’s danger appear unmistakable. A dispatcher receiving a faint live call in a busy communications center may have encountered something much harder to interpret.
The dispatcher needed to determine the location, understand the emergency and keep the caller connected while sending help. Keyona’s whispering may itself have indicated that speaking normally was dangerous.
The critical issue was what information reached the responding officers.
If officers knew that the caller had said someone was trying to kill her and had already killed another person, that could support a much stronger understanding of an immediate emergency. If the dispatch information was incomplete or uncertain, the officers at the door may have believed they were handling an ambiguous call with no visible evidence of danger.
Publicly available reporting does not turn every judgment made that morning into a simple moral conclusion. But it does reveal a breakdown somewhere between the terror inside the home and the officers standing outside it.
Keyona knew exactly how serious the situation was.
The emergency system did not fully translate that knowledge into action before officers left.
That failure—whether rooted in unclear audio, communication procedures, field assessment or a combination of factors—deserves examination beyond the question of individual blame.
Emergency systems are designed to make decisions under uncertainty. The lesson of Keyona’s case is that a quiet, incomplete or disconnected call may represent greater danger, not less.
A caller whispering may be hiding.
A caller unable to answer follow-up questions may have been interrupted.
Silence behind a locked door may not mean no one needs help.
Those principles appear obvious after a tragedy. The challenge is ensuring that dispatchers and responders recognize them before one occurs.
The women behind the case
Years of coverage have naturally focused on Brown because finding him may advance the prosecution. But a wanted poster should not eclipse the two women whose deaths created the case.
Keyona Griffin was not merely “the 911 caller.” She was a 25-year-old woman who recognized mortal danger and attempted to save herself. Her call demonstrated awareness, courage and determination under circumstances most people can barely imagine.
Cherletta Baber-Bey was not merely “the aunt.” She was 47 years old, a member of a family that would be permanently altered by what happened inside the home.
Their relatives have endured not only two violent deaths but also a prolonged absence of judicial resolution.
When a defendant is arrested, families may attend hearings, hear evidence and eventually receive a verdict. The process cannot restore a life, and a conviction does not erase grief, but it can establish a public record and impose legal accountability.
In this case, there has been no opportunity for that process to unfold.
The family is left between accusation and judgment, knowing whom authorities have charged but not knowing when—or whether—he will stand before a court.
Each anniversary marks another year without an answer.
Is Brown hiding in plain sight?
The phrase is common in fugitive cases because it captures a disturbing truth: someone can disappear legally and socially without physically vanishing.
A fugitive may live in a large city where neighbors rarely speak. He may move between temporary residences. He may depend on cash, informal employment and people who avoid asking questions.
He may also present himself as an ordinary person with an ordinary history.
Someone meeting Brown years after the killings might know nothing about Grand Rapids. The person may never search his photograph. If introduced to “Marcus” or “Michael,” there would be no immediate reason to connect that man with the name Derrell Brown.
Time can protect a fugitive. News coverage decreases. Photographs disappear from daily broadcasts. Witnesses move, relationships change and the public becomes occupied with newer cases.
But time can also expose him.
People separate from former partners. Friendships end. Someone once willing to provide shelter may become unwilling. A medical emergency can require identification. A traffic stop can trigger fingerprinting. A new acquaintance may notice inconsistencies in a story about the past.
A fugitive must avoid recognition every day.
Investigators need only one day when he fails.
The power—and responsibility—of public attention
True-crime audiences can help maintain attention on cases that might otherwise fade from view. Sharing an official wanted poster may place a verified photograph before someone who recognizes it.
But responsible sharing is essential.
Brown should be described as accused or charged, not convicted. Claims about unverified sightings should not be presented as fact. Private citizens who resemble him should not have their photographs circulated without law-enforcement confirmation.
The victims’ suffering should also not be reduced to spectacle.
Keyona’s 911 call is powerful because it records a real person seeking help. It should not be reenacted in a way that suggests an artificial voice is the authentic recording. Dramatized videos should be clearly identified as reconstructions, and invented crime-scene imagery should never be presented as evidence.
Accuracy makes the story stronger, not weaker.
The verified facts are already devastating: a frightened woman called 911; officers arrived but did not enter; two women were later found dead; Brown was charged; and he remains wanted more than seven years later.
No fictional embellishment is needed.
What happens if Brown is captured?
If Brown is arrested, he would be brought before a court and informed of the charges. Prosecutors would be required to present admissible evidence. His defense would have the right to examine that evidence, challenge witnesses and dispute the government’s theory.
A jury—not social media, law enforcement or a documentary—would determine guilt.
The passage of time could complicate the case. Witness memories can weaken, and some evidence may become more difficult to present. At the same time, physical evidence, records and prior statements may preserve important parts of the investigation.
Flight may also become an issue in court, but it is not automatically proof of murder. Prosecutors would still need to establish every required element of the charged offenses beyond a reasonable doubt.
For Keyona and Cherletta’s family, an arrest would offer something they have not had since 2019: movement.
It would convert a static wanted poster into a living legal process.
It would allow the evidence to be heard and answered.
One unanswered question
The case contains many mysteries, but the largest one remains simple:
Where is Derrell Brown?
The Marshals Service believes someone may know.
Perhaps that person knows him by one of his listed aliases. Perhaps they remember a man who suddenly appeared after March 2019 and remained vague about his past. Perhaps they once dismissed the resemblance because the wanted photograph looked younger.
No member of the public should attempt to investigate Brown personally. Searching private locations, confronting suspected associates or publicly accusing a look-alike can create serious danger.
The responsible action is to record relevant, lawful observations and contact authorities.
The U.S. Marshals Service accepts tips through its official online system. If Brown or someone strongly resembling him is seen in an immediate situation, people should move to safety and contact law enforcement rather than approach.
Seven years later
Seven years is a long time to remain missing.
It is also a long time to wait for a courtroom.
Keyona Griffin’s call did what an emergency call is supposed to do: it carried her plea beyond the walls of the house. It reached a dispatcher. It brought police to the address.
But the help stopped outside.
The next call came hours later, after the opportunity to save anyone had apparently passed and after the man investigators would charge had disappeared.
That is why the Derrell Brown case continues to resonate. It is not only a manhunt. It is a story about how close the system came to the danger without fully recognizing it.
Brown remains accused, not convicted. If captured, he must receive a fair trial.
Keyona and Cherletta’s family also deserves the opportunity for that trial to happen.
Until then, Brown’s photograph remains on the federal wanted list. The reward remains available. The aliases remain active investigative information.
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And Keyona’s final plea continues to ask the same thing it asked on that March morning:
Hurry.
