“This one was really funny. He drove up slow to a bunch of people on the sidewalk,” he said. “I was on the opposite side of the road, and, as he drove up, it was like he was just looking for somebody. Searching the crowd maybe.”
“Meaning, it was targeted?”
“Well, targeted somewhat, like, you know, if there had been a group of six kids, I got the feeling he might still have picked out a kid from that group. It’s like he was looking for something or for someone to fit, and that one was close enough. He just fired off a bunch of shots, and he tore out of there. I don’t remember the whole license plate, but there was something with aGin it.”
At that, her eyebrows shot up. “I’ve got your statement here. There was no mention of seeing the license plate.”
“No, because I couldn’t see the whole thing,” he said, “and I didn’t think that a loneGwould help.”
“Well, it’s something,” she said, and she started typing her notes. “And it would give us an idea. I mean, I can run that down for any of the trucks of that vintage and see if something comes up.”
Her witness added, “I didn’t think it was much help. Sorry about that. But it really pissed me off, you know, the way the guy just didn’t give a shit, and then he just killed that young guy. We always wondered if that young guy had been the intended target in the first place or not.”
“We’d like to think so because otherwise we could have some asshat just running around, shooting people. Now three years later,” she said, “it’s possible he’s doing it again.”
He swore at that and said, after a moment, “Part of the problem is also that I think they were using different parts from different trucks.”
“What do you mean?”
“I remember thinking at the time that the driver’s door wasn’t from the right model of truck,” he said, “but again, I don’t remember more details about it. Once the shooting started, everything else fled my mind.”
“Good enough,” she said. “You’ve been a great help, thank you.”
“Well, I sure hope you find the shooter. The last thing we want is to have somebody else get mowed down just because they were walking on the sidewalk.”
“Is that what you think the reason was?” she asked curiously.
“I have no idea,” he said. “It probably was something much more involved than that, but it didn’t make any sense. He just looked like he was searching for a target. In this case I think that guy was not so much the one he was looking for but one that would fit the mold, you know?” And, with that, the guy rang off.
She sat back, turned to Rodney, and said, “That was an interesting conversation.” And she relayed the information he’d provided.
Rodney nodded. “Some guys are really good at picking out car parts,” he said. “And, if that’s the way it appeared to him, that’s good to know.”
“But,” Kate replied, “it also means that, if there is a connection between the two cases, this guy has waited three years to do this again. Why?”
“Well, maybe the first time he got so panicked that he took off, waiting for the cops to come to his door. When we didn’t make a connection, he got cocky again,” he muttered. “Sometimes it takes them a while to work up the nerve to try again. Maybe something made him angry, and he’s looking for a target. Who knows?”
“Which would make him a random serial killer,” she muttered, shaking her head. “That would be depressing.”
“More than depressing,” he said, “he’d be hard to stop because we need more than just a vehicle. That vehicle could go into a garage and be completely unseen for the next three years.”
“And, if that’s the case,” she said, “the insurance on it won’t be his either. This one witness mentioned a license plate with the letterGon it.”
Rodney shrugged. “You can run it,” he said, “but you’ll get way too many options.”
“But maybe not with these other details,” she said. Determined, she started to run a match through the license plate database, checking to see what might pop up. She could ask Reese to do this too, but—as the one analyst shared among all three VPD Homicide Units—she was swamped, and Kate liked to find out information herself. She was quite surprised when, a few moments later, it spat out a list of matching vehicles. “Now this is interesting,” she said, “there’s only forty-two. I was expecting three times that or more. But one of them is flagged as stolen.”
Immediately Rodney got up and walked over. “Which one was stolen?” She pointed it out to him. “Follow that up,” he said with a frown, “because that could easily be the one we’re looking for.”
She frowned at that. “But, in this case, do you think he stole the truck or just the license plate and put it on his truck?”
He shook his head. “No idea, but either way it would be good to know, right?”
She followed up, and, by the time she reached the person who owned the truck that had been stolen, she ended up getting his son.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “My dad passed away last year. It was his truck. He had kept it in the garage, uninsured for a long time.”
“Uninsured?” she asked.