According to the police source, while a motive remains unknown, there was clear evidence at the scene that the couple was targeted because of the husband’s employer. The source, due to the nature of the crime and its ongoing investigation, was unable to provide more information at this time.
Police are asking that anyone with any information please contact Sergeant M. M. Payne of the Philadelphia Police Department’s Homicide Unit at 215-686-3334, at [email protected], or anonymously at phillypolice.com/submit-a-tip. Individuals who provide information that leads to an arrest are eligible for cash awards of up to $20,000.
Updates to this story will be posted as soon as available.
—Staff Report
O’Hara looked up and across the newsroom—past the plainclothes policeman whom Matt Payne had insisted sit on O’Hara for at least the immediate future—and over to O’Brien’s desk.
He felt his throat tighten and his eyes tear up.
He swallowed hard, looked back at the computer, and angrily smacked the ENTER key, sending the article to the copy editor’s desk.
Then he went to his backup e-mail program and opened the e-mail that he had forwarded there that morning, the one that had caused him to drive over and check on Tim O’Brien.
His eyes dropped to the pop-up window filling the screen:
From: O’Hara, Michael
Date: 15DEC 1155AM
To: Mick Off the Grid
Subject: cartel backup file
Attachments: 1
BEGIN FORWARDED MESSAGE:
From: O’Brien, Tim
Date: 15DEC 1145AM
To: O’Hara, Michael
CC: O’Brien, Timothy
Subject: cartel backup file
Attachments: 1
Buenos Dias/Noches, El Jefe . . .
Or maybe it’s not so bueno—no matter what time of day it is—for your wandering scribe.
You will no doubt note that this is being sent from my auto-send account. As I explained over those many pints of Kenzinger and Walt Wit at the pub, if you’re getting this, then I’ve either overslept and not had a chance to reset the send clock . . . or I’ve gone over to the Isle of the Blest.
In either case, attached as insurance is a file containing the working material for what I have been doing when not downing pints or chasing my lovely lass of a wife. You’re welcome, in either case, to have a look at it.
This is some serious shit, El Jefe. Bigger, I’d suggest, than the piece on the heroin ring in Strawberry Mansion that ran today (I’m typing this Friday).
Clearly the piece isn’t ready for publishing. But I’m of course confident you can get it there in my absence. Ones to follow may require heavier lifting on your part.
Tim.
P.S. If I have been whacked—or hit by a bus or whatever—remember that in this Irish afterlife paradise here, I am enjoying, among other things, “endless stocks of meadow and wine.” Please remind my beloved Emily of that, and that I love her. I know that you’ll see that she’s taken really good care of. Peace, my friend . . . (Of course the next sound you hear will be my belch as I walk up behind you, alive and well. I hope.)
O’Hara felt the tears start streaming down his cheeks.