by Kelly Irvin
“Not technically a serial killer.”
“No, a kidnapper who’s into psychological torture. Which is what this guy is doing to me, isn’t it?” She gritted her teeth and gripped her hands together so hard her fingers hurt. Keep it together. Come on, don’t give in to him.
“He wants you to be scared.” Her expression fierce, Gracie put her hands on her hips. “He wants to control you. Don’t give him what he wants.”
“I have no intention of giving him control.”
How long could she hold out?
24
After the emotional firestorm of the funerals, it felt good to know this day would be dedicated to finding the culprit responsible for them. Teagan, fully dressed and made up, whipped into the kitchen to fill her travel mug with coffee. Dad would stop by to pick her up in five or ten minutes, and she didn’t plan to keep him waiting. He would need very little excuse to interview Slocum’s coworkers without her. The kitchen was empty. No Max. His beloved SAC music station was silent. “Max?”
No answer. Teagan shook a mental finger at her disappointment. No getting used to his presence in the morning to greet her with the coffeepot full and bagels in the toaster. Max was one of those people who arose in the morning determined to make the best and most of every day, no matter the circumstances. The pot was half full this morning, and a bagel laden with strawberry cream cheese sat on a saucer next to it. A yellow sticky note featured a smiley face and Max’s crazy signature. He made it hard not to imagine many more such days like this one.
Teagan went to the kitchen sink to wipe down her travel mug, then glanced out the window. Max, wearing a sleeveless T-shirt and basketball shorts, had the hood up on her car under the carport. He’d switched his youth minister hat for his mechanic hat. She hugged Tigger, told herself to behave, grabbed her purse and mug, and bolted out the door.
Max didn’t hear her approach. She allowed herself a minute to ogle him like a teenage girl. Yes, she loved him for his mind, but she also enjoyed the biceps and burly shoulders. If only she could give him his heart’s desire. Waving her fingers in an attempt to cool her face, she cleared her throat. “What are you doing?”
Max straightened and wiped his hands on an already greasy rag. “Just making sure everything is in tip-top condition.”
“I thought you didn’t work on hybrids.”
“I don’t.” He shut the hood with a sure touch. “But I know enough to make sure your brakes are in good working order and nothing looks out of a whack.”
“Thank you.” Teagan forced herself to glance toward the street. Dad would be here any minute. Max’s dedication to her safety covered everything from prayer to the practical. And he looked so hot doing it. “You’ll be late to work.”
“I texted Rick. He knows what I’m up to and gave his approval, 100 percent.” Max moved from the driveway to where she stood on the porch. “He told me to take all the time I need.”
“What did he say about you staying here?”
“To behave myself.”
Exactly what she kept telling herself. Heat once again toasted Teagan’s cheeks. “Dad’s on his way.”
“How about if I make us some supper tonight?”
So far they’d done takeout, delivery, and PB and J sandwiches. They were playing house together. It felt good. How would it feel when the nightmare ended and that issue on the back burner suddenly moved front and center? “You don’t have to. I can pick up Thai on the way back.”
“Don’t do that.” Max stepped into her space. He smelled of grease and man sweat. What would it be like to fall into those simmering amber eyes? To run her hands through his sandy-brown hair? He smiled. “Let us have these moments. Let us see how we fit together beyond ball games and mission projects. Trust me, okay?”
“Why are you subjecting yourself to this? This torture?”
“Because you asked me to.” His lopsided smile turned sardonic. “Because I want you to know what you’ll be missing if you take the easy way out.”
“The easy way out? There’s nothing easy about this.”
“I’m asking you to trust God.”
“Where was God when my mother died?”
Max raised his hands toward the sky. “He held her hand and escorted her to the throne.”
“I was nine.”
“And you’ve been honed by the fire. There’s nothing He can’t make good come from.”
Teagan stared up at the June sky. Who would she have been had her mother lived? How would her life have been different? Gracie, Billy, and Leyla’s lives? Justin’s?
“Take a shower.” She inhaled his scent one more time and scooted back. “Go to work. You have the mission trip with the kids to plan.”
“I’m ready. For the mission trip and for anything else that comes my way.”
Dad pulled up to the curb and honked.
Saved by the bell. “See you tonight.”
“Be careful.”
She scampered to the Charger and slid in without looking back.
“Y’all are looking very cozy this morning.” Dad sipped from his travel mug and grimaced. “I’m glad he’s keeping an eye on you, but I’m thinking about offering him a tent for your backyard.”
“We’re just friends. That’s all we can ever be.”
Dad rolled his eyes. “Uh-huh.”
“Good friends.”
“Whatever you say, sweetie.” He had the audacity to wink at her. “Haven’t you heard that love overcomes all obstacles?”
“So what do we know about Slocum’s coworker?”
Dad chose to accept her attempt at redirection and spent the short drive up 281 North telling her about the pharmaceutical company where Slocum worked until his arrest for the murder of Olivia Jimenez.
Rayburn, Leo Slocum’s former coworker, looked like Rupert Grint of Harry Potter movie fame who’d morphed into a middle-aged man with a receding hairline and a beer gut. He didn’t have the endearing British accent, but he did have the red hair, dimples, and blue eyes. He also seemed to have trouble meeting Teagan’s or her father’s gaze head-on. He welcomed them into his office on the third floor of a nondescript building on 281 North and Jones-Maltsberger, where he offered them bottled water or coffee—both of them declined.
“Why ask me about Leo now?” He leaned back in a sleek ergo-nomic office chair that squeaked under his weight. “He’s in prison, isn’t he?”
“I write true crime stories, and I’m following up on some background information on his life. I’m just trying to get a true picture of what he was like.” Dad’s blithe ability to spread the truth so thin begged the question of how often he had done that with family, particularly Jazz, who didn’t care for his crime “hobbies.” “How long did y’all work together?”
“Almost thirty years. We were like eggs and bacon, chips and salsa of ocular-specialty drugs. At least I thought we were. We played on the company’s softball team together. Played in darts competitions. If there was something hinky about this guy, I never knew it.”
“What was he like at work?”
“Easygoing. Always telling stories. Liked to play practical jokes.” Rayburn rose and went to a framed twelve-by-seventeen photo on a wall covered with sales awards and certificates of appreciation for his volunteer efforts. Light from the floor-to-ceiling windows that looked down on one of the most congested highways in town bounced off the glass, making it hard to see the faces.
Teagan stood and followed him. He tilted the photo so she could see. A bunch of laughing people with leis around their necks and umbrella drinks in their hands crowded together at a Hawaiian luau, complete with a pig on a spit. “He was the life of the party. This was a couple of years ago when all the top salespeople across the country won trips to Maui with their bonuses. He always won top salesman. Everybody liked him. You could’ve knocked me over with a feather when I found out he’d been arrested.”
“He never did or said anything that led you to believe he might be hiding odd procl
ivities?”
“Are you kidding? He brought his daughter’s Girl Scout cookie order sheet to work so we could buy Thin Mints and Samoas from her.” Rayburn shook his head. “He took off work to do the camping thing with his son. He was in the running for Father of the Year. He made the rest of us look bad.”
“How about Husband of the Year? I don’t think that’s his wife in this photo.” Slocum had his arm around a much younger woman who wore a bikini top, shorts, and not much else. They both had that flushed look of sun and alcoholic fun. Alcohol and business trips often resulted in hanky-panky, even for people who steadfastly believed they would never betray their spouses. “How did he rank in that respect?”
“Diana stayed back to take care of the kids. She was a teacher. She didn’t come to a lot of functions because of work. At least that’s what Leo said.” Rayburn’s smile faded. “Women liked him—what can I say?”
“You can tell us whether he liked them back.” Teagan turned to face him. “He spent a lot of time away from home, night after night, week after week, year after year. I imagine that would take its toll on a marriage.”
“For all of us.” Rayburn held up his left hand. It bore no ring. “I’m twice divorced myself. My wives liked the commissions. They liked the bonuses. But they still complained ad nauseam about the travel. As if they didn’t know what they were signing up for.”
“Was it the travel that bothered them or the extracurricular activities?”
Dad’s tone held no judgment, but rosy spots bloomed on Rayburn’s typical redhead’s white cheeks. “Hey, Leo might have been into having a soft place to fall in every city, but I’m not that kind of guy. In fact, I liked the quiet hotel room and not having to listen to my wife gripe about stuff—”
“So Slocum told you he had women on the side?”
“Mostly one-night stands he picked up in clubs, I think.” His flush deepened. “He didn’t brag about it. Nothing like that. I heard him on the phone a couple of times and I teased him a little. He admitted he played around some, but he said it was only because his wife was an ice queen. He wasn’t getting what he needed at home.”
A far cry from the picture painted by Chase Slocum of late-night slow dances to Frank Sinatra tunes. “Nice.”
“I didn’t say I agreed with it. I’m just repeating what he told me.” Rayburn returned to his standard gray metal desk, where he picked up a letter opener that ended in a ceramic pink flamingo. He fiddled with it, his chubby face distorted as if thinking so hard hurt. “There was one woman, though, who wasn’t a one-night stand. This was years ago, mind you, but I’ll never forget it because he had such a cow about me answering his phone. He’d never cared before.”
“How do you know she wasn’t a one-night stand?”
“I picked up his phone sometimes when he wasn’t around. She would ask for him. I took a message.”
“Maybe she was family.”
“I don’t think so, because Leo was too angry about my so-called meddling. He told me I had no business answering his phone. I apologized up one side and down the other. The guy never got mad.”
“What exactly did she say?”
“Once it was just to please have him call her. The next time she said to tell him she needed help. Money. That the kid was sick.”
“The kid.”
“Yep. Freaked me out too. He obviously was PO’d that I knew about this woman and this kid. I asked him what the deal was and he had a meltdown.”
“What was her name? Where was she calling from?”
“Oh man. We’re talking twenty-five or more years ago.”
“It’s important.”
Ruminating, he stared out the floor-to-ceiling windows that faced 281 and the Quarry Market. “DeeDee, Diane, Debbie, D . . .” He rubbed his face with both hands, then pointed at Teagan. “Deidre. Deidre Patterson. It was a three-six-one area code.”
“Corpus Christi,” Teagan and Dad spoke in unison.
“Yeah. Corpus. He always said it was his favorite stop on his route. I thought it was because he loved seafood. Shrimp, lobster, a side of fried pickles, and a cold Dos Equis—that was his favorite meal.”
He wouldn’t be getting that cuisine in prison. They didn’t even do last meal requests on death row anymore.
“Did he ever say anything more about her?”
“Not to me. He did apologize to me a couple of days later. He said she was a cousin bugging him for money.”
“You didn’t believe him.”
“That wasn’t the tone of a cousin. No way.”
“Anything else about her you can tell us?”
“Nothing. I hadn’t even thought about her in years until you asked. Women liked him a lot, but she was the only one who ever called here besides his wife, and she was a sweet lady. I always wished, for her sake, this Deidre was a cousin.”
They stood and shook hands. Dad handed Rayburn a card. “If you think of anything else, give me a call.”
“Aren’t you going to ask me about him getting fired?”
“What?”
His skinny eyebrows popped up, giving him the look of a surprised child. “He didn’t tell you law enforcement types?”
“Not a word.” Dad looked smooth and suave, but Teagan recognized the telltale signs. Smoke might pour from his ears any second. “Or if he did, it’s not in the case file.”
“Yeah, they tried to keep it quiet. The boss wouldn’t have brought it up, I’m betting.”
“Why?” Teagan eased back into the chair. “Surely he knows withholding information would look bad in a murder investigation.”
“Jethro is more interested in covering his butt and protecting this company.”
“So what happened?”
“I don’t dare tell you. I need my job. Just ask Jethro if there were any blemishes on the record of his best salesman. He might not volunteer something, but he won’t lie either. He’s not stupid.”
Maybe not, but a lie of omission didn’t make him a genius either.
25
Ten minutes later an administrative assistant ushered them into Jethro Sullivan’s office two floors and a world away from Rayburn’s cramped office. The tanned, fit president and CEO of the Texas subsidiary of U.S. Ocular Products, one of the largest sellers of ophthalmology products in the country, looked more like a golf pro, despite the smartly cut suit and silky red tie. The practice putting green in the corner of his massive office added to the image, as did sundry photos taken with golfers such as Tiger Woods and Rory McIlroy, along with several trophies.
Sullivan came around the enormous mahogany desk to shake their hands, bringing with him the scent of Polo, the cologne Teagan had given to Max once on a whim. He only wore it on special occasions.
Dad launched the first salvo. “As I told your admin, we’re interested in Leo Slocum’s work record.”
“Why now? The man’s been convicted.”
Dad ran briefly through the whys and wherefores.
“What exactly do you want to know? Personnel records are confidential.”
“What we exactly want to know is whether Slocum was fired, and if so, why, and why didn’t you tell the police?”
“They didn’t ask. I assumed they knew. Surely they asked Slocum if he was employed. Surely he told them he was unemployed, which begs the question—”
“People who murder tend to lie about all sorts of things,” Teagan interjected. “Surely you’re aware of that.”
“I suppose so. Look, he was a terrific salesman, one of the best I’ve ever had. No one since has matched his volume.” Sullivan scratched his forehead with manicured fingernails. “But I had to let him go because he got a little too friendly with the help. Dumb broad complained. In this Me Too era a company doesn’t dare ignore that kind of complaint.”
“Sexual harassment, you mean?” Teagan wrestled to keep her contempt under control. You could dress a guy up and put him in the corner office, and he would still be a greasy snake charmer. “How do you def
ine ‘a little too friendly’?”
“She claimed he touched her inappropriately at a company party—more than once, actually.”
“What did Slocum have to say for himself?”
“He apologized. He said he got his signals messed up. That it wouldn’t happen again.”
“But you still fired him.”
“Human Resources did their due diligence. They investigated her complaint and found it had merit, even though the alleged behavior occurred out of the view of everyone at the party. Miss Fancy Pants said she wasn’t the only one and there was no way he got his signals mixed up. There were no signals. That just because she’s single and his subordinate doesn’t mean she has to take that kind of behavior, that the law says the company has to do something about it.”
“When was this?”
“About two weeks before he was arrested.” Sullivan fingered his tie. “I couldn’t believe it when I turned on the six o’clock news and there he was doing the perp walk in front of a bunch of TV cameras. I still can’t believe it. He was a good guy—”
“Right up until the day you fired him? He was convicted of stabbing a college student to death.”
“I’m well aware of that, Ms. O’Rourke.” Sullivan’s tone made it clear he wasn’t used to being interrupted by a mere woman. “I’m thankful he no longer works here. Of course, I would have fired him immediately upon his conviction.”
“Sort of a moot point if a guy is in prison.”
“All the same.”
“We’d like to meet the woman he harassed.”
“Allegedly harassed.” Sullivan pursed his lips and wrinkled his nose, the picture of a man who smelled rotten meat. “You already did. My admin Harper Nelson.”
The woman who had led them to her boss’s office had exchanged her earlier anxious look—they had no appointment and Mr. Sullivan never saw people without an appointment—for a terrified look.
“I have so much work to do.” She eased into a soft leather chair in Sullivan’s private conference room, used at his request. After all, they couldn’t have this conversation in full view of the employees out in the cubicle city in the middle of the offices that ringed the outer four walls of the floor. “I really don’t understand why this is necessary. I don’t have time for it.”