Scotty,” he said.
“You’re kidding! How did that happen?”
“They spent the night. It was very uncomfortable for everybody. I went out for a while with Scotty. We went to the park in the neighborhood. I was pretty relieved when they left.”
My dad was put off balance by Patti’s sudden appearance. He sounded completely bewildered to me, which was remarkable because he was almost never at a loss like that. My dad and Patti were just weeks from the decree finalizing their divorce. They were in the middle of World War III. Why would Patti do that after all the vitriol? Six months earlier, in her divorce petition, she had called my dad an unfit father who, among other grievances, showed his young son pornographic videotapes. The press had jumped all over that—“Hogan’s a Pervert!” Of course, my dad denied those accusations, and that’s when attorneys became involved and things turned really ugly. Maybe Patti was trying to con my dad into thinking they still had a marriage, but that was a lost cause. My dad wasgone on that issue. He was moving ahead, getting on with his life. Perhaps she did it as a show for the attorneys or even for the court, but Patti never lost sight of the fact that there was a lot of property at stake for her.
To this day I don’t know how she knew where he was staying. Patti knew my dad was going to be in Scottsdale only for a couple more weeks, and she was uncertain what was going to happen when he got home. She did not like uncertainty. I think she was there on a combination reconnaissance mission and a kind of perverted, half-assed attempt to show her son what a wonderful mother she was by taking him to see his dad, even though it was the worst possible time to do that. I think it was all for show. Her visit was especially odd considering that the only intercourse Patti and my dad were having was the volley of threatening letters that ricocheted between their divorce attorneys.
Was she getting the layout of enemy territory? Was she the scout for the agent or agents of destruction that would follow in her wake? Did she just want a few minutes alone in my dad’s apartment to look for something or things known only to her? After the murder it was discovered that one of the two sets of keys for the apartment was missing. Did Patti pick them up while she was there? The police never found the keys, nor did they ever seriously investigate Patti’s possible participation, active or otherwise.
In the morning, Lloyd Vaughn, Bill Goldstein, and I had breakfast together before going to the Scottsdale Police Department. I felt a little wobbly emotionally. We talked to Detective Dennis Borkenhagen and Lieutenant Ron Dean, who were leading the investigation. While they were asking me about jealous boyfriends of cocktail waitresses I kept reiterating that they needed to take a closer look at Patti’s motives and movements. They ignored me. They had their noses down on their own trail of clues.
Vaughn, Goldstein, and I boarded a plane and flew back to Burbank. I thanked Lloyd and Bill for all their help, got in my car, and drove to the Westwood apartment I had shared with my dad. I knew my time there was on life support. A security guard was standing outside the front door. I didn’t know who he was, who he was affiliated with, or on whose behalf he was there. The guard was about my age, with bad skin, and we talked for a minute. He was just there doing his job and didn’t know anything about anything. His job was to secure the apartment. He was, it turned out, hired by Patti to make sure nothing was taken from the apartment,and in performing his duties he refused to let me into my own home. I showed him my key, explained I had been living there for the past six months with my dad, and told him I needed to go into the apartment. He went in to phone his superiors, leaving me standing on the front step, door shut in my face, like an unwanted peddler. Somebody contacted Patti. After what seemed
“You’re kidding! How did that happen?”
“They spent the night. It was very uncomfortable for everybody. I went out for a while with Scotty. We went to the park in the neighborhood. I was pretty relieved when they left.”
My dad was put off balance by Patti’s sudden appearance. He sounded completely bewildered to me, which was remarkable because he was almost never at a loss like that. My dad and Patti were just weeks from the decree finalizing their divorce. They were in the middle of World War III. Why would Patti do that after all the vitriol? Six months earlier, in her divorce petition, she had called my dad an unfit father who, among other grievances, showed his young son pornographic videotapes. The press had jumped all over that—“Hogan’s a Pervert!” Of course, my dad denied those accusations, and that’s when attorneys became involved and things turned really ugly. Maybe Patti was trying to con my dad into thinking they still had a marriage, but that was a lost cause. My dad wasgone on that issue. He was moving ahead, getting on with his life. Perhaps she did it as a show for the attorneys or even for the court, but Patti never lost sight of the fact that there was a lot of property at stake for her.
To this day I don’t know how she knew where he was staying. Patti knew my dad was going to be in Scottsdale only for a couple more weeks, and she was uncertain what was going to happen when he got home. She did not like uncertainty. I think she was there on a combination reconnaissance mission and a kind of perverted, half-assed attempt to show her son what a wonderful mother she was by taking him to see his dad, even though it was the worst possible time to do that. I think it was all for show. Her visit was especially odd considering that the only intercourse Patti and my dad were having was the volley of threatening letters that ricocheted between their divorce attorneys.
Was she getting the layout of enemy territory? Was she the scout for the agent or agents of destruction that would follow in her wake? Did she just want a few minutes alone in my dad’s apartment to look for something or things known only to her? After the murder it was discovered that one of the two sets of keys for the apartment was missing. Did Patti pick them up while she was there? The police never found the keys, nor did they ever seriously investigate Patti’s possible participation, active or otherwise.
In the morning, Lloyd Vaughn, Bill Goldstein, and I had breakfast together before going to the Scottsdale Police Department. I felt a little wobbly emotionally. We talked to Detective Dennis Borkenhagen and Lieutenant Ron Dean, who were leading the investigation. While they were asking me about jealous boyfriends of cocktail waitresses I kept reiterating that they needed to take a closer look at Patti’s motives and movements. They ignored me. They had their noses down on their own trail of clues.
Vaughn, Goldstein, and I boarded a plane and flew back to Burbank. I thanked Lloyd and Bill for all their help, got in my car, and drove to the Westwood apartment I had shared with my dad. I knew my time there was on life support. A security guard was standing outside the front door. I didn’t know who he was, who he was affiliated with, or on whose behalf he was there. The guard was about my age, with bad skin, and we talked for a minute. He was just there doing his job and didn’t know anything about anything. His job was to secure the apartment. He was, it turned out, hired by Patti to make sure nothing was taken from the apartment,and in performing his duties he refused to let me into my own home. I showed him my key, explained I had been living there for the past six months with my dad, and told him I needed to go into the apartment. He went in to phone his superiors, leaving me standing on the front step, door shut in my face, like an unwanted peddler. Somebody contacted Patti. After what seemed
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