by BJ Bourg
Burton’s eyes widened a little. “You think the killer’s coming after me and Mom next?”
“It’s hard to say, but I think it’s important to remove both of you from the situation.”
He glanced down at the packet in my hand. “Will it hurt?”
“I’ll literally be rubbing a long cotton swab against the inside of your cheeks. It’ll hurt as much as it hurts to run your tongue along the inside of your mouth.”
He hesitated a bit longer, then nodded his head. “Okay, I’ll do it.”
Once I’d swabbed both cheeks and secured the cotton swabs in the evidence tubes, I asked Burton not to discuss our conversation with anyone.
“Not even my parents? Not even my mom?”
“Normally, I would never advise kids to keep things from their parents, but in this case, I’d like you to keep this conversation between the two of us.” I raised an eyebrow. “Don’t even tell Kegan or Paul, who happens to be standing in his driveway right now watching us talk.”
Burton’s head jerked toward the back of the street and he huffed when he saw Paul still standing in his driveway watching us. “He probably thinks we’re all going to jail for the phone call.”
“You can tell him I assured you that won’t happen. As far as I’m concerned, the prank call is a closed case.”
He nodded and then stared down at his shoes. His brow was furrowed and he seemed troubled.
“What is it?” I asked.
Keeping his head tilted downward, he lifted his eyes to stare at me through his eyebrows. “What if your test says I am Drake Cooper? What then?”
That was a good question and I didn’t want to answer it, so I just told him not to worry about it. “Like you said, you don’t even look like the kid.”
CHAPTER 42
After leaving Dire Lane, I stopped by the office to pick up some evidence submittal forms and then drove straight to the La Mort Police Department Crime Lab. I dropped off the DNA swabs from Fowler Underwood, Jr. and Burton Vincent, and asked for an expedited analysis.
“This is for an open homicide investigation and I need to know if these two men are related,” I said. “I don’t want to be pushy, but I need this done yesterday.”
The analyst told me she’d do her best, but said it would be Friday at the earliest, but more than likely not until Monday. Apparently, there were a few cases ahead of me that were equally important. I thanked her and—after stopping at a store in the city—drove home. It was nearly nine o’clock when I finally pulled into my driveway.
I checked in on Susan, who was sparring with Takecia under Damian’s watchful eyes, and then took Achilles for a ride to the shelter. During a break in her sparring, Susan had asked me to check on Allie and Sammy. Achilles ran around the perimeter of the building checking for dangers while I ambled up the steps and walked inside. Sammy was sitting on his mom’s lap and they were watching television in the living room when I entered.
Allie started to stand up, but I waved for her not to bother. “Susan wanted me to come back here and check on y’all—see if you needed anything.”
She smiled and shook her head. “Everything’s perfect. It’s the first time I’ve felt safe in years.”
“I love my new fake house!” Sammy wore a Winnie the Pooh pajama shirt with a matching bottom. “It’s the best time ever!”
I laughed and waved for him to step forward. He did and I pulled my hand from behind my back and held up a plastic bag.
“Do you know what’s in here?” I asked.
His eyes lit up as he nodded his head. “A Christmas present!”
“It’s not Christmas, honey,” Allie called from the sofa. “It’s just a present.”
I opened the bag and removed the model cop car from inside. “This is a smaller version of the police Chevy Tahoe that Chief Wilson drives,” I explained. “It’s late tonight, but when I get off work tomorrow afternoon you and I can start building this thing together.”
“Can Mommy help?” he asked, his eyes growing wide with excitement. “I bet she knows how to build a shelfy taco.”
Allie laughed and explained to Sammy that she would be doing some training with Susan while we work on the model car. “Chief Wilson is going to teach Mommy how to defend herself,” she explained. “And then I’ll be able to keep both of us safe.”
That seemed to settle it for Sammy and he followed me to the door as I left. When I stepped out onto the porch, he pointed and asked if he could ride Achilles. The last time I laughed so hard and felt so much joy was when Abigail was around.
“Well, his back’s not strong enough for a big man like you to ride,” I said. “But maybe one day we can find you a real horse to ride.”
“Yay!” He jumped up and down and pretended to be riding an imaginary horse. “I’m a cowboy.”
Allie had gotten up from the sofa and was standing behind Sammy and watching him bounce around in the doorway. When she looked up at me, her eyes were misty. “Thank you so much for everything.” She pushed her lips together to stop from crying. “Please tell Chief Wilson how much I appreciate what y’all are doing for us.”
“It’s been a lifelong dream of hers,” I said. “It’s her pleasure.”
Achilles bounded along beside me and licked my hand on the walk back to my Tahoe.
CHAPTER 43
Two days later…
It was three o’clock on Friday afternoon when I got the call. I’d been poring over the murder files and going over the surveillance footage from Mr. Pellegrin all day and, just minutes before three, I thought I had a minor breakthrough.
“Susan!” I’d called from my office. “Can you come in here?”
She had walked in and pulled a chair as close to mine as possible without sitting in my lap. “What is it?”
“When we watched these videos the first time, we were looking for anything that was there and didn’t belong.”
Susan nodded. “That’s how we found the blue Nissan.”
“Right.” I spread out my notes detailing the traffic from each of the days depicted on the surveillance videos. “We should’ve been looking for what wasn’t there.”
“What do you mean?” She leaned closer, studying the detailed lists of traffic from the neighborhood.
I pointed to Thursday, September 22. “On this day, forty-one cars from the neighborhood left the street in the morning and they all returned in the afternoon—not counting delivery trucks and school buses. And the same thing is true for every other day of the week, except for Friday, the day Fowler’s vehicle disappeared back there.”
Susan compared the lists and stabbed at the page with her index finger. “This black Jeep Grand Cherokee didn’t leave the neighborhood on Friday.”
“That’s right.” I leaned back and folded my arms across my chest. “And do you know who drives a black Jeep Grand Cherokee?”
She was thoughtful. After about ten seconds, she nodded slowly. “Judith Vincent.”
“When Fowler Underwood drove back there that morning, Judith was the only one in the entire neighborhood who was home. She’s the only one who could’ve killed Fowler.”
I’d already told Susan what I’d learned in Tennessee about Melissa Cooper and, although she’d agreed the portrait didn’t look exactly like Judith, she surmised the artist could’ve gotten it slightly wrong. “I’ve seen a number of these age progression photos over the years and some nail it while others totally miss the mark,” she had commented.
I snatched up a driver’s license photo of Judith that I’d printed from the DMV database and placed it on my desk beside the flyer of Melissa Cooper. “It could be her.”
Susan rested her arm on my shoulder as she leaned in to study it, and that was when the phone rang. It was the crime lab and they had the results of the DNA comparison.
“What’d you find?” I asked the analyst, holding my breath.
She began talking about how she had extracted a profile from each sample and performed an avuncular D
NA analysis. She explained that this test was used to determine if an individual is the biological aunt or uncle of a child. She then began citing numbers of probability and other technical information. I didn’t want to be rude, but I cut her off.
“In layman’s terms, please—are they related?”
She grunted. “Without a doubt, Moe Cooper is in Burton Vincent’s paternal lineage. He’s the kid’s uncle, which would make his brother the father.”
After asking her to fax a copy of the lab report, I sank into my chair and replaced the handset.
“What’s up?” Susan asked. “Is Burton the missing kid?”
I nodded slowly. “That means his mom is Melissa Cooper and she’s a murder suspect.”
Susan and I were both silent for a few minutes as we processed the new information. I was trying to figure out my next move and wondered if I should involve the Blackshaw County Sheriff’s Department. Burns had sworn out a warrant for Melissa’s arrest and warrants were good until served, but that warrant might’ve been recalled after Burns removed himself from office.
“Poor kid,” Susan finally said, breaking the silence between us. “He gets to find out his name isn’t really Burton, Rick isn’t really his dad, his mom is a murder suspect, and she’s accused of killing his biological father.” She shook her head. “His world is about to be destroyed.”
“Baylor said Burton jokes that Cindy is his adopted sister.” I frowned. “This is a cruel dose of karma.”
“Do you think Rick knows?”
“He has to know he’s not Burton’s dad, but I doubt Melissa admitted to killing her ex-husband.”
“If she did, he’s a brave man for marrying her anyway.”
“Brave—or stupid.” I glanced at the clock. Rick and Judith would still be at work, so I should be able to catch Burton home alone. I asked Susan if she could pick up Judith from her work while I met with Burton. “She works at the water plant on Cypress Highway.”
“What if she refuses to come with me?” Susan asked. “She could tell me to go screw myself.”
“Tell her I’ve brought Burton to the station and I need to speak with her about him. Maybe she’ll agree to follow you here. That shouldn’t throw up any red flags.”
Susan was thoughtful. “If she really is Melissa Cooper and she’s the one who killed Fowler, then that means she killed her own dad. If she’s willing to do that, she’ll stop at nothing to keep her secret.”
Susan had a point. Although I didn’t need to say it, I told her to be careful when we parted ways in the parking lot. As she headed toward the east side of town, I headed north to Dire Lane. I tried to rehearse what I would tell Burton, but I was still unsure of what to say when I pulled into the driveway of his house. Cindy was sitting on the front porch swing when I arrived. She looked sad.
She watched as I stepped out of my Tahoe and walked up the steps. I stopped on the landing and smiled. “Are you okay?”
Her chin trembled. She opened her mouth to talk, but clamped it shut as her emotions got the best of her. I wanted to tell her it would get easier with time, but that’s not what she needed to hear right now.
“If you ever have any questions,”—I dug out one of the business cards that Mayor Cain had gotten printed up for me and handed it to her—“call anytime.”
She nodded her thanks.
I shot a thumb toward the door. “Is Burton here?”
“Yes, sir.” She stood from the swing and walked to the door. “I’ll get him.”
When Burton stepped outside and saw it was me, he stopped in his tracks. “The test?”
I frowned. “I’m sorry, son, but it’s true…you’re Drake Cooper.”
He leaned back against the door frame to steady himself. His mouth dropped open and he stared absently at me. His mouth moved in a futile attempt to speak. I could tell he was trying hard to stay strong. Finally, he managed to ask what would happen. “I mean, what does it all mean? What happens now? Does my mom know? What about my dad?”
“I know you have a lot of questions. Let’s go down to the station so we can talk.”
He nodded weakly and closed the door behind him, followed me down the steps.
CHAPTER 44
Judith Vincent’s car was already in front of the building when I pulled up to my parking spot under the police department. He saw the car and his face turned even paler than it was already.
“Does my mom know about the results of the test?” His voice quivered.
“No.” I pulled out my phone and texted Susan, asking her to keep Judith away from my office. She texted back immediately and said Judith was in an interview room on the opposite side of the building. I waved for Burton to follow me. “Let’s get up to my office so we can sort this thing out.”
Once we were seated in my office and I had moved the model Tahoe that Sammy and I had built to the side, I asked Burton what he knew about his mom.
He looked at the missing person flyer on my desk and tapped it with his fingers. “I don’t understand how this can really be me or my mom. My mom’s from here, in Mechant Loup. My grandparents—her mom and dad—are from Upper Chateau. I was born at Chateau General. I’ve never even been to Tennessee and my mom and dad have never mentioned we were from there.”
I scowled. “So, your mom’s mom and dad are from Upper Chateau?”
He nodded.
“What about your dad…Rick? What do you know about his past?”
“He’s also from here, and so are my grandparents on his side. We go to Central Chateau to see them all the time.” He looked up at me, his eyes searching mine. “If I am Drake Cooper, is my dad… Does my dad have a different name, too?”
“Unless y’all are in a witness protection program, I’m afraid this test proves Rick Vincent is not your dad. You two aren’t related at all.”
Burton bit down hard and I thought he was going to cry, but he managed to hold it together. “Who’s my real dad? I mean, what’s his name? What’s he do for a living? Where’s he been all my life? Is he cool?”
“His name was Larry Cooper.”
“Was Larry Cooper? Has he changed his name?”
“No. I’m afraid he’s gone. He was murdered when you were little.”
Tears forced their way through Burton’s squeezed eyelids. His face twisted in anger as he tried to fight back the flood that was coming. “How did I not know any of this?” Saliva sprayed from his mouth as he struggled to get the question out. “Why didn’t my mom or dad tell me any of this? I’ve gone my whole life believing a lie!”
My heart broke for Burton. The tough mischievous kid I’d first met had been reduced to a bag of bones and sorrow. In an instant, his world had been turned upside down. I walked around my desk to sit beside him. After putting a hand on his shoulder, I just sat in silence while he sobbed quietly, trying his best to fight it.
“What happened?” he managed to ask after a while. “How was he murdered?”
“He was shot in his home in Birchtown, Tennessee.” I paused for a second, trying not to give him too much information at once. “The sheriff who investigated the case believes you were there at the time of the shooting.”
“Me?” He wiped his eyes and looked up. “I was there when my dad was murdered?”
I nodded. “You would’ve been about ten months old.”
Burton sniffled. “I was too young to remember anything.”
“Do you have a scar anywhere on your body?” I asked. “Something that would’ve been there as long as you could remember?”
“No, sir. Why?”
“Well, there’s some indication you might’ve been hit during the gunfire.”
“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 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.”
