Closer Than She Knows

by Kelly Irvin

  “This will only take a few minutes, Ms. Harper.” Dad used his gentle here-kitty-kitty-kitty tone. “We want to ask you about what happened with Leo Slocum.”

  “What happened is he groped me at a company quarterly sales celebration.” The terrified woman disappeared, replaced by a much more outspoken, disgusted, and vocal person. “He followed me into the hallway. I was on my way to the ladies’ room. He took my arm and whirled me around so that I smacked right into him. Full body.” Her peaches-and-cream complexion turned scarlet. “I screeched and said, ‘What are you doing?’ He said I was giving off subtle signals that I wanted him to follow me. I told him in no uncertain terms that he was sadly mistaken. The guy’s old, at least twice my age. Seriously.

  “He ran his hands down my bare arms and brushed my hair from my face. He said I smelled good. I told him to stop. He’d been drinking and so had I, but not so much that I didn’t know it was a terrible idea. I never indulge in extracurricular activities with my superiors. Especially married ones. It never works out and it’s always the subordinate who gets the heave-ho. I need this job. I have student loans to pay back.”

  “When you said stop, did he do it?”

  “He touched my cheek again, and when he dropped his hand, it brushed against my . . . my chest.” Her face went from scarlet to beet red. “He apologized, but it was obvious he didn’t mean it. He smiled and told me to relax and enjoy myself. It was creepy, the way he said it.”

  The desire to comfort the woman overwhelmed Teagan. Harper Nelson would not appreciate a hug under the circumstances. “It sounds a little scary.”

  “It was. I turned and raced back into the party. I got my friends and we left. I didn’t even go to the bathroom.”

  “Had you ever experienced anything similar with Slocum before?”

  “No, never. I actually thought he was cute for an old guy, especially when he showed off photos of his grandkids. They’re adorable.” She ran her hands through her long black hair. “What would make a guy like that do such a horrible thing?”

  They were no longer talking about her encounter with Slocum, as awful as it must have been. Teagan exchanged glances with her father. He nodded. She chose her words carefully. “We’re just glad you were able to walk away from him. He made you uncomfortable, but he didn’t hurt you. That’s a blessing.”

  “You think if I’d gone with him, he might have done to me what he did to that poor college girl?”

  “We don’t know that. Mr. Slocum is a very smart man, too smart, we hope, to attack someone from the company where he works.”

  “Worked.”

  “Yes, you did good.” Teagan smiled. Harper managed a tremulous smile in return. “We’re sorry this happened to you, but we’re glad you were able to keep your job and are working though the experience. Did you get some help?”

  “I did. I am.” She brushed tears from her face and grabbed a tissue from the box on the table. “I’m also looking for another job. I have a second interview tomorrow for a position in a nonprofit run by a woman.”

  “Good for you.” Dad stood and offered his hand. “We wish you the very best.”

  “Thank you. I hope whatever you’re doing will guarantee he’ll die in prison.”

  “That’s the plan.”

  Back in Dad’s Charger, Teagan hauled her laptop from the back seat and turned her phone into a hot spot.

  “What are you doing?” Dad rolled out onto the street, headed for home.

  “Seeing what I can find out about Deidre Patterson.”

  “Let Billy or Justin do that. They have more resources at their fingertips. It was twenty-five years ago. Talk about a needle in a haystack.”

  “What if he killed her? What if she was the first victim?”

  “That’s pure speculation or imagination. She could also be living the good life in a retirement community in Boca Raton.”

  “I’ve got a feeling this woman could tell us something about how Leo Slocum became who he is. What he is. And what about the kid? Could Slocum have another child out there? Does that mean anything to him? Maybe it’s a bargaining chip to get him to tell us about his accomplice.”

  Dad was right. Deidre Patterson was a needle in a twenty-five-year-old haystack. She texted Billy with the information and asked him to do a deep dive in hopes of finding something about this blast from Slocum’s past.

  “It’s grotesque to think he had a family here, a mistress, and possibly even a child in Corpus, and he still trolled for victims to kill.”

  “Getting fired was probably the stressor that made him kill in his own backyard. He had no excuse to leave town anymore and the impulse drove him.” Dad tapped the wheel with both hands. “It’s an obsession. All Ted Bundy had to do was disappear into a new life. Instead, within a week of escaping from prison, he killed two women and a young girl, and severely injured two more. He couldn’t help himself. He ended up frying in the electric chair instead.”

  Somehow that fate seemed too good for a man like Ted Bundy.

  It was certainly too good for Leo Slocum.

  26

  No retirement community in Boca Raton. Nor had Deidre Patterson died at the hands of her long-ago lover. Maybe not so long ago. Who knew how long the affair lasted? Teagan tucked her phone between her ear and her shoulder and took a small bite of the Whataburger Junior Dad had insisted she order after pointing out how her clothes hung on her. She’d lost at least six pounds since the start of this nightmare. Billy’s call caught her and her dad eating in his favorite burger joint parking lot. Good thing Jazz had decided to travel from Las Vegas to San Francisco to visit her parents. She would not be pleased with her husband’s attempts to harden his arteries with a Whataburger and onion rings.

  “She’s not in AFIS. She’s never been arrested. But she has a Texas driver’s license and she’s received several speeding tickets over the years.” Billy didn’t bother with preliminaries. “Last known address is in Corpus Christi. She’s fifty-one, divorced, and works as a restaurant manager.”

  Fifty-one years old. The right age for Slocum. “Text me the address and any other information you can give us. A copy of her license, too, so we can see her picture.”

  “You’re not thinking of going to Corpus.”

  “Why not?”

  “Put me on speaker.”

  Teagan did as requested, only because Billy would hang up and call Dad if she didn’t.

  “You’re not seriously considering driving to Corpus to talk to this woman on the basis of something a guy said who used to work with Leo Slocum. This happened more than twenty-five years ago.”

  Dad swallowed the last bite of his burger. “There’s a kid involved who would be an adult now.”

  “That has nothing to do with the murders we’re investigating.” When Billy’s voice got heated, he sounded different, more macho. Like his biological father, maybe? “It’s interesting background information and I’ll pass it on to our compadres in Corpus. They can follow up to see if she’s had any contact with him recently. Save the gas. Save the wear and tear on the Charger.”

  “I have to say, Son, I’m with Teagan on this one. It’ll make a fascinating case study. It’ll give us even more insight into who Slocum was in the early years when he started killing. Why didn’t he kill this woman? Does he have another child out there?” Dad settled back in his seat and grinned at Teagan. “If she’s still in contact with him, maybe she’s the accomplice. This is important. I want it done right. As a consultant on this case, I have standing to do the interview and I know what I’m doing.”

  “Okay, okay, stop. I know that tone. You’re going.” His voice went muffled for a few seconds, then he was back. “I’ll let Hector break it to our buddies in Corpus that you’re horning in on their territory. Do you at least want to call her first to see if she wants to talk?”

  “No. That gives her a chance to lawyer up or rabbit or practice her story. I’d rather show up and see what happens.” Dad wiped his hands and
face with a towelette and tossed it in the empty, grease-stained onion ring container. “Corpus PD is welcome to send someone to sit in on the interview.”

  “That’s big of you.” Billy signed off with the obligatory “be careful driving down there and be careful once there” admonition. Her big brother worried. Teagan could relate. “We promise, big brother, we’ll behave.”

  A pause. “Thanks for saying that.”

  “What, we’ll be careful? We always are.”

  “No, the other part.”

  The big brother part. She didn’t say it often enough. “We’ll report in as soon as we have something worth reporting.”

  “Are you telling Max you’re going?”

  “After we get there.”

  “Smart move.”

  A quick trip inside the fast-food joint to use the facilities, and they were ready to head out. Thankful for her dad’s preference for quiet that allowed him to think on long drives, Teagan spent most of the two hours traveling south on I-37 sleeping. Amazing how restful the soft rumble of the Charger’s engine, the cooling AC, and her father’s presence could be.

  The sense that the car had slowed and then stopped brought her upright. Groggy, she rubbed her eyes and tried to adjust to the change in scenery. Corpus had a foreign country feel that went back to her childhood when her dad loaded up the car and drove them to the beach. Memories came in fits and starts. The smell of the Gulf water and sunscreen, the grit of sand and salt on her skin. The feel of her mother’s hands as she smeared the sunscreen from one end of Teagan’s body to the other. Running like a crazy girl from the iridescent and purple jellyfish that had managed to beach themselves in the sand. Tiptoeing with her dad up to the chunks of seaweed also stranded above the tide, often teeming with strange little creatures.

  They bodysurfed, hunted for shells, and built sand castles with water-filled moats. Those were some of the happiest times in Teagan’s life.

  After Dad remarried he took the entire gang to the beach on a few occasions, but Leyla was allergic to sunscreen and Billy hated the feel of the seaweed on his legs when he swam. Jazz preferred a pool where she could pull up a lounge chair, set her skinny margarita on the side table, and sunbathe drenched in coconut oil. After a few times, Teagan refused to go. She’d pleaded to stay with the Hinojosas where she could help Abuelita make homemade corn tortillas and menudo or gorditas. The family gathered around the table into the wee hours, laughing and talking over each other and telling stories, correcting each other’s recollections, playing cards and dominoes.

  It felt different.

  The GPS lady spoke. Dad made a left turn. “Welcome back to the land of the living, sweetheart.”

  “Did I snore?”

  “No, but you have dried spittle on your chin.”

  “Do not.” She wiped at her face with her sleeve. “Are we close?”

  “If Miss Redirecting is correct, yes.”

  “Sorry I didn’t help with navigation.” Her job as a kid had been to keep an eye on the map to make sure the directions were accurate. A few times they’d ended up on a dead-end street in a run-down neighborhood instead of at a new restaurant her dad wanted to try. “I guess I was tired.”

  “Crime fighting will do that to you.”

  “I don’t feel like I’ve been doing much crime fighting.”

  “Don’t let TV fool you. Crimes are not solved in one-hour segments with five breaks for commercials. It’s a marathon, not a sprint. That’s one of the hardest lessons for new detectives to learn.”

  “I’m not a detective.”

  “No, but you have a detective’s mind. And all those years of writing records have filled your head with essential facts about how cases are investigated, what autopsies show, what ballistic experts do, and how homicide detectives approach interviewing witnesses. You understand the law and what we can and cannot do in the pursuit of justice. In my book that makes you an excellent stand-in for a detective.”

  High praise from her dad. Teagan basked in the warm feeling for a few seconds. “Were you disappointed when I decided not to become a police officer?”

  “Absolutely not. Relieved.” He glanced her way and back at the road. “If you’d decided to go to the academy, I would’ve supported you. But not having you in the line of fire gave me some sense of peace. I could do my job with one less thing to worry about.”

  “Sounds like there’s a but in there.”

  “It’s a ridiculous sense of security, honey. Haven’t you figured that out yet?” His voice deepened, became husky. “We have shootings in schools, in churches, in synagogues, in movie theaters. There is no safe place in America.”

  “Says the guy who loves his Second Amendment rights.”

  “At least I carry a gun and I know how to use it. I can protect others around me. But I can’t be around to protect you all the time. That’s why I taught you how to use a gun. That’s why I would like for you to own a gun.”

  “That’s never going to happen.”

  “I’ve made my peace with that. If you don’t want to carry a gun, you shouldn’t. If you don’t think you could use it to shoot and even kill a person to stop a lethal threat, you shouldn’t carry it. A second’s hesitation could be fatal. Guns only work for people willing to use them.”

  “And this country is full of people willing to do exactly that.”

  “We’ll never agree about this.”

  On that they could agree.

  Dad turned right into a neighborhood that had seen better days. The homes were small, some neatly maintained, others teetering on collapse. There didn’t seem to be any in-between. Overgrown lots were home to discarded mattresses, sofas missing their pillows, and oversized black garbage bags. He slowed and halted on the curb in front of a house that might once have been blue. The peeling paint had faded in the corrosive sea salt and waterlogged air. Two steps led to a tiny cement porch. No trees, but a few shrubs hugged the front of the one-story wood-frame house. Someone had hung wind chimes on the porch eave.

  “According to Billy’s text, this is it.” Dad leaned back in his seat. “Car in the driveway. That’s a good sign.”

  The car, a mid-2000 Hyundai, appeared in better shape than the house. It looked newly washed and waxed.

  “How do you want to do this?” The question hung in the air like bad dialogue from one of her TV shows. “I mean, do we need a story, or are you going with the truth?”

  “I know lots of cops lie to suspects. It’s allowed. They even lie to potential witnesses or people of interest. I try to leave it as a last resort. The truth is so much easier to remember.”

  Now that they were at Deidre Patterson’s door, the chill on Teagan’s arms didn’t come from the AC.

  “Second thoughts?”

  “You do this for a living. Crashing into a person’s life, bringing up old hurts, opening healed wounds. It seems cruel in some ways.”

  “Maybe the wounds haven’t healed. Maybe this is an opportunity for a person to tell her story for the first time. To excise old pain.”

  “Therapy by cop?”

  “Maybe.”

  She smiled. So did he.

  Whatever got him through the day.

  “I reckon that’s the Corpus detective.” Dad nodded at the rearview mirror. Teagan glanced back. A white unmarked SUV pulled in behind them. “Billy said they didn’t squawk much about letting us in on this interview, although it was emphasized that they were allowing us to sit in, not vice versa.”

  A short, squat man emerged from the other vehicle and trotted their direction.

  Together they met the detective, who introduced himself as Joe Cruz, all the while mopping his face with a blue bandanna. He wore a lightweight sports jacket, white shirt, and navy Dockers. Against the dark skin above his open collar lay a gold cross on a thick serpentine chain. “Welcome to the sauna we call Corpus Christi. Detective Evans-O’Rourke filled me in.” He offered his large hand to Teagan first. “You really think this lady can shed so
me light on Slocum after all these years?”

  “At this point I’ll take anything that helps us understand what this man has been up to for the past twenty-five years.”

  “Killing women.”

  “We got that part.”

  Cruz stuck the bandanna in his back pocket and led the way the scant few yards to the door. The tinny bell dinged after a fashion.

  Two seconds later, the weather-beaten door opened. Ms. Patterson looked nothing like her DMV photo. Her long brown hair sported several inches of white roots. She wore large red-framed glasses and no makeup. The baggy embroidered Mexican dress couldn’t hide the fact that no fat covered her bony body. She was barefoot and her toenails needed a good trim.

  “I wondered when the cops would make the connection and show up.” She took a long drag on her cigarette and zeroed in on Cruz. “At least one of you was worth waiting for.”

  Dad grinned and held out his hand. “I think I’ve just been dissed.”

  Deidre shook it. “What can I say? I’m a cougar.”

  “Can we come in?”

  “Sure, but you’ll never get me to say a bad word about Leo.”

  “You don’t care that he’s probably killed several women?”

  “The man broke my heart. It would’ve been kinder to kill me instead.” She pushed the door wider. “Come in and convince me a sweet, kind man could possibly have done what you say Leo did.”

  They had their work cut out for them. If Leo had cast that strong of a spell over Deidre, no wonder he had gotten away with murder.

  27

  Deidre, aka the Cougar, enjoyed an audience, no doubt about it. Once Teagan asked if she could record the woman’s story—for Dad’s book—there had been no stopping Deidre. She settled into a stained beige recliner, curled her legs up under her, and lit another cigarette as she prepared to take them along on a trip down memory lane. Teagan barely had a chance to look around as she set the digital recorder on the smeared glass coffee table that separated the couch from the recliner. Dad grabbed a seat next to her while Cruz dragged a kitchen table chair into the living room.