As of the writing of this book, Heck’s case file on Shannon Sherrill’s disappearance remains in limbo, as do the cases in Temple and Upshur County, Texas. Those families must continue to wait for the answers; those murdered children await justice that has been delayed overly long.
As much as other detectives and their families were victims, too, of Penton, none paid a steeper price than Bob Holleman and those who loved him. As his ex-wife Molly Robertson notes, when he walked out of the door of his home on January 19, 1985, he never came back whole again.
After his retirement from the Mesquite Police Department, Holleman continued attending classes at various colleges. That included talking Southern Methodist University into creating a Ph.D. program in forensic anthropology, for which he was the first (and at the time, only) student. SMU also gave him a full-ride scholarship for his studies. But he only lasted a year, sometimes living out of a car while attending classes.
Later, he attended Columbia University in New York to study writing and even had a book contract. However, he never finished the book.
By the time Penton was arrested, Holleman looked like a skinny bum, with long, stringy hair and no teeth. He had his pension check to live on, but he stayed in motels and his car. When Molly asked him why he wouldn’t use the money to lease an apartment and have a regular roof over his head, he replied that at least living in a motel he would have some human interaction every time he paid for his room. He feared sinking so low into depression that he’d never walk out of the door otherwise.
“I don’t have any friends,” he told her. “You’re the only one who would check on me.” He didn’t want to die alone, he said, and his body not be found for days.
Several times, Molly and her second husband took him in, once for nearly a year. She never spoke poorly of him to their children; her regret was that they never got to meet the man she’d married as they got older—the respected detective, the brilliant thinker he had been before The Call. They’ve only heard about that guy. They knew he was smart, and there were times when he seemed “normal,” but that only made his downward spiral harder to take. He and his son, Michael, who couldn’t forgive him for “throwing his life away” and not being there for the family, were estranged. Emily tried to hold on to the few memories she had and struggled to understand.
Bob certainly had his own regrets. He only went out on one date after he and Molly divorced; she knew that he longed for his family.
However, his greatest disappointment was failing to catch a killer. Even years after he retired from the police department, he confessed to Molly that he still scanned faces in crowds, looking for the man in the police artist sketch. Or he’d see a car and follow it. He knew it didn’t make sense, but he couldn’t let go.
Molly heard that Christi’s killer was caught when a police officer from Mesquite called looking for Bob, who was living in Tennessee to be near his mom and brother. When she asked the officer why he was trying to find her ex-husband, he told her about Penton’s indictment and arrest. She gave him a telephone number for Bob, but asked that he not mention that he’d told her the news first.
The next day, the telephone rang. When she answered, Molly heard a faint voice say, “It’s over.” She didn’t recognize the voice at first and asked, “What’s over?”
“They got him,” said the voice, stronger now. “It’s over.”
The voice, Bob’s voice, grew more confident. It was the voice that had been missing for so many years. “They got him. David Penton. They finally got that sorry son of a bitch. Are you hearing me? Christi’s killer … Bradshaw arrested Christi Meeks’ killer!”
Then they both cried. So much pain. So much suffering. So many lost years, black times, and missed opportunities caused by the stone Penton tossed into the pond of their lives.
When they stopped crying, Bob told her that Penton was the suspect they’d looked at so many years before but could never make a case against. He said he was happy that Penton would never be able to hurt anybody else’s kid or destroy another family. “I hope Christi can finally rest in peace.”
However, there was one thing that bothered him. He was hurt that no one had told him what was going on during the investigation. “I lost everything because of that motherfucker,” he said. “But I have to find out like I was some schmuck who wasn’t there.” He sighed and let it pass. He wasn’t a cop anymore; they’d caught the bogeyman, and that was what mattered.
Shortly after that, Bob Holleman dropped by Bradshaw’s office in Mesquite. His former partner had not seen him in several years and was shocked by his appearance. He seemed nervous, and when Bradshaw invited him to sit down, he fidgeted and appeared uncomfortable.
Bradshaw was prepared to have a lengthy discussion and tell him everything about the case, but Holleman only wanted to know two things. “Is this really the guy?” he asked. “And what did we miss back then?”
Assuring him that Penton was guilty beyond any doubt, Bradshaw said it was no fault of theirs that they had not been able to place Penton in Dallas. He explained about the Ohio inmates and other witnesses who had come forward, which, combined with the rest of the evidence gathered during the investigation, led to Penton pleading guilty. Holleman listened quietly and then got up and left without saying goodbye. Bradshaw never saw or heard from him again.
Eventually, Holleman moved to Mississippi to live near his brother, John, who’d moved after their mother passed away and took a position at “Ole Miss.” One Sunday in November 2013, Bob called his brother and said he wasn’t feeling good. However, when John asked if he wanted to go to the hospital—Bob could be something of a hypochondriac—he said no, he thought he’d wait to see if he felt better by the next day. But he asked his brother to check on him.
John called Monday afternoon but didn’t get an answer. Nor did Bob pick up that night. When his brother still hadn’t heard from him Tuesday, November 12, John went to check on him and found Bob lying on a bare mattress on the floor of his living room. He was dressed as if he intended to go out and looked like he was sleeping. But Bob Holleman had died as he feared he would, alone and undiscovered.
Molly was at work when she got the call from her daughter, Emily. “Daddy’s dead.” She didn’t believe what she was hearing and made her daughter repeat herself. Even then, she still didn’t want to believe it. Bob had been off drugs for two months and seemed to be doing well, more like his old self. She’d even received several jokes from him via text messages in the weeks prior to this, as well as the news that he was moving back to Texas.
“Don’t worry, you won’t have to put me up,” he’d laughed. She could hear in his voice, even before he told her, that he was feeling better than he had in a very long time. It gave her hope that their son, Michael, could forgive him and finally have a positive relationship with his father. But it was not to be. The damage done by The Call had been too much to overcome.
Emily and her husband, Scott, drove from Nashville to Oxford, Mississippi, to take care of her father’s final arrangements. Gathering his personal belongings, she was both amazed and deeply saddened that other than a few articles of clothing and random dishes, everything he owned fit into one box. She had her father cremated and his ashes placed in two urns.
Molly found it ironic and fitting that Emily brought her daddy’s remains back to Texas in January 2014, twenty-nine years almost to the day that Christi Meeks disappeared. Emily gave one urn to Michael and kept the other for herself. She also separated some ashes and along with her brother and mother, their husbands, and Molly’s mom and dad released them to the gentle breeze that blew over the graves of Bob’s parents.
As Molly had noted many years earlier, some detectives who dedicated parts of their lives to tracking down the killer of little girls were better able than her husband at putting the tragedy on a shelf. But not so high on the shelf that the ripples didn’t affect them, too, although sometimes only those closest to them know just how much it hurt.
&nb
sp; Julie Sweet was relieved when after four years of consuming their lives, Penton pleaded guilty. Her husband can’t rest when working on a murder case—sometimes sleeping only a couple of hours a night, if that—and she’d worried about the effect on his health.
The Reyes case seemed like it would never end, and that her husband might never again get a good night’s sleep. She was proud of what he accomplished, and of all his cases, it was the most satisfying to his heart. His dogged pursuit of a monster did have an impact on their family; their girls probably suffered a little because of a dad who’d seen too much and was maybe a tad over-protective. But they always knew he loved them and understood that if they didn’t have some of the freedom their friends did, it was because of what had happened to those other little girls.
When the decision was made to accept Penton’s guilty pleas, Julie knew that her husband was disappointed. The case had affected him more than most. As a father, he’d identified with the murdered children and their families. He’d wanted Penton to be tried in a court of law, for the truth to come out in public, and for him to get the death penalty. Still, he’d told her once that if he could just put Penton away forever, knowing that he’d never get out and harm another child, then he could retire and know he’d had a good career.
When Sweet works on a cold case now, he makes sure that he contacts the families of the victims. By and large, they seem happy that he’s at least making an effort; even if nothing comes of it, they appreciate that someone still cares. He still keeps Roxann’s inspiration notebook on his desk, as well as the file for the Keith Calloway murder, to remind him that no matter how long it takes, the victims wait for justice, and the people who love them deserve answers. They deserve to know what happened, to recover the remains if possible, and know that the monster will not devastate some other family again.
In March 2006, Bruce Bradshaw retired from the Mesquite Police Department after 29 years of service. He’d promised Gail that after he found the person responsible for Christi’s death, he would leave the department. Far too many hours, even days, had been spent away from home working child abuse and homicide cases. She’d never complained, nor had his children. But now with Jodi and Laci out of the house, Gail would be alone at home, and that wasn’t fair.
However, he wasn’t quite ready to leave law enforcement entirely. Shortly before he put in for his retirement, his elderly mother and other relatives let him know that the position of police chief in Comanche was open. It was a chance to return to his roots and be near his mother. After talking it over with Gail, he applied for the position and got the job.
When he thinks about Penton now, he’s reminded of a traditional cowboy song he loved when he was growing up called, “Tying Knots In The Devil’s Tail.” It’s about two cowboys who, after a night of drinking in town, are accosted by the devil on their way back to the ranch. Of course, they do what any good cowboys will and lassoed, then branded the devil, after which they tied knots in his tale. The last verse of the song ends:
“So if you’re ever up there in the Sierra Peaks
and you hear one helluva wail
It’s just the devil a-yellin’ about
them knots tied in his tail.”
“I always thought of Penton as Satan,” Bradshaw says. “But we had finally tied a knot in his tail, and he’s still hollering about it.”
In the spite of the stones Penton tossed in the pond, ending some lives and ruining others, evil did not ultimately triumph. But better than anything this author can write, the final words of this story—words that apply to so many others—come from Gail Bradshaw.
“We celebrate life with our daughters, enjoying every day experiences, looking forward to the future, working to fulfill dreams. We help them grow with the understanding that evil may exist, but faith and family are always there to support you. You never take each other for granted.
“The death of Christi and an armed robbery taught us to cherish each other and all life has to offer. Our family grew, and continues to grow, strong through faith. Christi will always be a part of our family. The robbers are in prison. Penton has confessed. Christi can rest. Prayers have been answered.”
PICTURES
Christi Lynn Meeks was five years old when she was abducted from an apartment complex in Mesquite, Texas on Jan. 19, 1985.
Photo/Mesquite Police Department files
Several months after Christi’s disappearance, 10-year-old witness Tiffany Easter, described this suspect for an artist’s sketch.
Sketch by Bruce Greene for Mesquite Police Department
David Penton as he appeared in the spring of 1985 following his arrest for the murder of his 11-month-old son. He was released on an appeal bond and wasn’t arrested again until 1990 during which time he killed at least four more children. File photo
The body of Christi Meeks was discovered on April 3, 1985 by two fisherman floating in Deer Haven Cove, Lake Texoma about 75 miles from Mesquite, Texas, where she where she was abducted in January.
Photo/Mesquite Police Department
Life changed forever for Mesquite detective Bob Holleman and his wife, Molly, after he received “The Call” following Christi Meeks’ disappearance on Jan. 19, 1985.
Photo/Molly Richarson
On February 12, 1986, Tiffany Ibarra was ten years old and walking to Bodie Elementary School in Dallas, Texas when she was abducted and then released by a young white man who had grabbed her on the sidewalk and pulled her into his van. She would be forever haunted by the bogeyman.
Photo/Dallas Police Department
Three days after Tiffany Ibarra’s run-in with the bogeyman, Christie Proctor, a few days shy of her tenth birthday, was abducted while walking near Bodie Elementary School. Her remains would not be found for two years.
Photo/Dallas Police Department
After Christie Proctor’s abduction, police detectives re-contacted Tiffany Ibarra who described the suspect for a police sketch artist.
Sketch/Dallas Police Department
Proctor’s remains: Christie Proctor’s skeletal remains were discovered beneath a mattress in a remote field near Plano, Texas in April 1988.
Photo/Plano Police Department
Shannon Sherrill was six years old in October 1986 when she disappeared while playing hide-and-seek in her mother’s yard in Thorntown, Indiana. David Penton later told fellow inmates that he abducted and murdered her.
Media File Photo
Jeff Heck was a young Indiana State Patrol officer whose area included Thorntown, Indiana when Shannon Sherrill disappeared. Years later, he would contact Gary Sweet about David Penton’s possible connection to Shannon’s abduction. He concluded that Penton was the prime suspect and filed a report with the prosecutor’s office in 2007 to that effect; the case remains “under investigation.”
Photo/Jeff Heck
In 2003, a woman named Donna Walker (center) contacted Shannon’s parents and claimed to be their long-lost daughter. Hoping for a “miracle” the parents’ were taken in until Lt. Jeff Heck’s investigation revealed that her claims were a hoax and arrested Walker.
AP Photo/Tom Strickland
Roxann Reyes was just three years old and picking flowers with her friend Julia Diaz in a field near an apartment complex managed by her mother when she was abducted Nov. 3, 1987.
Photo/Garland Police Department
Julia Diaz was ten years old when she narrowly escaped the man who then abducted her friend, Roxann. She described the killer for a police sketch artist; note the mole above the right eyebrow.
Sketch/Garland Police Department
David Penton after his arrest in April 1988 as a suspect in the abduction of Nydra Ross in Columbus, Ohio.
Photo/Columbus Police Department
Roxann Reyes’ partial skeletal remains and her hair with a barrette still in it were discovered in a remote field near Murphy, Texas, in May 1988.
Photo/Garland Police Department
When Penton became a
suspect in the disappearance of Nydra Ross, police seized his van and discovered traces of blood on the floor. The van also matched Tiffany Ibarra’s description of the van her abductor was driving in 1986.
Photo/Columbus Police Department
Nine-year-old Nydra Ross was last seen alive talking to David Penton, a co-worker of her uncle who she was visiting in Columbus, Ohio in March 1988.
Photo/Columbus Police Department
Penton remained at large until 1990 when he was arrested for the murder of Nydra Ross. Convicted in 1991, he was sentenced to life in the Ohio State Penitentiary though would be eligible for parole.
Photo/Ohio Department of Corrections
Gary Sweet was a new detective with the Plano Police Department when he walked into the department’s cold case “murder closet” and discovered the disorganized files for the Roxann Reyes case. It was the first step in a long journey.
Photo/Gary Sweet
Part of Detective Sweet’s learning curve investigating homicides was the murder of 80-year-old Smiley Johnson who was stabbed to death and sexually assaulted in 1996 by her grandson, Michael Giles, who was 15 at the time of the murder.
Photo/Garland Police Department
A fan of “death metal” bands and a satan-worshiper, Giles told Sweet that he sexually assaulted his grandmother because he wanted to experience necrophilia.
Journal/Garland Police Department
Satan worshipper Michael Giles was also the suspect in the brutal stabbing of a young black woman in the same neighborhood. However, despite the evidence, she claimed her assailant was an older black man.
Art/Garland Police Department
As Detective Sweet began to go through the evidence boxes in the Reyes case in 2000, he came across this photograph of the child with her father, Sergio Reyes, and was especially moved and determined to catch her killer.
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