“I grew up near here,” he started, still turned away from me. “Went to high school in Pickens County. Served in the army, was a working cop for a few years, then got a law degree. I thought I knew the people in this community. I would have told you that the biggest crimes I would be dealing with was folks cooking some meth, beating up on wives or husbands, or some petty-theft charges. I would not have believed that some of the people I trusted as political allies, who helped me run my race for office, were the kinds of crooks I would need to put in the penitentiary. And yet, here we are.”
He sighed, his shoulders slumping, and finally turned to face me. “I was a crusader, I thought. I got elected on a platform of getting things done, getting wrongs righted. I said my office would be transparent and my door would always be open. Hell, I’m a hometown boy. Born and bred in these parts and always had family up and down this circuit.
“When I decided to run for office, I reached out to all the people I had been raised to believe were the movers and shakers in this community. The people who did the charity work behind the scenes. The folks who helped the churches stay afloat in hard times. The people who were willing to give those down-and-out a second chance. The kind of people I wanted to be associated with.”
I nodded. “Sounds reasonable.”
Mason grunted. He stamped out his half-smoked cigarette and swiped at the smoke.
He continued. “I went out and shook hands and kissed babies. Kissed a lot of ass along the way, too. But that goes with the practice of politics. You say some things that may be softened for a particular audience. Or you dodge a question you think the average Joe on the street might take issue with. ‘Should this state legalize weed?’ My answer was always that I would support changes that were reasonable based on the scientific studies in the area. Just a bunch of bullshit to avoid a direct answer. That’s what I thought I was supposed to do to get elected.”
“Sounds like it worked,” I said.
He turned, surveying me before he responded. “Seems like you say what’s on your mind.”
“I didn’t mean any disrespect. But apparently what you did worked for you. Or you wouldn’t be sitting here.”
“Right. Be careful what you wish for,” he said with a wry smile. “And I don’t mind if you speak your mind. I damn sure don’t have all the answers, and I appreciate someone calling things as they see them.
“Anyway, I took office and started by trying to get the lay of the land. I have to work within a budget that all three counties in this circuit have a finger in. Each county agrees to pay a certain percentage of the budget, but the commissioners can drag their feet in paying bills. They can contact the other commissioners to recommend cuts to the overall budget. They can do my office a lot of damage and not be exposed for doing it. No single county is the bad guy.”
The cloud of smoke still hung near his face. While he talked to me, he moved papers around on his desk. At times, I thought he was talking to himself.
“So, you weren’t the fair-haired child?”
“I had good support in Pickens County. But then, my people are from there. I grew up there. Stayed there until I went into the service. Fannin County has been supportive, and most of the politicos up there are with me, as far as I know. But Gilmer County—the very place we sit right now—has tried to fight me behind the scenes. I wrote it off as politics. Or they just didn’t like me.” He paused and then smiled. “But what’s not to like?”
Without taking a deep breath, he continued. “The things that were thrown in my way were little nit-shit things to annoy me more than anything. Depositing my paycheck in the wrong account. ‘Oh, so sorry for the mistake. Won’t happen again.’ Canceling my Secretary’s insurance. Cutting off the phones in the office. You name it, they managed to fuck it up and make it seem like good-ole-boy mistakes.”
I was taking notes and trying to absorb what he was saying. “Sounds like a state government operation to me.”
“I wrote everything off to the price I would have to pay to have this job. Right up until the day I started asking questions about the county audit. All of a sudden, they wanted to give me extra money. ‘We’ll hire more staff and remodel your office space.’ That scared the hell out of me, and I started looking deeper into the audits. Then I started looking back a few years.”
He got out of his seat and picked up three large notebooks from a work desk in a corner. Opening one of them up on his desk, he turned to me and pointed at the pages. “The numbers on the audit of county spending just don’t make sense. Tax revenues come in, money from federal grants come in, but the government here never has any money in the bank. And the folks who work in this very courthouse are people who farmed or raised apples until they got elected to public office. Common people like you and me. Now, several of them are millionaires. They have big parcels of land they own and big houses they live in. Lavish vacations and all the trappings of money. But they don’t have the income to support that.”
“Can you give me a hint?” I asked.
“Sure,” Mason said. “Just based on what I’ve told you, the most powerful people in the county are Sheriff Hodge and Judge Pelfrey, the chief judge for this circuit. Maybe the Judge’s daughter, but I can’t figure out how she is getting paid out of all this. Nothing points to them specifically, but they have prospered the most in the last twenty years. Judge Pelfrey has been neck deep in whatever goes on in this part of North Georgia as long as I can remember. His daughter, Linda, is being groomed to step into his place when he retires. They tell most of the elected and unelected folks in this courthouse when to jump and how high. Hell, in this county it could be most anybody in this courthouse. So many people have a hand in what goes on here, and so many people have gotten well off from their public service.”
“Does the audit you have point to any place the money might be going?” I asked.
“That’s the problem. It doesn’t point to anyone. If you look at the bottom line, there is no one individual I can find who is profiting off the county. Like most counties, we do business with companies all over the area. They bill the county a fortune for services and materials. It’s hard for my office to track down, but the GBI can cross county lines and get to the bottom of all this mess.”
I scratched my head. “So, what you want me to look into is whether tax money is being wasted? That’s pretty much what government is all about. What do you think I could find that would result in criminal charges?”
“It seems like, somehow, the process in place to oversee how tax money is spent has been derailed. I just can’t figure out what they’re doing. That’s what I’m looking for you to find out.”
“Sure,” I said.
“Using the political clout the county has had in the past, several federal grants that passed through the State have been awarded to our area. Those moneys have added to the county’s checking account but are usually earmarked for a specific issue. So, for a county so small, there has been a lot of projects funded and lots of dollars dropped into the county coffers.”
“I understand,” I said, “but this is not unique. Most small counties have a powerful politician or two who can help them find the money from the State or the feds to make improvements.”
“Right, and you haven’t been in the area long enough to notice this.”
“Notice what?” I asked.
“Lots of money has been granted, but there haven’t been any improvements.”
CHAPTER 4
LAY OF THE LAND
Mason had given me copies of the last three years of audits in the county. Each was about a hundred pages long. I tucked them under my arm and headed down the stairs. Since I had had a late breakfast, I decided to go find a motel room to settle down in and then start looking over my new thousand-page project. As I got to the lobby of the courthouse, a big man approached me from the shadows.
He was very tall with broad shoulders and a beer belly. He carried himself with his head slumped down on his shoulders like
some really tall men do. He looked to be at least seventy years old. His hair was jet black and plastered down with hair gel. I wasn’t sure if he had a comb-over, but I wouldn’t have been surprised. He was wearing khaki pants and a plaid shirt. On the left side of the shirt, a small star was pinned over his heart.
“You the GBI man come to town to help our fine district attorney?” he asked.
“Yes, sir. And I’m guessing you’re the sheriff?”
“That’s right, son. Sheriff Mort Hodge. I am the sheriff of everything you can see from the front of this courthouse. Been sheriff for longer than you’ve probably been in long britches. I’ve been a friend to every person in this county who needed help, and I’ve worked more hours than any other officer in this county to keep my people safe.”
Sheriff Hodge reminded me of a handful of sheriffs I had met over the years. Rather than see themselves as a point of authority who upholds the law, they see themselves as the law.
I nodded. “Nice to meet you, Sheriff.”
I couldn’t tell if he was angry due to the blank expression he had. “I just wanted to extend our cooperation with the GBI’s investigation. You’re not going to find anything; I can tell you that. This county is run by a fine group of men and women who grew up here and understand the needs of the people of this county.” He was watching me closely for my reaction. “We all pull together to keep the people prosperous. Not a thing here for a criminal investigator like yourself to uncover.”
I had my hands full with the county audit materials. I worked my way closer to the door and found an empty bench to rest the audits on. “Don’t worry, Sheriff. I came here to do a once over of the county finances. Something I’m sure the county pays an accounting firm to do. We have a request to conduct the investigation, but I think if there were other issues, they would have sent more people, don’t you?” I watched his eyes. “It’s not like I’m here investigating a murder.”
His eyes narrowed, but his expression didn’t change.
“You GBI boys can be pretty sneaky,” he insisted. He leaned into my space, to the point that I could smell the stale coffee on his breath. He straightened up to his full height, taking another step forward to crowd my space. I could tell he was used to intimidating those people he dealt with. I wasn’t easily intimidated.
His eyes were barely hiding the rage he must have felt. He was used to being catered to. The Sheriff drew himself up and then looked down at me. “Y’all have come into Gilmer and tried to stir things up before. I’m a constitutional officer for this county and the chief law enforcement officer of this county.”
“Yes, sir. I get that. And I plan to work my side of the street. I’m sure you’ve got plenty to do just working your side of the street.”
We just stared at each other for a full minute. He opened his mouth, likely to tell me how important he was, but then he suddenly turned on his heel, and without another word, he strode away.
I was young in the business and had doubted a law officer would be party to a murder. Now, I wasn’t as sure.
I picked up the almost ten pounds of audits and made my way down the front steps of the courthouse to the street. My route was one that would give me a chance to spot anyone following behind me. Once the audits were locked away, I would go back to the courthouse and see if my appearance had generated any unusual activity.
That turned out to be a good idea. It must have taken the Sheriff a couple of minutes to get his help assigned to task. I saw two uniformed Deputies walking around the square, looking things over. They hadn’t spotted me yet, but they were checking the parking spaces closest to the courthouse to see if they could pick out my car. I took my sports coat off and yanked my tie down to be as anonymous as possible. That would help me be less noticeable. Then, I walked into a shop called Mountain Antiques. The front window had a good view of the action. Both of the Deputies were young, probably mid-twenties at the most. One was average height and thin as a whip, and the other was tall but very heavy. They looked so similar they could have been the before and after pictures for a weight-loss product. Both sported a mustache. They were in traditional brown and tan uniforms with brown campaign hats.
I watched them wander around the square until they both looked at each other, shrugged their shoulders, and headed back to the sheriff’s offices. I took that as my signal to get to my car and get out of town, heading north to Blue Ridge.
One of the first things you notice when you cross into Fannin County are the log homes advertised as weekend retreats. Fannin was quickly becoming a weekend destination for people needing a break from the hustle and bustle of Atlanta. Log cabins were the hot commodity. And land and construction costs were still relatively low.
The Blue Ridge city limits aren’t far from the Gilmer County line. I started looking for a decent motel. I came across a mid-range motel that was on the outskirts of town, sitting just off the parkway. It fit the bill since most of the parking was in the rear. I usually avoided motels with outside doors, but the secluded parking lot was a benefit.
When I went to the front counter to check in, I showed the clerk my undercover driver’s license. The clerk was a middle-aged woman dressed in jeans and a red blouse, watching a game show on a TV hung in the lobby.
She seemed disinterested as she swiped my undercover credit card. I asked her for a room in the back. This made her look up for a second, and I mumbled something about traffic noise. She was keeping her eye on the game show but asked how long I would be staying, and I told her about a week. She nodded and made a note in her computer. Her last task was to prepare the credit card sized door key and write my room number on a small envelope. She jammed the key inside and handed it to me. Since she had paid so little attention to me, I doubted she could pick me out of a line-up.
I had just the one bag, along with a laptop which required a phone connection, and the audit paperwork. I had packed light, with a few dress shirts, slacks, a single navy sport coat, and a few ties. Enough clothes and underwear to make it two weeks. When I was a narc on the road, two weeks’ worth of clothes was my standard pack out. I had learned to pack as light as possible so I could travel on short notice. But I figured I would be staying in the motel for a week, at most.
I got into the room, which smelled musty but not exactly unclean. Motel rooms have a distinct sameness about them that is universal across any chain or price of room. I looked the room over and it seemed more empty than usual. The motel was old school, and the room had glasses wrapped in paper.
I was going to be driving later, so alcohol was out of the question. I thought about turning on the TV, thinking the noise would fill the emptiness in the drab room.
I left my clothes in my bag, an old habit that allowed for a quick escape. I tossed my GBI issued Glock 23, still in its holster, on the bed. I carried it in a soft leather holster that tucked inconspicuously into my pants’ waist. Old narc habits die hard.
I brought in the audits, and then set up the laptop. Once I had linked the laptop to the phone line, I had a secure dedicated connection to the GBI email system. I got down to the grunt work of looking at the audits.
I started examining the audits in detail and found penciled notes that someone—probably Mason—had made in the paperwork. I looked at the overall spreadsheets the audit contained. The Sheriff’s Office got the lion’s share of the money from the county General Fund. The Fire and Emergency Services were next. After that was the Water and Sewage Authority. Then came Roads and Bridges, Court Services, which included the Clerk of Court, and the offices of the Superior Court Judges and the Magistrate Judges, and then general expense.
I tried to size up the department budgets based on the number of employees, but the Water and Sewage Authority and the Roads and Bridges Department had just a couple of full-time employees. For them, everything was done by contractors who bid out their services to pave a road, or lay miles of water pipe.
The Sheriff had a dozen Patrol Deputies, about twenty people who staff
ed the jail, and then ten dispatchers in the 911 center. Even though I got a bad feeling from the Sheriff, his operations budget was pretty slim. I really couldn’t figure out how he kept gas in the patrol cars he had. And it looked like most of his uniform cars were purchased as surplus from the State Patrol.
Fire wasn’t much different. They operated on a shoe string. The fire trucks were old and run down, and only one truck had been replaced in the last ten years. Even the high-ranking members of the department were barely making a living wage. I knew a lot of firefighters worked second jobs with other departments, and I was sure the rank and file in Gilmer County must be doing just that.
Most of the side notes made by DA Mason were in the form of questions, like “Who approved this contractor?” “They don’t do any other business in Gilmer County.” “Does the county pay for road paving and then get reimbursed by the State?” “Who decides what the County is willing to pay for services?”
Frankly, I wasn’t seeing any particular red flags. The second section of each audit was from the school system. There was much more money involved, but the majority was accounted for by employees and contracts in place. Maybe there was something out of the way there, but nothing jumped out.
Suddenly, I remembered to check the time. It was after seven and I had missed my first call-in deadline by ten minutes. I grabbed the phone and called the GBI Radio Room. The call was answered on the second ring.
“GBI, Tipton speaking.”
“Emma, how goes it?” I asked.
“You better start calling in on time. They told me I’d lose my job if I didn’t keep up with you. And I ain’t about to lose my job over some damned narc who can’t read a watch.”
“I love you, too, Emma.”
“I’m not kidding. Your inspector called me five minutes ago to see if you had called in.”
Mountain Justice Page 5
