Chapter Seven

The sun had just begun to sink below the horizon when they reached Dallas. A search of the warehouse district was already in progress. The police had found nothing, as of yet, when Gage checked a half an hour before arriving in town. Nearly an hour after arriving in town, Gage was called and informed that the badly beaten body of a young male had been found in one of the last warehouses searched. Though the body was, for the most part, the same approximate size as Tom Malloy, it was too badly mutilated to be positively identified without dental records. Trivette and Walker both left strict instructions to be notified when a match had been found.
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There was no easy way for him to explain to his mother what had happened. As he walked through the front door to his mother's house, the only thing he could think about was how this was all his fault. He was guilty of murdering his younger brother, though he did not wield the weapon that carried out the act, he was the one who was responsible. Tommy was entrusted to him care, and that trust had been violated by someone with a vendetta against him, not Tom. He hated himself more than any member of his family ever could.

The table lamp on the end table next to a large gray tone couch offered a small pool of light in the darkening room. The air seemed to be thick, and Trent could scarcely move or breathe. It felt wrong to be standing in his mother's house, that was on any given day so full of life and colour, with such dark and ugly news. Forcing his knees to congeal from the liquid jelly they had become, he moved from the darkening doorway toward the soft pool of light coming from the lamp.

"Trent?" his mother's soft voice filtered, tiredly, from the kitchen.

His throat tightened with emotion, refusing to give up any sound to answer her. Tears began to form in his already red rimmed worry filled flint eyes. Pinching his eyes closed, Trent bowed his head and pushed back the tears, wishing that he could tell her they had found Tommy.

"Trent?" Her worried eyes met his blue eyes framed in red. "Where is he?"

Trent closed his eyes, allowing a tear to fall from eyes. Once again, he attempted to gather strength and composure.  "Gone." His voice was scantily above a horse whisper.

"Come," she said holding her arms out to him. Practically falling into her, Trent wrapped his arms around her.

"I'm sorry." He buried his head into her shoulder.
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It had been three hours since the body had been found and still there was no match on the dental records. How long could that take? They already knew who it was, why was there any need to draw it out and make everyone suffer more?  His mind was wondering and he knew it.

It was well past four in the morning when the dreaded, yet welcomed, phone call finally came in.

"Hello?" a young officer asked, answering it. "One moment." She set the phone down and went to wake Walker. "Walker." She gave his shoulder a shake.

"Yes?" He stirred on the couch.

"There's a phone call for you, Sir."

Snapping awake, he charged off the couch and hungrily snatched up the phone.

"What've you got?" He scratched the back of his neck. "You're sure? There's no way a mistake was made?" He could hardly believe his ears. "I understand, thank you." The phone slipped from his tired fingers, and he slid it back into its cradle.

"Walker," Trent said coming from the kitchen with his first cup of coffee from the third pot they had made. "I just wanted you to know.  I'm done with the PI shit."

"I understand," he said still in shock from the phone call.

"It was him, wasn't it?"

"Yes."

"We'll make arrangements in the morning."