Savage Son. Corey Mitchell
cordless telephone.
Officer Prevost could see that Bart Whitaker was doing okay, so he advanced through the rest of the house. Once he made his way into the kitchen, he spotted a gun on the floor. He could instantly tell it was a Glock, because he used two of them himself. According to Prevost, he “did not have time to secure the weapon.” Instead, he released the magazine and stuck it in the breast pocket of his shirt. He removed a live round, which was in the chamber, and stuck that in his left rear pocket. He then placed the gun back in the same position as he had found it.
Prevost checked all the way to the back door. He scanned the laundry room and could determine that no one was hiding in there.
Prevost then made his way up the Whitaker staircase to the second floor. He noticed a set of car keys on one of the steps and also lots of Christmas decorations, such as a giant green stocking and a stuffed polar bear with a Santa Claus cap on the banister.
The officer was joined by two more Sugar Land PD officers, Clifton Dubose and John Torres. All three men explored the upstairs to make sure it was clear. It appeared as if there was no longer an intruder inside the house.
Prevost made a very obvious and unusual observation—all of the dresser drawers had been pulled out, in at least two rooms. Normally, in a robbery situation, such a sight would not be unusual. What made this unique was that the drawers had been pulled out the exact same length. It did not appear to be ransacked, but rather someone’s poor attempt at what they thought a robbery would look like. Most everything else in the upstairs rooms looked relatively undisturbed. Some usual big-ticket items—such as DVD players, laptop computers, videogame consoles, and more—had not been stolen. Prevost noted this was not the usual garden-variety robbery scene. He smelled something fishy about the whole ordeal.
After scanning all of the upstairs rooms, Prevost and the other police officers nodded to one another that everything was clear. The green light to the fire department could now be given, and the emergency medical technicians could enter the home and begin assisting the victims. Once Prevost was certain there were no longer any armed shooters inside, he radioed that everything was clear.
Prevost began to case the inside of the house for signs of anything out of the ordinary. He looked for any evidence of a break-in, like a jimmied window or a damaged door lock, but he found nothing. No glass was discovered on the floor from a shattered window, and no doors appeared to have been kicked in. The point of entry was not leaping out at the patrol officer.
Prevost made his way over to the den, where he looked for the young man between the coffee table and the sofa. Bart Whitaker had moved himself toward the kitchen and closer to the gun on the floor. Prevost walked up to Bart to check on him.
“Are you okay, son?”
Bart nodded. “I’m okay.”
Prevost was joined by Officer Arthur Freeman. As Prevost began to talk to Bart, he pulled out a micro-cassette recorder from his jacket pocket. He liked to keep it with him at all times while on duty. It allowed him to keep track of all his encounters while out on patrol. The officer turned the recorder on and began to ask Bart if he knew what had happened.
“We were coming in from dinner and I went to my car to get my phone,” Bart began speaking, albeit in an understandably dazed manner. It appeared as if he was in shock. “I was walking up the driveway and I heard some pops. I ran in and somebody was running this way.” He pointed toward the laundry room. “I ran in, they turned, and someone shot me.”
“What did they have on? Could you see any clothes?” Officer Prevost asked.
“I couldn’t tell.” Bart shook his head, as though disappointed. He did not want to let anyone down.
“And they ran out the back door?”
“That way.” Bart nodded and pointed toward the back door.
Officer Prevost pointed toward the gun on the kitchen floor. “Where did this gun come from?”
“When I hit him”—Bart nodded, recalling his valiant attempt to apprehend the shooter—“I don’t know if he dropped it, or what.”
“You hit this guy that was running?”
“I tried to grab him. I don’t know if I hit him or not, but I came after him.”
“Do y’all keep a gun in the house?” Prevost inquired.
“Yeah, my dad has a gun,” Bart responded. “My brother has one, too.”
“Both of those guns upstairs?”
“No, my dad’s is in a closet in there.” He pointed toward another room downstairs.
“What kind of Glock is [it] that your dad has?”
“My dad doesn’t have a Glock. My brother does.”
“Do you know where your brother keeps his gun?” Prevost asked the drained-looking oldest Whitaker boy.
“No.” He shook his head. “Probably in his room.”
Bart looked over Officer Prevost’s shoulder. He spotted his brother, Kevin, lying still in the foyer. Kevin was not moving. “Oh God!” Bart cried out. “What’s going on in there?”
Prevost leaned over in an attempt to block Bart’s view. “They’re just trying to help everybody.” The officer tried to keep Bart’s attention focused on him. He did not want the young survivor to get too emotionally wrecked by the sight of his dead brother. Prevost was determined to get the freshest account possible from one of the surviving victims at this crime scene. It was pertinent to help him solve the shooting. “They got a lot of people working on it, okay?” He continued to soothe Bart’s jangled nerves.
“Did y’all keep the gun in the house?” Prevost asked in an attempt to redirect Bart’s attention.
“Yes, yes.” Bart nodded. “That’s—that’s my brother’s gun.”
“Okay, Bart. You’re doing great,” Prevost affirmed. “Bart, did you know the guy who was in the house? Could you see his face?”
Bart began to shake his head again. “No, no. It was dark.” He became frustrated. “It happened too fast. I don’t know.”
“Could you tell if he was black or white or…?” Prevost inquired.
Bart paused. “He kind of, I don’t—he made a noise. I don’t know. He kind of sounded black to me. I don’t know.” Bart began to writhe in pain. The bullet had entered his shoulder and hurt tremendously.
“Just lay still, buddy.” Prevost comforted the older brother. “Just lay still.”
Prevost motioned over to one of the EMTs to take a look at Bart’s wound. The technician began to move Bart’s injured arm and ask him if it hurt or not.
Bart winced in pain. “It hurts.” He also became more concerned for his family. “Please tell me they’re okay.”
“They’re working on them,” one of the EMTs responded.
Bart began to hyperventilate. The images rushing through his head were coming fast and furious. His breathing became too rushed. The technicians made sure he breathed through his nose and tried to calm him down.
How could he calm down with the lights on outside, his brother apparently dead, just ten feet away from him, and his mom and his dad out of his line of sight? He had no idea if they were even alive. Technicians and police officers littered the living room with their presence. It was all just too overwhelming. One of the EMTs stuck a needle in his arm.
“Okay, sweetie,” she gently reassured Bart. “I’m going to start an IV on you before you get ready to move, all right?”
“Yeah.” Bart nodded, even though he was not truly sure what she had just said to him. “I can’t feel my arm.”
“That’s because you’re breathing too fast, sweetie. Just