“That's my offer, Tracy. I would like for you to start as soon as possible."
“May I have a little time to think and talk with Billy about it?
It was Tim's turn to smile impishly. “You ask the question as if there's a snowball's chance in hell you may turn me down. Let me know something in the next few days."
On his way out, Tim made a point of meeting the owner/manager of the Discount House; an aging distinguished looking man named Ezra Golf. Tim let Ezra know he was ashamed to collect rent on the building, considering its state of repair, and was considering the construction of a new building next door.
Ezra's response, which seemed curious to Tim, was, “Think long and hard on that one young fella. New ain't always better than old."
Chapter Thirteen
“You haven't told me about your trip to Atlanta, yet,” Cathy said as she pressed her bosom against Matt's chest on Thursday afternoon. He seemed to be avoiding her since his return. He had allowed her to hug him only once and then, as now, he did not return the embrace. He had not smiled much and had spoken no words of endearment to her. “Was it as boring as you expected?” What she actually wanted to know was had he discovered that the pictures of Sandra Dollar were missing?
Matt felt pain in his swelling groin. Her body next to his, her smell, the intimate conversations, the anticipation of something more was hard to give up. His arms wanted to hold her, his hands wanted to roam over her buttocks and breasts, and his lips wanted to touch hers. He pulled away from her. “Pretty much,” he lied.
“Matt, is there something wrong?"
“Sit down pretty lady. I need to talk with you."
She sat and listened in disbelief.
“I had a lot of time to think while I was in Atlanta. I'm not going to bore you with all the details. I simply cannot continue anything beyond a professional relationship with you or anyone else. I love my wife, and my job is my life. I must not, I cannot, jeopardize either. Please try to understand, Cathy. You are one hell of a woman and one hell of a deputy."
Cathy said nothing, but her mind was racing.
“I do love you,” Matt continued. “But not like I love my wife. It's not fair to you to continue a secret personal relationship, but I will always treat you with respect and admiration as a law enforcement officer."
“I don't know what to say, Matt. I didn't see this coming."
“You're going to have to help me with this, Cathy. Please quit wearing those tight pants and short skirts. I can't take it."
She stood up, nodded, turned and walked slowly out of his office. She was stunned and even more fearful of what the future held for her. She slipped the small key into the lock on her bottom desk drawer and reread all of the notes he had written to her. Her mind continued to race. She felt Matt's change of attitude cost her too much—a ready source of revenue and the constant stream of promotions and outlandish salary increases to which she was now accustomed. Sandra and Tim Dollar possessed the incriminating videos. Matt would soon discover the missing photographs. She felt her world was rapidly ending. She must find a way to turn things around.
Matt watched the cheeks of her scrumptious bottom grind slowly against each other as she left his office. His erection was painful, but went away quickly when he remembered what he learned about two of his fellow sheriffs in the Atlanta meeting. Under different circumstances, both men were guilty of having sexual relationships with women other than their wives. One was involved with an incarcerated prostitute and the other was seeing another man's wife. Both sheriffs had been fired and their lives utterly destroyed. That must not happen to him.
* * * *
At midday on Thursday, the pharmacist at Dot Pharmacy shouted in reply to a startled customer, “Why in hell does everybody all of a sudden want to buy a copy of Silas Marner?"
At about the same time the manager of the Discount House told his clerks to start a waiting list, and he called his supplier to order additional copies of the sold out paperback.
Sandra was waiting by the roadside mailbox when the postman delivered her copy of the Dot Courier. The smiling man held up a paperback, showing Sandra that he had already purchased a copy. “I hope it is as good as you say it is,” he said.
Sandra read her review three times before driving the golf cart across the highway and up the gravel path to show Bobby, Adele and the workmen who were putting the finishing touches on the remodeled home which now belonged to Bobby Elliott.
Next she burst into Tim's study and placed the paper on his desk without waiting for him to come to a stopping place.
“Tim,” she exclaimed. “It's on the front page. I'm now an officially published author!"
Instead of reading the review immediately, Tim jumped up and pulled her to him. He said nothing. The expression of pride on his face was more elegant than all the words in his vocabulary.
The telephone rang. He answered and handed the receiver to her. He read the review as she talked with some man from the Charlotte Observer.
“That was the editor of the feature section of the Charlotte Observer,” she said softly with a note of awe in her voice. “He wants to publish my review in Saturday's edition. He has already gotten permission from Diane."
“Sandy, I am so proud of you,” he said genuinely.
“There's more. They're going to pay me $75, and he said he would like more reviews on classic novels as soon as I can get them written."
Sandra sat at her computer desk for a long time, unable to resume the writing of her novel. She was trying to understand, to put a label on the emotion she was experiencing. Having never before been proud of herself, she did not recognize this most important reward for her effort.
* * * *
The next two weeks flew by for Sandra and Tim. Bobbie and Adele were married on Halloween and embarked on a wedding trip to Disney World. Tim had all he could handle with the rental house repairs and the installation of a point of sale system at the Hardware Store.
Sandra devoted four hours a day to her novel. She wrote a report of proposed improvements to the rental houses to get the building inspector off Tim's back. She went fishing several times, once with Tim. She even found time to play with the sewing machine and alter some of the clothes she previously set aside for that purpose. She attended worship services twice with Tim. She was beginning to like the interim pastor, as did Tim, and she managed to stay awake for most of the two sermons.
* * * *
Cathy did not come in on Friday morning, November 1, and she did not call in sick. Matt was concerned and called her apartment four times, but received no answer. He had a 9:00 a.m. meeting with the county manager to discuss his budget requests and reluctantly left his office at 8:45.
The secretary directed Matt to the smaller of two conference rooms. On entering he was surprised by the number of people present, some of whom he did not recognize. There were no greetings. Matt settled uncomfortably in a chair at the end of the table.
“Matt,” the manager began. “I'm sorry to have brought you to this meeting under false pretences. Someone has filed very serious charges against you. You know our county attorney,” he continued, beginning the necessary introductions.
“What kind of charges?” Matt interrupted.
“Sexual harassment."
“By who?"
“Deputy Cathy Long."
“Not Cathy,” Matt said with anguish. His mouth was suddenly so dry his lips clung together.
“Sheriff, have you ever hugged Deputy Long?” asked the attorney.
“Not against her will,” Matt protested.
“But you have embraced her many times?"
“I returned her embraces. Cathy hugs everybody."
“Have you ever placed your hands on her buttocks and breasts?"
“Maybe, I'm not sure. But I repeat, I have never touched her against her will."
“Have you ever given her sums of money and/or other gifts?"
“Yes, but there were never any strings attached."
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The county manager interrupted. “Did that money come from county funds?"
“No,” Matt replied with force. “It was always my money."
“There will be an audit, Matt."
“That's not a problem."
The attorney resumed the questioning by sliding a manila file folder across the table to Matt. “Did you write these notes?"
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."
Sintown Chronicles I: Behind Closed Doors Page 17
