Mountain Top

by Robert Whitlow

  Mike told Peg the good news about the bond but not his concern about Sam’s health.

  “I’m going to the hospital and help them get everything in order.”

  MIKE COULDN’T SHAKE A SENSE OF FOREBODING AS HE DROVE TO the hospital. Etched in his mind was the stark image of Marie Dressler’s empty bed. He parked in one of the clergy spots near the entrance. The elders at Little Creek might take his pulpit, but they couldn’t revoke his parking permit.

  He walked rapidly through the lobby and waited for the interminable elevator to descend from the second floor. When it finally opened and took him to the second floor, Mike glanced toward Sam’s room. There was no sign of a uniformed deputy. Mike started running down the hall. A nurse’s aide looked up in surprise as he ran past. He reached Sam’s room and burst inside. When he did, a deputy whirled around with his hand on the pistol holstered in his belt.

  “Hold it!” Deputy Morris commanded.

  Mike stopped and held his hands in the air. In the bed behind the deputy lay Sam, dressed in regular clothes. Muriel was sitting in a chair on the opposite side of the bed.

  “I thought,” Mike said, breathing heavily, “something had happened to Sam.”

  “Things are always happening with me,” Sam replied with a smile. “If nothing is happening, it’s a sure sign I’ve drifted from the Master’s path. Vic and I were having a good talk. He told me about a dream his aunt had about him and his two brothers, and I was explaining it to him.”

  “Okay,” Mike responded as his heart slowed. “I’ll step outside so you can finish talking about the dream. But I wanted you to know that your bail has been lowered, and the paperwork is ready for signature on a property bond.”

  Sam looked at Muriel. “I told you we would be going home.”

  “What did the doctors say about your heart?” Mike asked.

  “It’s running on six cylinders instead of eight, which explains why it knocks and pings on me sometimes. Muriel was happy to hear that I’ve got to watch what I eat. The oil in fried foods doesn’t lubricate my blood vessels as good as I hoped it did.”

  “Muriel can come with me while you finish talking with Deputy Morris,” Mike said then turned to the deputy. “We’ll bring back the order from the magistrate approving the bond.”

  “He’ll still need to be processed at the jail,” Morris replied. “The doctors have released him, but we’re still waiting on the discharge instructions.”

  MIKE AND MURIEL LEFT THE ROOM AND WALKED DOWN THE hall toward the elevator.

  “That gave me a scare,” Mike said. “Is he really going to be okay?”

  “The doctor talked pretty straight to him. Sam’s stubborn, but I think he heard what he said. I’ll make sure he doesn’t forget.”

  “I’m sorry I interrupted his conversation with Deputy Morris.”

  “Don’t worry. Sam will bring it around to the right place. He’s a good talker.”

  They descended to the main level. As they crossed the lobby, Mike turned to Muriel.

  “Do you remember how hard I tried to avoid representing Sam?”

  “Yes.”

  “Just now, I panicked because I thought something bad had happened to him.”

  Muriel smiled one of her wrinkled smiles. “He has a way of pulling you in, doesn’t he?”

  Mike nodded. “When the Lord does call him home, it will leave a big hole in Barlow County.”

  Thirty-five

  JACK HATCHER AND BUTCH NILES SAT AT THE SMALL CONFERENCE table in the corner of the bank president’s office. Hatcher had locked the door and ordered his secretary not to disturb him under any circumstances.

  “Let me do the talking,” Hatcher said to Niles, checking his watch.

  “This is your deal,” Niles responded. “I’ve been serving the interests of the citizens of Barlow County who want to expand the local tax base through increased development of—”

  “Shut up,” Hatcher barked. “Save the campaign rhetoric. The amount of money flowing into your account and where it came from is enough to interest the U.S. attorney in Asheville. Being an elected official at this point is a liability, not an asset. The federal authorities would much rather take down a politician than a businessman.”

  “I’m not going to be threatened,” Niles shot back. “Go ahead and phone Linden.”

  “Fine. We’ll see what he has to say.”

  Hatcher punched in the number on the phone in the middle of the table. A male voice answered on the second ring.

  “Troy Linden.”

  “It’s me,” Hatcher said. “Niles is with me.”

  “Give me some good news,” Linden said.

  “Andrews and Miller have been arrested and charged with arson.”

  “Are they in jail?”

  “Andrews posted bond. Miller had a heart attack and is in the hospital.”

  “If he dies, that would be a simpler way to take care of him.” Linden paused. “I still think it would be cleaner to get rid of both of them permanently. One phone call and Andrews will have a biking accident, and the old man won’t have another dream.”

  “No!” Hatcher responded. “That’s not what we agreed to. We’re simply working the system to our mutual advantage. Niles and I are businessmen.”

  “Who have accepted a lot of money from Bunt and me. We’re giving you a chance to take care of this once and for all. If your way doesn’t work, we’ll step in.”

  “Be patient. The deal will close in two weeks. After that it won’t matter what Andrews and Miller say.”

  “What is the status of the legislation?” Linden asked.

  Hatcher nodded at Niles, who spoke. “Coming out of committee with a favorable recommendation by the end of the week. After that, approval on the floor of the legislature is automatic.”

  “Andrews snooping around put pressure on us to act sooner,” Hatcher said. “It would have been a recipe for disaster if we’d let him cross-examine you.”

  “I could handle it. Bunt is the one who worried me.”

  “Everything will be fine,” Hatcher said confidently. “But you need to transfer the money to exercise the options within a couple of days.”

  “And another $50,000 for me,” Niles interjected.

  Hatcher waved his hand angrily at Niles. There was silence on the other end of the line.

  “Disregard Niles,” Hatcher said. “Did you hear what I said about the options?”

  “Yeah, but there has been a change in plans. Bunt has put the brakes on more money until he knows everything is going through.”

  “What about the options?” Hatcher replied. “We’ve got to complete the purchase of the privately held land or it won’t matter what happens in the legislature.” “It’s time for you to assume more of the risks,” Linden replied.

  “I don’t have that kind of money!” Hatcher protested.

  “You’re president of the bank. Figure it out. Bunt and I are major shareholders. We won’t object if you want to use bank money.”

  “But there are regulators who monitor—”

  “We know what you have in your personal reserve,” Linden interrupted. “There’s enough to exercise the options.”

  Hatcher ran his fingers through his hair. “But that would wipe me out. I’ve worked thirty years to get where I am financially.”

  “And this is your chance to double up. Isn’t that your goal?”

  “Yes.” Hatcher paused. “But I’ll need you and Bunt to sign an amendment to our contracts.”

  “Send it up. Increase your percentage by the amount you’re putting in. Do the math. You’ll like what you see. Call me the first of next week.”

  Linden broke the connection. Hatcher looked at Niles.

  “You’re going to fund twenty-five percent of the purchase price for the land,” Hatcher said.

  “I’m broke! I need the $50,000 to remain solvent!”

  “The bank will loan you the money and secure it by a second mortgage on your house along with you
r portion of the Cohulla Creek deal.”

  Niles glared at Hatcher.

  “You’re going to pay Turner,” Niles said.

  “He doesn’t know I exist. You handled that contact.”

  “With a go-between to protect me. The other $25,000 has to be paid tomorrow if we want to keep him happy and quiet.”

  “You’re not in a position to demand anything, but I’ll make sure your second mortgage is approved first thing in the morning.”

  Niles swore. “I don’t think that crazy old man’s dream justified all this expense and hassle. He stopped me on the street the other day and started spouting off a bunch of stuff. Nobody would take him seriously.”

  “What did you say to him?” Hatcher asked sharply.

  “Nothing.”

  “Good. Information is power. And remember, we’re not just dealing with Miller. When Andrews got involved, everything went to another level. I didn’t get to where I am without taking every threat seriously.”

  MIKE AND PEG SPENT A QUIET SUNDAY MORNING, BUT AFTER THE church service, the calls resumed. One of the first was from Bobby Lambert.

  “The church was packed,” Bobby said. “But it had the feel of an inquisition more than a church service. Milton explained the real reason for the sabbatical and apologized for not terminating the church’s relationship with you at that time. All the elders except me stood behind him at the front of the church. Barbara also spoke. No questions were allowed. The final announcement was the formation of a pastor search committee as soon as possible.”

  “What did Dr. Mixon do?”

  “Made it clear that he would serve as interim only until time to visit his daughter in Peru. He’s a good man, not interested in getting wrapped up in the power loop. Some of the chatter after the service wasn’t favorable to the elders. There will be a lot less people there next Sunday. I’m resigning from the session effective immediately. Elizabeth and I won’t be back.”

  The thought of an exodus of people wounded by a church fiasco grieved Mike. Some might not only leave the church, but wander from the faith altogether. After Mike hung up the phone with Bobby, another caller urged him to start a new church once he was cleared of the arson charges. Mike deflected the suggestion.

  “Larry McReynolds wants me to start a new congregation,” he told Peg when he hung up the phone.

  “You knew that would come up.”

  Mike shook his head. “I can’t think about that now. Maybe never.”

  MONDAY AFTERNOON, MIKE RECEIVED A CALL FROM BRAXTON Hodges.

  “I just talked with my cleaning lady,” the reporter said. “That well has been as dry as the oil stock I bought on a tip from the guy over in classified ads.” Hodges paused. “Until today. Guess what she found in the trash at Butch Niles’s house?”

  “A winning lottery ticket.”

  “Something better. A copy of the letter Sam Miller sent Jack Hatcher.”

  Mike gripped the phone tighter. “Do you have it?”

  “Not yet. I told her to carefully check for anything with Sam’s name on it, and she found it in the trash can in Niles’s study.”

  “Where is it now?”

  “I’m going to get it in half an hour then bring it to the paper.”

  “I’ll be there waiting.”

  Mike told Peg about the find.

  “How important is the letter now?” she asked.

  “Not as much,” Mike admitted. “But it’s the pebble that started this avalanche. It might be helpful to Freeman, if he tries to do what I did with the embezzlement charge.”

  MIKE SAT IN THE PARKING LOT WAITING FOR HODGES TO RETURN. The reporter parked beside him. Mike got out and greeted him.

  “Do you have it?”

  Hodges, unsmiling, held up a rumpled sheet of paper. “Not exactly. It’s notes Niles made about the letter.”

  Mike took the sheet from the reporter and smoothed it on the front of his car.

  Hatcher believes the letter from Sam Miller (the yardman) connects Linden, Bunt, Hatcher, and me to the purchase of the Pasley tract at Cohulla Creek. Miller threatens to go public with his accusations that he calls “deeds of darkness.” (A joke???) But Hatcher is paranoid.

  The rest of the sheet contained three phone numbers, and the name Dressler underlined twice.

  “It’s not dated,” Mike observed. “But the last sentence has a few whiffs of a smoking gun. A persistent lawyer could question Jack Hatcher for an hour about his paranoid tendencies and how he might act on them.”

  “It will go in my file.”

  “I’d like a copy for Greg Freeman. He’s going to represent Sam and me.”

  They went inside the newspaper office. Hodges made a copy of the notes and handed it to Mike.

  “How are you doing personally?” Hodges asked in a softer tone of voice. “I know it sounds strange coming from me, but I’ve been praying for you and Peg. Do you think God hears the prayers of a heathen like me?”

  “Keep it up. God hears everything.”

  MIKE DROVE TO FREEMAN’S OFFICE. THE YOUNG LAWYER WAS eating an apple at his desk.

  “No time for lunch today,” Freeman said.

  Mike handed him the copy of the notes.

  “From Hodges’s spy, the lady who works for Butch Niles.”

  “Niles is having a busy day,” Freeman responded after he read the notes. “I saw him come into the sheriff ’s department when I was leaving the jail after meeting with a client.”

  “Had he been arrested?” Mike asked, leaning forward in his chair.

  “No, he went directly into the sheriff ’s office. The sheriff may be hitting him up for a bigger allocation for county law enforcement from the state budget.” Freeman took a final bite from his apple. “I’m glad you stopped by. I needed to talk to you anyway.”

  Mike settled into his chair. Freeman dropped the apple core into a trash can before continuing.

  “I was meeting with Rob Turner, my car parts thief, at the jail this morning. He’s due to be sentenced next week, and I’m working on a list of witnesses for the hearing. In the midst of the interview, I mentioned the video of his brother Vann and its connection to the fire at the church. Rob got quiet for a moment, then asked if providing information to the sheriff ’s department about Vann could reduce his sentence. I told him it depended on the type of information.”

  “He’s willing to turn on his brother?”

  “Apparently. He claimed Vann had a gas can that didn’t belong to him in the back of his truck a few days ago.”

  “With Miller Lawn Care written on the side?”

  “Yes. And Vann told Rob that he had connections in Raleigh who could get Rob’s sentence reduced even if the jury found him guilty. When Rob asked his brother for help, Vann told him no and now won’t talk to him. What do you think I should do?”

  “Talk to West,” Mike replied without hesitation. “You owe that to your client who’s going to be sentenced. And it will let us know if West is serious about trying to find out who really set fire to the church.”

  “I’ll call him now.”

  Thirty minutes later, Mike and Freeman were sitting in the conference room in the district attorney’s office. West entered along with Melissa Hall.

  “Ms. Hall is going to join us,” West said.

  Hall’s eyes narrowed when she saw Mike at the table.

  “Did Kelso get any information from Vann Turner?” Freeman asked.

  “It’s still under investigation,” Hall said.

  “I’ll take that as a negative,” Freeman replied. “I met with Rob Turner this morning, and he’s willing to provide information about his brother Vann in return for a reduced sentence.”

  “What kind of information?” West said. “I’ve been interested in getting Vann Turner off the streets for years.”

  Freeman glanced at Mike before answering. “Rob saw a gas can that belonged to Sam Miller in his brother’s truck a couple of days before the fire. We know Vann is the one who phoned 91
1 to report the fire.”

  West turned to Hall. “Get Kelso and Perkins in here.”

  After Hall left the room, West looked at Mike. “When are you going to tell me what’s going on?”

  Freeman spoke. “If you want to talk to Mike, there needs to be an understanding of his status.”

  “Our conversation might change his status,” West replied, “but as of right now, he’s an arson suspect out on bond.”

  Freeman turned to Mike. “What do you want to do?”

  “Ask Ken a few questions,” Mike replied.

  “Go ahead,” the district attorney answered.

  “Do you believe Brian Dressler was behind the checks with Sam Miller’s signature stamp on them?”

  “I haven’t performed my own investigation, but the bank is in the best position to uncover what took place.”

  “Dressler had a hand in the checks, but he was following orders from someone else.”

  “Who?”

  Mike put his hands in front of him on the table. “Is there anyone in Barlow County you wouldn’t be willing to prosecute?”

  “Not if the evidence is there.”

  “Jack Hatcher?”

  West stared at Mike and nodded.

  “Butch Niles?”

  “You believe Hatcher and Niles wanted to defraud their own bank of a hundred thousand dollars?” West shook his head. “That doesn’t make sense.”

  “But would you prosecute Niles?”

  “No one is above the law.”

  “Even if it results in political pressure against you?”

  West shifted his massive frame in the chair, making it groan. “I’ve been district attorney of Barlow County for almost thirty years, and I’m fully vested in the retirement program. Fear of retaliation by a local politician isn’t a big issue for me anymore. But before either of those men would be charged with spitting on the sidewalk, it would have to be a case with every corner buttoned down tight.”

  Mike relaxed. “I wouldn’t expect anything else. Once the detectives get here, I’ll lay it out.”

  There was a knock on the door, and Perkins and Kelso, a stocky, older detective with a ring of brown hair surrounding his bald head, entered the room. Once the detectives were seated, Mike put his briefcase on the table and clicked it open.