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Mic, Slade, and an FBI agent from the local office sat in a booth with the teenager in the Busy Burger. The young man was scared to death. He’d told his story three times, but Slade asked him to tell them once more.
"I don't know what else to tell you,” the boy said tearfully. “This man came over to me during my break and saw me texting to my girlfriend. He asked me what it was like working here. I told him it was okay. Then he stood there and watched me text my girlfriend. He said something about my texting and I told him my girlfriend and I were having a fight."
"And then what happened?" Michaela asked.
"The guy offered to take over for me for an hour or so. He said he had been thinking about working at Busy Burger anyway and this way he could... well... test the water so to speak. See if he really wanted to. I said ‘sure, you can take my shift’ because I was having this fight with my girlfriend and I wanted to settle things."
"Why were you so anxious to have another break?" The FBI agent asked.
The young man turned red and said, “I was having a fight with my girlfriend and we were texting back and forth. I really didn't want to leave and go back to work in the middle of the fight so when this guy offered to take my shift for an hour, well... it was perfect. It gave me time to straighten out things with my girlfriend. I wanted to make up with her."
"Then what happened?" Slade asked.
"It's just like I said earlier. I gave the guy my Busy Burger work shirt and I went over and sat on that picnic bench under the tree. I didn't know nuthin was happenin’ ‘til the first police car rolled into the parking lot." The boy stopped for a minute and added, big tears filling his eyes. "I'm telling you the truth. That's exactly what happened."
"Okay," Slade said impatiently. "Now tell me again, what did this man look like?"
The boys shrugged his shoulders. “He didn't look like anybody in particular. He certainly didn't look like he was going to kill a bunch of kids. He seemed like a nice enough guy. He was pretty tall, maybe six feet and he had short, really short, blond hair or maybe he was mostly bald, I don’t remember."
"Did he have any scars or tattoos or anything else that would make him stand out?" Slade asked as he looked into the teenager's eyes. "Son, you're the only lead we've got on a mass murderer. Please think and go back in your mind and see if there's anything else you can tell us."
The young man thought back and said, "Well, he had some sort of an accent. And, the top of his head was sort of caved in. You know, sort of like someone had hit him with a hammer. I don't know what kind of accent. He just didn't talk like an American."
"Was he fair-skinned or was he dark? What color were his eyes?" Mic asked.
"I'm, I'm not sure. I think they might've been pale blue," the boy said, "but I couldn't swear to it. He was pretty white, his skin that is," the kid added.
“Tell me a little more about this ‘caved’ in head. Where specifically was it caved in?” Slade asked.
The boy pointed to his forehead. “It was sort of caved in on the right side. About here,” he said as he touched his forehead. “Like I said, it looked like someone hit him with a hammer right here,” the teen said as he pointed to his forehead.
"Don't you think it was a little strange that some guy offered to cover your shift at Busy Burger when a bunch of noisy kids were there so you could text on your cell phone?" the FBI agent asked sarcastically.
The young man was quiet and didn't say anything.
The FBI agent persisted, "Don't you think that was weird? Answer my question."
The young man stared at the floor and said, "Yeah, I guess it was kinda strange. But to tell the truth, I didn't think about it then. I just wanted to make up with my girlfriend. That's all," he said, as more tears filled his eyes and oozed down his face.
Slade slipped the young man his card and said, "We'll be calling you to come downtown to answer more questions later today. I also want you to look at some pictures, mugshots, and try to identify the guy. Can you be there?"
The young man nodded. "Yes, sir. Can I bring my mother?”
"Of course you can," Michaela assured him. “We actually prefer you bring her,” she added as she touched the distraught teen on the shoulder.
The boy gave Slade a fearful look and asked, "Am I going to be arrested? I'm trying to get into college and I think that would hurt my chances."
"No, no," Mic assured him as she gave Slade a dirty look and answered for him. "We just need to know every single thing you can remember, no matter how insignificant or unimportant it seems. You're our only link to a murderer and anything you say or remember can help us."
"I know and I understand. Okay, can I leave now? I need to go home and tell my parents." The teen gave them a woeful look.
"Yeah, but come downtown to the police station around three this afternoon. Take some time to decompress and see if you can remember anything else," Slade said. “If you do remember something, write it down. Anything you can think of may be the lead we need to get this guy, okay?”
"Yeah. I'll be there," he said as he stood. Mic hadn't noticed how tall the young man was. He was close to six feet himself and skinny as a rail.
“This officer will take you home,” Slade said as he motioned to a uniformed officer standing to his right. “Where do you live, son?” Slade asked.
“Um, I live in the Northside. Over in Ginter Park. On Seminary Avenue, sir,” the teen mumbled as he gathered his backpack.
Slade nodded, “Okay, think about everything that’s happened and please write anything down, the smallest detail may be important,” Slade reminded him.
The kid nodded and left. “That’s a good neighborhood,” he said as he looked at Mic. “He seems like a pretty good kid.”
“Yeah, he does. Maybe he’ll remember something,” Mic said. “I hope so. Let’s line him up with a police sketch artist. Maybe we can get a composite... especially with the battered up head. We’ve gotta get this maniac.”