QR Code Murders: Tiny Town
Interviews with the FBI became a standard around the streets of Wilmington for Yawquisha. They spoke more direct somehow. It was like their cadence fit that of a drill instructor: patient, poignant, and to the point. When she could snag an interviewee, she did her best to get the higher ranking agents.
“Agent Johannson, you seem to be confident about finding new clues and leads concerning these cases. What makes you so optimistic?”
“Firstly, we have a suspect who is doing this haphazardly. There is a sloppiness but an efficiency, too. It’s rather peculiar to have both qualities in a single or group of individuals.”
Kim talked like that, too. It must’ve been college education. They dangled their degrees like newspapers, always current and still official. Yawquisha kept her lens focused on the amount of agents that populated outside of the place where the latest victim was found. He was Deezy Go Twice. Of medium build and looked like he fought back, this particular individual seemed to be a break for the other murders. For some reason, his tattoo was on his left bicep. They found this to be peculiar and noted on their electronic devices.
Yawquisha replaced the cartridges right when a person of interest darted from the house. He was now a suspect. He chose to run, he could have just stayed back and not turned himself into fresh meat for the agents to devour. Agents Caffery and Agent Bonn hoofed it. Johannson drove the van. Perks of being seniority, Yawkquisha figured. There was a sense that the one thing they could do was to take into consideration that Wilmington was still a relatively tiny town, comparatively speaking. She couldn’t ride with the FBI but she could continue to interview people. Her camera was her eyes and ears and they extended to document the one scene where the FBI would have a chance to close out at least one murder.
She employed the proper angles and used the best lighting even though the daylight faded at eight o’clock. The summer swelter kept her at bay for this long but she pushed on with the resolve to lock down the truth.
“Were you home last night?”
“Yes, I was on the porch,” Gladys Singletary replied. She had long, gray locks that looked like ropes tying down a regal ship. Her hands looked like crinkled brown paper bags. They were steady, though.
“And did you see anything out of the ordinary?”
“I actually did. I saw three young men talking and then I heard a pop and two of them went off running that way,” she lifted her first finger on her right hand. She pointed towards the DART bus depot.
“I couldn’t make out their faces but I knew that there was something awful that they did. They just hopped on the bus. I guess they had Day Passes.”
“And the third young man, he was the victim?”
She nodded her head slowly.
“The cops came over because someone called the police when they heard the pop of the gun. He was found in the gutter. A single bullet was put into his brain. It’s a shame you young folk don’t have anything better to do than to kill folk.”
“Are you willing to testify in a court of law as a witness?”
“Yes. I believe in the idea that snitches get riches. And it’s not just the dollar reward, although that is rather fine. But it’s more than that. It’s the satisfaction that we’re cleaning up the streets and policing our own and helping the cops to rid the city of vermin.”
“What is your message to those who don’t share this view, the people who would say that snitching is a bad thing?”
“I would ask them what if it was your brother, cousin, uncle, nephew…what do you want people to do in order to help find their murderer?”
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Skyler Saunders
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