The world of hip hop was rocked again in 2025. For 28 years, the murder of Christopher Wallace—better known as Notorious B.I.G.—haunted fans, fueled conspiracy theories, and left a cloud over the music industry. Now, after decades of silence, a former detective has revealed the truth behind Biggie’s shocking death. What comes to light isn’t just a name—it’s a story of betrayal, corruption, and a feud that changed music forever.

The Night That Changed Everything

On March 8, 1997, Los Angeles was buzzing with the energy of the Soul Train Music Awards. Celebrities mingled, fans celebrated, and Biggie made his first major West Coast appearance since Tupac Shakur’s death just six months earlier. Despite lingering tension from the East Coast–West Coast rap rivalry, Biggie was there to promote peace and his upcoming album, Life After Death.

Later that night, he joined stars at a Vibe magazine afterparty. Security was tight, the mood was upbeat, and Biggie moved through the crowd with the confidence of a man at the top of his game. But less than an hour after midnight, everything changed.

At 12:45 a.m. on March 9, Biggie and his entourage left the party. He rode in the front passenger seat of a dark green GMC Suburban, with Puffy’s vehicle ahead and security behind. As the convoy stopped at Fairfax Avenue and Wilshire Boulevard, a black Chevy Impala pulled up beside Biggie’s SUV. Witnesses saw a lone gunman in the driver’s window. Four shots rang out. Biggie slumped over, mortally wounded. He was rushed to Cedar Sinai Medical Center, but at 1:15 a.m., the King of New York was pronounced dead at just 24 years old.

The murder happened in front of dozens of witnesses, yet the killer vanished. Conflicting accounts, grainy surveillance footage, and a missing getaway car left police with few leads. The timing was explosive—just six months after Tupac’s own murder. The public didn’t see coincidence. They saw a connection.

A Feud That Turned Fatal

Before bullets and betrayal, Biggie and Tupac were friends—rising stars who respected each other’s talent. But in November 1994, Tupac was shot five times at New York’s Quad Recording Studios. He survived, but believed he’d been set up by people who knew he was coming. Biggie and Puffy were reportedly inside the building. Tupac’s trust was shattered, and the East Coast–West Coast rivalry began to boil.

Tupac’s 1996 diss track “Hit ‘Em Up” made the feud personal, targeting Biggie, Faith Evans, and Bad Boy Records. The beef spiraled beyond music, becoming a regional war: Death Row versus Bad Boy, Los Angeles versus New York, Suge Knight versus Puff Daddy. Tensions exploded at the 1995 Source Awards, and the violence soon followed. Tupac was gunned down in Las Vegas in September 1996. Six months later, Biggie was dead.

Fans and media saw Biggie’s murder as retaliation—a deadly pattern that left hip hop’s brightest stars gone and questions piling up.

A Case Gone Cold

In the days after Biggie’s murder, fans expected swift justice. But the LAPD investigation quickly fell apart. Leads weren’t followed, witnesses weren’t interviewed, and evidence reportedly vanished. Fear grew within the department—especially as suspicions mounted that LAPD officers might be connected to Biggie’s death.

Biggie’s mother, Voletta Wallace, and ex-wife, Faith Evans, filed civil lawsuits accusing the LAPD of corruption and cover-up. They claimed officials destroyed key documents and blocked internal probes. Both lawsuits were dismissed, not because allegations were disproven, but due to procedural roadblocks and lack of cooperation.

The FBI briefly launched its own inquiry, but abandoned it without charges. For Biggie’s family, the failures were devastating. Voletta Wallace publicly stated, “They know who killed my son, but they’re not going to do anything because it would expose too much.”

For two decades, the case remained technically open, but no arrests were made. The murder of Notorious B.I.G. became a textbook example of a justice system protecting its own before protecting the truth.

Suspects, Allegations, and Theories

Many theories haunted the case. Suge Knight, co-founder of Death Row Records and Tupac’s label boss, was often suspected of ordering Biggie’s murder in retaliation. Knight always denied involvement, but the rumors never faded.

Another theory focused on rogue LAPD officers with ties to Death Row. David Mack, a former cop convicted for bank robbery, matched the profile—gang affiliations, flashy cars, and a connection to the black Chevy Impala. Journalist Chuck Phillips and detective Russell Poole both believed Mack played a role. Connected to Mack was Amir Muhammad, suspected by Poole to be the actual trigger man. Muhammad denied all accusations and was never arrested.

Even Puff Daddy’s name surfaced in fringe theories, though no credible evidence ever linked him to the crime.

Books, documentaries, and TV series continued to dig into these theories. The 2002 documentary Biggie & Tupac and the 2018 series Unsolved: The Murders of Tupac and the Notorious B.I.G. spotlighted LAPD corruption and the Mack–Muhammad theory. But despite all the suspects and speculation, the case had no conviction, no official suspect, and no closure.

The Truth Finally Revealed

After 28 years, retired LAPD detective Greg Kading brought the most credible answer yet. Tasked in the late 2000s to lead a joint federal investigation into the murders of Tupac and Biggie, Kading uncovered damning evidence. According to interviews, informants, and sworn testimony, the shooter was Wardell “Poochie” Fouse—a known member of the Mob Piru Bloods gang and a close associate of Suge Knight.

Fouse wasn’t just a street-level enforcer; he was trusted muscle for Knight. At the time of Biggie’s murder, Knight was in jail, but communicated through an intermediary—his girlfriend, posing as a legal assistant. Her confidential statement to LAPD and FBI claimed Knight gave her direct orders to coordinate Biggie’s murder. She acted as the link between Knight and Fouse, helping arrange payment for the hit.

Kading’s findings, supported by multiple informants (including Knight’s ex-girlfriend), pointed to retaliation for Tupac’s death. Knight wanted to send a message to the East Coast camp. For Kading, the case was closed: “We know who did it.” Over time, more experts have accepted his version as the most credible. In 2025, that perspective finally became mainstream.

Why No Arrests?

With Kading’s revelations, many expected justice. But Wardell “Poochie” Fouse was murdered in 2003, shot multiple times in Compton. With him dead, there would be no trial, no confession, no closure. Knight’s girlfriend’s cooperation fell apart when it was time to testify. Without her, prosecutors lacked the backbone of their case.

Suge Knight is already serving a 28-year sentence for an unrelated crime. Law enforcement may see him as already punished. Pursuing an old case with shaky evidence and witness reluctance seemed risky. The LAPD and FBI prefer to keep the case open, avoiding deeper scandals and lawsuits.

The difference in how Biggie’s case was handled compared to Tupac’s only deepens frustration. In 2023, Dwayne “Keefe D” Davis was arrested for Tupac’s murder. But for Biggie, there’s no living trigger man and no willing witness.

Biggie’s Legacy: The King of New York

When news broke of Biggie’s death, the world stood still. Brooklyn flooded the streets for his funeral procession. Radios blasted his lyrics. Bystanders shouted “Biggie! Biggie!” as the hearse passed. It wasn’t just a farewell—it was the funeral of a king.

Biggie’s family, especially Voletta Wallace, kept his name alive and demanded accountability. Faith Evans and Puff Daddy honored him through music; “I’ll Be Missing You” became an anthem of grief. Biggie’s albums—Ready to Die and Life After Death—remain cultural landmarks, studied and adored across generations.

In 2020, Notorious B.I.G. was posthumously inducted into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame, confirming his status as an icon. His children, CJ and Tiana Wallace, continue his legacy through business and documentaries.

Now, with the case finally considered solved by insiders like Greg Kading, the cloud over Biggie’s name begins to lift. Justice may never come in court, but the truth is finally in the light. Biggie’s greatest legacy isn’t just how he died, but how he lived—through every verse, every beat, and every Brooklyn block that still blasts his music. The King of New York lives on.