by Kelly Irvin
“A pistol or revolver, yes. Any cop will agree if you’re more than five yards away, your chances of getting hit are slim to none. If it’s a rifle, your odds become grimmer.”
This was a stupid conversation. It would never come to that.
“I hear through the Evans-O’Rourke grapevine that there’s something else you’re afraid of.”
Great. “As if they don’t have enough going on in their lives, they have to mind mine?”
“I hear you don’t want children because you’re afraid of what might happen to them in this world.”
“That’s an oversimplification.”
“I’m so sorry, baby.” Shadows hid his face, but his voice went hoarse. “I never meant to do this to you.”
“This is my choice I’m making of my own free will. It has nothing to do with you.”
“No. You’re afraid of losing the people you love. You’re scared of something happening to your brother and sister. You’ve lived in fear since your mom died. So no kids. It makes me sad to think you’ll miss out on the joy of being a mother and a parent and sharing that with your husband because of fear.”
“It’s not fear. I’ve made a rational decision based on the condition of this world.”
“So how is that trusting in the God you mentioned earlier?”
“God surely understands my position. He can see the state of this world He made and the human race’s efforts to destroy it.”
With a gusty sigh Dad patted her back. “Get some sleep. Are you going to the hospital in the morning to pick up Max?”
“Alisha and Justin decided that was a bad idea. They don’t want us out in the open together. So Alisha gets that lovely duty. Max will not be happy.”
“There’s nothing to stop him from getting an Uber and escaping. She’ll bring him here?”
“That’s the plan. No sense in putting anyone else in danger, and they can keep an eye on him so our psycho doesn’t take another shot at him.”
“Agreed.” He leaned against the door frame and rubbed red eyes. “So we’re on then for the interview of Chase Slocum?”
“Yes.”
“It’s outside your comfort zone.”
“So many things are these days.” She followed him down the hall and up the stairs. “At least I have you to navigate it with.”
“That’s the nicest thing you’ve said to me in a long time.” At the top of the stairs he planted a kiss on her forehead. “Sweet dreams, baby girl.”
Inexplicable tears threatened. “Night, Daddy.”
She fled to her room.
20
Two hours and two years of files and nothing popped. Teagan stood at the filing cabinet in her office, going through manila envelopes, staring at defendant names, and trying not to feel violated that another court reporter sat in her chair in the courtroom, writing records for her judge. Dad, who was far too chipper considering their middle-of-the-night meeting in the kitchen, sat at her desk typing notes on his laptop for the true crime book sure to come from this roller-coaster ride.
“How’s it going in here?” Julie stuck her head in the doorway. Another far too chipper person. “Can I bring you some more coffee? We have donuts in the jury room.”
Teagan held up her oversized mug. “I’m good. How’s it going out there?”
Dad’s phone rang. He took the call and sauntered from the office with an apologetic nod at Julie.
“We’re on a break. I think the judge drank too much tea.” The court coordinator took Dad’s place in Teagan’s desk chair. As usual she looked perfectly put together in her sleek salmon Donna Karan skirt and jacket paired with a silky white blouse, pearls, and gold bangle bracelets. “I know not being in there is eating you alive. Don’t worry about it. No one can take your place. Sandy is a fine substitute, but that’s all she’ll ever be. A sub.”
“You’re sweet to say that. I didn’t realize how much work anchors me.” Teagan studied the names on her paper list that included the defendant’s name, case number, and dates of the trial. “Troy Sullivan. Troy Sullivan. Does that name mean anything to you?”
Julie tilted her head and wrinkled her nose. “I’ve been doing this for ten years. With the exception of the capital murder cases, they’re pretty much one big blur.”
“Same here, and I’ve only done six years.” Teagan peeked inside the envelope. A voir dire list and a witness list. When she first started court reporting, she’d stored her real-time on disks. Now she preferred the cloud because of the large audio files. “Troy Sullivan killed his father in a dispute over his curfew.”
“I do remember that one. His mother sat in the courtroom and cried every single day of the trial.”
“She lost her only son and her husband over a stupid argument.” Teagan moved on to the next name on her list. Rebecca Chavez. She was convicted of killing her two-year-old daughter with a vacuum cleaner hose because she wet herself. Anyone who still claimed to be a human being would remember that name. “Tell me something good. Right now.”
“I had another date with Nathan the Nose.”
Nathan the Nose had made it to date number two after the initial introduction through a dating app. Not many made it that far with Julie. “And it went well?”
“We had lunch. I met him at Aurelio’s. He chews with his mouth shut. He doesn’t smell. And he doesn’t talk about his ex-wife. He tells a joke well and uses good grammar.”
Julie had learned not to set the bar too high in her latest foray into dating.
“Are you seeing him again?”
“Ball’s in his court. He said he’ll call. We’ll see if he does.”
Julie did single beautifully, but now that she wanted a partner in life, Teagan wanted one for her. “I’ll say my prayers.”
Julie grinned. “I’m saying mine for you.”
“Don’t start—”
Dad strode into the office. “Have you found anything?”
“Not so far. I’ve gone back two years. Why would someone wait more than two years to start exacting revenge for something that happened in my courtroom?”
“Maybe he or she was incarcerated.” Julie tapped her long, pale-pink nails on the desk. “That would inflame the desire.”
“So why not go after the prosecutor and the judge?”
“I’m with Teagan on this one.” Dad closed his laptop and picked it up. “The letters tie these murders to Slocum and therefore to me. His son, Chase, has agreed to talk with me.”
“I’m coming.” Teagan shoved the filing cabinet closed, scooped up her laptop, and grabbed her purse. “This is a waste of time.”
Time they didn’t have.
Dad didn’t bother to argue. “Get a move on then.”
Julie slipped into Teagan’s path, bringing with her the lovely scent of Chanel Coco. “Be careful, please. Good court reporters are hard to find.”
“Very funny.”
Court reporters could easily be replaced. Friends could not. She accepted Julie’s hug. Her friend stepped back and straightened Teagan’s collar. “Seriously, I want you back here in one piece ASAP.”
“My family is all over it. So is Max.”
Julie’s worried expression relaxed. “It would be nice if one good thing could come of this horrible situation.”
Julie had been rooting for Max since the first time she met him at the church’s pumpkin patch two years earlier. “We’ll see.”
“Text me when you get a chance.”
Twenty minutes later, Teagan strode up the sidewalk ahead of her father through the Slocums’s spacious front yard. The sparse grass needed water and the live oak trees could use a trim. She concentrated on the broken, jagged sidewalk that led to Leo Slocum’s old house. Had Slocum played tag with his kids in this yard? Had he planted the yellow bells that lined the front porch? The roof sagged. The gutters needed cleaning. The fake daisies on the WELCOME TO OUR HOME wreath were wilted. The entire two-story wood-frame house needed painting.
An older mode
l gray Jeep Cherokee sat in the driveway. Had Slocum returned here and found the place wanting after his escape from the Corpus jail? It seemed unlikely that his son would tell them if he had. He’d agreed to the interview only when Dad had made it clear he was a retired police officer, not on official business.
Chase opened the door after the first tinkling chime of the doorbell. A tall, muscled man, he bore a definite resemblance to his father. Straight dark hair, blue eyes. Only his long face and overly narrow nose kept him from being model material. “I can give you thirty minutes. My kids will be home from school then, and I’m not talking about their grandfather in front of them.”
“Of course.”
A suspected serial killer had grandchildren. Sweat dampening her hands and armpits, Teagan followed the man into a living room with furnishings best described as shabby chic. A chintz-covered sofa and love seat sat catty-corner from a fireplace that hadn’t been cleaned after the last fire of the winter. Barbie dolls and all the detritus that goes with them vied for space on the chunky coffee table with a plethora of Matchbox cars, at least half a dozen Transformers, Llama Llama books, coloring books, and a basket filled with crayons. A flat-screen TV on the opposite wall was tuned to an afternoon talk show, but the sound had been muted. “Is your wife here?”
“No. No wife.”
If his failure to elaborate on this statement was an indication of how the interview would go, they might as well call it a day now. Teagan glanced at her dad. His eyebrows did a little dance. He shrugged. They sat.
“I don’t know what you expect me to say.” Chase settled into a wingback chair with a lap quilt slung over the back. A slinky gray cat immediately joined him. He didn’t seem to notice, even when the cat’s purr filled the air. “The police have already been here. I haven’t seen my dad. I haven’t talked to him.”
“Then you know he’s suspected of killing more women than just Olivia Jimenez here in San Antonio. The two women he’s accused of murdering in Corpus Christi are just the tip of the iceberg,” Dad dove in. Seeing him don the role of a law enforcement officer—however retired—and interview this innocent man—whose life had been recently shattered—only made the moment more surreal. “You know they’re watching the house, waiting for him to show up here? I imagine they’re getting a warrant to tap your phones in case he tries to contact you.”
Teagan kept her face neutral. Her education regarding tactics to get witnesses to spill included this one. Her siblings often grumbled over the inability to get judges to approve phone tap warrants unless all other means of getting information had been exhausted. Of course Leyla, the future attorney, argued for the right to privacy and against fishing expeditions.
Never a dull dinner table conversation at the O’Rourke house.
“He won’t.” Chase snatched a tissue from a box perched on top of a stack of books on the end table next to his chair. He liked legal thrillers. John Grisham. James Scott Bell. Cara Putnam. Good choice. “He wouldn’t put the kids in danger.”
A strange dichotomy. He killed women and couldn’t see how his actions affected his loved ones. Teagan wiggled. Her instructions had been to keep quiet and observe. Tough beans. “You don’t think he did any of it, do you?”
“My father was—is—a hardworking family man who has always tried to better himself so he could provide for us better.” Chase’s voice cracked. Instead of using the tissue, he twisted it into a knot and began to shred it. The cat on his lap batted at the pieces, knocking them to the tan carpet as if her friend had invented a new game. “That’s why he was taking law courses. He traveled a lot, but when he was in town, he went to my sister’s dance recitals and to my basketball games.
“He and my mom had date nights, for crying out loud. They used to come home after dinner and a movie and dance to the old Frank Sinatra records they collected—the moldy oldies, me and Skyler called them. They drank champagne from crystal flutes my aunt gave them as a wedding present. I used to sit at the top of the stairs and listen to them giggle and smooch until my dad would tell me to go to bed. ‘Nothing to see here,’ he would yell, and she would giggle even harder. He said he had X-ray vision and she had eyes in the back of her head. They could always see me.”
“It’s obvious you love him—”
“And he loves me and Sky and my mom.” His earlier calm a distant memory, Chase’s Adam’s apple bobbed. His eyes turned red. It was hard to know if he was trying to convince them or himself. Either way, he was begging them to see Leo Slocum through the eyes of a son. “Once a dog wandered into our yard. She was limping. It looked as if she had a broken leg. Dad wrapped her in a blanket and took her to the vet. He paid the bill for a dog that wasn’t even ours. He made sure the vet found a home for her. He took us camping at Garner State Park. We did father-son projects together—he taught me how to change the oil in a car, stuff like that.”
His words churned in Teagan’s mind, already forming a transcript that one day would paint a picture of Leo Slocum for jurors.
13A. I asked what his plans were with it and he
14mentioned that the Jeep could be a father-son project.
15Q. So you worked on the car together with your dad?
16A. I did. All that summer after my freshman year.
17Q. Did he give you the Jeep when you learned to drive?
18A. He did, but it wasn’t about that. I mean, it wasn’t
19something I asked for. We rebuilt the engine together.
20We spent time together.
21Q. Were you and your dad close then?
22A. Yes.
23Q. Would you say he was a good dad?
24A. Yes, very good.
The picture Chase painted made it hard to see Leo Slocum as a sadistic misogynist who murdered women and dumped their bodies in places where he hoped to be able to visit them again. On the ride over Dad had given her a detailed lecture on how murderers were frequently able to compartmentalize their actions and their lives. Kill a guy with a hammer and then stop for milk on the way home to supper with the wife and then listen to the kids’ prayers before tucking them into their beds.
His narrow eyebrows arched, Dad frowned at Teagan and then directed the question at Chase. “Is that why you visited him while he was in jail here? You think he’s innocent.”
“He’s only been convicted in the one incident, and he’s appealing his conviction. He says it’s a simple case of mistaken identity.”
“And the DNA they found under his victim’s nails?”
“He says it was planted.” His voice faltered. Even he could hear how ludicrous that sounded. “He also says he has migraine headaches and blackouts. That he may not have been in his right mind when it happened. He’s also appealing on the grounds of ineffective counsel and not being allowed to represent himself.”
Throwing everything at the wall to see what would stick.
“Do you remember him having headaches or acting erratic?”
“He sometimes stayed in bed all day. Mom would tell us to be quiet because he needed his rest.”
“What did you talk about when you visited him?”
“At first I was mad, I didn’t want to go, but he kept calling me and writing me, telling me he wanted a chance to explain, that he deserved a chance to explain.” Chase swiped at his face with the back of his hand. “My mom packed up and left, leaving me with no one to watch the kids while I work. My sister wouldn’t even come back for the trial. I’m all he has left.”
“At first you were mad, but now you’re not?”
“Yes, I am, at a system that crucifies an innocent man. If you spent a few minutes talking to my dad, you’d see. He’s no killer. He reminded me of what he used to say when Mom would try to pick a fight with him. ‘I’m a lover, babe, not a fighter.’”
Not a statement Teagan could imagine her father making to one of his children. No one wanted to think of her parent as a lover in the physical sense. “What else did you talk about?”
“The
kids. I showed him their school photos.” He pointed to a row of photos in cheap gold frames on the fireplace mantel. His kids were cute, with his dark hair and blue eyes. But they had big smiles. The girl had missing front teeth and wore a shirt with a pink unicorn with a shiny gold horn on it. “I told him about Serenity winning the spelling bee and Cullen’s home run in T-ball and Todd’s obsession with Captain America.”
“Nothing about the crimes?”
“He told me he wasn’t even in those towns when the women disappeared. He said when he goes to trial, they’ll see they have the wrong man. That right now, the real killer is out there, running free, probably still killing, while he’s sitting in a cell, wrongly accused.”
“Did he have a room in the house that was off-limits or a shed he kept padlocked?”
“Of course he did. Didn’t your parents?” Chase rolled his eyes. “We weren’t allowed in his office because he kept important work papers in there and stuff from his job.”
“Was your mom allowed in there?”
“Yeah, she was.” Chase sounded less sure of himself. “I know I saw her in there . . . once or twice.”
“What about a shed?”
“Everyone kept their sheds padlocked. Otherwise the mowers and tools got stolen. They still do. It proves nothing.”
“You use his office for something else now?”
“If you’re asking me if any of his stuff is still here, the answer is no. The cops took his laptop and boxes of papers.”
“What about the shed?”
“The cops went through everything. I don’t know what they took.”
Dad did. He’d read the reports. Sometimes family members didn’t share all the nooks and crannies with law enforcement. If Chase had withheld information, he wasn’t forthcoming about it now. The police hadn’t found the hoped-for trophies in Leo’s shed. Nor had there been human blood or DNA other than his own on his tools. He had another hiding place.
The front door swung open. Five kids in varying sizes raced through the door, darted through the living room, and slowed when they saw the company. They were step laddered in heights. Beautiful. Innocent. Four of the five ran straight on through. Probably to the kitchen. That was Teagan’s first stop after school. A slim, leggy woman followed at a more sedate pace. She closed the door and strode into the living room behind them.
