Sintown Chronicles I: Behind Closed Doors (22 page)

Matt looked at the photocopies. “She wrote me intimate notes as well."

“Can you produce those notes, Sheriff?"

“No. I destroyed them to...” He decided it would not be in his best interests to explain he had been trying to protect himself and Cathy from harassment charges by destroying the notes. He thought she had destroyed his notes as well. “I am not guilty of sexual harassment. At worst I was merely reciprocating her attention to me."

“Matt.” The manager was again speaking. “You are certainly guilty of inappropriate behavior. Deputy Long has engaged the services of an attorney. They intend to press charges against you, but are willing to settle out of court if we agreed to certain conditions. She is to retain her position and your employment with the county must end immediately. There is also a sum of money involved which the county is willing to pay for a quick resolution to this most tragic situation."

“You have two choices,” the attorney said. “You can prove your innocence in court, and failing to do so be fired, or you may resign effective immediately."

“That's not much of a choice,” Matt said in despair. “There were only two witnesses to our relationship. Cathy is obviously lying now and would lie in court. I realize that my written notes, taken out of context, are very incriminating. I do not have the notes she wrote to me. It would be my word against hers, and you have already demonstrated that you believe her account. A court would most likely do the same. Is there no possibility of a second chance?"

“None."

“Then I have no choice but to resign. I'm the best damned sheriff this county ever had. You all know that. You're backing the wrong horse. Sexual harassment is today's popular buzzword. No man is safe. A woman needs only to point her finger and everyone immediately assumes that the accused is guilty. For all practical purposes, his life ends. It used to take a gun to do that."

“This is absolutely a tragedy. We cannot defend you Matt. You are guilty of inappropriate behavior even if what you say about Deputy Long's involvement is true. I think it best that you clear out your personal things from your office this afternoon. Leave your weapon and keys on the desk when you leave. And Matt, there will have to be a press release this afternoon or in the morning."

“There is another matter, Mr. Dilson.” Matt noticed that the attorney quickly switched from addressing him as Sheriff to Mister. “According to Deputy Long, you have destroyed photographic evidence in the Van Fans case—evidence that would have incriminated a resident of Dot named Sandra Dollar."

“Sandra Dollar was an unwilling captive of this group. When she tried to escape, she was brutally tortured and left to die. She has since married and has a promising life ahead of her in Dot. I saw no reason to publicize this terrible time of her life."

“The officers who investigated the case agree with you. So does the District Attorney. That part of her charge most likely will not be pursued, but what happened to the photographs?"

“As far as I know they are still locked up in my file cabinet."

“They are not there. Deputy Long believes you have them and intend to use them to blackmail Mrs. Dollar."

“That is not true, but how can I prove it? There are only two keys to those file cabinets. Cathy has one and I have the other. I didn't take the pictures. If they are truly missing then it has to be Cathy who took them, and if blackmail is involved, Cathy is your suspect."

“We have called in the State Bureau of investigation to look into this matter. I imagine they will search your premises as well as those of Deputy Long."

Nobody knew how to end the meeting. “Matt,” the county manager at last said. “Take some time. Don't do anything foolish."

On that fateful November morning at 8:50 a.m. Sergeant Masterson and Deputy Allen were dispatched to the Economy Ritz Motel, just south Charlotte, to investigate a homicide discovered by a maid on her morning rounds. Deputy Allen took one look at the scene and dashed to the bathroom to throw up. Masterson, whose many years of law enforcement made him somewhat immune to the evidences of man's inhumanity to man, made careful notes.

Room shows evidence of struggle.

Nude white female, perhaps in early 30s, crumpled on floor between two beds.

Body covered with bruises, especially buttocks, back and breasts.

What appears to be semen in area of anus, vagina and mouth.

Apparent cause of death is single bullet hole between eyes.

County Deputy uniform crumpled in chair by window.

Service revolver missing.

Positive identity, Deputy Cathy Long.

How the hell am I going to tell Matt? he thought as he stuffed the notebook back into his pocket.

Although moving in a daze, Matt Dilson found himself back in his office, uncertain how he got there. He tried to force himself to think. He remembered. He found the few personal possessions in the office, which he quickly tossed in a bag. He placed his badge, revolver and ring of keys on the desktop and wandered out the back door, unwilling, indeed unable, to face his former employees. He drove the spider car to his rented house. He knew he must share this humiliation, this total devastation with his wife. En route, he correctly envisioned her reaction.

She ranted and raved, cursed him and cried. She said this was the last straw. She never wanted to see him again. She told him to get out. With this last shred of hope for a future eliminated, he climbed into the spider car and drove away. The chorus of an old song,
Pistol Packin’ Mamma
, haunted him. “She cussed and cried / and said I'd lied, / and wished that I was dead."

Loretta Dilson packed her things, loaded her car, made a tearful telephone call to her father in Cleveland, drove to the bank, emptied their joint checking and savings accounts, and began the long trip to Ohio.

Tim was not particularly pleased as he drove into Dot that Friday morning. His “to do” list for the day was full, but back-to-back telephone calls—the “unexpected” that he never built into his daily schedules—threw him off course.

“On the telephone you said you needed to see me as soon as possible about an urgent matter.” Tim sat across the desk from Silas Coan, barely recognizing the harrowed face behind the desk.

“My carefully made plans have come unraveled Tim. I am disgusted, disappointed and just plain angry. I've worked long and hard. I deserve the retirement I've planned. My wife deserves it. I'll be damned if I am going to delay it any longer."

“Silas, I have no idea what you're talking about."

“We have a six month trip to Europe planned. We've made our reservations and purchased airline tickets. We've looked forward to this for years. We are scheduled to leave Sunday, and by God we're going."

“So go already. What's the problem?"

“Teddy, damn it. That ungrateful little fart we call our son is the problem."

Silas seemed near tears. Tim decided it would be best to remain silent for the moment.

“He doesn't like what little he has learned about my practice. Claims it's boring. He's reneged on his promise to take over the practice. He received a damned offer from Wachovia Bank. He moved back to Winston yesterday."

Coan paused. Tim realized Silas wanted him to say something, but he remained silent.

“While I'm thinking about it, here are the two contract forms your wife asked us to draw up,” Silas continued, handing Tim a rather thick file folder. “Figurehead lawyer is all he'll ever be. He couldn't even draw up these simple contracts. I had to do it."

“I feel your pain, Silas, but what do you want from me?"

“I'm leaving Dot for at least six months on Sunday. Hell, if we're having a good time we may stay longer. Dot needs an attorney, Tim. I don't want anything for the practice. Hell, I was giving it to that ingrate. All I want is assurance that Victoria will keep her job."

“Silas, I still don't understand why you're telling me all of this. What can I do about it?"

“You inherited your uncle's estate, Tim. You also inherited his responsibilities. When Dot needed a new doctor, Pete went out and found Dr. Honneycutt for us. Now Dot needs a new lawyer.” Silas reached for and handed to Tim a second file folder. “The practice is now yours. All this contract needs is your signature. There's no money involved. You can pass it on to whomever you choose."

Silas stood up, touched his right index finger to his eyebrow in a departing salute and slipped through the office door, leaving Tim staring at ten pages of legalese.

“He won't be back, you know,” said Victoria White who was now standing in the open office doorway.

“He's lost his flippin’ mind,” exclaimed Tim.

“Or he found it,” she replied.

“What do you mean by that?"

“For one of the few times since I have known him, he put first things first. He's still concerned about his friends and neighbors in Dot, but at this stage of his life his primary responsibility is to himself and Mrs. Coan."

“But why did he dump this on me? I have no idea how to proceed."

“It may look like he dumped his troubles on you, and in a way he did, but I think he chose you for two reasons. One, you need an attorney more than anyone else in Dot. That will make you move swiftly, but carefully, to find his replacement. The second reason is that in the few weeks he has known you, he has come to respect you highly. Coming from Silas Coan, that is quite a compliment."

“I'll need your help."

“I need the job. It's in my best interest to help every way I can. For a short period of time, I can refer clients to various contacts this office has in Charlotte. If you like, I can put notices in professional publications to which Silas subscribes."

“Thank you, Victoria. Somehow I'll see to it that you continue to be paid."

“There's no need for that. Mr. Coan gave me a check this morning equal to six month's salary."

Tim surveyed Silas Coan's office. “If we find a replacement, somebody is going to have to clean out this office."

“I told Silas I would do that form him. It's something he just couldn't face. He left me a key to his house."

“Victoria, you are a jewel. We'll talk again when we have both had time to think about this. Please excuse me. I'm late for an appointment with Dr. Honneycutt."

She stopped him before he reached the outer door. “In the morning mail I received your letter and the cancelled note. I don't know what to say but thank you."

He smiled, nodded and headed for Dr. Honneycutt's office.

“This is surely the first time I have ever had a medical doctor ask for an appointment with
me
,” Tim joked as he shook Dr. Honneycutt's hand.

“Thank you for coming on such short notice, Tim,” she said, waving him to one of two comfortable chairs in her sparsely furnished office. She sat in the opposite chair and held up an envelope. “I knew this day was coming,” she said. “But I certainly didn't expect you to cancel my note with Mr. Harlow."

Tim's face colored slightly. “Most of Uncle Pete's financial projects were in excellent order, but there were several notes, including yours, I could not make heads or tails of. There were the signed documents, the amount of the loans, and indications of payments made on the loans but there is no record of payment amounts. Frankly, I don't need the money. As valuable as you are to the community, I just decided to write your loan off."

“You wrote off all of those special loans, didn't you Tim?"

“For various reasons, yes, I did."

“You know, don't you?"

“Know?” Tim tried to feign ignorance.

“You've seen the videos."

Tim had not anticipated this conversation. He had no prepared answer. He dropped his head and simply replied, “Yes."

“I want to tell you about it, Tim."

“I don't want to hear. The past is the past. When I came to Dot, I shared something personal with you. You kept it to yourself. Your secret is safe with me."

“Has Sandy seen the tapes?"

“She has not, and she has expressed no interest in seeing them."

“But she knows about them."

“Yes. She is the one who suggested that I write off the loans and forget the tapes ever existed."

Dr. Honneycutt's eyebrows involuntarily raised. Noticing, Tim continued, “She's a good woman, Dr. Honneycutt. Like all of us, she has her demons. I think she is winning her battles against them, probably for the first time in her life."

“It is important to me that you know what happened."

Tim replied by sitting back in the chair and folding his hands in his lap.

“As you can see, I am physically quite plain. I have only experienced one serious romantic relationship. I dedicated myself to the practice of medicine. I was determined to become the best damned GP ever—male or female. During my last year of residency I started taking drugs to stay awake, and drugs to sleep, drugs to fight depression and drugs to bring me down when I got too high. I became an addict. The hospital discovered it, but swept it under the rug thanks to a very special friend. However, as the completion of residency neared, I received no offers. I couldn't even get a position as a volunteer at a free clinic."

She stood up and walked to the window, her back to Tim. “Pete Harlow discovered me. I don't know how and I never asked. He offered me my own practice in Dot. He brought me here to show me the town, then took me to his home. He said he would set me up in practice and pay for a cure for my addiction. I could think of no other way out. He made me sign the note, then videotaped himself stripping me, torturing me, and having sex with me. Armed with that tape and others that followed, and proof of my drug addiction, I became virtually his slave."

She turned and faced him, emotionally drained and yet there were no tears.

“I feel like I should apologize, but
I
didn't do this to you,” Tim said, somewhat defensively.

“No,” she agreed. “He did it, and to a large extent, I did it to myself. However, he kept his word. He did set me up in practice and that means everything to me."