Page 35 of Return of the Spider
“Be careful out there.”
“I always watch my six.”
CHAPTER
24
Three hours later, afterwrapping up the crime scene, Sampson and I decided to pay Guillermo Costa a visit at his auto-body shop in Bowie, Maryland, about nine miles from where Shay Mansion had been found.
Our thinking was we’d start with Costa and see if he could tell us anything about Mansion, Los Lobos Rojos, LMC 51, or Patrice Prince before we did the heavy deed of informing yet another parent that their son had died. First, however, Sampson found a pay phone and called the Woodson High office, trying to track down Shay Mansion’s parents.
I parked but kept the car running, waiting for him. I had WTOP, all-news AM radio, playing softly in the background, an old habit.
“Yes, I know Shay is no longer a student,” John said, thenlistened. “Expelled, right. But a last address for him would be very helpful.”
He looked at me in despair and then brightened. “Great. Okay.”
Sampson scribbled something, nodded. “You’ve been a great help.”
He hung up and slid into the car, and we headed out. “Rosalina Mansion. Shay’s mom. We’ve got an address and a home number, but the Woodson secretary says the mom’s a nurse’s aide. Husband died a few years back. She works crazy hours, two jobs, never home. Probably part of the reason the kid got involved with Lobos Rojos.”
On the radio, I heard: “Prince George’s County Sheriff’s investigators are said to be converging on a homicide scene in Beltsville this morning. WTOP’s Bill Johnson is there. Bill, what can you tell us?”
Before the reporter could reply, Dispatch called on our police radio, so I turned the broadcast off.
“Roger, Dispatch, this is Sampson.”
“Call Chief Pittman.”
“Roger that.” Sampson sighed, shrugged, and we found another pay phone and pulled over again. This time we both got out of the car and huddled over the pay phone’s receiver so we could talk to him together. Pittman answered on the second ring.
“I heard it’s damn gruesome, this kid in the park,” the chief said.
“It’s not pretty, sir,” said Sampson.
I said, “Downright brutal if you ask me, Chief.”
“Motive?”
Sampson said, “We’re thinking it might be gang-related. According to intel, Mansion was a recruit to Los Lobos Rojos, so this could be a statement killing by rival gang LMC Fifty-One and its leader, Patrice Prince.”
“I saw a report on Prince. Any link to the other kid, the one in the Potomac?”
“Tony Miller,” I said. “Possibly, but I haven’t looked into it yet.”
Sampson said, “Sorry, sir, but we haven’t had much time to devote to the Miller case because of our focus on—”
“Conrad Talbot,” Pittman said. “And that’s right where I wanted your attention and still do. That kid’s death is priority one. It takes precedence. Even over this case.”
“Because Talbot’s white, sir?” I couldn’t help asking.
“No, and don’t play the damn race card with me, Cross. Talbot gets attention because he was a first-team, all-state, Division One–bound athlete who was also smart enough to get into several Ivy League schools.”
“Exactly my—”
“Cross,” Pittman said, cutting me off, “you’re not letting me speak. I want to be clear, okay?”
Sampson slapped me on the upper arm.
