He’d known Poke since Poke was a little boy. That's why he was
so sure of what he heard and he knew who said it. When panic hit the party and dozens
of people rushed through a narrow alley next to the house, he heard Poke
bragging loudly, excited to be a killer.
"I heard him yell, 'I stabbed him! I stabbed that
motherfucker!' I was right behind him and his friends, and I recognized his
voice right away. I told the cops that night, ‘It was Poke.’"
He hadn't seen Poke's face, of course, because of the red
bandana and the hat pulled down low. His height, his shape, his gait, though,
he recognized them all.
He also joined other partygoers in the frantic, fruitless
hunt for the killer in Mission Park. How could he not? He was one of the only
people who knew exactly who to look for.
Continue: Fall of the First Star
Continue: Fall of the First Star
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