“What?” Erica said.
“There’s only one thing I can think of.”
“What?”
“Something I’d really rather not do.”
“Will you stop that and say something meaningful?” Erica said, irritated with his obtuseness.
“I have a passport at home. I got it about six years ago, but I never used it.”
“At home? You mean, in Houston.”
“No, my home here, in Dallas. I forgot to bring it with me to South Texas. I know exactly where it is. The top drawer in my old desk, unless my father threw it out.”
“You still have a house in Dallas?” This didn’t make any sense. Kevin’s parents were dead. Why would he still have a house here?
“Yes. It’s about twenty minutes from here.”
She didn’t have time to probe him about it. “We only have 30 minutes. How do I get there and get your passport?”
“You don’t have to. It’ll be faster if my father brings it.”
It was a flimsy profile of Murray Hamilton, but it was all Mitch Hornung could do on such short notice. David Lobec looked up from the file and buzzed the Gulfstream’s cockpit.
“What is our ETA?” he asked above the jet engine’s drone.
The intercom came to life. “It’s supposed to be thirty-three minutes until we touchdown, Mr. Lobec, but we may be delayed by a thunderstorm moving through the area.”
“Get us down as soon as you can. Make sure the car is ready for us.”
“Yes, sir.”
Lobec had chosen Love Field because it was fifteen minutes closer to Murray Hamilton’s home in eastern Dallas than DFW was. An inconspicuous Taurus would be waiting for them on the tarmac.
The closer proximity, however, was no longer a factor. Hank Vincent, the local contractor Lobec had hired to track Murray Hamilton, called 20 minutes ago to tell them that Hamilton had left his house and was heading toward southern Dallas. Lobec had instructed Vincent to follow at a discreet distance and to report back when Hamilton had reached his destination.
“Do you really think Hamilton’s father is going to know where he is?” Richard Bern said. “I mean, the guy has him listed as dead in his grad school records.” He sat across from Lobec, facing the other way. His feet were propped up on the leather upholstery, and he had the seat fully reclined. Besides them and the two crewmembers in the cockpit, the ten passenger jet was empty.
“I don’t know the reason for the Hamiltons’ estrangement, but I have learned that the first place people in trouble turn is to their families. Mr. Hamilton may believe we would not find out that his father is still alive.”
“Hamilton and his girlfriend could be in Guatemala for all we know. This is a shot in the dark.”
What Bern said was true. Lobec thought reporting the girl’s car as stolen might prove useful, but so far the car had not been found.
“If you have a better suggestion as to how we could use our time to search for Mr. Hamilton and Miss Jensen, I would appreciate enlightenment.”
Bern furrowed his brow, and Lobec could see him desperately trying to elicit a monumental plan. There would be none. Bern was a fairly capable assistant, but he would never command his own operations.
“In that case, Mr. Bern, we will continue with our present objective.” Lobec handed him the file. “You will see that the elder Hamilton is a member of the NRA and a card-carrying Republican. He is licensed by the state to carry a concealed weapon and regularly hunts deer and quail. What does this suggest to you regarding our approach to Mr. Hamilton?”
Bern skimmed the three page file and then held a picture of the subject up to the light. It was a driver’s license photo showing a man in his late fifties who did not carry his years well. Decades of smoking and drinking had left his cheeks and jowls sagging and wrinkled. Although he was not bald, the hair he did have was thinning, limp, and stringy. Nothing in the photo revealed that the man was actually 6’2” and weighed close to 230 pounds, which indicated to Lobec that most of the weight was muscle developed during his years as a construction worker.
Bern dropped the photo back into the folder and said, “I don’t know. But I bet this guy ain’t going to trust a couple of cops telling him his son’s wanted by the law.”
“Exactly, Mr. Bern. Very good. Therefore, we will need to take an entirely different approach. Your cover will be…”
The plane’s intercom buzzed. Lobec picked up the handset.
“Yes.”
“I have a Mr. Vincent on the line for you,” said the pilot.
“Put him through.”
After a click, the contractor tailing Murray Hamilton spoke from the other end, using a name Lobec had given him through their previous work together.
“Mr. Gale?” Vincent said, drawling the syllables together.
“You have something to report, Mr. Vincent?”
“Mr. Gale, I don’t know why, but Murray Hamilton just came to a stop in the parking lot of the Hutchins state police barracks.”
CHAPTER 21
At one end of the squad room, Kevin and Erica sat on a wooden bench. Kevin stared at the clock. It said 5:41.
Erica clenched Kevin’s right knee, stopping its bounce. Kevin hadn’t realized until then that he’d been tapping his hand in rhythm with his bouncing leg. He knew the nervous habit drove Erica crazy, but it was always unconscious. He gave her a half-hearted smile.
Since he had told the officers that his father was bringing the identification within the half hour, they’d let him wait with Erica in the squad room instead of in a holding cell with the drunks. When Kevin had called his father, the conversation had been short. Although Kevin detected some surprise in his father’s voice when he’d told him where he and Erica were, his father hadn’t asked any questions. Kevin just told him what he needed, and his father said it would take about 25 to 30 minutes to get to Hutchins and then hung up.
Knowing that they wouldn’t get to the warehouse by six o’clock, Erica had called the sales representative at LuminOptics. Fortunately for them, he’d told her, he was staying late. If they got there by seven, they could still get the laser. It would be tight. The warehouse was forty-five minutes away, and Dallas rush hour traffic, which lasted at least until seven, could easily double the travel time.
It had been 15 minutes since Kevin had talked to his father. In that time, he hadn’t said much to Erica, and she didn’t seem willing to prod him about it.
Still clenching Kevin’s knee, Erica spoke in a voice that was a mixture of concern and annoyance. “Why didn’t you tell me about your father? When I first met you, you told me your parents were dead.”
Now he knew why she hadn’t asked him any questions. She’d been fuming. “That was a part of my life I wanted to forget about. I told everyone that, not just you. In fact, I was supposed to be at the graduate school this morning to explain why I lied about it on my financial aid form. Dean Baker was giving me one last chance. I guess that’s gone now.”
“No, I mean when I told you about my family this morning. I think I deserved a little honesty in return.”
“I didn’t want you to think I was telling you that just so you’d give me money. Besides, your situation was different. Your parents obviously loved you. Why should I tell about how crappy my father was?”
Erica’s voice was angry. “Why should I bare my soul to you if you aren’t going to do the same with me?”
“Okay.” Kevin concentrated on the clock in front of them. “You want a little honesty? Here it is. My father was a drunk for the better part of my childhood. He had an accident on a construction site when I was 15 and collected disability for the next ten years, drinking half of it because he didn’t have anything better to do. He never wanted me to go to college, thought it was a waste of time and wouldn’t pay for it. He wanted me to go into construction, be a real man. The only reason I went to college was because of my mother, who is dead. Cancer, five years ago. Her funeral was the last time I talked to my father until today.” He turned to face Erica. “Not like your story, is it?”