When the two detectives arrived in front of Ali’s building they found a makeshift memorial set up. There were dozens of candles and empty liquor bottles placed around a large picture of the victim. There was even a gang bandana lying at the base of the memorial.
“It appears our victim is sorely missed,” Pettiway said as he looked down at the burning candles. He glanced around and saw a few people gathered around outside grieving.
“How are you holding up, Mr. Ricardo?” Pettiway asked empathetically as the grieving father opened the apartment door. His eyes were red and it looked as if he hadn’t slept since he gotten the news that his son was murdered.
“Under the circumstances, I’m holding up. Any news on who killed my boy?” Mr. Ricardo asked as he let the detectives inside.
“No solid leads yet but we’re been pointed in a few directions. We’re vigorously pursuing those leads now,” Pettiway answered uncomfortably. It always made him uneasy when he had to not only deliver the bad news to a loved one and had to come back to speak to them without any helpful information.
“So what’s this visit about?”
Pettiway removed the written address from his pocket in the victim’s handwriting. “Do you know this address?” he asked handing the piece of paper to Mr. Ricardo.
“This…this is my son’s handwriting,” Mr. Ricardo said numb as a flood of emotions began to take over him.
“He had it in his pocket when we found him,” Pettiway told him as he stared hard at the paper. “His Metro Card was last swiped at the Canarsie station in Brooklyn. We found that address in his pocket and assume he may have been coming from visiting someone there before his death,” he explained.
Mr. Ricardo stared hard at the address, seeing past his son’s chicken scratch handwriting. “This is his godmother’s address.”
“Did he visit her often?” Pettiway asked in a soft voice.
“He did when he was younger. After his mother died he spent the weekends with her. As he got older, not so much.”
“Do you know if he still kept in contact with her?”
“I don’t know but I don’t doubt it. He always looked at her as a second mother. She got through to him when I couldn’t.”
“Would you happen to have a number for her? I’d like to speak to her. Maybe she can answer some question for us. Help us track his last movements,” Pettiway explained.
“The number I have is old. She’s changed it since then.”
“Do you think it maybe in your son’s cell phone?”
“More than likely. That boy’s whole life is in that cell phone,” Mr. Ricardo said with a reminiscent grin.
“Do you happen to have his password to unlock it? Our techs are working on it but I figured it’d be less intrusive and simpler if we had the password.”
“Never had it. He protected that cell phone like it was his life line,” Mr. Ricardo said with a smirk.
“Do you have the godmother’s name?” Pettiway asked.
“Her name’s Frieda. Frieda Razor. He always called her his Goddie. If her number is in his cell phone it’ll be under that.”
“Okay. Thank you for your help,” Pettiway replied as he jotted down the name in his pad.
“Detective, do me a favor. If you reach her, please tell her to get in touch with me. I know she would want to but things haven’t been the best between us. I just want her to know her she has every right to be here just as any other family member,” Mr. Ricardo told him.
“I’ll be sure to do that. And again, my condolences to you and your family,” Pettiway said as he shook the man’s large hand.
“You think that address is going to lead to something?” Parish asked as they left the building.
Pettiway looked around at the people who had gathered outside in the short time they were upstairs. “I’m not too sure. But we’re going to follow the bread crumbs and see where it leads to. If it’s nothing at least we get to reconnect a family.” As they got inside the sedan he pulled out his cell phone. He dialed a number and waited patiently for someone to answer. “Aye, Jack. This is Pettiway. You guys was able to get inside my vic’s cell phone yet?”
“Nice to hear from you too, Pettiway,” Jack replied with a fake attitude. “I got inside it about an hour ago. Some interesting pictures and videos. A few text messages a few minutes before he died. The last one he responded to was at ten minutes before six.”
“That narrows down the time of death without putting too much pressure on the M.E.” Pettiway jotted down the new information in his pad. “Anything interesting in the text messages?”
“Nothing really. Mostly from his girlfriend. A few from a homeboy. I dumped the call log but it’s the same as the text messages. Girlfriend and homeboys,” Jack told him.
Pettiway sighed at the dead end. “Check his phone book. See if there’s a number for a Frieda Razor. Or Goddie.” He glanced over at Parish and saw him going through a bunch of lottery tickets. “That’s the quickest way to go broke,” he told Parish in a hushed voice.
“Are you kidding me? No one won the Mega Lotto the other night. That means I still got a shot,” Parish said enthusiastically.
“What I’d give to be young and naïve again,” Pettiway said mockingly. “Yeah, I’m here. What you got for me?” he asked Jack as he returned to the line.
“I don’t have a Frieda Razor or a Goddie. But there is an unknown number that pops up a couple of times before and after the victim’s death. Do you want that number?” Jack asked.
“Uh, yeah. Have the entire call log and phone book faxed to my desk. I just got another call,” Pettiway instructed Jack as is police radio squawked with details on another murder.
“Will do,” Jack replied.
“Thanks,” Pettiway said before hanging up. “Never a dull day in the Bronx,” he said sourly as he drove the police issued sedan to the scene of another homicide.