Savage Son. Corey Mitchell
also spoke about their various backgrounds in education and employment. Kent informed Detective Slot that he had been employed as an accountant for his wife’s father’s construction company for a number of years.
Bart spoke about his education and his impending graduation ceremony from Sam Houston State University, in Huntsville, Texas, which was to take place the following night. Bart added that he was interested in working in law enforcement and would be taking part in an internship with the Federal Bureau of Investigation (FBI) after graduation. He wanted to become a detective, just like Slot.
The detectives left the two grieving men to their own devices. Detective Slot expressed his condolences for the losses of Kevin and Tricia. He let them know he would be available for them at any time, if they thought of anything else that happened the night before, or if they could think of any reason why someone would want to cause them harm.
The Whitakers thanked Slot and Baugh and returned to healing and commiserating.
The following day, Detective Slot began to make a series of phone calls trying to track down as much information about the Whitakers and any of their acquaintances as possible. The detective mostly came up with dead ends, either with no information or simply that the Whitakers were well-liked and appeared to have no enemies.
Most of Slot’s efforts seemed to bear no fruit. That is, until he received a phone call from the bursar’s office of Sam Houston State University.
Detective Slot was stunned by the phone call he received. He knew he only had one option—he needed to speak to the oldest brother, Bart, at the hospital. The detective drove back up to Memorial Hermann and made his way toward the twenty-three-year-old’s room. He walked into the room and saw Bart sitting up, watching television. Kent Whitaker was not in the room.
“Hello, Bart,” Slot greeted the young man.
“Detective Slot”—Bart returned his gaze with a grin on his face—“any new information on the case, sir?”
“As a matter of fact, Bart, there is something that is quite puzzling to me.”
Bart’s expression changed to quizzical as he looked back at the detective. “What is it, sir?”
“Bart, I got a call not too long ago from your college, Sam Houston,” Slot informed him.
“Yes, sir?” Bart looked confused.
“Bart, the bursar’s office told me that you are not actually even going to school there. In fact, they said you only have enough credits to be a freshman,” Slot calmly relayed the information. “Why would they tell me that?”
Bart sat, stunned. He looked defeated. He looked embarrassed. “I had a feeling you were going to find out, sooner or later,” Bart replied with a knowing frown. He slowly began to shake his head and look down at his chest as he sat in his hospital bed.
“Bart, do you care to tell me what is going on?” Slot asked. “Can you tell me the truth, son?”
Bart paused interminably. Finally he lifted his head up and looked directly into Detective Slot’s eyes. “I am not enrolled at Sam Houston State, Detective.”
Slot did not press the issue with Bart. Instead, he made Bart go back over the details of the night of the murders. After he was done, Slot made his way over to Kent Whitaker’s bed; Kent had since returned to the room. Slot waited until Bart left the room to speak to Kent.
“Hello, Mr. Whitaker,” Slot greeted the mourning father. “How are you feeling today, sir?”
Kent Whitaker muttered, “Fine, I guess.” The shock from losing his wife and youngest son had not settled.
“Mr. Whitaker, I have to ask you something about your oldest boy, Bart.”
“Sure, go ahead,” Kent replied.
“Did Bart tell you he was graduating from college this weekend, sir?” Slot asked.
“Yes, from Sam Houston State University, up in Huntsville. We were supposed to go to the graduation ceremony today, as a matter of fact. Why do you want to know that?” Kent asked.
“Sir, are you aware that Bart is not even enrolled at Sam Houston?”
Kent flinched at the statement. “No, that’s not true. Of course, he’s enrolled. How else could he be getting his degree?”
“Sir, Bart is not enrolled in school there. In fact, he has not been enrolled at Sam Houston for a number of years.”
Kent sat stunned in his hospital bed. “That doesn’t make any sense,” he declared, dumbfounded. “That’s why we went out to dinner. We were celebrating his upcoming graduation.” Kent looked directly at Detective Slot. “This has got to be some kind of joke, doesn’t it? This is just a cruel joke.”
“I’m sorry, sir. Your son is not enrolled in college,” Slot reiterated.
Kent sat silent and upright in his bed. He still was not sure if he heard the detective right. Even if he had, he was not sure what to make of the news. He knew his son had some trouble as a youth with telling the truth, but he knew his oldest child was a good kid.
Bart would never do anything to harm anyone—much less anyone in his family.
Kent Whitaker simply shook his head.
“Of course, sir, we are still looking into every angle to find out who killed your family,” Slot reassured the stunned father.
Kent later admitted that when he heard the news about Bart’s lies about college, he only had one thought: This will derail the investigation into the police finding the real killer because they will focus on Bart as a suspect.
Kent, of course, knew his oldest son had nothing to do with the murder of his own mother and brother, but this latest bit of information, coupled with a smallish criminal record as a teenager, would temporarily delay things, as far as finding the actual murderer.
According to Kent, he decided he needed answers from Bart. An aching Kent glanced at Bart’s side of the hospital room, where he spotted Bart asleep in his bed. He also noticed Bart’s girlfriend, Lynne Sorsby, seated in one of the uncomfortable guest chairs. Lynne had been at the hospital since the morning after the shooting, and had not left Bart’s side the entire time.
Kent nodded toward Lynne and then quietly asked her if he could have a moment alone with his son. Lynne cordially assented, stood up, and walked out of the room. Kent edged his wheelchair up next to his son’s bed and began to speak.
“Bart, what were you thinking?” Kent whispered. “You weren’t even in school? How could you lie to us about graduation?”
Bart sat up erect in bed at the sound of his father’s voice. “Dad, I’m so sorry!” he bellowed out loud. “I didn’t want to tell you because I knew how much you and Mom were looking forward to my graduation.” He added, “I just figured I could work it out and take the classes next semester, and nobody would know.”
Kent was livid. “Nobody would know! How would we not know? How would they let you graduate? How did you get into this mess in the first place?”
According to Kent, Bart had been a complete wreck since the shooting. He, too, was in a sling and bandaged up rather thoroughly. He had kept the drapes in his room closed so no light peered in whatsoever, and all he wanted to do was sleep.
Kent felt pity for his son as he listened to Bart’s explanations for his scholastic situation, and why he felt the need to lie to his parents about it. Bart explained that he had been swamped at his job at the Bentwater Yacht & Country Club, in Montgomery, Texas, a palatial sporting club and restaurant located on Lake Conroe, which catered to some of the wealthiest individuals in the state of Texas. Several employees had quit during the summer and he had been forced to take over a majority of the duties to keep the restaurant afloat.
“Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” the once-mild-mannered father, now furious,