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This podcast contains references to violence and suicide, as well as language which may not be suitable for children. Listener discretion advised. I woke up, I had five pistols. And I said, you know, I'm going to kill that motherfucker today. I don't care what y'all tell me, you're never going to have a son of a bitch arrest. You're not going to do it. I fucking lost it. I lost it and I was going to kill him. Yeah.
That's Tim Miller. It's toward the end of 2021, and we're driving around Texas together. Not in the part that has cowboy hats or cacti. We're a little south of Houston. Picture a lot of oil refineries, model homes, and chain restaurants. Almost every road there is under construction. It's actually really difficult to navigate. ♪
No, I'm not going by you. I got a damn ticket for doing it. Don't run into me, buddy. Tim's story about driving around with five pistols, threatening to kill someone, jolts me. It goes against everything I know about him. You see, Tim's story is supposed to be inspirational.
He's a real-life superhero. ...Texas EquiSearch founder Tim Miller... Tim Miller with Texas EquiSearch... ...organization that has helped search for the missing all over the country. And now... When kids go missing, he's the one who scours the woods to find them. He's a local legend, though he could give any big city police detective a run for their money. Tim's known as the guy who can find anyone, and he basically lives up to that reputation. ...a missing teenager's body found by EquiSearch volunteers. In fact...
The only person he's never been able to find is the person who murdered his own daughter. Miller went missing in League City in 1984, and her remains were found nearly two years later. Her tragic death inspired her father, Tim Miller, to help families facing the agony that he knew... But Tim has a theory about what happened to Laura. He thinks she was the victim of a serial killer. And at one point, Tim had apparently tried to go to the alleged killer's house, an exact revenge.
And I was like, you know what, I'm letting that motherfucker control me still. I'm letting him control me. Thank God I was not drinking at that time. If I would have been drinking now, I would have been something really, really stupid. So I proved myself, you know what, you don't have to be fucking drinking to go crazy and lose your shit. But Tim didn't commit murder that day. He put his detective skills to work instead.
And now, after nearly four decades, he thinks he has the evidence he needs to put the supposed serial killer away for good. This is Vigilante, an original podcast from Cast Media. The first episode in our five-part series is called Welcome to Tim World. I'm Allie Conte.
Sorry to interrupt for a second, but I just had to ask if you wouldn't mind taking a second rating, reviewing and subscribing to Vigilante in Apple Podcasts. It would really help us out and it would help other people discover the show. And now back to the episode. The first time I read about Tim, I was intrigued by the fact that he'd managed to channel the grief over his daughter's murder into something so positive. I set up a Zoom call to find out more. But Tim is in his 70s and not very technologically adept.
I'm also a terrible teacher. Yeah, so you're letting us record? Yeah, I'm recording on Zoom also. Our conversation starts off a bit awkward, but I quickly realize that Tim and the man he suspects of being a serial killer have a strange amount in common. They both come from dysfunctional families and have somehow managed to live in most of the same places throughout their lives. Not just Ohio, but Florida too.
"Clyde was originally from Ohio and he moved to Deland, Florida. And then he moved to Texas. Well, I was originally from Ohio. I moved to Deland, Florida. And I came to Texas." At one point, the two men are living two doors down from one another in a tiny town called League City, Texas. It's actually almost certain they've been inside the same bar at the same time. But they've never knowingly spoken.
As a journalist, this is the part of the story that stops me in my tracks. It really seems to get at the heart of the classic question of whether serial killers are born or made. Could two people with almost the same background, who grew up in similar families and had lived in all the same places, really turn out to be polar opposites? To the point where they now slot neatly into the roles of hero and villain? But I should note, there's another reason I'm so intrigued.
I've recently obtained my private investigator's license, and I'm looking for my first big case. So when Tim mentions that he has boxes and boxes of evidence to back up his claims, I know what I have to do. Tim believes the local police mishandled his daughter's disappearance, which is why he's taking matters into his own hands. Speaking as both a reporter and a newly minted P.I.,
the chance to potentially be there when you put away a serial killer was too much to pass up. Arrived. Hey, Tim, I think we might be a little early and be outside, but I want to make sure this is your house before I pull in. Do you have like a white Dodge Ram? Yeah. Okay, cool. I'm going to pull in. And you have like a small dog that's staring at me? Okay. Tim is very intense and commanding over Zoom, but way less intimidating in person. I'm five feet tall and he isn't much bigger.
His dog throws me for a loop, too. A white puffball named Baby. But Tim has a real soft spot for animals. He even used to have a pot-bellied pig. I had a garage sale one time. At a garage sale, somebody stole my pig. Were you able to get it back? No. Did you file a police report? What do you do for that? What do you do? I say, well, now I don't have a pig. The sweetness of the scene, coupled with the macabre reason for my visit, it's all a little disorienting.
But the combination is also a defining feature of what I'm going to call Tim world. You see, Tim lives in a universe in which violence and trauma are completely normal, even mundane. And he sometimes forgets that not everyone runs a search and rescue agency that routinely deals with dead children. As a result, talking to him can sometimes be a little jarring. It's a sunny 50-degree day, and Tim is wearing a strange combination of a sweater and flip-flops.
I shake his leathery, brown hand with wide, flat fingers. Then Tim lights up a cigarette. He smokes a ton of Marlboro Light 100s and takes me on an impromptu tour of his property. The horse barn is mostly empty, but there's something there he wants to show me. An old wooden wagon wheel hanging from one of the walls. The thing is clearly a piece of garbage, something that's probably not even worth the $4 he paid for it at a junk store. But the object speaks to Tim.
It's the first thing he bought for his house when he moved into the place. I'll tell you why I bought it. Because it reminds me of my life and a lot of people's lives. Because some of us folks are missing, and a lot of others, we've got to use solid ones in our life. If that makes any sense. That's the story of my life and a lot of people's life right there. I don't know any of us that have a complete circle in our life. So you bought that?
For that reason, when I'd seen that, I said, you know what, this is my life. Tim's life is certainly missing a few spokes, but the wheel is a metaphor in more ways than one. This vigilante's journey is about to come full circle, and I'm in Texas to watch it happen.
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In order to understand what happened to Tim's daughter Laura, it's important to go back to 1984, when a dog emerged from the woods carrying something odd. This was just off the 50-mile stretch of I-45 that connects Houston, Texas to Galveston Island. The area was known as a dumping ground.
The dog was carrying the skull of a 25-year-old cocktail waitress named Heedy Fye, who, just as a quick note, most people, including Tim, are going to refer to throughout the show as Heidi.
Police thought she'd hitchhiked her way out of town when she went missing six months earlier. Laura's mom went to a garage sale. And I'll never forget, she came home and she says, "You know, I went to this garage sale and," she said, "you remember hearing about that girl whose body was found over there in Lake City?" And I said, "Yeah." And she said, "Well, they're the people who was having a garage sale." And of course I said, "Oh my God, that's sad." But you know, you don't think about it anymore from there. It doesn't affect me.
Sam had his own problems to worry about at the time. A bad case of measles had left his daughter, Laura, with brain damage. She struggled to make friends and attempted suicide for the first time at 11.
Although she loved music, she soon had that taken away from her too. She was doing a solo Christmas performance at the Christmas party at the school. In the middle of the performance when she's singing, guess what? She has a seizure. Monday we go to school and the choir director says, "Laura, Laura just can't be in choir anymore. We can't be responsible." Tim had moved his family to Texas in search of the good life. There was a construction boom happening around NASA's Johnson Space Center.
And it seemed like a good opportunity for him to make money. He wanted to give his little girl everything he never had. So to see her floundering broke his heart. So everything that she had that she loved for a short period of time has been taken away from her again because of her physical problem. Laura became sullen and withdrawn, rebellious even. The Millers hoped a fresh start would help. They picked up and moved a few miles down the road from Dickinson to a town called League City.
Laura was 16 at the time. So naturally, the first thing she wanted to do after unpacking was talk to her boyfriend Vernon on the phone. The family's landline wasn't set up yet, so she had her mom Jan drop her off at a gas station payphone the next day. Laura never came home.
Tim was a mess. He eventually lost his construction job because he lacked the energy or the will to work. But he never stopped begging the cops for something to do. Tim wanted to know exactly where they found Heidi Fy's remains.
He figured his daughters might be there too. I said, "Now, would you please tell me where that's at or please search it?" Because Lake City was a small town at that time. And they said, "That property is now private property. It's all fenced in. Nobody can get there. Go home. Wait by your phone. Laura will be calling." I believed the police. I believed it was fenced in. I believed it was private property. I didn't go talk to Heidi's parents. I went back to the police department the next week and the next week.
Tim still managed to put together some clues that the cops had missed. He figured out, for instance, that both Heidi and Laura were last seen at the same payphone. He felt certain that their disappearances were related, but the cops maintained that wasn't the case. So he sat on his hands and waited for bad news. And by February of 1986, 17 months after Laura first disappeared, Tim was at the end of his rope. He checked himself into the hospital for a nervous breakdown.
That day, his wife brought him a newspaper to read. Second page of the newspaper, there was an article that said remains of two females found in Field and League City. We're reading that damn newspaper, St. Field Hottie was found in. So we go to League City Police Department with the newspaper and says, is there any chance one of these girls could be our daughter? They didn't even have a damn missing person report because they just knew Laura ran away. One of those bodies was, in fact, Laura's.
The other was a woman the police called Jane Doe. Both were posed facing up at the sky, just like Heidi was. Another unidentified victim would turn up there in 1991, making a total of four women. Locals began to call this place the Texas Killing Fields. One of the things that just irritated me then and still today about my wife was, you know, they really worked hard to keep Laura alive and then some motherfucker chose to take her life.
A little scene setting here. Tim's telling me this story from inside his house, which is extremely tidy, but very much that of an older bachelor. Think a lot of Velveeta and Manwich in the pantry. The decorative centerpiece is a painting of a horse, and a drag racing car sits in the garage just outside. There are only two books on his bookshelf, both true crime. All of this checks out. It's impossible to imagine Tim watching a movie or reading a novel.
By his own admission, he doesn't like to spend time in his own head. He's been in constant motion since childhood. You know what? My life just wasn't really easy starting out.
As Tim's telling the story, his dog, Baby, is getting jealous.
She jumps back on Tim's lap and demands his attention. Sorry. Hey, silly. You looking up your dad? Come on. After a few minutes, she passes back out and starts snoring. Something disarmingly cute to break up a long, horrifying story. All very Tim world. So then I shifted from foster home to foster home and then moved in with an aunt and uncle. I guess I was probably about four. And he was a...
He was definitely an alcoholic and really didn't want me there. So then I'd go to another aunt and uncle and they were both alcoholics, so that wasn't a whole hell of a lot better. And, I mean, when I was in first grade, second grade, I could take off and hang out with some of my friends for three or four days. Nobody was going to report me missing. And then it was like... Let me grab this real quick. Yes, sir. By the way, get used to that sound. Tim is a guy who spends an enormous amount of time on the phone.
He can be right in the middle of the saddest conversation imaginable and seemingly pivot on a dime. At first, I thought he was just being rude, but it didn't take me long to understand why he does this. Tim lives multiple lives. In one, he runs a construction business and has to check in on jobs. I'm with some reporters out of New York. They're trying to pick my brain. Uh, come on, when you get done, I had a question. I'm talking about your concrete gun. Uh-huh, what do you need? Well, you know,
Bereaved families also call him, all day and night, begging for help from his search and rescue team. He finds himself unable to say no because he can relate to their pain.
Police departments the world over request his expertise, and he travels to them. He has the FBI on speed dial and vice versa. Here he is with a special agent. What are you doing? Just getting in the car to delete some notes. What are you doing? Hey, listen, I want to talk about something. Tim feels guilty about his daughter's death, but he also feels convinced that if the police hadn't stopped him from searching the killing fields, he could have stopped a serial killer.
or at least found some useful evidence. And I hear the stories about Heidi's dad, how he would sit in his recliner at night and talk into his tape recorder and just cry and sob. And how he felt his old feet let Heidi down. And I think it was 1998, I believe, when Heidi's dad died on Christmas Eve and literally died of a broken heart. And you know what? I was mad at him when he died. I...
And I remember going to the cemetery at his headstone, which Heidi's buried right there with him. And I told him, Joe, I'm really upset with you right now, I said, because you left the burden on me. I mean, these girls only had two fathers, it was you and me, and you're gone. I said, I'll be the father to them. I'll do the best I can do, Joe. When Joe died, Tim was the only father left to investigate the killing fields. It was a heavy job, but it was a job. And that was important to Tim.
He'd also be the first one to admit that his unyielding drive to be considered "useful" is a product of his terrible childhood. I always tried to be that overachiever, though. I mean, I remember when I was probably seven years old, Dad, my Uncle Elmer, he never knew what Moody was going to be when he came home. So anyhow, I found this little drill and I drilled a hole in this tire on his car.
And these days, there's no denying he knows how to work a crime scene. His organization, Texas EquiSearch, uses everything from horses to scuba to drones to find missing people.
So at this point, how many people have you found? As of a week ago today, we found one. I think there was 311 that we found deceased. Found many alive. I found a little two and a half year old boy, a dead one. I found him and brought him back to life.
Ran to him. I had a brand new Carhartt jacket, first time I wore it. And I got to him and I picked him up and I put that jacket around him and he had no pulse, no heartbeat, no nothing. He was cold. And then one of our members took his little socks off and put her warm gloves and she's rubbing his leg. I'm giving him CPR and I'm screaming at him. And I said, Owen, come on, buddy, come on. And he goes, oh, he gave out a little moan.
I said, holy shit. So anyhow, I... And now Tim is ready to cash in on all the credibility he's accrued over the decades. He's convinced, absolutely positively beyond convinced, that the guy responsible for the Killingfields murders is a guy named Clyde Hedrick. But here's where things get weird. Tim has already put Clyde in prison for killing someone. Okay, so here's where we're at so far.
Tim and Clyde are two guys who grew up in pretty bad families and moved around the country in an identical pattern. Then one went on to accuse the other of being a serial killer. I've flown to Texas because Tim thinks he can convince me that his daughter was murdered by Clyde and that he also killed three other women in the 80s and early 90s. There are a few reasons that Tim believes Clyde is the killer. The main one is that he's killed a woman before, a woman named Ellen Beeson.
Tim wants to take me to where her skeleton was found. To get there, we head south from Tim's house. After a few miles on Interstate 45, smokestacks become palm trees. The strip malls disappear and are replaced by the dark blue water of the bay. Dolphins periodically leap out of it in pairs. It feels like we're leaving the set of a horror movie for a quick beach vacation. I start to relax, and Tim does too. He even starts getting into his favorite satellite radio station.
This is more Texas hillbilly shit coming up right now, brother. But my relief is short-lived. The ocean is just off in the distance, but instead we pull off onto a dirt road that leads to a totally nude strip club and a bar called Bubba's. Tim stops in front of a small concrete storage shed. This is it, man.
Back in 1984, the same year Laura Miller disappeared, Clyde Hedrick was a regular at a nightclub called the Texas Moon. One night, the bar threw a charity event, and a woman named Candy Gifford met up with their friend there. As the story goes, Clyde started dancing with Candy, and her husband didn't like that very much. The couple got into an argument and left, leaving Clyde alone with Candy's friend. Her name was Ellen Beeson.
The next day, Candy drove by the Texas moon and saw that Ellen's car was still in the bar's parking lot. And Ellen's mom said that she never came home. So I mentioned before that Tim had a ton of evidence that he's been collecting over the years. Boxes and boxes of stuff. I hadn't gotten a chance to go through that all yet, but Tim did give me a tiny audio recorder with some fascinating tape on it. Candy Gifford died in 2019.
But one of the files in the recorder was a conversation that took place between her and Tim, just before she passed. It's pretty hard to make out, but I'm going to play it for you anyway. In it, Candy describes what happened when she confronted Clyde. I'll summarize as we go. Because he told me that when they left out of the bar, that when they walked into the parking lot, there were some guys pulled up in a truck, and she got in the truck with them and left.
And I said, did they have a hat on? Did the guy have tattoos when he was waving out? You know, I was asking all these kind of questions because I never, ever thought that he did it. He was a real charmer. Four months later, Candy was at the Texas moon again. She was still wondering what happened to her friend.
And she ran into Clyde. What was it like that night he took you out to go out to go out? First off, he was drunk. Asked me over and over and over and over questions. And I just said, you know what? I'm going to buy him as much booze as he can hold. And that's what I did. And finally, he just said, you know what? Do you want to go with your friend, dude? And I said, yes, I do. He said, well, let's go. So Candy got Clyde drunk.
She once again asked him what happened. And this time he offered to show her. The two took off in Clyde's blue sports car. The trail, you could see where someone had been walking, you know, because it was weeds. Something like that they use for the railroad, I guess it's a switch or something like that. And it was a little building. And that was his marker, I guess.
It was raining that night, but Candy could see a tiny trail that led into the weeds and ended at a small concrete structure. Candy saw her friend's necklace next to her remains. She asked what happened. He said he was sitting in the jeep, smoking a joint, is what he said. She went out in the walker. She was calling for him, come on, come on, whatever. And he didn't hear her anymore.
Clyde said that he panicked and hid Ellen's body and that he'd kill Candy if she ever told the cops. He took to showing up at her work and to leaving creepy notes on her door. Despite the stalking and harassment, Candy finally came forward seven months later.
And the story Clyde told the police was the same one he told Candy, that Ellen had accidentally drowned and that he'd panicked and hid the body underneath the couch he'd found out there. By then, Ellen's body was severely decomposed. Water from the ravine had washed away any physical evidence there may have been. Clyde was ultimately convicted of abusing a corpse, which is the legal term for moving her body. He was sentenced to a year in county lockup and fined $2,000, a slap on the wrist.
As all this was happening, Tim was trying to figure out who had murdered his daughter. He found out that Heidi Fye, one of the women found near Laura's body, used to work at the Texas Moon Bar. That's where Clyde picked up Ellen Beeson. And he learned that Clyde was his neighbor. Here he is, back in his living room. Then I found out that Clyde knew Laura and stuff. I got affidavits. I said, please, they never followed up. They didn't do anything. And I said, just connect the damn dots.
Tim scoured the hell out of the Killing Fields. He put dozens of holes in the ground with a backhoe. He conscripted dozens of volunteers as well as search dogs trained to detect rotting flesh. He drained a pond, but eventually Tim hit a dead end. There was just no physical evidence to connect Clyde to the Killing Fields murders. But Tim was undeterred and simply channeled his energy toward the Ellen Beeson case instead. He was sure that she hadn't merely drowned. Tim wasn't the only one to doubt the official story.
Ellen was disinterred in 1993, and a forensic anthropologist noticed that her skull had never been properly cleaned. There was a huge crack in it. He ruled the cause of death as homicide, but because his assessment differed from that of the medical examiners, Ellen was put back into the ground. When Tim found out about this whole saga, he begged the cops to exhume her body once again. They eventually did so in 2012. It was a long shot, but it worked.
In a truly remarkable turn of events, Clyde was eventually sentenced to 20 years in prison based on this evidence. And it would have been even more if the district attorney had been able to determine where or how Ellen was murdered. But the case was simply too old. The evidence, long gone. Someone getting convicted of a major crime decades after the fact, that is something that almost never happens. It's like something out of a movie. But while it was a major success for Tim...
It didn't exactly provide him with the closure he was looking for. Putting Clyde behind bars wasn't enough. He wanted to put him behind bars for killing his daughter, Laura. I still go to therapy. I think I've got seniority with my therapist. I think I've got seniority. At this point, you've paid for their whole house, you know? Probably a couple of houses. Yes, sir.
That brings us to the other reason that our hero is always on the phone. He's basically a therapist to everyone else who lost a loved one in the killing fields and never got closure. It can sometimes feel like he's a spiritual guru. Take Vernon, who was Laura's high school boyfriend, the last person she ever spoke to before her disappearance.
He kept in touch with Tim over the years and went on to volunteer with EquiSearch. When he stole the organization's credit card and racked up $4,000 worth of fraudulent charges, it was all over the local news. Tim made a big scene of calling him a disgrace to Laura as he was let out of the EquiSearch office in handcuffs. Vernon nominally does odd jobs in exchange for money and food, although Tim admits there isn't actually much for him to do. We catch Vernon on the way out to get some barbecue.
Shit, you can't afford not to smoke down here. I don't know where we're going with this. I'm just rambling, bouncing back and forth all over the damn place. It's my job to figure that out, so don't worry about it. Good luck. I've got to be at the courthouse at 12. Tim makes fun of him a bit. They going to take you to jail? Probably. Good. But ultimately helps him out. I just, uh, you can't, excuse me, y'all. Can you pay me like two days before payday? Yeah. I'm sorry. I tried to catch you last night.
On the way to Tim's truck, we pass by his beloved broken wagon wheel again, which brings me back to the comment I made before about Tim's life coming full circle. When I first got in touch with Tim, Clyde was behind bars for killing Ellen Beeson. Tim still wanted answers about his daughter, but he didn't think it was a matter of life or death. Then something unexpected happened. By the time I arrived in Texas, Clyde had been released from prison.
He got out early due to a loophole in the law and was sent to live in a halfway house. Suddenly, Tim was right back to where he was in 1984. He truly believed a serial killer was on the loose and ready to strike again. This impending sense of doom was enough to make everyone in Tim world feel a little crazy. And I was no exception. As we drive to the barbecue restaurant, I start to feel like I've been let in on a conspiracy theory. Were the local police really not concerned about Clyde being on the streets?
Were they just in over their heads? I wonder if I should even stay that long. After all, Clyde would probably also not be too happy to find out about me.
The journalist doing a podcast about the man who put him in prison and was now going around and telling everyone who'd listen that he was a serial killer. I try to visualize an escape route if things get crazy. But escaping from Tim World, if it came to that, wouldn't be easy. Almost every exit on the local interstate is under construction. A three-mile trip might take 30 minutes with all the detours. Tim isn't doing much to calm me down either. I woke up. I had five pistols.
That story with the guns took place at least a decade ago. But what's happening now, in the present, feels even more frightening.
Right now, I think he's more capable of harming people when he gets out than even he was before. So I think we can fear him a little, not a little bit more, help a lot more now than before. He's pissed off at everybody now. There's no place to go. Nobody wants him. The only life he knows now is the prison life. So if he goes out and he does something again, guess what? He don't have anything to lose. He's got everything to gain.
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So that's how episode one was supposed to end. But it's Tuesday, May 17th, five days before the show is supposed to launch. And I just jumped into the studio to add a quick addendum because Tim has just called me with some completely unexpected news. Hey, listen. What's up?
Anything I tell you, I don't want you fucking sharing that shit. Some big things are developing right now, and I mean big things. And I can just tell you this, I've solved my daughter's murder. ♪
Next time on Vigilante. I had a person that was going to come out there and take you out of the stables and take you to Las Vegas and put you in a sand dune and beat your ass all the way up there and then just put you in a sand dune. My client killed himself? No, I didn't know that. That's mind-blowing. No, I wanted her ass thrown out. I was just playing games with her. Vigilante is written by me, Ali Conti.
It's produced by Colin Thompson, Trey Schultz, and me. Editing by Trey Schultz. Music editing and supervision by Colin Thompson. Mixing and mastering by Matt Sewell. Voice over and narration was recorded in Cast Studios in Los Angeles and engineered by Trey Schultz. Additional voice over recorded at the Relic Room and MCM Creative in New York and was engineered by Sam Baer and Mike Canzanero. Cover art by Leah Kantrowitz.
Our end credit song is called To Walk Alone, and it's by Rebecca Rose Harris and Franklin Mockett. Our fact checker is Lauren Dispoli. Very special thanks to Hannah Smith. Vigilante is a cast original production.
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