Bern shook his head vigorously, and Lobec was satisfied that his point had been made. Bern had objected to his demands only twice, and he’d learned that Lobec did not take his smoking policy lightly. The burn scar on Bern’s forearm proved that.
Now that Bern was awake, Lobec returned his full attention to the folder in front of him and read from the beginning. He always liked to know as much as he could about the people he dealt with, even if it would be for only a short time.
Nicholas Kevin Hamilton. Age 26. Valedictorian of Sam Houston high school in Dallas, Texas. According to old letters of acceptance he had stored in a file box, he applied to and was accepted by 8 universities, including Stanford and MIT, but he attended Texas A&M on a National Merit scholarship and $5,000 a year in student loans. Graduated in five years with a B.A. in chemistry. Parents Frances May and Murray Hamilton both died of cancer while he was at A&M, most likely accounting for his five-year stay. He began graduate school at South Texas University in chemistry immediately after leaving A&M and was about to begin his third year of studies. He drove a nine-year-old red Ford Mustang GT hatchback, with three moving violations for speeding in the past three years.
“Is this all we have?” Lobec asked.
“Uh, no. I almost forgot,” Bern said. He pulled a notepad out of his pocket and flipped it open. “Mitch called while you were with Tarnwell. After he was done with the DPS records, he decided to access a local credit bureau. Said he finds lots of juicy stuff there. Anyway, it seems Hamilton has had a little trouble paying his bills lately. He’s been late with his rent three times this year, and he has a Visa and a Mastercard maxed out. Total limit $6000. Mitch says he’s been paying tuition with them.”
“What about the car?”
“That’s the funny thing. There’s no record of a loan on it. Must have been paid for with cash.”
“Life insurance?”
“No payout that Mitch could find. He has one checking account with the university’s credit union, current balance $85.86. We don’t know what his father did yet, but he wasn’t rich. Probably most of the benefits he did get went to pay for the funerals. Hamilton probably used the rest on the car.”
“Possibly.”
“Why do we got to get all this stuff this time anyway? I thought we were just gonna find out what he knows and take him out.”
“Bern, in my experience I have discerned one unchanging characteristic among all of the operations I’ve conducted. No matter how simple an operation seems, there will always be complications. And when they arise, the more information one has, the more likely one will be to succeed.”
Bern looked past Lobec’s shoulder and nodded as he put the microphone in his ear. “At least we don’t have to wait too long to find out.”
Lobec turned to see a car pull into the parking lot. It was a red Mustang.
CHAPTER 6
Kevin threaded the Mustang into his usual slot beside one of the parking lot’s islands, pulled through one space, and lurched to a stop in the second, the car facing away from the apartment building and shaded by an oak. He sat there for a minute, turning his face back and forth through the refreshing blast of the air conditioner, trying to soothe his still-pulsating hangover. Ready to face the heat, he killed the engine and reluctantly opened the door to the humid air that seemed to suck the coolness from the car. He was sweating by the time he reached his apartment.
He dropped his keys on the kitchen counter and walked through the tiny living room to his bedroom. After cranking the thermostat to full cool, he glanced at the answering machine. The light shined steadily. No messages.
Kevin ran his fingers through his oily hair and realized just how nasty he felt. He peeled off his sticky clothes and removed the contacts from his dry, itchy eyes. Kevin spent the next twenty minutes in a steaming shower, letting the hot water massage his aches.
When he stepped out of the bathroom, the newly cooled air of the apartment met him. He felt refreshed. With a towel wrapped around him, he put on his glasses and went into the kitchen to open a can of Diet Coke. As he passed through the living room, he hit the power key on his Mac and leaned over to turn on the TV, which he normally had on while he worked.
He stopped when he didn’t see the remote on the coffee table. He searched for a minute and finally found it under the couch. How did it get there? He tried to remember the last time he watched TV. After a second, he shrugged, picked up the remote, and flipped on the TV. It was on Headline News as usual.
After taking a gulp from the soda, he felt even better. He put the can on his desk and returned to the bedroom, where he put on workout shorts and a South Texas University T-shirt. The pair of beat up slippers he slipped into completed his typical Saturday outfit.
As Kevin sat down at his desk, an anchorman was telling viewers what they’d be seeing when the news resumed at the top of the hour. He switched on the modem, adjusted the keyboard and mouse to their correct positions, and clicked the email icon.
Waiting for the connection, he thought he should start getting ready for the appointment with Dean Baker on Monday. In the desk were copies of his original financial aid forms. He started thumbing through his file drawer, which also contained all of the research articles he had copied over the years, then abruptly stopped.
The files were all there, but something was wrong. What was it? And then he knew.
He filed his folders alphabetically by the first author of the reference, with the stapled end up so he could grab and replace the references easily when he was working on his dissertation or writing a paper. It was a habit he had developed from years of research. Today, the articles were in the exact order they always were, and the four file folders were in the correct order. But in every one of the folders, the stapled end of the article was at the bottom of the folder.
As he put the articles back in their correct orientation, Kevin didn’t know what to make of it. Just another strange thing on an already odd morning, he thought.
A flashing icon on the computer told Kevin that the connection was successful. He entered his ID and password, taking him into the school’s e-mail system.
A line blinked on the screen to alert him that three new messages were in his box. He downloaded the messages so he could work off-line and closed the modem connection, freeing up the phone line.
Two messages were on the current page, the third was on the next so he couldn’t see who it was from. The first message was from the American Chemical Society student chapter. Probably asking for dues. He skipped it.
He smiled when he saw who the second message was from: Ted Ishio, his best friend since coming to grad school. Ted had joined the program two years ahead of him and had just graduated this summer to accept a teaching position at Virginia Tech. When Kevin last saw him, Ted and his wife, Janice, were leaving to move to Blacksburg. Kevin had only heard from him once since he left. Now he obviously had his e-mail account from the university. Kevin opened the message eager to read the news.
He was disappointed when he saw how short the message was.
Kevin, I’m sorry I’ve haven’t called in a while, but as you might guess it’s been a madhouse getting ready for the semester. I’ve got three classes to teach, not to mention the ACS conference coming up next Wednesday. Five days in Minneapolis. Janice is going with me because she has some family there, so it shouldn’t be too bad.
By the way, the lab is looking great, and the equipment they’re giving me is incredible. That’s about all. I’ve got to go. My presentation isn’t done yet, and I only have the weekend to do it. Talk to you later.