Luggage By Kroger: A True Crime Memoir (29 page)

I had to admit her
new attitude was softening me. I had started to question my
actions, particularly the betrayal to Special Crimes. Although I
thought it had been a wise move, it still left me feeling weak and
embarrassed—as if I had run to the principal after some bully had
grabbed me in the schoolyard. I wondered if I hadn't overreacted to
her tantrums and tried to relive them in my mind to determine if
they had really been so threatening. She talked violently, of
course, but I began to wonder if Catherine really wasn't about 80
percent bluff. One of her attorneys later would describe her to a
magazine writer as someone with a "felony mouth and a misdemeanor
mind." I never mentioned my second thoughts to Strong because I
knew he's just play that
Exorcist
Tape
again and show me the
suitcase.

A couple of days before Stricklin's
call, another of her attorney pals had paid me a bizarre visit in
the press room. He had handled her estate case against the Tedesco
family and obviously was considering an appeal of the jury's
rejection of her claim as the widow. I had only met him briefly one
time before, but he sat down beside my desk to chat just like old
friends. He said he wanted to share some advice and learn what I
might say if I were called to testify about Catherine in a
retrial.

"All I can ever do is tell the
truth," I told him.

"That's all we would ask," he said.
Then he got up to leave while I shook my head.

As I arrived at Special Crimes, I was startled
to see Catherine also walking to the door. She had a wide grin on
her face and spoke to Stricklin as he opened it.

"I'm here to confess," she said
with a chuckle.

"I'm waiting," said
Stricklin.

"I am the head of all illegal
activity in Casablanca," she replied, repeating a Sidney
Greenstreet line from that classic film. I smiled, and Stricklin
grunted.

"Can't we get it a little closer to
Houston?" he asked.

She changed the subject and pointed
at me. "I want him to personally carry that TV down to my car and
put it inside."

"Fuck that," I said. "I didn't have
anything to do with them taking your TV. I don't even know why I'm
here right now."

Stricklin shrugged his shoulders
and looked at me. "She said she wasn't going to take it unless I
got you to personally help load it up. Would you help me out here?
I'll even help you carry it down there."

Obviously licked on this debate, I grabbed one
end of the 25-inch Sony and helped carry it to the elevator. We
followed Catherine out to the curb, where she unlocked her red
Cougar and opened the back door. We slid it onto the seat.
Stricklin thanked me and went back to his office, after I reassured
him I would be all right talking with her on the street.

"Catherine, I know we have had our
problems, but I am really sorry about this television fiasco," I
said. "I had absolutely nothing to do with it."

"Nothing?" she purred. "You can't
really say that can you? Didn't you get it started by running to
Don Stricklin and Jerry Carpenter? But I know it happened because I
can't control my temper. I know I have to work on that. You're not
used to someone like me, a woman who stands up for herself. I
understand."

Her eyes sparkled in the afternoon sun, and
she tilted her head with a mischievous, cocky grin across her face.
I had to agree with at least some of what she had said. I paused,
and she stared at that huge television in her back seat.

"Now, how am I ever going to get
that into my new apartment? Do you have any ideas?"

Forty-five minutes later I was lugging that
Sony into the living room of the duplex apartment I had helped her
rent at 1723 Kipling. I sat it down on a chest and looked around.
She indeed had been busy. The place had a couch, books, lamps,
stereo, and a rug on the floor. She had made it into a home. And
she read my mind.

"Yes," she said, "I have to thank
you for helping me find this place. I love it. It's so close to the
office, and I have so much privacy. Just living here the last few
days has given me a whole new outlook on life and how lucky I
am."

She sounded like that first Catherine I had
met, the ambitious professional in complete control. She had become
again the woman who attracted me with her humor and
spunk.

"Gary, I have experienced an
awakening. I am really going to get my life in order and focus on
my practice. You got me that murder case and I appreciate
that…"

"Catherine, please, you got that
yourself. I just introduced you to Edd. I don't want you telling
people I used my position to help you get an
appointment."

She waved me away and laughed,
saying, "Whatever, whatever. Don't worry about that. You still
introduced me, and I am grateful for that kindness. And guess what?
I'm going to have a Christmas party right here in this apartment to
celebrate my rebirth. I have to show people I'm still in there
slugging. What do you think? Will you come?"

"Sure," I whispered, without
considering the consequences. After twenty years or more to reflect
on the events of this day, I'm still not sure why I did what I did
next. I'm sure that Cindy's reconciliation with Uncle Al had left
me a little depressed and vengeful. I'm sure the television fiasco
had left me vulnerable, foolish, guilt-ridden, and confused about
the single-minded behavior of my allies at Special Crimes. I'm sure
a lingering spark of attraction had flickered into a small fire
within my soul as she talked about her new attitude and the
Christmas party. Most of all, I'm also sure I was extremely horny,
and she looked exceptionally sexy. Perhaps it was a combination of
all those certainties. Perhaps it was something else I'll never
understand. But whatever it was, I decided then to give our
relationship another try.

"I tell you what, Catherine," I
said. "Why don't we get away from everybody tonight? I'll rent a
room at the Holiday Inn and we can have dinner there. We can talk
about the future and maybe find a way to move forward without
killing each other."

"You're serious?"

"If we do that, can you promise me
that I'll be safe? Can you promise me that if I fall asleep I will
wake up in the morning?"

She nodded vigorously, panting and
mimicking a cute puppy waiting for a walk. She put her arms around
my neck and we kissed. That kiss was more passionate than ever
before. And later, at the Holiday Inn, the sex was hotter than ever
before. We had fried shrimp from room service and played with the
tails. We split a bottle of champagne. I halfway expected to die
that night, but I was beginning to feel like I didn't care. Cindy
had hired her own lawyer, and our divorce showed signs of growing
contentious. It felt like Catherine was all that I had. I felt like
I owed her something for all that trouble. She wanted me to be her
escort for the Christmas season. She said we should try it out.
That way, she'd have a date for the lawyer parties around town, and
she could show everybody I had no reason to fear her. I hoped maybe
she would meet someone else in the days ahead and decide to dump me
if I exposed her to such opportunities. I hoped we could find some
way to separate peacefully, and, somewhere down the line, she could
even become a chum who would share some drinks and tell some jokes.
I knew I had always managed to get along with a wide range of
people. Why can't I do that with her? I asked myself. And she
assured me that once the holidays had ended, I could walk away if I
wanted. And nothing would happen.

"Have you had your period, yet?" I
asked.

"Yes, false alarm," she
said.

"You don't have to worry about that
any more with me," I said. "I've had a vasectomy."

"No more diaphragm?"

And when I woke up the next morning
unharmed, I realized I had accepted a new mission with her. I
expected another blowup likely would come and considered the idea
of a long-term relationship delusion. But I also realized I enjoyed
her company in more ways than one. I knew I could have a good time
with Catherine during the holidays while I looked for a peaceful
solution. I viewed her as a box someone had placed in my hands.
When I looked inside, I saw that it held sticks of dynamite. At
that point, I had two options. I could throw it to the side and try
to outrun the explosion. Or, I could set it down gently somewhere
along the sidewalk and just walk away. I was hoping I'd be able to
do the latter.

Sure. And monkeys were about to descend from
heaven with sacks of gold for everyone on earth.

FORTY-ONE

December 8, 1979

Three days after our reconciliation
at the Holiday Inn, Catherine asked for help. She couldn't explain
on the phone. She just said to be ready to ride with her somewhere
and suggested I wear jeans. It was Saturday night and Catherine
showed up about seven in the Cougar with some guy in the passenger
seat. At first I hesitated when she told me to hop into the rear.
Then I figured, "What the hell?"

"Meet Kenneth," she said. He
pivoted in his seat and gave me a big smile. I noticed one of his
front teeth was missing, and I could see he probably had a couple
of inches on me. He looked like he'd be a rough customer if her
plan involved teaching me a lesson with Ken as the professor. I
knew he was not one of her attorney pals. But I really didn't feel
too nervous. I believed I had bought some time at the Holiday
Inn.

"What's going on here?" I
asked.

"Well," Catherine purred with a
chuckle, "I have to take somebody back to jail. He's a bond client
who disappeared a couple of weeks ago. I know he's over at some
apartments in Spring Branch tonight. I wanted to take along some
muscle. Since I couldn't find anyone qualified in that category, I
guess you two will have to do. Ha!"

Kenneth looked at her and started laughing.
Then he looked at me.

"So, Kenneth, how do you know
Catherine?" I asked.

He shrugged his shoulders and
Catherine intervened, saying, "Oh, you might say I've handled some
legal work for Kenneth. That about the size of it,
Kenneth?"

"That's right, Cathy."

Catherine growled and snapped at
him, chiding, "Nobody calls me Cathy. Nobody."

"Sure, sure, I'm sorry. It won't
happen again."

I tried to change the subject and asked
Kenneth his occupation. He told me he worked as a carpenter. Then
he beckoned me forward with his forefinger. I pulled myself over
the seat to see what he wanted just as he jerked a seven-inch
hunting knife from his cowboy boots.

"Whoa," I screamed, rocketing back
into my seat. Catherine glowered at him, but he laughed.

"Don't worry," he said, flipping
the blade into his palm and offering me the handle. "You should
take this?"

"Huh? We're going somewhere I might
need that? If I take your knife, what will you use?"

Kenneth beckoned me forward again and this
time he came up with a .357 Magnum in his hand.

"Take the knife," he said. "That's
our last option, anyway. He'll never get past this."

Catherine started shaking her head back and
forth and clicking her tongue against the roof of her mouth. I had
no intention of even touching the knife for fear of leaving
fingerprints on a weapon that might have come from a
crime.

"You know, Kenneth," I said, "I
think I'll just take my chances. In fact, to tell you truth, if we
get in a situation where I need a knife like that, I'll probably
just run."

"Suit yourself," he said, and slid
the knife back down the side of his boot.

Catherine muttered, "Oh brother,
this is going to be some kind of mess with you two. Leave that gun
in the car."

I must have chuckled a bit too loudly as I
watched Kenneth sulk in his seat like a grade schooler dispatched
to time-out because Catherine turned her attention to
me.

"And you," she said, glancing into
the rearview mirror, "don't try any of your reporter bullshit where
we're going because that bullshit is really weak. If we have any
problem, they will take your press card, or whatever you have, and
just shove it up your ass."

"Yes m'am," I said, saluting. I
wanted to reflect a courageous demeanor but that knife sincerely
had me worried. I realized this could grow strange real fast with
that yokel in the front seat trying to play hoodlum, and I planned
to vanish at the first sign of trouble. We rode in silent darkness
into Spring Branch, a suburban community just west of Houston that
boasted an enclave of apartment complexes catering to young
blue-collar types. I usually got confused trying to find apartments
in those things, but Catherine pulled right into a parking space
and led us along a sidewalk bordered by crepe myrtles and
waxed-leaf ligustrums, then straight to the base of a wrought iron
staircase. She pointed to the balcony on the second floor, where we
could see lights and activity through the window of an
apartment.

"I'm pretty sure that's the one,
but I have to check it out," she whispered. If it hadn't been for
Kenneth and his buck knife, I would have been enjoying this scene
as part of a genuine caper. I had never seen Catherine so serious.
Motioning with her hands and speaking in a whisper, she barked
orders like the platoon leader on a commando raid.