in the center of the patio. Across the patio and facing the camera stood a young man holding a gun.
“Zoom in on that guy,” Parker said, shifting forward.
A second later the gang member took up the screen. He was tall, thin, Caucasian, in his late teens or early twenties with crosses tattooed on his cheek and neck. Parker studied his long, thin face, thinking something about him looked familiar, but he’d be damned if he knew what.
“Can you copy this part of the picture and email it to me?” he asked. “I want to send it to my supervisor and see if he can identify this guy.”
“Sure. I’ll crop it and copy it to a separate file.”
Parker turned his attention to the other gang member, but he was standing behind a pillar, hidden from view. Only the barrel of his gun appeared on film.
“Did you see who fired the shot?” he asked Brynn.
She shook her head. “I think it was the other guy, the one we can’t see. But it happened so fast....”
“I’ll check the case file, find out the angle of the shot.” Then they could pinpoint the shooter for sure. “Can you get a close-up of the victim? I want to see what’s binding his hands.”
Brynn expanded the shot to full screen, then closed in on the kneeling man. Parker couldn’t tell exactly, given the angle of his body, but something metallic seemed to bind his wrists.
“Those could be metal handcuffs,” he said, sitting back.
“The kind the police use?”
“Maybe. But that doesn’t mean a cop was involved. Even back then you could buy handcuffs in pawn shops and surplus stores.”
But it didn’t rule police involvement out.
“That’s the end of the film,” she said, her eyes on the screen again. “I developed the film after I took that shot.”
After Tommy died.
The words hung unspoken between them. And for the first time, Parker could imagine the scene—a terrified young girl hiding in the shadows as cold-blooded killers executed that helpless man.
And then they’d turned their guns on her.
His emotions in sudden turmoil, he looked away. All these years he’d blamed Brynn for Tommy’s death. Witnesses had seen her running from the warehouse, convincing him she’d been involved. But now, after seeing that photo, he could imagine her absolute panic as she’d fled the scene, trying desperately to protect her friends and survive.
Instead, she’d seen Tommy die.
He inhaled again, trying to block the gruesome images that sprang to mind. But he’d seen his brother’s crime scene photos. He knew what had happened next.
And, frankly, there was no way he could blame her for Tommy’s death. In her case he would have done the same.
“Go ahead and email me that shot,” he said, trying to steady his voice. “If we’re lucky, someone will recognize him. Send me the uncropped version, too. I’ll forward it to Forensics, see if they can work their magic on it and get more clues.”
Brynn got to work with a nod. As soon as the cropped shot showed up on his cell phone, Parker deleted the header and forwarded it to Delgado, not wanting him to know that Brynn was involved. Then, still struggling to come to grips with what he’d learned, he punched in his supervisor’s number and rose.
“Where are you?” Delgado demanded when he answered the phone. “Colonel Hoffman’s been asking for you.”
Parker shot Brynn a glance, hoping she hadn’t heard. To be safe, he walked across the nearly deserted coffee shop to the plate-glass window and peered out at the parking lot. “Over by Carroll Park, following a lead. I’ll call him right away. But I need some information first. I just emailed you a photo of a gang member with cross tattoos on his cheek and neck. It was taken near Orleans Street fifteen years ago. Can you take a look, see if you can identify him?”
“Hold on.” Parker gazed at the street as he waited, watching the traffic zip past. A couple minutes later Delgado came back on the line. “That’s Dustin Alexander. He belonged to a gang called the City of the Dead. They were a small group, mostly Caucasian. They operated mainly around the Inner Harbor.”
That fit. “Doing what?”
“Mostly drugs. They controlled the heroin coming in from South America. Baltimore was their East Coast distribution point.”
“They still exist?”
“No. They disbanded about ten years ago when the New York gangs started moving in. Most of their members were dead by then.”
“What happened to the guy in the photo, Dustin Alexander?”
“I’ll look it