Bronx Requiem(70)

“These boys don’t play around.”

Ippolito walked away from the bloody corpse to the center of the small playground and leaned against the toddler-size slide. Palmer followed him.

“So your buddy Tyrell came in here to hose, or else he just likes to walk around with his dick out in a kiddie playground, which I wouldn’t put past him.”

“Come on, Ray.”

“Hey, who knows? Anyhow…” Ippolito pointed from the street to Tyrell’s body. “I’m figuring sidewalk shooter follows him in here, blasts the shit out of him. Gunshots wake up his buddy Jerome, who gets out of the car, pistoleros in hand.”

“Right.”

“Street shooter blasts away at Watkins. Sidewalk guy comes out of the park and draws fire.”

Palmer added, “And then it went down like the CSU guy said.”

“Yep. One shooter gives the other cover while he gets to Biggie and puts two in his head. Second shooter walks up and pounds two more shots into him just for fun. Or maybe cuz he wants to match his buddy.”

“Or to send a message, like with Tyrell.”

“And Derrick,” said Ippolito. “Well there’s a hell of a lot of ballistics and follow-up to do. It’ll take ’em days, maybe weeks, but I’m thinking we got it pretty well figured out. Now all we have to do is find out who was doing all the shooting. Hopefully, your pal Beck was one of ’em.”

“Yeah. Hey, speaking of ballistics, I’m looking to get the results back on the guns I found up at Derrick Watkins’s place.”

“When?”

“Probably tomorrow, Friday.”

“Okay, fingers crossed and all that shit. In the meantime, we should canvass the area for anybody who saw what happened. Show the pictures of Beck and those other two skels. Plus, show ’em to the witness the CSU guy found. See if we get a match.”

Palmer said, “Okay, let’s go.”

“Hold on a sec. First, ask yourself something.”

“What?”

“What the f*ck were all these guys doing here?”

“What do you mean?”

“Tyrell was at the Mount Hope apartment. Probably Jerome Watkins, too. Beck and his crew were there. Why are all those same guys here?”

Palmer said, “Because Beck is trying to hunt down the rest of Watkins’s crew.”

“Okay, let’s assume Beck and his guys are looking for the rest of Derrick’s boys. How do they know to find Jerome Watkins and Tyrell Williams in this particular place?”

Palmer thought for a moment. “Well, Loretta Leon lives across the street, but why would that bring them here?”

“Yeah, why?”

“I don’t know. Maybe we should go ask the old lady what was going on.”

“We can, but I doubt she knows anything,” said Ippolito.

“Maybe Beck’s guys were here waiting for them.”

“Gets back to my question. Why would Beck’s guys think those two dickheads would show up here?”

“All right, Ray, why do you think?”

“Who’s the only person in this whole mess connected to Lorena Leon besides our original vic, Paco Johnson, who started all this shit?”

Palmer finally got it. “The f*cking daughter.”

“Bingo.”

“So you’re saying they were all looking for the daughter.”

“That’s what I’m saying,” said Ippolito.

“Why?”

“Maybe she knows something. Something Derrick’s brother and Tyrell wanted to know.”

Palmer made a face. “What could she know? She’s just a whore. Why make it complicated?”

“So, what’s your theory?”

“She finds out Derrick, her pimp, is dead. The whole neighborhood has to know by now. So she decides to take a little vacation. Jerome can’t let her do that. He gets Tyrell to help him find her so he can put her back to work. Make sure she doesn’t think the trouble her father caused got her out of peddling her ass. Tyrell suggests they stake out grandma’s.”

Ippolito considered Palmer’s theory. He tipped his head in acquiescence. “Maybe. Maybe. But how does that explain why Beck or guys from his crew were here?”

“I don’t know. If they’re looking to finish off Derrick’s crew, how many leads do they have to find ’em? The old lady or the granddaughter.”

“You’re saying they figured Watkins and company would be looking for the girl, so they came here.”

“That’s what I’m saying. Come on, we have to move fast on this, Ray, because like you said, the borough homicide detectives will be jumping in now, and I for one don’t want to be left on the sidelines with nothing to show for our efforts.”

“All right, all right,” said Ippolito. “This neighborhood ain’t filled with a lot of model citizens, but maybe we’ll get lucky and find someone who will pick out a photo for us.”

“Hopefully. When are we supposed to meet Jackson? How much time we got?”

“Eight o’clock. Couple of hours.”

“Plenty of time. Be nice to have some proof Beck, or some of his people, shot Jackson’s boys.”

Ippolito nodded, noting Palmer had come over to the idea of setting up Beck’s crew for Eric Jackson.