The feeble breeze that blew about the block had little effect on the mid-afternoon heat.
People were out and about, mingling with friends from the neighborhood.
When the FBI swerved before the curb of South Howard Street, nobody expected them to converge upon Geraldine Parson's home.
An ice cream truck was parked at the curb, four doors down from her house.
A group of neighbors began to gravitate closer for a better view.
After the display of violence that had been shown during the bank heist, none of the agents were taking any chances.
The men that they were hunting were considered to be armed and extremely dangerous.
Every location posed a potential threat.
Special Agent Anthony Price and his partner Carl Wainwright lead the way to Geraldine Parsons' doorstep.
Several agents dressed in tactical gear began to surround the house, awaiting a cue to shoot.
Agent Price gave a sharp rap against the door with his knuckle.
After a brief beat, he knocked again.
"What the hell is your malfunction, beating on my door like you're crazy?"
Geraldine Parsons spat, as she opened the door.
Her hostile gaze did not waiver.
She had the look of someone who was about to issue out a few complimentary ass-whippings.
Both agents had to pause.
"I'm sorry to disturb you, ma'am... But we have a search warrant to search the premises." Agent Price stated, his gaze scanning the interior of the house beyond her shoulder.
There was no sign of anyone else in the residence, but they had to be certain.
They each had their hand hovering above their weapon.
"What's the meaning of this?"
"Are there any other occupants inside of the home?"
"No. There is no one here, except me," she replied, accepting the proffered warrant that Agent Price passed to her as he and his partner stepped through the threshold.
Five other agents followed them inside and began clearing the rooms.
Her expression was hostile, but her demeanor remained cordial.
She was an elderly black woman accustomed to having to confront Atlanta lawmen...
She knew that contesting them was futile.
"What is this about?" She asked, with a crinkled brow.
"We're investigating Johnny Parsons, and his juvenile records reflect that this was his last known address." the agent stated.
Geraldine Parsons blanched with outrage.
"Why can't you people leave that boy alone," she huffed, clutching her purse to her buxom.
"He hasn't been home for a full month yet, and already you're here trying to find a way to throw him back in a damn cage."
"Ma'am, we have reason to believe that your grandson was involved in a bank robbery this morning; and we're trying to locate whoever may have been his accomplice."
Geraldine Parsons began to blink her eyes, to process the words that had been spoken.
Intuition whispered trepidation into her heart as she began to ponder over the discussion that she had just had with her daughter.
And something was telling her that it was no coincidence that the Feds were questioning her about her grandson, only moments after her daughter had explained that her granddaughter had been murdered.
But caution compelled her to remain quiet.
"My grandson did not speak with me about his friends."
Special Agent Anthony Price extracted a series of crime scene photographs from an attaché case.
Once he found one that did not display the gruesome wounds that covered Pluto's chest cavity, he passed it to her.
It was a facial shot of Pluto, laid out across the train tracks.
His lifeless gaze riveted up at the photographer.
"Ma'am, is this your grandson?"
When Geraldine Parsons saw her grandson captured in the throes of death, she had to cover her mouth to keep from crying out.
Her eyes began to water, but her sobs were silent.
She was too proud to compromise her composure, before the eyes of a stranger.
"Lord have mercy on his soul," she muttered.
"That boy didn't even give himself a chance..."
Both agents allowed her a moment to grieve before they began their interrogation.
The timing was critical.
As far as they knew, the bandits were headed out of state at that moment.
And they were determined to bring the culprits to justice before the public could begin to question their competence.
"According to our information, your grandson was released to your custody after leaving Milledgeville juvenile facility; three weeks ago..." Agent Price stated, gesturing for her to take a seat.
"Are there any friends that you can think of, that your grandson may have been associating with; that could help us identify the person or persons that may have done this to him?"
With a somber shake of her head, Mrs. Parsons exhaled.
"My grandson did not bring his friends to my house. He knew that I did not approve of those hooligans coming into my home," she replied wiping tears from her cheek.
"He moved in with his cousin, Broderick two days after being released from that reformatory school. I haven't seen him in nearly two weeks."
Both agents gave a vague nod of understanding.
"Where can we find this cousin Broderick?" Carl Wainwright asked, unable to hide his eagerness.
"He has an apartment in Summer Hill, but I doubt that he can help you because from what my daughter told me, he was locked up last night."
Wainwright and Price exchanged a glance.
Before either of them could pose another series of questions an agent called out to them from the mantlepiece along the family room wall.
"Hey, Anthony... You and Carl need to take a look at this."
There was a note of urgency in his voice that captured everyone's attention.
When the two agents moved over to the wall, their colleague held out a framed photograph for them to see.
"She looks familiar to you?"
As the agents scrutinized the graduation picture of Shonda Williams, Geraldine Parsons began to cry.
"That's my granddaughter, Shonda... Her mother just called to tell me that she had been killed during a robbery at her job. Now, this..." she lamented a heartbeat before it dawned on them all. There was a connection between Shonda Williams, a bank employee murdered during the robbery, and Johnny Parsons, one of the four bandits that had robbed the bank.
Special Agent Anthony Price touched a hand to his partner's arm. "We need to find out where they're holding the brother... I'm almost certain that he knows something."
Carl Wainwright gave a nod of agreement.
The fact that Broderick Williams was in jail at the time of the robbery excluded him from being involved in the crime, but they both figured that he could provide them with some valuable information. It was hard to believe that Johnny Parsons was involved in a plot to rob his cousin Shonda's place of employment, and her brother Broderick did not know about it... Especially considering that they were living together, they reasoned.
After a thorough search of Geraldine Parsons' home, the group of agents gathered about their vehicles in a loose huddle of bodies.
"Okay. Listen up," stated special agent Price. "The clock is ticking. We've got to catch these guys before they disappear. We're going to broaden our search to include Broderick Williams' apartment. This is the location in which Johnny Parsons was believed to have been living.
This is also the location in which Shonda Williams' brother has been staying." No one spoke as Anthony Price continued talking. He and his partner Carl Wainwright were the lead investigators over the case. It was their duty to coordinate the resources of the agency and see that the people responsible for robbing the bank were brought to justice. "Charles, you and Brody head over to the courthouse and secure us a search warrant for Shonda Williams' apartment. We need to know how much she's involved and sees if we can identify the other bandits... Agents are en route to her apartment, as we speak. Just sit on the location until we secure those warrants. We have to play this by the books. Make sure you fellas proceed with caution because these guys are desperate. Carl and I are going to visit my brother Broderick. We'll meet up with you after we interrogate him."
Once the team of agents had their marching orders everyone dispersed from before Geraldine Parsons home.
As the procession of unmarked vehicles sped off to accomplish their assignments, agents Anthony Price and Carl Wainwright sat parked at the curb for a moment.
They wanted to observe the activity within the neighborhood. Kirkwood was a rough area to live in, within the east Atlanta landscape. The rhythm of the residential flow could be misleading to most people. The casual observer would only see whatever was displayed in the streets, but residents of the district would see beyond the masquerade of silence.
Several people who were once obscured from their notice, by passageways between different houses, were beginning to venture back on the block.
It was similar to watching a watering hole within a jungle habitat... At some point every manner of animal could be seen venturing out for a drink, to quench its thirst.
"This thing is about to spin out of control, Carl." Agent Price spoke as he watched people pass by, and steal peeks into the car.
"I keep thinking about how that guy killed Shonda Williams after they had already gotten the money...then murdered her cousin in the woodland; even though they had already eluded the cops pursuing them."
Carl glanced over at his partner with a somber nod.
The experience was indicating that they were attempting to sever any loose ends that may lead investigators to them.
"You think the brother will help us identify the other bandits?"
"It's hard to say," agent Price replied, watching Geraldine Parsons pull out of her driveway.
"A lot of these people are afraid to break their silence. But, if we're lucky...thebrother will want to avenge his sister and cousin's death more than he'll wantto maintain his silence.