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“When they got to the fire, right before the fire trucks, they saw that it was a VeeDub and that it was completely engulfed in flames. Windows were either blown out or melted.”
“Nice.”
“There’s no question that the fuel tank blew up, but they also found remains of two metal cans, one that looked like it exploded, and it’s believed these were the accelerants. And the gas in the tank. It was a superhot fire.”
“And the body?”
“There’s not much left of it. Not a completely charred skeleton but close. Apparently when the gas tank cooked off, it blew the body up into the trunk lid, which may or may not have been simultaneously blown open.”
“Well, it’s logical that it’s Waldo. The shooter likely just stuffed him in the trunk and then torched the evidence.” He paused, then said, “Didn’t Waldo’s buddy say the shooter was a skinny black guy?”
“Yeah, and his drug dealer partner was a big black guy with a bald head and meth mouth. And the young kid delivering the product was also black.”
“But the nine-one-one caller said the carjacker was Puerto Rican?”
“And near Harding Middle School, which is approximately four miles from where Dan said he saw Billy killed. They
ran the Jersey plate, and it belongs to a Chevy. The Penn plate that was under the Jersey one is registered to the Jetta, and in Billy’s father’s name.”
“You have someone running down surveillance camera footage in the area?”
“Already on it before I texted you.”
“Good man.”
“One more thing, Marshal.”
“What?”
“Chuck Whaley’s headed to the location of the car fire since they found pretty much nothing but blood at the site of the killing. The Crime Scene guys have already wrapped up.”
Payne grunted derisively. “Great. Make sure he gets all you’ve got. He’ll need all the help he can get.”
“Done. Anything else?”
“No . . . wait. Yeah, there is. You have access to the recording in Homicide’s interview rooms, right?”
“Uh-huh,” Rapier said, and Payne heard the sound of rapid typing in the background. “Punched it up now. Michael Hayward, aka Jamal. That’s one filthy person.”
“Yeah. Jamal the Junkie. McCrory and Kennedy brought him in on the Dante Holmes drive-by, and he just now said he’s seen the doer in the park murders at McPherson Square in Kensington. But then again he’s been consistently lying for at least the last hour.”
“That’s a great break, if true. You believe it?”
“Hell if I know. I want to believe it, so we can grab the bastard. I was giving Nasuti and Lucke the heads-up when you texted. They can broadcast the info with a Flash, and then see if any of our blue shirts who patrol the park—who probably haven’t seen the Wanted flyer yet, otherwise they’d have already made him and tried running him to ground—can ID the doer. All of which hinges on if Jamal the Junkie isn’t lying—again. And, if he actually is telling the truth, if the doer’s been seen anywhere near the park.”
“So, what is it you need me to do?”
“Right now, just make sure everyone’s getting all updates and that there’re backups of backups of that interview recording.”
“Oh ye of little faith, Marshal. Redundancy is my middle name.”
[ THREE ]
SEPTA Somerset Station
Kensington Avenue, Philadelphia
Saturday, December 15, 3:12 P.M.
