Freeman kept talking to the young man. He found out what time Bart finished finals, what time he had arrived at his parents’ home, and what time the family left for Pappadeaux.
One of the EMTs broke in to let Freeman know they were transporting both Kent and Bart to Hermann Hospital via a Life Flight helicopter.
Freeman began to ask Bart questions about Kevin’s gun. Bart began breathing heavily. “Are you all right, man?” the officer queried.
“No.” Bart emphatically shook his head. He seemed about to have a panic attack.
“Yeah, you are,” Freeman said, attempting to calm him down.
It didn’t work. Bart began hyperventilating again.
“Come on now,” Freeman spoke to Bart. “You’ve got to control your breathing. Be strong. Control your breathing for me, all right? That’s all you’ve got to do.”
Bart seemed to calm down.
Freeman talked to Bart and learned he was about to graduate from college.
Meanwhile, the technicians scurried around the house as fast as they could, while tending to Kent and Tricia Whitaker. The scene was a surrealistic nightmare awash in high, saturated flashing colors, and a barrage of bodies—not meant to fit in the small front area of the Whitaker house—were part of the grisly tableau.
Freeman and another officer lifted Bart onto a gurney to prepare to ship him out. Bart had no idea where his mom and dad were. He could no longer see Kevin and had no idea what state his little brother was in.
Officer Prevost walked back over to Bart before they shipped him out. He looked him over once and turned away. Something seemed a bit off about the young man, but, of course, he had just been shot, as had the rest of his entire family. Prevost internally decided to give the guy a break and move on to the next problem that needed solving.
According to Kent, he had no idea how anyone in his family had fared during the ordeal. He had asked anyone who would listen, how they were. Despite the mass of people traipsing in and out of his home, no one would give him a straight answer—much less look him directly in the eye.
Finally he was able to catch the attention of one of the busy paramedics. “Please, can you tell me what is going on with my wife and kids?” Kent practically pleaded. The paramedic stopped what he was doing and addressed Kent quickly and quietly: “Sir, please let us do our job. You’re in good hands, and lots of good folks are with the rest of your family.”
Kent’s initial reaction was one of muted relief. The paramedic must have meant that everyone was alive and being attended to. Hopefully, everyone would be okay. He did not have the wherewithal to comprehend completely what the paramedic had really said, or, rather, not said.
Suddenly the seriousness of the situation struck him like an eight-inch adrenaline needle to the heart. Kent’s life would soon be altered immeasurably by a conversation he overheard between two police officers. In reality, the only words that mattered, or that he even recalled, were uttered by only one officer: “What do you want to do about the DOA?”
As far from lucid as Kent was, he knew exactly what they meant by DOA—one of his family members was “dead on arrival,” and he had no idea who. He then began to worry that there might be more than one dead family member.
Kent then recalled hearing the Life Flight helicopter rip through the night sky like a million machetes serrating an Amazon forest. Kent was able to glimpse a gaggle of paramedics as they hurried a body onto a gurney, and out to the front sidewalk.
“Sir, they are taking your wife on the helicopter first,” one of the many police officers relayed the good news.
Kent’s heart soared with joy. His lovely, incredible wife, Tricia, was alive, and they were going to do whatever they needed to do to take good care of her! He was overjoyed.
As soon as Kent was overcome with elation, he realized that some other horrible event had occurred. Since she was alive and there was a potential DOA on the scene, it meant only one thing—at least one of his precious sons was dead. Kent’s relief was suddenly countered with an almost unbearable sense of guilt and grief as he knew he would never again speak to at least one of his boys. To make matters even worse, Kent had no idea if it was Bart or Kevin. He had no idea which of his sons he would not get to see graduate from college, which one would never get married, never have children and raise a family, nor to whom he would get to say “good-bye” and “I love you” one final time.
The fear of his new reality sent Kent into a fit of convulsions. His temperature dropped and he began to shiver.
“I’m freezing,” he barely managed to mutter to one of the paramedics. “Can you get something to cover me up with?” His last ounces of strength seeped out of each of his pores as he knew that one of his sons had been murdered.
“Sir, please just be still. As soon as your wife’s helicopter takes off,” one of the paramedics reassured him, “there will be another to come pick you up.”
No sooner said than done. The second Life Flight helicopter swooped into place, picked up its cargo, and hauled Kent off for an eight-minute ride, which seemed like an eternity.
According to Kent, all he could think about during that arduous, lonely passage was a recent, similar trip he had taken with his two boys, only the end result had been much more upbeat and positive. The three Whitaker men had set out for an adventure of whitewater rafting on the Arkansas River. Their trip also included Kent’s and the boys’ first trip in a helicopter.
The difference between the two rides was astounding. The first, of course, brought excitement and peaceful memories mixed together. The latter brought nothing but misery and numbness.
December 10, 2003, 8:30
P.M
.
Whitaker Residence
Sugar Land, Texas
Detective Marshall Slot got the call for a shooting on Heron Way in the Sugar Lakes Subdivision. It was an unusual occurrence in Sugar Land, but the ten-year veteran detective knew he needed to get over there as quickly as possible. He wrote a note so his wife and kids would know he would be gone, grabbed his keys, and headed over to the Sugar Land police station to pick up his camera and pocket digital recorder.
Detective Slot arrived at the Whitaker house, slightly after 9:00
P.M
. When he pulled up to the street, he witnessed a Life Flight helicopter ascending out of the neighborhood. He had no idea who was inside the rescue vehicle; however, he knew it must be serious.
Slot exited his car, walked up to the front porch, and noticed several Sugar Land police officers on the scene. When he entered the house through the front door, he saw the prone body of a young man. It was obvious the man was deceased.
Slot turned to one of the police supervisors on the scene to get the lay of the land, and as much detail about the crime scene as possible. Slot asked another officer to give him a walk-through of the Whitaker house. The detective scanned every room and made special note of the awkward way the drawers were pulled out in the rooms. The manner in which they were pulled was an obvious red flag to the seasoned detective. His first thought was that he was staring at a staged robbery.
While upstairs in the Whitaker house, Detective Slot made his way into what looked like a young college student’s bedroom. It was bedecked with sports equipment, desktop computers, and a framed Texas A&M poster, which had not yet been hung up on the wall. There was even a sheathed ceremonial sword propped up in the corner of the main room.
A quick stroll through the bedroom led Slot into a smaller room with a sloped ceiling. It was readily apparent that this was someone’s game room. A couple of videogame consoles lay on the floor next to at least ten videogames in their cases. College textbooks were laid out on a table, and even more Texas A&M posters were found.
As Slot worked his way farther into the game room, he spotted something a bit out of character. He noticed a couple of boxes of bullets, along with a fairly large black metal box. He could see that the box appeared to be some sort of safe. Upon further inspection, he noted that the safe had been pried open with some sort of metal device. The door to the safe had been bent back, and the black paint had been scraped off around the edges.
Slot made his way back downstairs and to the back door, which was unlocked. He also noticed a window had been cracked open slightly; however, he could see no signs of entry through it. He noted that all of the outside screens for the windows remained intact. Slot also observed that the majority of the knickknacks inside the house, as well as the recent Christmas decorations, were mostly left undisturbed.
Once Detective Slot completed his walk-through, and felt sufficiently updated on what had occurred, he exited the home through the back door, so as to let the crime scene technicians perform their tasks. Outside, the detective continued to search for evidence of escape by the shooter or shooters. The only potential pieces of evidence he spotted were some loose pickets on the family’s backyard fence. He could not determine for sure, though, whether they were loose prior to or after the break-in and shooting.
Detective Slot exited the backyard and made his way around to the front yard. There he encountered Deputy Keith Pikett, from the Fort Bend County Sheriff’s Office. Pikett was the canine handler for the sheriff’s department. His specialty was scent-tracking dogs. Pikett was working with three bloodhounds in an attempt to track down the shooter.
Slot stood back as Pikett and his four-legged fellow officers did their magic. The animals made their way over to a Yukon SUV, parked in the street directly in front of the Whitaker home. Slot walked over to the truck, when he noticed a plastic evidence number stand near the right back tire. It was difficult to see in the dark, but he saw a black glove next to the evidence indicator placard. It lay in between the bumper and the curb on the street. One of the police officers walked up to Slot and informed him that he had discovered the glove moments earlier.
Slot continued to work the crime scene at the Whitaker house. He sent Detective Billy Baugh out to check up on Kent, Tricia, and Bart Whitaker. He had no idea that Tricia Whitaker would not make it to the hospital. She passed away while on board Life Flight en route to Memorial Hermann Sugar Land Hospital.
December 10, 2003, 10:00
P.M
.
Memorial Hermann Sugar Land Hospital
West Grand Parkway South
Sugar Land, Texas
According to Kent Whitaker in
Murder by Family,
where he detailed the night of the murders, he was joined at the hospital by both of his parents. He described being surrounded by doctors and nurses as well, and realized no one would tell him anything about his other family members. When he asked about Tricia, Kevin, and Bart, he was told by a nurse that he and Bart would be undergoing surgery. No mention was made of Tricia or Kevin. Their omissions worried him.
According to Kent, he spoke with his parents. “Mom, I think there’s a good chance that Tricia and Kevin are dead.” He then looked toward an administration representative for confirmation. “Isn’t that so?” he queried, worried what the true answer would be. The representative stared back at him, an eternity frozen between two strangers. She broke the hold with a slight nod, up and down.
“It is,” she quietly muttered.
Soon thereafter, Bart was airlifted into the hospital as well. Kent was informed that Bart had been rather heroic in his attempt to tackle the shooter and had been shot in the shoulder in the process. His oldest son was in a state of shock about the events that had just occurred, but he would be all right.
Both Kent and Bart were ably tended to by the Memorial Hermann staff. Both men had suffered a broken arm and were both set in temporary casts. According to Kent, the bullet he had taken had “entered my right shoulder and traveled through the arm muscle, striking midhumerus and shattering the bone.”
Bart had been shot in the left arm, which had also been broken.
The arms of the Whitaker men weren’t the only things to be set and healed that night. According to Kent, a self-described very religious man, he “felt God’s presence and comfort” in his hospital room the night of the murders. As a constant stream of well-wishers respectfully marched in and out of his hospital room, he claimed that “Scriptures of comfort came to mind” and described it as if “God gave me a shot of Novocain” to deal with the pain of the complete and total upheaval he was now about to embark on.
Miraculously, on the same night his beloved wife, Tricia, and his equally beloved youngest son, Kevin, were murdered, Kent Whitaker decided to invoke a “conscious act of will.” He forgave the shooter.
Not wanting to be burdened with the additional emotional turmoil wrought by anger, Kent made an emphatic decision to forgo anger and hatred. Instead, he decided to turn his faith over to God. According to Kent, he stated, “I wanted whoever was responsible to come to Christ and repent for this awful act.”
Kent’s decision to forgive startled even himself. Earlier, he felt the normal feelings of an individual who had a loved one ripped away from him—depression, anger, the desire to kill his wife and son’s killer. He stated, however, that once he decided to forgive the killer for the murders, “This forgiveness astounded me.” He believed the act saved his life and changed everything for the better.
Thursday, December 11, 2003, 7:00
P.M
.
Memorial Hermann Sugar Land Hospital
Sugar Land, Texas
The night after the murders, Detective Marshall Slot and his partner, B. W. “Billy” Baugh, paid a visit to Kent and Bart Whitaker at the hospital in their shared room, which had been upgraded from a double to a hospitality suite to hold their numerous visitors. Slot and Baugh were able to speak with both men about the previous night’s fateful encounter. Detective Slot introduced himself to the two men and informed them that he would be lead detective on their case.
Detective Slot wanted to learn more about the Whitakers so he could possibly unearth a single clue as to why someone would rob them and attempt to kill their entire family. Kent and Bart recalled the events from the night before in as much detail as they possibly could.
They 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, asked his son. “Thanks to this ‘little’ lie about graduation, the police think you’re a suspect!” Kent was incredulous. He told Bart that he believed the police now viewed Bart as the
only
suspect. “You weren’t in school, you told everyone you were graduating, and they think you arranged to have us killed to cover it up. Can you see how stupid that was?”
Bart immediately snapped to and made sure his dad was fully aware he was in no way involved with the deaths of his mother and brother. “Dad, that’s nuts! I didn’t have anything to do with the shootings!” Bart tearfully apologized to his father for the ridiculous lie and reiterated that he did not want his parents to be disappointed with him for not doing well in college. “This will be okay,” he reassured his father.
Kent, however, was not completely satisfied with Bart’s response. “I’m so mad now, I could spit!” he bellowed out at his oldest son. “I’ve told you before—you cannot ever allow yourself to start lying again!” Kent reiterated that the police were now wasting time focusing on Bart because of his lies, instead of doing everything in their power to find the real killers.
Kent eventually relaxed and the two men made up, told one another that they loved each other, and mentioned that the police would get back on the proper trail soon enough.
Kent, however, had a niggling sensation that he could not shake. He was still very angry with Bart for having lied to him about his college career. One thing he did not ponder:
How could Tricia and I have not known Bart wasn’t in college all these years?