Around town, Henserling was a very well known attorney. He was born with it all, rich parents and brains. One night Slore had remarked to Kelly, “That is a fairly good combination to start life.” After graduating cum laude from the University of Texas, Henserling had started his own practice at an office in the Frost Bank Building. He did extremely well in business and now had several associates who worked with him in the firm.
Kelly was Henserling’s personal secretary, his right hand, as she put it. She’d told Slore she was very fortunate to have been selected out of all the applicants to be Henserling’s secretary.
That was two years ago. It was a good job and she seemed to enjoy going to work every day. She had an enjoyable job. It was quite unlike that of a homicide detective. She loved her work. Slore had had no dealings with Kelly’s boss, since Henserling specialized in corporate law and did almost no criminal work. “He does not like the world of the wacky and immoral,” Kelly once told him.
The last time Slore had seen Henserling was at the law firm’s Christmas party two years ago. He had missed last year’s party because of the extra job at Sears. Slore had seen Henserling one other time last summer at a picnic Kelly’s office had held at Aggie Park. He’d immediately liked Henserling, even if Henserling’s team had beaten his team in the egg‑in‑the‑spoon race.
Slore felt sick. The same sick-to-the-stomach feeling he felt when he knew he was going to throw up. Suddenly his head went numb and the numbness invaded his entire body. This was exactly the same emotion he had experienced the day his dad died. He had been on patrol when the call came over the radio to return to the station for a message. His father had not been sick. He was working at the Toyota plant when he just fell over and died.
Dad had worked as an accountant for them since they moved their truck assembly plant to San Antonio, Slore recalled. When he got to the police station, he was told to call his mother’s house. He knew something was wrong as soon as he heard his sister’s voice. The sickness started when she blurted out, “Daddy’s dead!”
That day the numbness started in Slore’s head and he thought he was going to pass out. Today was just the same. He felt the beginnings of rage. I’ll beat his brains out, he thought, as he opened the door to get out of the car. He had just taken a step or two when the lights of the blue Cadillac suddenly came on and the car pulled away. Did they see me? No, not a chance. Slore quickly got back into his car, but by the time he started his car, the blue Caddy was pulling out of the parking lot and onto the San Pedro access road. They were heading downtown. Slore knew he would have to hurry in order not to lose them as they entered the ramp to the main road just north of the airport.
There was no air in the car. He had to roll the window down to breath. He felt sicker and his hands started to perspire. Instantly, there was that smell. He fought off the impending feeling of doom and made himself drive on. Just a flash and it was over this time. He felt as if someone had turned a heat lamp onto his forehead, and immediately the cool of the evening was lost as he turned the AC to max.
“My wife, Kelly, with another man? No! This must be a dream or a hallucination,” he protested. “Maybe it’s just a hallucination like the colored light show I saw in army boot camp.” Vividly, he remembered the day he licked the stamp. LSD had blown his world apart on that day, the one and only time he had experimented with drugs. It was a dare he would not have taken if he had not already been drunk on tequila. He had never again wanted to trifle with drugs.
But, Slore knew this was no dream or hallucination. It was very real. Kelly was the only woman he had ever loved. He was even a virgin when he married Kelly. She was the only woman he had ever slept with. She and Joey had been his whole life. His family and the police department were all he cared about. How could she kiss another man? Where were they going? He felt as though he had died and was just coming back.
As a police officer, Slore had talked with several people who had been injured and he’d heard them tell of near‑death experiences. He remembered their stories of how they saw everything around them shrinking. They told stories of a calm darkness coming over them as they saw a tunnel of light drawing their soul elsewhere. Most said how calm and unafraid they felt, detached from life. This is how Slore felt as he set a surveillance mode behind the southbound Cadillac. He was not sure where the trip would take him, but there was a sense of depression that settled all around him.
Police training and instinct controlled his driving pattern as he pulled close then dropped back into traffic. He changed lanes when he slowed so he would just fade out of sight if they were watching in their rearview mirror. After years of training in surveillance, he would not be seen tonight. He wondered if he really wanted to know the truth? Somehow he knew that at the end of tonight’s road there lay a sign that read Dead End. He could see the night skyline of downtown San Antonio as the two cars approached Loop 410. He observed the Caddy exit onto the ramp for westbound traffic. Unexpectedly, the Caddy turned into the entrance of the Hilton Hotel. Slore stopped in the darkness. From his hiding place, he saw the Caddy pull under the covered entrance to the hotel.
As soon as the car stopped, a doorman appeared and opened the driver’s door. Henserling, dressed in a dark blue suit, stepped out and quickly walked around and opened the passenger’s door. Slore saw Kelly take Henserling’s hand as she slid out of the car. She looked so happy in the bright lights that lit up the red-carpeted entrance to the hotel.
Unable to bear the sight of Kelly betraying their marriage vows, Slore looked away as they entered the glass doors to the lobby. As he sat in the dark, his heart broke into a million pieces. He sat for a long time until he noticed his right hand was tightly gripping the Glock 9 mm that rested under his left armpit. Nestled in the leather shoulder holster, the gun felt warm to his touch. Slore was suddenly surprised by the lack of anger he felt and, as he sat alone in the darkness, sorrow and sadness swept over him.
Not sure if he were thinking of killing Kelly and Henserling or shooting the top of his own head off, Slore started the car, letting it idle. Thinking crazy thoughts, he wondered why people either sat or lay down to shoot themselves? In all the years he had investigated suicides, he’d never known of anyone to shoot themselves while standing up.
From where he had parked, he looked up to see Kelly and Henserling still at the check‑in desk as they got a room key. He could see that they held hands waiting for the elevator doors to open. His vision blurred. He felt a tight crushing sensation in his chest, as he saw them smiling and laughing in the elevator before the polished brass doors closed around them. As long as he lived, he would never forget the sight of Kelly smiling and laughing when those elevator doors closed. He would always remember the way she looked up at Henserling, like he was a god she worshiped and loved.
Crying was something he had not done since that horrible day three years ago. The day he shot a husband involved in a domestic violence call on Guadalupe Street.
The man, Hector Lopez, had come at him with a cabbage knife, one of those hooked‑blade knives that field hands carry. Lopez just wouldn’t stop and, when Slore had no place to move, he shot. Following his training, he had fired a burst of three shots at his target. All three shots hit Lopez in the chest. He was pronounced dead on arrival at University Hospital’s Emergency Room.
Slore looked away. Through tear filled eyes, he noticed the Tower of the Americas in the rearview mirror. He sat in the car for a long time, waiting for the rage to come, but it never did. Sobs shook his body like thunder and tears splattered on clenched fists as he surrendered to his emotions and cried.
Chapter 3
Slore exhaled a long breath, realizing his sorrow was turning into feelings of revenge. Dear God, please help me, he prayed as he tightly gripped the steering wheel. How much more can I take? Those poor kids’ dead eyes haunting my days, and now I’ve got nights that will be tormented by an adulterous wife! He felt a bolt of aggression creep into his heart