Ducking back into the vehicle, Bree picked up the cell phone in the cupholder. “Passcode protected.”
“Leave it for the CSU geeks.” On the other side of the vehicle, Romano stared at the body. “The window is down, and it’s thirty-eight degrees.”
This was a roll ’em up kind of city block. “He was a local. I’m sure he knew plenty of people,” Bree said.
“Probably a drug deal gone sideways, or a gang hit.” Reilly knew his turf. A good percentage of Philadelphia homicides—especially shootings—were drug and/or gang related. “How long do you think he’s been dead?”
Romano shrugged, stepped back, and scanned the area. “With the window down, he’s visible from outside the vehicle. In this neighborhood, people would have been walking by. He couldn’t sit here, dead, for very long without someone noticing.”
“Doesn’t mean they would have reported it.” Reilly rocked back on his heels.
Bree sorted through crumpled receipts on the passenger-side floor. Smoothing them out, she read the date and time stamps in faded print. Two were recent. “He bought gas and a kid’s meal yesterday. He was alive at 8:06 in the morning.” She checked her watch. It was nearly eight a.m. “He’s been dead less than twenty-four hours.”
Romano looked up and nodded toward a medical examiner van approaching. “ME’s here.”
They stepped away from the vehicle and waited.
Romano gestured at Reilly. “Let’s get a few uniforms knocking on doors. See if residents will admit to seeing or hearing anything last night. Also, look for doorbell or front-porch cameras on the houses facing this direction.”
Reilly grabbed another patrol cop, and they turned toward the rowhomes across the street.
Bree eyed the houses. She had no doubt someone had heard the shot. But in this neighborhood, residents weren’t likely to call the cops. They’d go inside, lock their doors, and shut the fuck up. Gangs owned the blocks. Ratting on them proved hazardous to one’s health.
Bree turned in a circle. “I see surveillance cameras around the warehouse parking lot. I’ll go talk to management about getting copies of the videos.”
“I’ll take a statement from the witness.” Romano started toward the man with the dreadlocks.
Bree pulled off her gloves and tucked them into an evidence bag. She crossed the street and strode to the old brick building. She showed her badge at the entrance and explained what she needed. As she stepped into the warehouse, her breath fogged. The chill seeped from the concrete floor through the soles of her boots. It felt colder inside than outside.
“No problem.” A skinny security guard escorted her to a back office, where he opened the previous night’s surveillance footage. Bree pulled up a wheeled chair and watched him locate the correct camera and fast-forward through the video.
On the monitor, Bree spied the Ford cruising down the street. “Stop.”
The crime scene was in the periphery of the camera’s focus. With the darkness and distance, the film was too grainy to read the license plate, but the make and model were clear. The Ford disappeared behind a furniture truck. Bree assumed it parked, because it didn’t emerge on the other side of the truck and was in the same location it currently sat.
The guard advanced through the frames. About fifteen minutes after the Ford disappeared from view, a figure slipped from behind the truck. It crossed the sidewalk behind a pile of garbage bags and disappeared into a shadowed alley. The shooter? Where did he come from? “Can you go back?”
“Sure.” The security guard replayed the video.
The figure was visible for only a few seconds. Bree could see a hoodie-clad head above the garbage bags. Suspect number one. Unfortunately, the footage was too dark to see any detail. “Can you print that?”
With a nod, the guard clicked his mouse.
Bree studied the screen. A few minutes later, a shadow shifted on the edge of the video. “What’s that?”
“Looks like someone approaching from the south.” The guard shook his head. “He’s staying in the shadow of the truck.” He froze the video and zoomed in on the figure.
The second suspect appeared to be male due to his general size and build. He turned, and Bree could see his profile. “Stop! Can you print that as well?”
“Sure.” The guard clicked the mouse again, then returned to fast-forwarding the video. No one else appeared. He made a copy of the entire video and downloaded it onto a thumb drive.
She stuck the thumb drive in her pocket. “Thanks.”
“Good luck.”
She left the building. Outside, she walked up and down the sidewalk but spotted no additional surveillance cameras, then headed back to the Ford. The ME was leaning into the vehicle. His assistant manned a camera.
Romano turned as Bree crossed the street. “Witness didn’t see anything. He works on the loading dock. Saw the body when he was walking from the bus stop to the warehouse.” She paused. “No luck with the canvass. Everyone on the block was sleeping soundly all night long.” Sarcasm rang in her voice.
Bree called bullshit, but what could you do? She summarized what she’d seen on the surveillance video and showed Romano the printed photo of suspect number two.
“Let’s get a copy distributed to the uniforms. We can check with the Gun Violence Task Force too. If he’s a local gang member, someone will recognize him.”
The Gun Violence Task Force was a joint effort with the attorney general, the Philly PD, state police, and the ATF.
“Suspect number one looks smaller, but we only have a back-of-the-head picture,” Bree said. “The video does give us a window for potential time of death.” She pointed to the time stamps on the two pictures. “Tyson arrives a little after one a.m. Both suspects are seen on the video between 1:11 and 1:30 a.m.”
“It’s a start.”
Bree stabbed at the photos. “Either one of these suspects could have arrived in the Ford with Tyson . . .”
“Or were waiting for Tyson here.” Romano finished Bree’s thought.
“We can’t say for certain that no one else was there,” Bree added. “Too much of the camera view is blocked.”
“Fuck.”
“Yeah,” Bree agreed. “Fuck.”
The ME had a body like Santa. He pulled out of the Ford’s interior. “No rigor yet. Livor mortis isn’t fixed yet either. Cold would slow decomp, but he’s relatively fresh. Died very early this morning.” He closed his eyes and his jowly face screwed up as he did the mental math. “Six to eight hours ago, roughly between midnight and two a.m.”
Which matched the times on the surveillance video.
“Detective Romano?” Reilly called. “CSU is here.”
As soon as the ME removed the body, the crime scene unit would take over.
“Do we have a next of kin for the victim?” Romano asked.
Reilly nodded. “He’s married to Kelly Tyson.”
“Let’s go notify Mrs. Tyson.” Romano turned back toward their vehicle. Once behind the wheel, she rubbed her palms together, then pulled a pair of leather gloves from her pocket and tugged them on.
In the passenger seat, Bree blew on her freezing hands.