“Something needs to be done about Sheriff Mitchell right away!” Paul said. “For the sake of my family... and my own safety for that matter.”
“Mr. Winston,” she said.
“Paul,” he interrupted.
“Yes, Paul,” she continued. “And, Helen, please. I respect your concerns. I’ve worked in this area before. The Hawkins Sheriff’s Department is highly respected by the law enforcement community, although not so much since Sheriff Mitchell was elected. Regardless, this is why we are following procedure.”
“Of course,” Paul said. “Let me ask you something else.”
“Sure.”
“Do you think Mitchell looked the other way during the investigation of Ahmed’s murder?”
“It’s possible,” Helen replied. “That’s why I’ve alerted my boss, the special agent in charge of the Knoxville office. He’s contacted the Tennessee Bureau of Investigation. Maybe I shouldn’t be telling you this, Paul, but the FBI and TBI will be meeting tomorrow with the Hawkins County Board of Commissioners. They will be discussing the suspension of Sheriff Mitchell. That’s the procedure I mentioned earlier.”
“Can they do that?”
“Yes,” she said. “They can suspend him immediately pending an inquiry.”
“Do you think Martin’s father tried to influence Mitchell’s investigation to protect his son?” Paul asked.
“It happens,” she replied. “I’ve discovered that Albert Semaka was not only a major contributor to Mitchell’s election campaign, but also funded a negative campaign against his nearest competitor, the incumbent. On top of that, Mitchell and Semaka are hunting buddies and were chums growing up. Rather cozy. Of course, Semaka is a county commissioner. He’s still in Germany so won’t be at the commission meeting.”
“I expect we’re on our own until Mitchell is replaced or reinstated,” Paul said.
“Looks that way,” she replied.
“You may be interested in something else about Albert Semaka,” Paul said. “He’s the controlling shareholder of a company that tried to block the purchase of some property on Highway 11 West that I was handling for an investor.”
“Yes,” Helen said. “I’ve been in contact with Kirby Clark.” She raised her well-groomed eyebrows, “There’s one other thing.”
“Yes?”
“We received an alert from Interpol yesterday,” she said. “It was a follow-up to a request from MI5 in Britain. I was surprised, Paul, to learn that you are authorized to access this information. Otherwise I wouldn’t be sharing as much of this with you. In point of fact, the message was flagged specifically for your attention. May I ask why?”
“That is the second reason you asked me to come down, right?” Paul asked.
“Yes,” she replied.
“I’ve done some work for MI5,” he replied. “What else did Interpol authorize you to share with me?”
“It was in regard to a fugitive by the name of Maurice Eldridge,” Helen said.
“Has he been caught?”
“No,” she replied. “Interpol believes he may be in Iran.”
“Damn!” Paul said. “What about his wife?”
“Interpol believes she’s with him... goes by the name of Marion Stapleton,” she replied. “Evidently they were accompanied by a third person, Kazem Mehregan.”
“I see,” Paul said. “Mehregan is Eldridge’s half-brother; both were born in Iran to different mothers. Mehregan was the leader of a drug gang in London. The gang is linked to an international crime syndicate based in Turkey. Nasty people.”
“I should tell you,” Helen said. “Interpol emphasized that the whereabouts of those three cannot be confirmed at this time. They could be on the loose elsewhere.”
“That’s not good,” Paul said. “It would be helpful for my family’s safety if those three were in Iran, or better yet in custody. Them being elsewhere could pose a serious problem.”
“Yes indeed,” she replied.
Chapter Seventy-One
Two weeks later
McKinney’s Restaurant
“George, there’s an urgent call for y’all at the desk.” Floyd Nicholson, manager of the Hale Springs Inn, called over to George Spencer. Paul and he were having lunch.
“Thanks, Floyd,” George said. He rushed back seconds later. “I’ve got to go! We have a wildfaar at the tree farm... the faar department has refused to respond.”
“I’ll come with you,” Paul said.
As George pulled away from the curb in his red Ford pickup, Paul asked, “What’s the problem with the fire department?”
“Something about jurisdiction,” George said. “I don’t understand it. Other folks in my area have never had a problem before.”
The smoke became more intense as George and Paul got closer. They could barely see the sign, ‘Tennessee Forestry Inc.’, as George maneuvered the speeding four-door pickup through the gate.
Employees and students looked on helplessly as flames burned fiercely through a large grove of deciduous trees at the back of George’s farm and the one next to his. Irrigation hoses dangled forlornly from some hands, while others leaned exhausted on shovels. From the looks of frustration and disappointment on their faces it was obvious they’d been forced to withdraw from the raging fire. Not a single fire truck was on the scene.
“Where’s the faar department?” George asked one of the farmer-owners.
“We called them repeatedly,” he replied. “They said they were on their way. Where the hell are they? I reckon people could have been killed... houses burned down! At least we were able to save most of the buildings. What the hell’s going on?”
“Ah don’t know,” George said. “We’re going to find out. Any idea how it started?
A group of the volunteer firefighters had gathered around George and Paul.
“It was deliberately set,” yelled a familiar voice from among the crowd.
“How do you know?” Paul asked, peering into the crowd through the swirling heavy smoke, trying to identify the source of the voice. He couldn’t locate it.
“I was doing an inventory of the hardwoods when someone knocked me down,” the woman’s voice replied. “I blacked out. I’m lucky some students came looking for me. They probably saved my life. When I came to, they were carrying me away from the fire.”
George shouted to Paul. “I’ll call the sheriff again. They need to send someone out here right now, damn it!”
Paul waved and moved through the gathered crowd toward the sound of the woman’s voice.
Looks like it’s about time the tree farm got its own firefighting equipment, Paul thought, making a mental note to speak with Malcolm about it when he got back to town.
Long dark hair screened part of the woman’s face, covered in soot. A smear of blood stained her upper lip, coming from a bleeding nostril.
He was about to say, ‘Hi, I’m Paul Winston.’ Instead he said, “What in the world are you doing here Kirby?”
“I came to see George,” she said, unable to conceal the twinkle in her eyes. She saw the surprised look in Paul’s eyes and laughed. “We’ve been seeing each other regularly... okay, constantly... okay, we’ve been living together here... since we all had dinner a few weeks ago. “Now, it’s your fault, Paul,” she teased. “George and I clicked immediately the minute we met. We didn’t want anyone to know until we were sure.” Her face wore a smile that seemed a mile wide. “We’re sure!”
“I’m delighted for both of you!” Paul said. “Good for you two... you sly ones.”
“Where’s George?” Kirby asked.
“He’s trying to reach the sheriff’s office,” Paul said. “They’re none to cooperative since Jeff Mitchell was suspended. Seems that when he became sheriff, he fired the experienced deputies and hired a bunch of cronies. If we can find an honest deputy, would you be available to speak to them?”
“Of course.” Kirby smiled. “I’m not going anywhere... ah, not without George.”
Rows of white teeth sparkled through the layers of soot.
“Did you get a look at the person who attacked you?” Paul said.
“Naw, I didn’t see him or her,” Kirby said. “I saw two or three figures near me in the trees just before, but I thought they were students doing what I was doing... marking hardwood trees. They might very well have been setting the fire. Before I could say anything, someone hit me from behind.”
Paul watched Kirby smile as George arrived from behind her and put his arms around her. She leaned her head back onto his chest, tired but clearly happy.
***
Two hours later, Paul was seated at George’s kitchen table. The fire had almost burned itself out. The police and fire department still had not arrived.
“I’m just relieved no one was hurt,” George said. “Our fellow owners lost a few sheds, but fortunately none of our people lost their homes or barns, or worse.”
“There’s no excuse for the police and fire department not showing up,” Paul said.
George chuckled. He looked at some of the other farmer-owners. They smiled back.
“What’s so funny?” Paul asked.
“First of all, the faar department is all volunteer. The sheriff’s department is taking calls temporarily while a new phone system is being installed. I reckon the calls probably never got beyond the sheriff’s office.”
“What’s funny about that?” Paul replied.
He looked at George with raised eyebrows.
“An uncontrolled faar like that is damned dangerous,” George said. “However, while they didn’t know it, whoever started that faar did us a favor.”
“Seriously?” Paul said.
“Yes,” George replied. “Now, you see, the deciduous trees are hardwood, and don’t have much market value around here beyond faarwood. Conifers are softwood. They can be milled into lumber and other building materials. We were planning to harvest the hardwoods and sell them for faarwood. We’re going to replant the land with conifers. That faar helped clear that land for us.”
He glanced over at Kirby and smiled affectionately. “Ironically, Kirby is so enthusiastic about what we’re doing here she’s been volunteering her spare time. Today, she was helping the team mark the hardwoods to be removed. We hadn’t expected arson.”
“Any idea who might be responsible?” Paul asked.
“I reckon one of the big timber companies was behind this,” George replied. “It wouldn’t surprise me one bit.”
I’d better have an investigator look into this, and hire security guards, Paul thought. Chances are this isn’t going to end here.
Chapter Seventy-Two
McKinney’s Restaurant
The Next Day
“Anne, I’d like you to meet Helen Cabrera,” Paul said, arriving at Helen’s table.
“Nice to meet you, Anne,” Helen said. “I’m delighted, Paul, that you and your family can join me for supper. These young people must be Doug and Catherine. I’m pleased to meet you. Catherine, you’re almost the same age as my little girl, Margarita. I hope you two can meet someday.”
Catherine looked up at her mother, before walking over and holding out her hand to Helen.
“Meetchu,” the toddler said.
They were finishing dinner when Helen asked Paul. “Do you mind doing some business for a few minutes? I have to leave for Knoxville early tomorrow. Be back in a couple of days.”
“Not at all,” Paul replied. “In fact, thanks for bringing it up. I have a question for you. Have you heard any rumors as to who might have been responsible for the fire at George Spencer’s tree farm the other day?”
“As you may know, calls to the Rogersville Volunteer Fire Department are being taken temporarily by the Sheriff’s Department,” Helen replied. “The good news is the fire chief is up in arms about not being notified and has asked our forensic people for help. That’s given us access to the case.
“Here’s what I’ve been able to find out so far. First, there’s reason to believe those responsible may be associated with a company called Appalachian Forest Products. It’s a large privately held corporation and very secretive. The second point will be of special interest. Albert Semaka is the dominant shareholder in AFP. It’s also the same company that’s been trying to buy farms in George Spencer’s area.”
“Just as we suspected,” Paul said. “It sounds like you’re making progress.”
“There’s more,” Helen said. “Rumors have it that AFP executives were outraged when Mr. Spencer outfoxed them by making all of the participating farmers shareholders in Tennessee Forestry Inc.”
“Do you think that would be considered a sufficient motive for arson?” Paul asked.
“Hard to prove,” she said. “We’re helping the Tennessee Bureau of Investigation look into that. The presence of the FBI, and the appointment of a retired FBI special agent as acting sheriff, starting on Monday, will support a few long-term deputies who’re happy to have a real cop in charge. As for AFP, we’ve just received search warrants to seize all of their office records, to monitor all AFP phone traffic, and to seize phone records for the days leading up to and immediately following the forest fire. There’s one other tidbit of evidence that will interest you,” Helen said.
“It seems your former attorney, Allen Sorokin, is also a buddy of Albert Semaka,” Helen said. “The two of them and Jeff Mitchell chummed together in high school. Back then they called themselves, ‘The Three Musketeers.’ Not much has changed since. Here’s the really interesting part. Kirby Clark has confirmed that Sorokin and his wife are on that German river cruise as guests of the Semaka’s.”
“Well, well,” Paul said. “A nice tidy package.”
“Yup,” Helen answered with a smile. “We’re in the process of seeking extraditions for all four members of that ‘tidy package’ as you call it.”
Chapter Seventy-Three
2:30 a.m.
Andrew Johnson Suite
“I’m calling to resign, Milord.”
Paul recognized Malcolm’s Churchillian voice on the phone, despite the fog of sleep.
“I’ve betrayed you terribly, sir,” he added. “I have left myself with no option but to leave your service... in shame and with the deepest of regrets, I might add.”
“What on earth are you talking about, Malcolm,” Paul said as he struggled to wake. He looked at the clock on the bedside table, shocked at what he saw.
Two-thirty in the morning!
“Malcolm, have you been drinking?” Paul asked, knowing how absurd the question sounded to him and must sound to Malcolm. “Do you know what time it is here?”
“I sincerely wish I had a few stiff drinks in me, Milord,” Malcolm replied. “I might do just that, shortly.”
“Okay, I’m awake now,” Paul said sitting up in bed. Anne’s questioning eyes peeked from beneath the cream-colored sheets, equally curious about the nature of Malcolm’s nocturnal call. “Are you going to tell me what this all about?”
“I betrayed you, Milord,” Malcolm repeated. “I betrayed you terribly... I almost got you and Lady Anne killed. Oh my! Oh my! I’ll never forgive myself, sir.”
“Malcolm!” Paul said. “Please calm down. I have no idea what you’re going on about. Please explain yourself man!”
“We’ve all been terribly perplexed, sir,” Malcolm said. “About how the Turkish syndicate and that gang seem to know where you and your family are at any given time.”
“Well, yes, Malcolm, the authorities are looking into that,” Paul replied. “There’s no need to concern yourself.”
“On the contrary, Milord,” Malcolm replied. “It so happens that it is very much my concern. It’s been my fault all along. Oh my! I’m absolutely mortified, Milord! I am forced to confess, sir, that the leak of that information originated in my office.”
“Good heavens, Malcolm,” Paul said. “Are you sure?”
“I’m afraid so, Milord.”
“Do you mean to tell me that your pa
ralegal, Deon Lefhoko, was leaking information to the syndicate? That he was responsible?”
“Oh no, Milord,” Malcolm replied. “Not that fine young man… much worse than that. The person responsible is my new executive assistant, Simone Hassam. She was arrested an hour ago by Scotland Yard as an accomplice to the attempted murder of you and Lady Anne, and for criminal breach of trust, among other charges.”
“Good gracious, Malcolm,” Paul asked. “Why would she do that?”
“The syndicate somehow discovered that Ms. Hassam has family living in Turkey... maternal grandparents and a married sister with small children,” Malcolm said. “They threatened to harm her family there. She was accepting hundreds of pounds in payment every time she tipped them off about your travels. That’s how she was caught.”
“How so?” Paul asked.
“She was transferring large sums to a bank account in Turkey, hoping to bring her family to the UK. The money was far more than she was earning. The large transfers raised flags with banking regulators. When the authorities became suspicious, the police arranged to tap her phones. We have audio tapes of her phone calls.”
“So the leak’s been plugged, right?” Paul said.
“Well, yes Milord,” Malcolm said. “But one serious problem remains.”
“What’s that?”
“One of the wannabe assassins knows where you are and is not accounted for.”
“Not anymore, he isn’t,” Paul said.
“Sir?”
“The FBI thinks he took a shot at me the other day,” Paul said. “So he most likely was here and he probably is still around. There’s an APB out for him.”
“Oh my,” Malcolm said. “It’s my fault he’s been able to track you and your family, sir. Accordingly, I have no option but to tender my resignation forthwith.”
“I won’t hear of it, Malcolm,” Paul said. He hoped his firm tone conveyed the strength of his conviction.
“No sir, respectfully,” Malcolm protested. “I must resign.”
Secret Shepherd Page 31