Family Honor (18 page)

"Oh my God!"
Mel and Stone erupted in laughter.

Reeder walked in with Marshall on his heels. "Having a party in here? The beat cops are out there looking for the missing woman. What are you all doing?"

"Just finishing breakfast Captain." Mel stood and threw her trash away. "We're ready to get busy now."

"I should hope so. What's next on this thing?"

"Why don't you let us strategize for a few minutes, then I'll come and give you an update." Mel's smile could have melted an ice cube.

"I'll be waiting," Reeder sneered and stomped out of the room.

"Who ate his Post Toasties?" Marshall watched the captain go. "Bet
he
wasn't up with colicky twins half the night."

"Aw, I'm sorry." Mel teased. "Want to curl up over there and catch a nap?"

"Maybe I do. Actually, I'd like to bust this asshole and get back to something more mundane in my office."

"We're all in agreement there," Nate steered the conversation around to the case. "So where do we start today, that's the question."

Marshall flipped open his notebook. "I did some checking into the Webb school. Burton Webb is the owner. He has three schools in various parts of town. His son Dick is the maintenance man at the Collins Lane location. Would you like to know what I found in Webb's history?"

"Do tell," Mel said.

"Nothing.
Nada.
Niente.
Prior to a year ago, the man and his son didn't exist."

"Do tell more," Nate prodded. "What do you mean, 'didn't exist'?"

"Exactly what I said.
They appeared from out of nowhere about a year ago, according to tax records."

"Now that just can't happen," Stone commented. "So who were they before, and where did they come from?"

"I was hoping someone could tell me," Marshall replied.

Nate punched buttons on his phone.
"A good question for the FBI analysts.
If anyone can track their history, our people can."

"Your people," Mel teased. "Who are you, Moses?"

He feigned an irritated expression and muttered, "Bite me."

Mel leaned back in her chair. "Haul it on over here."

He turned his back to her and gave instructions to Steve. The analyst promised to report in quickly.

Nate was amazed at how quickly, when his phone rang ten minutes later. "Willis," he snapped, figuring it
couldn't
be good news.

"Nate, you gotta listen, man." Steve sounded excited. "We hit the big time with this Webb fellow."

His heart leaping into his throat, Nate croaked, "I'm going to put you on speaker, Steve." He punched the button and set his phone on the table.

"Roger that. Okay, so Burton Webb has the same fingerprints as a barber from Enid, Oklahoma name of Ted Burton. About three years
ago
this one and the same Ted Burton meandered into a Stop and Go for a tank of gas and a Slurpee. On his way out, he tossed a couple bucks down and bought two quick pick lottery tickets. Low and behold, he won. Dude raked in a hundred and fifty million dollars."

"Holy shit!"
Nate spoke for the whole room.

"Oh, to be that lucky."
Stone sighed. "How great would that be?"

Steve replied, "Would it be great? Friends and family you never knew you had come crawling out of the woodwork. Strangers try to trip themselves on your property so they can sue you. Some say it's great, others think it's a curse."

Mel said, "So you could see why a person might change his identity.
Fresh start and all that."

"Especially if that person was Ted Burton."
Steve's voice
rose
an octave. "Listen closely my friends, this just gets better. Burton had a son, name of Dickie."

"Dick Webb, the maintenance man," Nate confirmed.

"I'd be surprised if he could hold down that job. Dickie, as he was known back then, had—shall we say—issues. His condition was officially termed Antisocial Personality Disorder. It basically meant he had a hard time getting along with people. ASP appears during adolescence, sometimes earlier. Behavior patterns include little concern or indifference toward others, fighting and irresponsibility, none of which he would have cared about."

"Bet he was popular in high school.
Not
." Mel commented.

Nate nodded at her, his excitement building.

"Wasn't there long," Steve continued. "It seems Ted Burton worked long hours in his barbershop, trying to earn a living for his family. His wife didn't want to work, or so she said, which left Ted to work overtime making ends meet."

"Or so she said?" Marshall inquired.

"She might have taken a job on the side. Details are fuzzy about that. What is known is that one day Dickie came home from school early and found his mom entertaining a male visitor in her room. John or paramour, the world will never know. Dickie slashed both their throats with a carving knife.
Butchered the hell out of them.
Was sitting there in the blood when Ted got home from work."

The room erupted with amazed comments and chatter.
"Shhh!"
Nate raised a hand. "Finish the story, Steve. What happened to Dickie?"

"He was sent to a state hospital. They used to call them Asylums for the Criminally Insane, which was a much cooler name. Anyway, Dickie lived there under lock and key until his father struck it rich with the lotto. At some point after that, the kid came up for a hearing and two doctors testified that
he'd
been fully rehabilitated and was no longer a threat to society. He got out, but of
course
they couldn't stay in Enid where everyone knew them. The Burtons disappeared at the same time the Webbs appeared in Wichita."

"Lucky us," Stone muttered.

Nate's mind raced. "Are those doctors still practicing?" he asked.
"The ones that testified on Dickie's behalf."

"Why, funny you should ask that. Both of them left their jobs soon after. One is now reportedly a Bahamian beach bum. Didn't have time to track the other one down, but I will if you want."

"Unnecessary." Nate shook his head. He glanced at Mel. "This fits."

"It fits so perfectly it's scary," she agreed. "You said the perp would have issues with his mother."

"And that he would have been scorned by others in high school," Becker added. "Cheerleaders would have wanted nothing to do with him."

Nate was so excited he could barely sit still. Another thought occurred to him and he virtually shouted, "Steve! Check out the high school Dickie Burton attended. What was their mascot?"

"Hang on, boss," Steve said. A moment
later
he came back with, "Okay, it's an oriel."

"An oriel?"
Mel screwed up her face.

"Oriels look nothing like cardinals," Stone stated.

Nate shrugged. "Might not be a deal breaker. Worth a shot, though."

"Wait!" Steve called. "It's an oriel now. They changed it a few years ago.
Used to be a cardinal."

Nate slammed a hand on the table as he stood. "That's it.
We're
off to see the wizard, my friends. Everybody suit up, vests and the works. Mel, get Reeder and clue him in. We're going to need SWAT team backup." He picked up his phone. "Steve, next time I see you, man, I'm giving you a big wet kiss."

"Seriously, I'll settle for a 'We're not in Kansas anymore' t-shirt, dude." Steve added, "You all
be
careful out there."

"Ten-four.
Thanks again, buddy." Nate punched off his phone and squeezed it, adrenaline pumping.

Marshall grabbed his bicep. "Listen. The only address we have for this kid is his old man's place.
It's
not far, but it's big and fancy. He'd have enough room for his games, but would he have the privacy?"

Nate thought about that. "Seems unlikely he'd take the women to his father's house."

"So that's why I think we shouldn't go blazing in with lights and sirens.
We'll
all be there, but just a couple of you should go in. Feel the old man out, judge his level of cooperation."

"He sprung his kid free once," Nate added. "Doubtful he's going to turn him over to us without a fight."

Reeder and Mel appeared in the doorway. Nate looked at the captain. "We need some alternate addresses for this guy. If he
doesn't
live with his father, where does he stay? Webb owns three beauty schools in town. Can you find out what other property he might own?"

"I'm on it." Reeder nodded. "I'll call you when I've got information."

"Excellent." Nate watched Reeder retreat, leaving him standing in the doorway with Mel. "You ready for this?"

She grinned. "Our third date."

* * * *

Mel and Nate watched the back door of the Webb School of Beauty. Marshall and Stone were stationed at the front. Becker had slipped a jacket over her bulletproof vest and had gone inside to see if Dick Webb was working that day. When she came
out
she spoke into her wire, "Negative. Webb is off today."

"Roger that," Nate replied. "We'll go to the father's house next. Remember everyone, no lights or sirens. SWAT and black and whites stay half a block back. We'll call if we need you."

"Ten-four," came several responses.

"Marshall, be ready. When Webb gives us permission to search his house,
we're
going to want you in there with two uniformed cops. Under no circumstances will we leave Webb alone after that. We can't have him calling his son."

"You got it," Marshall answered.

Mel's gut churned as Nate drove to the Webb home.
She'd
been in dangerous situation before, but they weren't a daily occurrence in Wichita. Glancing over at Nate, she asked, "How often do you close in on people like this?"

He shrugged. "This is what we do. Depends on how fast we track down the perp. Several times a week, I'd guess."

"Wow." She thought about that, and for just a moment could see why a woman might not want her husband to be an FBI profiler. She studied Nate, so strong and sure of
himself
, and realized his job didn't bother her. She had no doubts he could take care of business.

She double checked the address and looked at the house numbers. "There it is.
Big white house with grey rock trim."

"Got it."

Mel spoke into the wire on her collar.
"White house with grey rock trim."

Nate pulled up in front while the other cars hung back. He exited the SUV and as they walked to the front door, Mel noticed he unfastened the snap on his holster.

She did the same.

Nate rang the bell. His breathing was steady, but she could tell he was amped up with adrenaline. Hers was more a case of nerves. Her gut still churned, but she fought the feeling.

A fiftyish man with thick black hair and wire-rimmed glasses opened the door. He took in their vests and for a brief instant, something registered on his face. The look was gone as quickly as it had come. "May I help you?"