Mountain Justice

by Phillip W Price

  After I had crossed the state line, I stopped at a payphone to call the GBI Radio Room. For once, I was early. There were no messages, and I didn’t tell the radio operator about tonight’s adventures. It took almost two hours for me to wind my way around from east of Chattanooga to Copperhill to Blue Ridge.

  When I got to my room, I rode through the parking lot. I decided to put my original license plate back on my car. But first, I rode around the motel parking lot once to check for Gilmer County plates. I didn’t see any, so I got out and went to my room.

  I pulled out the computer and started working on my report for the day. I spent several minutes deciding what to do about the chase. I could make no mention of it, or I could lie about the details. Lying wasn’t really an option. A GBI Agent who lies in a report won’t remain a GBI Agent. So, I laid out the story as briefly as I could.

  I wrote out my report, and then I got out my vodka bottle and some assorted packages of Kool-Aid. I got a Sprite from the vending machine down from my room and added a good measure of Absolut to the glass then sprinkled in some cherry Kool-Aid powder and a splash of Sprite. I swirled the mix around, neither shaken nor stirred. I enjoyed the burn of the first sip, and then I sat back.

  I rehashed the facts in my mind, but it seemed to me that this case was going nowhere. And the feeling of uneasiness was like a weight that hung around my neck. I may have had a lot to report, but up till now, it didn’t amount to much.

  CHAPTER 6

  THE CURIOUS INCIDENT

  OF THE DOG IN THE NIGHT

  I didn’t sleep well, again. I was up and pacing the floor when the sun came up. I could tell there were huge gaps in what little I had uncovered.

  I decided I needed to go back and spend some more time with Shelia Haney. But first, I wanted to get with Willie Nelson. I needed to test the waters before I came strolling back into town.

  My mouth tasted like I had been chewing on my pillow, but that was from the vodka last night. The first drink had been good and stiff. It tricked me into a second one that was even stronger.

  I brushed my teeth, showered and shaved, and then brushed my teeth again.

  I got on the computer and ran a GBI intelligence check on everybody from the courthouse I could think of. I guessed it would take a couple of days to get a return on that.

  Before I left my room, I called Willie’s house. He answered on the third ring.

  “Are you on your way out this morning?” I asked.

  “What is a narc doing calling me this early?” he chuckled.

  “Got a lot on my mind, I guess. What’s on your plate for the day?”

  “Just getting ready to head out the door. You want to meet somewhere for breakfast?”

  “That would be great. You name it.”

  Willie thought about it for a minute. “There is a Waffle King just north of where you are staying. I’ll meet you there in about fifteen minutes.”

  I hung up and checked my computer one last time for any overnight emails. There weren’t any notices that any of my license plates had been run, so I considered that a good thing. I put the computer in the back of the Expedition and drove over to the Waffle King. I parked as close to the back as I could.

  I found a booth that gave me a good view of the front door and the seating area, and sat with my back to the wall. I didn’t have long to wait. In less than ten minutes, Willie came rolling into the parking lot in his green DNR truck. He took his time looking the area over, and then he came inside.

  He seemed to be surprised to see me. He walked over and sat in the booth. “I didn’t see your truck outside.”

  “Good,” I said. “I wanted it where it would be hard to see if you weren’t doing a grid search for it.”

  “Have we kicked over a hornet’s nest?”

  “Maybe bumped into it. Let’s order, then I’ll lay things out for you.”

  Both of us ordered a ham and cheese omelet with hash browns. I had coffee to drink, and Willie ordered sweet tea.

  As the order was filled, and then while we ate, I brought him up to date. I took my time because I knew talking out the details would help things gel for me.

  When I finished, Willie leaned back and stretched. “Wow. You’ve got ’em worried. Otherwise, they wouldn’t be pulling some of this stuff on a GBI Agent. What can I do to help?”

  I leaned in and lowered my voice. “Can you go by Gilmer SO and talk to whoever is hanging around?”

  “Sure. That’s part of my job.”

  “Here comes the hard part. I need you to tell them you met a white Tahoe coming over the top of Fort Mountain hauling ass. You thought he might be running from someone, but never saw a patrol car. Make up a reason why you didn’t see the marked car in the ditch.”

  “A Tahoe?”

  “I want to get some of the heat off of my car. Tell them you’re sure it was an older model Tahoe with a couple of teenagers in it.”

  Willie liked the idea. “I can do that. Anything else?”

  “Yep. Tell them you had dinner with me last night in Blue Ridge. We met at about five, and I hung out at your house until after dark.”

  “Okay. Sounds good to me. Anything else I can do for the good of the cause?”

  “Just keep your ears open. They may buy this story, and they may not. Either way, they will have just enough doubt to give me a little more time.”

  “Are you going to call in the troops?” Willie asked.

  “Not just yet. I want to get some idea of what’s going on here. They sent me up here to do a job, and it’s not done yet.”

  “These good ole boys up here play rough. Don’t wait too long to ask for help. We’re way off the radar up here.”

  “Thanks, Willie. And don’t you go too far out on any limbs for me. Okay?”

  He smiled and nodded. “What can they do to me? Send me out in the woods all day to deal with drunk hunters? I already do that.”

  We parted ways, and I headed back into the lion’s den. Once more, I watched my rearview mirror. The entire drive, I expected to see a car with blue lights coming up behind me. I made it into town without incident.

  I parked away from the courthouse and took a circuitous route to the front door. When I was about a block away, I saw the Sheriff standing on the front portico. He was looking over the square. I didn’t have any real reason to be concerned about him, but I decided not to go directly inside. I strolled into a place called the Fudge Center on the square and watched through the front window as the Sheriff paced.

  I assumed he was looking for me.

  He went back inside after about fifteen minutes. I walked as casually as possible to the courthouse and jogged up the steps. When I got to the top, there on the portico, Sheriff Hodge seemed to be waiting for me. I tried to hide my surprise. “How you doing, Sheriff Hodge?” I stuck out my hand.

  His shake was a hit and run—no real contact. “Needing some fudge this early in the morning?” He couldn’t help but let me know he saw me. He wasn’t wearing glasses, so he must have eyes like a hawk.

  He wanted to put me off balance, see how I reacted. When I didn’t take the bait, he said, “You about finished up with your investigation up here?”

  “I can’t say I’m done, but I can say I’m getting there. Hope my talking to the folks here in the courthouse is not causing any problems.”

  Hodge tried to give me a sharp look. He always seemed to stand very erect and tried to make you feel like he was looking down at you. He stared for a couple of seconds without speaking.

  A sudden gust of wind blew his gelled hair. His head looked like an old model Buick when the trunk flies open. He reached up with his left hand and smoothed his hair back down. His face didn’t soften, but he said, “No problems. Just want you to do whatever it is you need to do and then go back home. We are always willing to cooperate with the state and federal officers who come here to snoop around.”

  “Well, Sheriff, I wish you wouldn’t think of me as a snoop. I’m just asking qu
estions and reviewing some documents. I don’t mean to get under your skin. I’m just trying to do the job they sent me to do.”

  Hodge gave me another hard look. “Maybe while you’re asking around, you could find out who rammed my deputy’s car last night. Almost killed him. That boy is alive by the skin of his teeth.”

  “Damn, Sheriff. Sorry to hear about that. Is he in the hospital?” I kept my face neutral. I had no intentions of giving up anything at this point.

  The Sheriff’s eyes cut to the left. I thought for a second someone was coming up behind me. Finally, he said, “He’s home healing up. I told him to rest ’cause I’m afraid he may come down with PSTD.”

  I nodded solemnly. “Well, let me know what I can do to help.” Then, as an afterthought, “Is there any kind of lookout on the vehicle?”

  He rubbed his chin as if he were trying to remember something—or decide what to tell me. I took out my pen and my pad to take note of the information.

  “Said it was a white SUV. Had Tennessee plates. A DNR Ranger supposedly saw a white Tahoe about that time. But we don’t have much else.” I dutifully wrote the time, the date, and the information the Sheriff had given me.

  “Any idea on the plates? Even with just a partial, the TBI can do a search in their databases.”

  He rocked on his feet. “Not right now. But I got my boys beating the bushes. We’ll turn something up eventually. We always do.” Then he paused and gave me another hard look. “You can run, but you can’t hide.”

  “Bad folks always forget something,” I replied. He stared into my eyes. It wasn’t time to drop any hints about the Tennessee body just yet. “Well, let me know if there is anything the GBI can do to help you.”

  He grunted and walked off without another word.

  With that, I turned and went into the Commissioners’ Office. Shelia Haney was standing in the same spot, it seemed like. Before lunch, she seemed to be full of energy.

  “I figured you’d be back,” she said.

  I smiled my best smile. “You figured right, ma’am.”

  She stalked around behind her desk. She seemed to hover in place rather than sit in her desk chair. “What can I tell you today that everybody in this county except you knows?”

  I smiled. “That covers a lot of ground. I’m looking to learn about the contractors who do the most business with the county.”

  “I don’t know most of them. They’re from out of the county. But if they get along with our Commissioners and the Sheriff, well, they probably aren’t folks I’d trust.” She leaned forward conspiratorially. “Lots of people in this courthouse take over an hour for their lunch break. I am always careful to never take more than my allotted time. Most of the people working here don’t care about things like that.” She gestured toward the door. “I had to put my Dolly down, and they acted like I was crazy because I took a day off. A day of my leave, mind you.”

  I must have looked confused because she added, “Dolly was my shih tzu. The closest thing I ever had to a child.”

  I nodded in agreement. “That’s a poor way to treat someone who’s been as loyal as you have.”

  She leaned in again. “They all treat me like part of the furniture. But without me this place would shut down.”

  I walked over to her desk and laid my pad down on the corner. I wanted her to get the idea that this was a personal conversation. “People like you are the glue that holds these operations together. I hope you know there are some people out there who need you. People who count on the government for services.” I shook my head. “I bet there isn’t anybody else in this courthouse who knows what’s going on. They better try to hold on to you.”

  I was making an ally. I waited for her to start digging in her files. After just a few seconds, she had shifted back to my original question.

  “The biggest is Georgia Hospital Food Services in Calhoun. They do the food services for the jail. Next is Dalton Paving. They get most of the county contracts for road repairs and upgrades. What Dalton doesn’t get goes to a small company here in the county. Last of the big three is Oakwood Street Commercial Plumbing. They do all the work for the Water and Sewage Authority. Exclusive contract. They got that because they know where all the pipes are buried. The Commissioners decided it was cheaper to pay one company with a total knowledge of the water system than to have several companies coming in and always looking for where pipes are and what not.”

  I nodded. “Makes sense to me. Do you have any kind of paperwork on these companies? Even just physical locations of offices, phone numbers, that kind of stuff.”

  “Sure,” she said. “Give me a couple of minutes, and I’ll get that information for you.”

  She flitted off into an adjacent office, and I could hear her opening and closing file cabinets. Periodically, I heard a copy machine working.

  I decided to take the opportunity to look the office over. It was tight, with technology that was added a bit at a time. The printer for her computer was perched on top of a cardboard box. Overloaded bookcases were piled high with notebooks and catalogues. Everywhere you looked there were documents, ledgers, or invoices.

  When she came out, she seemed irritated. “I guess we are going to have to require these department heads to be more diligent. I don’t have current paperwork on any of these companies. People don’t follow the rules, plain and simple.”

  “If you have older paperwork on the companies, I should be able to work from that,” I told her.

  She shook her head. “Sure, you can do it, but that’s not the point. We must have certifications proving contractors have the proper level of insurance. There are strict federal guidelines on how we are to validate our vendors. We could get in a lot of trouble for not keeping this paperwork up to date.”

  “So, none of the big three have the proper paperwork on file?”

  “Oh, it’s not all. But the paving company validations are from two years ago. And the validations for Oakwood Street Commercial Plumbing haven’t been updated in eight years.” She marched around the filing cabinet to her desk, tossing the problem files on it. She waved her hands and pointed at the stack of papers. “God only knows what else hasn’t been kept up with.”

  I was surprised to hear her venting. “Seems like you run a pretty tight ship. How did this problem get past you?”

  She dropped the papers she was holding. “Young man, I won’t be blamed for this.”

  I shook my head. “No blame. I was just wondering if these files were out of place and didn’t get updated.”

  “They weren’t misplaced. They were simply ignored.” She seemed to have more to say.

  “Is that on the agency heads?” I asked.

  “Yes, but in the end, they look to my office to keep this material in proper order. Until about a month ago, I had a clerk to help me. She was just out of high school and worked here for almost three years. She was the daughter of Commissioner Mayfield.”

  “I wouldn’t want to be her right now.”

  She looked up at me. She seemed to be thinking something over. Then, she seemed to change her mind and let it pass.

  “Isn’t Turner Mayfield on the board of the Water Department?” Shelia Haney nodded her head, confirming. “So, he is double dipping?”

  “The Water and Sewage Authority is handled by a board of local officials. It’s a government entity but is exempt from some government requirements. It helps keep the overall costs down.”

  “Any other officials double dipping?” I asked.

  “Not on that board. But the Sheriff sits on the Roads and Bridges Council. It’s not an authority, but they decide where to spend money to pave or repair roads. I think he is paid a hundred dollars a meeting.”

  “Anybody else doing double duty?” I asked. I was repeating myself, but she seemed to have more to say. Sometimes, the trick is to ask the right question.

  “Not any county employees. Judge Pelfrey is a state employee. He’s the Chief Judge of the Superior Courts. He sits on the
Roads and Bridges Council as well and on the Water and Sewage Authority.”

  “Is he local? Grew up here and what not?”

  She nodded. “His family goes back over a hundred years in this area. Came from poor beginnings, but got a law degree and has helped probably every family in this area. A great American success story.” I wasn’t sure if this was sarcasm.

  She leaned toward me conspiratorially. “He came from poor beginnings, then somehow built a thriving law practice. Not long after that, he got into politics and went to the State House for a few years.”

  She looked around, as though someone might hear us. “Rumor is he paid for votes to get elected. Had people right out on the square handing out a five-dollar bill or a shot of white liquor to vote the right way. Then, he got appointed Judge. Worked his way up to Chief Judge. Has a big spread right here in Ellijay. Thinks of himself as one of the most respected men in our community.”

  “People are willing to sell their vote for five bucks,” I asked.

  She sniffed the air. “Probably less.”

  I shrugged. “Well, people get what they vote for.”

  She walked over to the door, standing with her back to it. Shelia put her hands on her hips, a gesture she seemed to do a lot. “Young man, I grew up in Duval County, Texas. Have you ever heard of it?”

  I shook my head.

  “My mother told me about what happened down there.” She was watching me closely for my reaction. “Right after World War Two, the outgoing Governor of Texas ran for a Senate seat. It was a close race, but the Governor was winning by about a hundred votes. A fellow who ran that whole area—they called him the Duke of Duval—made sure the votes in those counties were the last counted. The folks running the polls found two hundred and two additional votes. Two hundred were for the Governor’s opponent. Those votes put that man in the United States Senate.”

  She stopped to see if I was following her. I couldn’t figure out where the story was going. “I guess I’m missing your point.”

  “My point is that this man bought his way into a high position. That man ended up being President of the United States. He was Lyndon Johnson.”