As the road continued to wind, the sun a constant above me, my mind wandered to the previous day, after I had left Carver and Andrews. Putting the regional office in my rear view mirror, I had gone home to pack. After throwing clothes in my bag, I used the evening hours to try to reach out to Willie Nelson, the game warden with the Department of Natural Resources.
He didn’t answer his home number, and that was the best I could do for now.
I figure I would go by the State Patrol post in Blue Ridge to try to track Willie Nelson down. Game wardens, and most other state law enforcement officers in a region, were accessible through the nearest State Patrol post. That was the way the GBI located Agents in remote parts of the State.
As I neared my destination, I slowed my pace and looked at the mountains that were to my left and right and the vista ahead. If nothing else, this case was giving me a look at some of the most beautiful scenery in Georgia. The drive north on the parkway was nothing but rolling hills and lush greenery. To save money on engineering, no doubt, the roadway twisted and turned, with the occasional glimpse of rushing water in a mountain stream.
Being on edge helped me roll out of bed early, and I left home around seven a.m. I had been driving almost two hours, and hadn’t eaten since the night before. I decided to find food when I got into Ellijay, the seat of Gilmer County.
When I came into Gilmer County, I intentionally left the parkway and followed the old state highway that ran parallel. I made my way into the City of Ellijay, and I drove around, aimlessly turning onto side streets and back roads, to get the feel of the area. I followed one of the roads into town and circled the town square. The square was a small park with a marble monument, honoring the county’s servicemen lost to war, and a small fountain. On the west side of the square was the Gilmer County Courthouse.
The courthouse was red brick and it loomed over the square. It was one of the tallest buildings in the downtown area. The building seemed like the town’s haunted house. Watching it, I expected to see apparitions pass by the windows. The building appeared to be in pretty serious disrepair. Faded concrete covered with cheap indoor/outdoor carpet. At the top of the front steps was a covered porch area. The roof over the porch was held up by a set of four two-story tall white columns. One of the windows was covered with unpainted plywood, and window unit air conditioners decorated some of the first-floor windows. There was a matching covered porch on the right-hand side of the building. I had learned that the Sheriff’s Office was around the back of the courthouse, and the jail was a small building behind it.
The short time I spent out front was enough to ruin my good mood. I wasn’t a psychic, but the town had a certain aura of sadness. Maybe it was simply the feeling that time had left this town behind.
I took a right and headed east. Presently, I was at the intersection leading to the parkway. I eased up to the intersection, looking all around. Something caught my eye on the opposite side of the road. I saw what looked like a cemetery, at first, only to realize that the markers were shaped like pigs. I had heard of Poole’s Bar-B-Q, but doubted they were serving breakfast.
Then, I saw the familiar yellow-and-black sign for Waffle House at the next intersection to the south. I was in the mood for a good breakfast before I got in the middle of this mess. Nothing starts your day off better than some greasy eggs and fried potatoes.
The Waffle House parking lot was almost empty at nine thirty a.m. When I got out of my truck, I looked over the inside of the restaurant, a habit I had fine-tuned working undercover. There were four employees behind the counter, and there was an elderly couple in a booth near the cash register.
Once inside, I found the corner seat at the low bar that wrapped around the cooking area. It gave me a view of the door and all the seats except the two booths behind me. And those booths were empty. A fifty-something woman with jailhouse tattoos came over and welcomed me. She was very thin, a common trait of meth addicts, with dyed blonde hair and a missing canine tooth. The tattoos were on her hands and were ill-defined and poorly shaped.
“Do you need a menu?” she asked with artificial enthusiasm.
I knew what I wanted. “Give me a Fiesta omelet with hash browns and wheat toast. Coffee with cream and the yellow fake sugar.”
“Anything on the hash browns?”
“Nope. Plain is fine.”
She grabbed the coffee and hollered the order to the cook.
I had barely gotten the order in when I saw a green pickup truck turn into the parking lot. It was marked with the distinctive lettering of the Georgia Department of Natural Resources. A game warden. The truck parked in a spot near my Expedition. When the driver’s door swung open, a small, stocky man hopped down. He was in the gray-and-green uniform of the DNR Law Enforcement Division and took particular interest in my Expedition. After examining my truck for almost a full minute, he looked around the lot with his lips pursed, as if he was unsure of something. Nonetheless, he squared his shoulders and came through the front door.
He came inside and looked the room over. I was the only one in the room wearing a tie, which must have tipped him off. He walked in my direction. Before he could get to me, I stood up and said, “Are you the famous singer I’ve heard so much about?”
He smiled a broad smile. “I am! And you must be the foolhardy GBI Agent who’s come here to drag this county into the twentieth century.”
“That would be me,” I said with a wry smile. “You mean twenty-first century, don’t you?”
“Hell, no,” he guffawed. “This county will still be more than a hundred years behind the rest of the world, no matter what you do.”
He took a seat beside me. I was surprised when the waitress came over with two coffees. She sat a cup in front of me with cream and yellow sugar-substitute packets on the side and then sat a cup in front of the game warden with cream and real sugar packets. Unfazed, Willie rattled off an order. The waitress glared at him and barely spoke. I gave him a puzzled look.
“My mother-in-law,” he said. “She’s mean as a snake and served felony time for cooking meth. Been clean since she got out the last time, though. Tip her good, or I’ll hear about it for a week.”
Before I could respond, she sat my food down in front of me. “How’d you find me?” I asked. I hadn’t left a message and naturally wondered why he was looking for me.
“Friend of a friend called and said you were looking for me. Said you’d be coming in this morning driving a white Expedition. I just rode around town till I saw one. I spotted you when you were on the square, but by the time I turned my truck around, you were gone. I headed out to the parkway and saw you here. Hell, you forget that my people have been following you white folks around for centuries.”
“Willie, I have to say you look pretty white to me. No offense intended.”
“None taken,” he said. “My mother claimed to be a full-blooded Cherokee Indian. Her ancestors hid out when the army rounded her people up for the Trail of Tears. Over the years, her family grew, and some of you white folks married in. My mom considered herself all Cherokee, but she was probably wrong about that. She had assimilated, and my mother always talked about wishing she had learned more about the native ways.
“But” he continued, “I grew up in Morganton and couldn’t read a smoke signal if I had to.” He laughed a big laugh. “I have to admit, I feel pretty comfortable in the woods, so there must still be some native DNA in here somewhere.” He motioned at my food. “Go ahead and eat, before it gets cold.”
He didn’t have to tell me twice. The omelet was loaded with tomatoes, ham, onions, and jalapeños. The coffee was hot and strong. Just what I needed.
Even though the restaurant was mostly empty, we agreed to let business wait until we got outside. Willie got his food, and we made small talk about the areas we had worked. Willie had also been assigned to deep South Georgia for a few years.
Georgia was similar to a rainforest: the further south you went, the deeper into the brush you got
. The humidity and the temperature rose as you kept diving further into the thick of it. And much like any rainforest, the further in you go, the more likely you find spots that haven’t been touched by modern civilization. People living like it’s the 1800s, setting their own laws for things outsiders wouldn’t understand. I was getting the idea North Georgia was like that.
Willie was raised as an avid outdoorsman and had been excited to get hired by the DNR. But he had grown up in the northern part of the State. He laughed when he said, “I traded bears that were a nuisance in the mountains for alligators that were a nuisance in the swamp.”
“Yeah,” I said. “That was a change for me. I grew up in the northern suburbs of Atlanta. I saw more animals that were willing to kill me in South Georgia than I knew existed.”
“We’ve got big snakes north and south. In the swamp, we had panthers and bears, lots of gators, and some people who had never seen a paved road.” He paused for a second. “Then again, I guess the only difference up here is no gators. But damn near every year, those ugly lizards seem to creep further north.”
“Working in the woods seems more dangerous than about any police job there is?” I mused.
“Everybody I deal with has a gun on ’em. And in hunting season, they’re carrying everything they need to skin me and hang my body up to dry.”
“Do you have a lot of trouble with the hunters?”
“Not much. I make it plain that I’m not working to bust their balls, my job is to make sure everything is on the up and up. I don’t tolerate any funny business, but I give out a lot of warnings.”
I paid for both meals, and we strolled outside. I had to ask, “Is she really your mother-in-law?”
“Yep! She used to live with me and the family. Then, I caught her hiding a gram of meth in her room. I threw her out, and she tells me, now that she’s cleaned up, I should let her move back in. I keep telling her that her mistakes could cost me my job.” Willie shrugged. “I think she holds a grudge.”
Willie motioned me over to the bed of his truck. We both propped on the truck bed. The change in altitude made the August air seem cool and crisp. “Do you know what I’m doing here?” I asked.
“I can guess. This county is crooked as hell. I’m about the only state lawman they tolerate. A couple of the Troopers grew up here and work this area. The Sheriff and the city boys won’t touch them, but they also keep ’em at arm’s length. You GBI boys are a whole different story. They hate all of y’all, and they’ll be watching your every move. When they know an Agent is in the county, they try to follow ’em. They know the cars the Agents in the Gainesville office drive.”
“Good to know. I had planned to stay in a local motel. Is there one you’d recommend?”
“Sure. Any of ’em in another county.” He was shaking his head in solace. “They’ll try to stake you out and catch you doing something wrong. Or try to set you up if they think they can. I don’t mean to sound like an alarmist, but these folks play rough. If they don’t think you’ll rock the boat too much, they’ll just hunker down. But if there is any chance you might get into some of their dirty money business, they’ll try to do some damage to you. That’s just how they work.”
I was surprised he was quick to mention local corruption. “What dirty money business?” I asked.
“I don’t know, but there’s a handful of people in this county that have done well for themselves. Our last county sheriff was broke as a church mouse when he got elected. Him and both of his brothers were rolling in cash right up until they got arrested. Our current sheriff served time in a fed prison but then got a pardon from President Peanuts. People here keep re-electing him. Him and the senior superior court judge are into everything in this county. I don’t know what they’re doing, but I know they’re draining the good folks in this county dry.”
I considered his warning. “The hotel thing seems like sage advice. I think I’ll get a place up in Blue Ridge, so I can have some peace. Getting out of this county at night will help me sleep better. It’ll only be a thirty-minute drive down each day. And I don’t plan to be in town long.” Willie put a wad of tobacco in his cheek. “They may play by their own rules here, but they have to be careful once they are off their turf.”
I changed the subject. “Can I buy you dinner tonight and get a little more insight?”
“No, I eat dinner at home unless there’s an emergency. But you’re welcome to join me and the family. It’ll be a lot safer to talk there than anywhere else I could think of.”
“I hate to bring this stuff to your home,” I said.
“Nope. Not taking no for an answer. You got a map?”
I nodded. But when he saw my state highway map, he shook his head. “Son, they got roads up around here that ain’t never had a name. And they damn sure ain’t on no state highway map. I live just inside Fannin County.” After digging down in his truck, he came up with a map of Gilmer County. He smiled broadly as he handed it over. “You’ll need this more than I will.”
Then, he handed me a county map for Fannin County from several he had stashed in his truck.
“Where do you come up with these county maps?”
He winked. “Chamber of Commerce, baby. Free maps and pretty girls at the front desk.”
Once I had unfolded the Fannin County map, he said, “You see the parkway here?” I nodded. He drew with his pen along a route that jutted off into the country. “Just follow this route and you’ll see my house right on the road about a mile off the parkway.”
I refolded the map in my hand, and then I stuck the maps in my truck and watched him drive away. I was hoping Willie was as good an ally as he seemed. My plan was to bring him into the corruption investigation, but I wasn’t going to mention the murder to anyone right now.
I made my way back into town, and parked a couple of spaces off of the square. Working undercover, I had learned to avoid parking my undercover car directly in front of any kind of official building. I grabbed my official GBI notepad from the back seat, locked up, and headed into the courthouse.
The outside of the courthouse was rough, and the inside wasn’t much nicer. The floor seemed uneven and the stairs to the second-floor District Attorney’s Office were slanted and sloping at the same time. There wasn’t a public building in Georgia I thought was in worse shape.
When I got to the top of the stairs, the floor of the second story had a distinct slope as well. I found the DA’s Office near the head of the stairs. I noticed the door was hung at an angle, or the floor was off by about three inches. Either one could have been the case.
I pushed the door open and was met by a young lady whose desk sign identified her as the District Attorney’s Secretary. She was a pretty woman, with curly reddish brown hair that made her look like Little Orphan Annie. Her face didn’t look made up; she looked fresh and clear-eyed.
She stood to meet me. “How can I help you?” she asked.
I held out my credentials, ”I’m Daniel Byrd. I work for the GBI. Is the District Attorney in?”
“He is in his office.” She turned and shouted, “Mr. Mason, there is a GBI man here to see you!”
I heard an answering bellow from the next office. “Send him on back!”
Without a trace of irony, she turned back to me, plastered on a polite smile, and said with a wink, “You can go on back.” I couldn’t help but wonder what I had gotten into. The whole place seemed like a throwback to the 1950s.
I made my way past her desk and worked around the stacks of law books and case files. I could feel the dips and peaks of the floor under me as I made my way back. I was surprised the building didn’t sway in the wind.
The man in the office stood to greet me. With a cigarette gripped in his teeth and his tie askew, he shoved his hand at me. He was a big man by any definition. He was my height but weighed close to three hundred pounds. He was balding and the few hairs that were left were tinted gray. His hairline had receded so far back that all I could see from this angle
was a tuft of gray hair hiding on the other side of his head. His neatly trimmed mustache and goatee were graying, as well. When he shook my hand, he pumped like he was trying to get water out of a well.
“Name’s Jerry Mason. Some say I’m the DA in this circuit. You can wait to tell me what you think after you’ve been here a little longer.”
“You have the office, so I guess that’s something.” I introduced myself, without the obligatory flipping out of the credentials. Since he had called for the GBI, it seemed unnecessary. He motioned me to a seat.
“Has anybody told you what you’re getting into? Because the worst story they could tell you would be less than ten percent of how bad things are here.”
“Mr. Mason, I’ve been—”
Mason interrupted me. “Call me Jerry,” he said.
“Okay, Jerry. I was transferred from Atlanta up to Gainesville on very short notice. My new boss has given me some idea of what you think may be going on. But that’s about all I know. I’m starting with a blank sheet of paper as far as all these officials go, but I plan to dig in and see what I could find. They wanted someone who hasn’t worked much in this area. A fresh set of eyes, so to speak. So, it would be great if you could give me some idea of what you think is going on here. I’m as lost as a ball in tall grass.”
He gripped the cigarette tighter with his teeth. “Smoke bother you?”
I shook my head.
“What do you know about this area?” Mason asked.
“You are the third person to ask me that in the last twenty-four hours. As far as the area goes, I know some basics. When it comes to the people and the politics, I don’t know anything. So, anything you tell me would be helpful.”
“How old are you? I think I have socks older than you.” He flopped into his desk chair and spun away from me without waiting for an answer.
I waited for him to start. Sometimes, the best way to get people to talk to you was to just stay quiet. I looked around the office. All the diplomas and pictures on the wall were listing to the right. Then, after staring at the wall, I realized the pictures were perfectly level. The room just leaned to the left.
Mountain Justice Page 4
