5 YEARS AFTER THE EXECUTION-STYLE DEATH OF JAM MASTER JAY...AND STILL NO LEADS....OR SNITCHES HAS SURFACED.

He was doing what he loved most in a neighborhood recording studio any other hip-hop star would have abandoned long ago - but Jam Master Jay always did his own thing. And that October night in 2002, the pioneering Run DMC deejay, whose real name was Jason Mizell, was doing what he did best - mixing beats - when he was shot in the back of the head in a Queens studio full of people. The execution-style murder of the hip-hop legend remains one of the most notable of the city's unsolved homicides. With the fifth anniversary of his stunning killing approaching, family members of the iconic deejay are still fuming over the lack of cooperation from those believed to have witnessed the murder. "It's five years already and none of his so-called friends that were in the studio have come forth yet," his brother, Marvin Thompson, 53, told the Daily News. "Come on - you were in the studio and you didn't see nothing? It just doesn't make no sense. ... As far as I'm concerned, everybody that was there and hasn't said anything had something to do with it."

Mizell's Oct. 30 murder cast a pall over the hardscrabble Hollis neighborhood where he grew up, and left several members of hip-hop's elite shattered over the death of one of its most beloved and influential figures. The investigation was complicated by the fact that no one in the studio where Mizell was killed would speak with cops, authorities said. This lack of cooperation infuriated the Mizell family, leading them to cut ties with the likes of Randy Allen, Mizell's longtime business partner, and his sister, Lydia High, who allegedly buzzed the killers into the studio.

In the weeks following the killing, cops identified a number of men wanted for questioning. All shared a dubious connection: They once were close to the 37-year-old turntable wizard.

There was Curtis Scoon, an old friend who investigators said had threatened to visit the ground-breaking deejay to settle a decade-old drug debt in the weeks before he was killed. There was Ronald (Tinard) Washington, a career criminal who has told investigators he was outside the Merrick Blvd. studio at the time of the attack, but had nothing to do with it. And then there was Darren (Big Dee) Jordan, a former promoter for Island Def Jam Recordings, and his son, Karl Darren (Little Dee) Jordan. Washington implicated the father and son in Mizell's murder.

But the leads went nowhere.

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