Luggage By Kroger: A True Crime Memoir (27 page)

Carpenter only added emphasis to that
realization when he told me that morning he considered Mehaffey the
most dangerous individual he had ever tracked, male or
female.

I expected nothing more than a
symbiotic relationship with Special Crimes. Although I'm sure
Stricklin and Carpenter legitimately wanted to help me, I also
figured they primarily wanted to use me to get her. But just as
Catherine had viewed me as a buffer between them, I believed I
could use Special Crimes as a unique lever in my effort to shed her
from my life. I suspected also that they felt a twinge of guilt
about Tedesco, a man who futilely had begged the Houston police for
help only to be ignored for nearly a year before having his brains
scrambled on the floor of his garage. I saw myself as the living
embodiment of déjà vu, a Tedesco encore in which they might draft a
new ending. In that regard, my knowledge of the system proved
crucial. Poor Tedesco just sought help from the street cops at the
Beechnut Substation, where they laughed at him and told him to grow
a pair of balls big enough to handle his girlfriend. I knew enough
to bypass the lower echelon of law enforcement and take my story
straight to the top. And the guys at the top proved more than eager
to listen.

"I know I got myself into this, and
I will have to get myself out," I began with Stricklin seated
behind his polished and uncluttered desk and Carpenter lounging to
my right in a chair. "That's going to happen, and I expect trouble.
But I hoped you would be interested in taking a statement from me
before I end up wearing a toe tag, something that might be used in
a later investigation or trial—like the victim speaking from the
grave. I also want to make sure I haven't inadvertently become
involved as an accomplice in some sort of criminal activity she
might have under way."

"We're listening," said Stricklin.
"Do you mind if I record this?"

I nodded, and he reached into a
drawer for a tape recorder. Stricklin and I were about the same
age. A dapper, button-down guy, he looked like he might show up if
central casting in Hollywood needed a stereotypical FBI agent. He
had risen rapidly in the district attorney's office during his six
years there and then, as chief of Special Crimes, held what was
arguably the third or fourth most powerful job. Later he would win
election as a state district court judge. I appreciated his
reaction to my tale. He didn't lecture or remind me, "I told you
so." He just sat and listened while I spun it out.

And I told it all, starting with my
separation from Cindy and my first meeting with Catherine. I told
them about the beach and the diamond ring. I told them about her
questionable late night confession to the Tedesco murder. I told
them about Uncle Al and the telephone. I told them about Cindy's
change of plans and the busted umbrella. I told them about the
smashed suitcase and how I had hit her when trying to flee the
house. And I told them about the last couple of days trying to move
her into the duplex.

"She kept saying she wanted a baby
and then talked about her abortions and how they affected her
outlook on life," I said. "She repeatedly said she did not kill
Tedesco. She'd just bring it up out of the blue. She said she
refused a lie detector test, but she agreed to answer four
questions: Did you kill him? Did you have him killed? Do you know
who killed him? And one other I can't recall. But she did not want
to answer other questions so the police refused, she
said."

Stricklin and Carpenter traded
glances and grinned. Stricklin said, "We don't care about a lie
detector test with her. It wouldn't mean a thing."

I continued: "She said she sent
some clients to take art objects from Tedesco's house because she
felt Tedesco owed it to her."

"Did she ever mention a client
named Tommy Bell?" Stricklin asked.

"No," I grinned, "that name doesn't
ring anything with me."

It was the first time I'd heard
Bell's name in all of this. But it wouldn't be the last.

I told them how I'd become
depressed the last couple of days and tried to exaggerate that to
my advantage by growing nearly catatonic. I told them about the
night before: "I'm Mr. Zombie. I lay down in the bed like a
corpse." The recollection made me laugh, and I told Stricklin, "Can
you imagine playing this tape at a trial where I am exhibit
one?"

He didn't laugh, so I continued on:
"She's rambling, 'I'm so frightened, I need a priest. I should go
to confession.' I say, 'Why, have you done something wrong?' She
says, 'So many things.' So I ask, 'Can you get a priest this time
of night?' She says, 'No.' So I tell her, 'Maybe we can do that
tomorrow.'"

I told them she had given me an ultimatum. She
wanted to date through Christmas while I helped her make a lot of
money in December using my influence to land indigent defense court
appointments. If I did that, I told them, she said she would let it
go.

"But now I've decided there will be
no payment of money, no weaning, just nothing more," I told
Stricklin and Carpenter. "Any contact from this point on will be
forced by her."

"You're going to have contact with
her," said Stricklin. "Either telephone or personally."

Carpenter added: "If you talk on
the phone, you ought to record it."

Then Stricklin advised, "You have
no liability to her. But that money is primary to her. If anything,
she will look for revenge on you."

Carpenter said, "She thinks you've
hurt her and used her."

I thought about my next move, then
said: "What if I tell her I've been to Special Crimes, and I've
given you a detailed recording, and if anything happens to me, you
have it."

Stricklin stroked his chin in
thought and said: "In one sense, there's nothing wrong with that.
What I do see is that I'd like to know what her next move is going
to be."

Carpenter predicted: "She'll go
underground."

Just then, Stricklin's secretary
entered the room and said that Jim Strong had come to the office
and urgently needed to see me. Stricklin told her to have him wait
a few minutes.

"Here's what I want to do," I said.
"I want to call her from this office and record the call. I will
tell her I am not going back to Strong's house until she has gone.
I will tell her I am giving her nothing, I owe her nothing. I will
tell her this is it, the end of our brief relationship, and that I
have given a statement to Special Crimes that could be used if
anything should happen to me."

Stricklin nodded affirmation and
then offered a warning: "You know, we think she stalked
Tedesco."

What an
interesting word
, I thought. I envisioned a
lioness on the Serengeti Plains trailing a herd of zebra. It was
the first time I ever had heard anyone use the word stalking in
regard to human behavior. But I considered it right on the mark. Of
course, within a decade the phrase would enter our daily
vocabularies as lawmen and legislators worked nationwide to hammer
out statutes making such conduct illegal. In the late 1970s,
however, stalking prevention fell to the targets—people like
Tedesco and me.

"Let me ask another question before
we do this, OK?" Stricklin asked.

"Sure."

"Has she ever indicated anything
yet about possibly being pregnant?"

"Of course. She says she's missing
a period."

Stricklin and Carpenter traded glances, and I
could tell by their expressions my cavalier attitude had left them
confused. I let their expressions hang a few seconds and then
offered my explanation.

"That wouldn't concern me," I said.
"I've had a vasectomy, but I never told her. She wanted to handle
our birth control so what else did she need to know?"

For the first time since I began covering
either one of them, I enjoyed watching both Stricklin and Carpenter
laughing out loud.

THIRTY-EIGHT

November 27, 1979

While Carpenter prepared the
telephone for taping conversations, Stricklin ushered Strong into
his office where I brought him up to date. He told us he had come
over from the courts building because Catherine was frantic to find
me. He said she had come to the press room and enlisted his help.
After Stricklin's receptionist told him I had gone inside Special
Crimes, Strong had reported back to Catherine with that
news.

"She is freaking out," he said. "I
told her you were probably over here working on some story,
interviewing the lawmen, but she's sure it's something about
her."

"It's always about her, isn't it,
at least in her mind," I said. "I guess it's a good thing there's
nothing going on in the courts today since we're both busy covering
Mehaffey. She's a beat unto herself."

"So, what are you doing over
here?"

"Taking out a life insurance
policy," I said. He skewered his face in confusion so I
explained.

"I gave Stricklin a statement on
our relationship. Now I'm going to call her and tape record a
conversation where I tell her I'm not going home until she's gone.
And if anything happens to me, Don has my statement. If nothing
happens to me, nothing happens to her."

"If you were talking about anyone
other than Catherine Mehaffey, I'd accuse you of being
melodramatic. But more importantly, now it looks like I'm the one
who will need to get the rest of her stuff out of my
house?"

I shrugged my shoulders, and Strong
pondered for a moment while Stricklin looked on. Suddenly Strong
volunteered: "I need to call her, too, and tape it, so I can make a
record. This could get ugly."

Before I could reply, Stricklin
jumped into the conversation and said, "That might give us a chance
to see what she's thinking. She might talk to Jim more openly. Once
you tell her you've been up here, Gary, she's going to clam up. And
I can send somebody over to your house with you, Jim, to watch
while she gathers her things. Is there much left to move from
there?"

I shook my head, recalling only a
few clothes and that Sony television she loved so much. But this
plan for a tag team approach to Catherine caught me by surprise.
Texas law always has allowed individuals to tape their own
telephone conversations without informing the other party. Beyond
the legal side, however, the practice always raised eyebrows and
left the one making the tapes looking like a worm. Personally, I
had no qualms about tape recording a conversation with someone who
might threaten my life. After telling her about my statement to
Special Crimes, I figured she would assume I was taping her anyway.
And, if she asked, I would acknowledge.

But Strong's conversation would
raise this maneuver to a new level. I figured Stricklin and
Carpenter were hoping she'd crack and say something they could use
against her. The more I thought about this prospect, however, the
more sense it made. I knew I hadn't given Stricklin anything in my
statement that could be used directly against her, unless I met a
violent end. But I certainly needed to take her emotional
temperature so I could brace for the worst. And if that led to her
arrest for something she might say, we'd all be better off. I
dialed her office, and she came to the phone.

"Where are you?" she
asked.

"Special Crimes," I said, striving
to sound firm and resolved, without giving her a chance to protest.
"I have given them a statement. And now I want you to understand
that we are through. I am not going back to Strong's house until
you are gone. We'll have no further communication. Nothing more
will happen unless you do something to cause it."

Obviously suspecting a recorder was
running, Catherine responded with icy diplomacy designed to depict
me as a rat.

"So you are up with the boys at
Special Crimes making some tapes," she said. "And this is how it
ends. Well, that's fine, Gary. You do whatever you think is
best."

"I'm hanging up now, Catherine.
This will be the last time we speak."

I hung up the
phone and looked at Stricklin. He held up one finger for about a
minute, then pointed at Strong, who dialed her office number again.
What happened next would stun everyone in that room, including the
hard-nosed crime dog, Jerry Carpenter. While her conversation with
me seemed like a speech to the United Nations, the phone call from
Strong would generate comparisons with scenes from a horror show.
In fact, his recording soon would be known around the courthouse as
the
Exorcist Tape
.

"Jim, Jim, I'm so scared,"
Catherine said as soon as she heard his voice. She seemed to be
panting and filled with anxiety. "Why is he doing this to
me?"

"Catherine, I think you've scared
him. He's not used to being around your kind of
violence."

Catherine rambled
in her panic-stricken tone for a while until she talked herself
into a higher level of frenzy, one marked by a succinct change in
tone. She grew angry and finally bellowed with a sound reminiscent
of Linda Blair's possessed ego from the movie
The Exorcist
. Then she started
shrieking.