by BJ Bourg
“You think I was shot? With a gun?”
“There’s a possibility you were hit by one of the bullets meant for your dad. It would be a small scar, probably looks like a dimple by now.”
He shook his head. “I don’t have any scars like that. I mean, I have some scars, but I remember where they all came from.”
I asked him to stand and lift up his shirt and I shined a light on his stomach and back, searching for pinpoint scars. There were none. After lowering his shirt, he held his arms out with his palms up, and then turned them over. Nothing. I waved for him to return to his chair.
I leaned back in my seat and rubbed my face, trying to make sense out of everything I knew. As I moved the pieces of the puzzle around in my mind, a picture started to slowly emerge. I cursed inwardly, hoping I was wrong. If I was right, this kid was an army without a country…a ship without a flag.
Wanting to keep Burton talking, I leaned forward, dug out my cell phone, and scrolled through my images. On Tuesday, when I had gone through the old case file at the sheriff’s department, I’d taken snapshots of some of the pictures in it. I continued scrolling until I found the one I’d snapped of Larry Cooper. It was the last photograph taken of him before he died and it showed him sitting on the steps of his trailer holding his son—who we now knew was Burton—in his lap.
“This is you and your dad,” I said, handing the phone to Burton. “This was taken a day or two before he was killed.”
Burton pulled my phone close to his face and used his thumbs to enlarge the image. He blinked away the blurriness in his eyes. “I look like him.”
“You do.”
When Burton handed me the phone, his brow furrowed. “If everything you’re telling me is true, then my dad—Rick—knows I’m not his son.”
“That’s correct.”
“I’ve been joking with Cindy for years, telling her she was adopted.” His face twisted into a sour smile as the irony of the situation hit him. “As it turns out, I’m the one who’s adopted.”
He was right. For him to be carrying Rick Vincent’s last name, he had to have been adopted, but how much did Rick know about his wife? At what point in Burton’s life had Rick and Judith met? I had a lot of questions for Judith Vincent, and I needed to meet with her as soon as possible to iron them out.
“Do you mind hanging out with Chief Wilson?” I asked Burton. “I need to speak with your mom.”
“Yes, sir,” he said, but then hesitated. “Um, you said my real father was killed—murdered.”
I nodded.
“But you didn’t tell me who did it.”
CHAPTER 45
Judith Vincent looked up at me when I stepped into the interview room. Worry lines were etched across her face. “What’s going on?” she asked. “Chief Wilson said you needed to speak with me about something, but I’ve been sitting here waiting and no one has told me a thing. Where’s Burton? Why do you have him here?”
I placed my file folder on the desk and sat across from her. I had activated the audio and video recorder before entering the room, so I didn’t bother pulling out a digital recorder.
“So, what’s going on?” she repeated when I didn’t say anything.
I decided not to waste any time. Pulling the flyer from my case file, I slid it to her. “Do you recognize these people?”
Her face tightened, but she tried to act casual. “One of Burton’s friends gave this to him. He thought it looked like us, but I don’t believe it does.”
I extended the flyer out where I could perform a side-by-side comparison. “I don’t know, ma’am. This woman looks very similar to you.”
She took the flyer from my hand and stared at it. She scoffed and then handed it back. “She’s got brown hair, brown eyes, and a pale complexion—that probably describes one third of the women in Louisiana. She looks nothing like me.”
“So, are you saying that your son, Burton, is not this missing kid?”
She forced a chuckle. “Of course not.”
“Very well, then, let me gather some information from you and hopefully we can clear up this whole mess.”
“What mess?”
“Someone seems to think Burton is Drake Cooper all grown up.” I made a show of flipping through my notes. I stopped on the first clean page I got to and looked up, my pen poised over the page. “Where was Burton born?”
“Excuse me?”
“Where’d you give birth to your son?”
“Why are you asking these questions?”
“Like I said before…I’m simply gathering some information so I can clear up this whole misunderstanding.”
Judith took a subtle bite of her lower lip, then quickly said, “He was born at Chateau General.”
I jotted down the information. “How long have you and Rick been married?”
“What does my marriage have to do with this missing kid?”
I cocked my head sideways. “Can you please indulge me so I can clear this matter up sooner rather than later?”
“If it’ll get us out of here faster…” Judith huffed. “We’ve been married for eighteen years. Almost nineteen.”
“How could you have been married to Rick Vincent for eighteen years when you were married to Larry Cooper eighteen years ago?” I wanted to ask, but didn’t. “Where’d you meet Rick?”
“At my second cousin’s wedding. He was best man to the groom and I was one of the bridesmaids. We were both drunk by the end of the night and I went home with him.” She folded her arms across her breasts and stared pointedly at me. “Do you want the details?”
I ignored the sarcasm and continued. “When was Burton born?”
“The thirteenth of March. He turned seventeen a few months ago.”
I studied Judith. She must be lying about Burton’s age, because he was six months old eighteen years ago. “Have you ever cheated on Rick?”
She gasped. “What kind of question is that?”
“I mean, you don’t have to answer it if you don’t want to,” I said slowly, “but it’s a standard question in these types of investigations.”
After glaring at me for a few long moments, she finally said she had never cheated on Rick.
I pushed my notepad aside and pulled out my phone. I scrolled through the images until I found the picture of Larry Cooper and his baby, turned it so she could see. “Do you recognize this guy?”
She shook her head.
“Would it surprise you to learn that this is Burton’s real father?”
She scoffed. “That’s utter nonsense. This is some kind of investigative ploy to trick me into saying what you want to hear.”
“No ploy at all, Judith.” I lifted the phone again. “Are you sure you don’t recognize this man? His name’s Larry Cooper.”
“Never seen him and never heard of him.”
“Do you have a birth certificate for Burton?”
Judith’s chin jutted out confidently. “I most certainly do.”
“Whose name is listed as the father?”
I was surprised when she told me it was Rick Vincent, and she said it with confidence.
“There are those who might argue that Rick is not Burton’s father.”
She uncrossed her arms and placed her hands on the table, leaning forward for emphasis. “I’m Burton’s mother, so they can argue all they want, but I’m the only one who can say who his father is.”
I smiled just enough to get under her skin. “Well, as it turns out, I obtained a sample of Burton’s DNA and had it compared to the DNA of Moe Cooper, who happens to be Larry Cooper’s brother. You might remember Larry as the man you once married in Tennessee.” I watched the color drain from Judith’s face. Even her lips turned white. “I can tell by your expression that you already know the results.” I planted my elbows on the desk and leaned forward myself. “Does Rick know your real name is Melissa and Burton’s name is Drake?”
Judith had to work her mouth a few times before words spilled out. “I don’t
know who Drake is and I’m not Melissa. My name is Judith.”
My eyes narrowed. I was pretty certain of these things: Judith had raised Drake Cooper to believe he was Burton Vincent; Drake’s real father had been murdered; and Drake’s real mother was either still missing or sitting right in front of me. If Judith didn’t know Burton’s real name, it might mean she was not Melissa. If she was not the missing woman, then where was Melissa? And what if Judith was playing me?
I asked Judith to give me a moment and I stepped into the hallway to send a text message to Susan, asking if she could have one of her officers find Rick Vincent and bring him to the station. She responded immediately to say she was sending someone right away.
I waited in the hallway until Susan texted me to say Amy was on her way to the Vincent home to get Rick, and then I rejoined Judith.
CHAPTER 46
“Good news,” I told Judith. “We’ve got someone heading out to your house to pick up Rick. As soon as he gets here, he’s going to clear this whole thing up for us.”
Just when I thought Judith couldn’t get any paler, her skin became almost transparent. “A cop is on the way to my house to get Rick?”
I nodded. “I’m sure he’ll be interested to know that we have indisputable DNA evidence to prove his son is actually Drake Cooper and his wife is actually Melissa Cooper—a murderess wanted from Tennessee for killing her first husband.”
Judith stammered for a few seconds. “I’m not Melissa Cooper. Look, you’ve got to believe me. I had nothing to do with a murder and I don’t know anything about Drake Cooper. There’s no need to involve Rick in this—”
“Burton is Drake, so you know a lot more than you’re saying.” I waved my hand dismissively. “But that’s okay—Rick will help clear this whole mess up for me and, before long, you’ll be sitting in a jail cell charged with murdering Larry Cooper, Fowler Underwood, and Troy Gandy.” I stood to leave, but she jumped to her feet.
“Wait…please. Just give me a second to explain.”
“Explain what?”
She licked her lips. “Look, I don’t know anything about any murders and neither does Rick, but I do know something about Burton.”
I slowly regained my seat and asked what she knew.
Judith took a deep breath—as though what she was about to say pained her—and then let it out. “While I love Burton like my own son, I’m not his mother.”
“Is that so?” My interest was fully aroused. “If you’re not his mother, then who is?”
“I don’t know. When I first met Rick he told me he was a single father. He told me his wife had up and disappeared, leaving their six-month-old baby behind. He was left to raise Burton on his own and he’s done a great job.”
I studied Judith’s face. “So, when you said earlier that you gave birth to Burton…?”
“I lied.”
“Why?”
“I was trying to protect Burton. I don’t want him to know his mother abandoned him. That kind of news can be devastating to a child. Everything else I said was true. I don’t know anything about a murder and neither does Rick. If it’s okay with you, I’d like to go home now. I have to get dinner started.” She glanced over her shoulder. “Did your officer get to my house yet?”
“Why are you so worried about our officer getting to your house and why are you in such a hurry to leave?” I shook my head and leaned back in my chair. “You’re not going anywhere. I don’t know if you missed it, but I’m investigating two murders and you’re my prime suspect.”
“Me?” Judith recoiled in her chair, throwing her hands to her chest. “Why am I a suspect?”
“First off, since you’re not Burton’s mother, you’re not Fowler’s daughter, and that removes an element of doubt concerning your willingness to kill Fowler. Second, you’re the only one with the opportunity to kill Fowler.”
“Opportunity? What on earth do you mean?”
“Everyone who lives down Dire Lane went to work on the morning of the murder, except for you.”
“I…I don’t even know what day he was murdered.”
“It was Friday, September twenty-third.” I grunted. “You might not remember the date, but you remember the details, so why don’t you cut the bull and tell me why you killed the poor old man?”
Judith licked her lips. “Can you call the officer and ask them to wait before going to my house? Rick is probably busy and he shouldn’t be disturbed.”
“Don’t worry about Rick. He’ll be down here shortly and he’ll find out soon enough what you’ve done.”
Tears began streaming down Judith’s face. “Please, just tell your officer to turn around.”
“No.” I leaned closer to her. “Now, tell me why you killed Fowler Underwood.”
“I didn’t kill him, but I know who did.” Judith didn’t even bother wiping her face. She just allowed the tears to flow freely and splash on the desk in front of her. “I’ll tell you everything if you just tell your officer to turn around and not bother Rick.”
I cocked my head to the side. “Why are you so worried about Rick? And why do you keep asking if Amy arrived at your house yet?”
“Because he’s got Cindy!”
“He’s her dad, so why wouldn’t he have her?”
“He’s going to kill her if I talk!” She spat the words. “When I told him I was coming to the station, he said he wasn’t going down without a fight. He said he was taking Cindy and he would kill her if I told y’all what he did, so I promised him I wouldn’t say a thing. If you go looking for him, he’s going to think I talked.”
“Look, I know it was you who killed Fowler, because your car was the only car that didn’t leave for work that Friday. You drive a black Jeep Grand Cherokee, don’t you?”
She nodded, rubbing leakage from her nose. “But I didn’t kill anyone. It was all Rick, but you can’t do anything until Cindy is away from him. Please, just let me go home and act like everything’s normal. When Cindy’s away from him, then you can go after him.”
“It couldn’t have been Rick. He left for work that morning and he didn’t get home until the afternoon, so it had to be you.”
She shook her head. “I was in Rick’s Mustang that day. He stayed home.”
“What?” I watched her eyes closely, trying to determine if she was lying. “You know, all it’ll take is one call to your work to find out if you were really—”
“Call them,” she dared. “I was at work all day that Friday. Rick gets one three-day weekend each month, and that was his weekend off. I can tell you detail by detail what he did and I can show you proof, but I’m not saying a word until Cindy’s safe.”
Unsure if I should believe her, I stood slowly to my feet. “Do you really think he’d hurt Cindy?”
“He’d do anything to keep from going to prison, and I mean anything. He won’t even set foot in the police station. Why do you think he made me come here with Cindy last Friday?”
“Give me a minute.” I stepped out into the hallway and threw the lock on the outside of the door so Judith couldn’t leave. I rushed through the dispatcher’s station and through the opposite hallway. When I pushed open the door to my office, Susan and Burton looked up at me. I waved for Susan to meet me in the hallway.
“What’s up?” she asked when we were alone.
“Did Amy find Rick?”
“I’m not sure.” She pulled out her radio and called for Amy. Other than a little static, the radio was silent. She called again, but there was still no answer from Amy.
CHAPTER 47
After radioing that she had arrived at the Vincent residence on Dire Lane, Officer Amy Cooke stepped out of her patrol car and stood for a second surveying the house. She had been asked to contact Rick Vincent and have him accompany her to the police department for questioning. As far as everyone knew, he wasn’t a suspect in anything, but two people had been murdered within a few miles of this place, so she wasn’t taking any chances.
Keeping her rig
ht hand close to her weapon and her eyes trained on the front windows of the residence, Amy approached the steps that led to the elevated porch. The sun was dipping to the west and had already slid behind the distant trees, so it wasn’t in her eyes.
She moved lightly up the steps and crossed the wooden porch to stand to the left side of the front door. There was a swing on the porch, but it was empty. Using her left hand, she knocked sharply on the door frame and waited. The house was above the ground—at least five feet, thanks to flood elevation requirements in the area—so she figured she’d hear footsteps if anyone moved around inside. After a few minutes of silence, she knocked again.
When there was no movement from inside, Amy made her way down the steps and around the left side of the house, where a detached garage was located a few dozen feet from the main building. The shadows were darker toward the rear of the property and she had a hard time discerning some of the shapes and objects in the back yard. She was nearing the back corner of the house when she thought she heard a muffled cry. She immediately dropped to her left knee and whipped her pistol out of the holster.
Amy’s heart pounded in her chest. Although the temperature was dropping with the setting sun, she felt sweat dripping down the back of her neck beneath her blonde ponytail. Gripping her pistol firmly in her hands, she scooted forward, being careful not to make a sound. Before she reached the corner, a figure came into view. She stared for a long second before she realized what she was seeing—a man had his left arm wrapped around the face of a young girl and there was a pistol pushed against her right temple. The girl tried to talk, but the inside crook of the man’s elbow was smothering her.
The man didn’t immediately see Amy squatting there pressed up against the house, so she remained motionless as he looked toward the front yard. When he turned his attention back toward the garage, Amy eased her left hand to her belt and turned down the volume on her radio. All I need is for someone to call out on the radio right now, she thought, wondering how she was going to get the word out that she needed backup.
