“Well, that’s good.”
“I’ve been trying to get back out there, maybe even find myself a nice guy. Never had one of those before. Are you a nice guy?”
I shrugged. “I’d like to think so. I’m sure you’ll find yourself someone you deserve, who deserves you.”
“Yeah.” She seemed to have something else to say as she fidgeted with the stapler on her desk. “Am I going to have to ask you out?” she asked.
She caught me off guard, and she knew it. She smiled and, with her head tilted down slightly, looked me straight in the eye.
“I, uh, will be in town for the next couple of weeks. I’m sure I’ll be back in here today or tomorrow and have a better idea how busy I’ll be.”
That seemed to satisfy her for the moment.
She stood up and went over to her printer. She crossed back to her desk, sat down, and handed me several sheets of paper. “This should give you some light reading for a day or two,” she said.
When she stood, I did the same and took the papers. She gave me a friendly smile and watched me take off down the steps.
Once I got to the street, I made my way back to my car and started looking at the list of county employees Rose had given me. It wasn’t unusual in a small county for there to be several people employed with the same last name, and Gilmer County was no exception. I knew the Sheriff had two of his brothers as Deputies. I found at least three more Hodges on the payroll, for a total of six. Two Hodges were in the road department and the last was with the Water and Sewage Authority. There were other last names that were equally common, including two Masons. And an odd one jumped out at me from the list. The only name other than Hodge drawing a salary from the Water and Sewage Authority was named Freely.
In my estimation, the case would hinge on finding out more about the various county departments. My first objective was going to the office for the Roads and Bridges Department. The fenced-in lot that amounted to the county’s Roads Department was easy to find. There was a place to park where I could look the lot over. The number of personal cars in the lot should be similar to the number of employees. A common way of syphoning government money was to create phantom employees.
When I drove into the lot, I was met by a man in a hard hat. He told me he was Tom Johnson. He was Assistant Foreman for the county’s Roads. After I told him I was doing some background on the Roads Department for an official investigation, he invited me into the office.
“What can I do to help you out?” Johnson asked.
“Can you tell me a little about how much paving the county does each year, and how that gets paid for?”
“Sure, we pave about thirty to forty miles of road in an average year. That is subject to change when we have a lot of rain or even more than average snow. Those events will lead us to have to spend more time and money on road repair than on road improvement. Both are expensive on a small scale like we have here. Most everything we do is contracted out, and we simply make sure the work gets done to our specifications.”
I nodded. I was really trying to act like I had some understanding of what he was explaining. “Does the county get reimbursed for any of this?”
“You bet. We get money from the federal government passed through the State. We spend about twenty-five million a year to improve or repair our local roads. We do the same service for the City of Ellijay and for the City of East Ellijay. If the money flows like it should, we expend about five million in local tax money, and the rest is paid by state or federal dollars.”
“Who decides what roads are improved? And, I guess you have some areas where the roads are dirt or gravel?” Johnson nodded, so I continued, “Who decides which one of those roads is to be paved?”
Johnson was on a roll. “Those decisions are made by our advisory board. They prioritize the projects and decide how all the money is spent.”
“And does your office do the bidding for the contractors?”
“Nope. All that is done under the direction of the advisory board. All we do is make sure the projects are done up to spec.”
“Okay,” I said. “Thanks for your time.” I got his information and phone numbers and went back to my truck.
Then, I drove around a while and looked for the Water and Sewage Authority. I didn’t have any luck, so I found a phone booth at a convenience store with a phone book. I looked up the Water and Sewage Authority and found that the only address was inside the courthouse.
I took out the list Rose had given me, and started counting the employees in each department. Nothing seemed to be particularly unusual. Each department had what seemed to be an average number of employees for a county this size.
I seemed to be getting nowhere fast. And I wasn’t sure what, if anything, I was missing. I knew something was going on, or the Sheriff’s Office wouldn’t be all over me. They had to know interfering with me in the middle of an official investigation would cause them problems. Unless, of course, the stakes were higher. Like, for example, the Sheriff had murdered a GBI informant.
But, for the life of me, I couldn’t see where to begin. So, I decided to begin at the beginning. You get the most information from the least-paid employees. I decided to go to the Commissioners’ Office. Gilmer County had a three-person board of commissioners. None of their names had come up in this investigation so far. The commission chair was Turner Mayfield. The commission job was part-time; his day job was running a building-supply business. He was on his second term of office. The other two commissioners were brand new.
I parked as far away as practical and made my way to the Commissioners’ Office on the first floor. As soon as I stepped inside, I was intercepted by a woman not much bigger than a sparrow. She was probably in her mid-fifties and had short, permed gray hair. She wore a dark blue skirt and a printed blouse and was standing in the threshold with her hands on her hips. “State your business, sir. We close at four, and I’m shutting things down.”
I held out my credentials. She looked them over, taking time to compare my face to the photo. She narrowed her eyes, “You look different. In that picture, you have long hair and needed a shave.”
I smiled. “Yes, ma’am. My mother says the same thing. I recently transferred to general investigation. I just haven’t gotten my credentials re-made.”
She didn’t smile. “Your mother is right. You look better with your hair cut.”
“She and her sisters were all convinced of that. I’ll be sure to tell her another vote has been cast.”
“And tell her that her son needs to come to my office before ten minutes to closing when looking for information.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
For a woman of her age, she sure was full of energy. “Is there a time that would be better for you?”
She dropped her hands and turned to walk to a large desk in the middle of the office floor. The name plate on the desk read “Shelia Haney.” The desk was piled high with folders and mail. “I guess now is as good a time as any.” She sat down and turned to face me.
“I just wanted to get some information on contractors who do business with the county.”
“You came to the right place. I have to co-sign each one of the checks that go out. We have a county bookkeeper who writes the checks and balances the books. But I have to approve all payments on county contracts. I sit in on commission meetings, so I know what projects are approved and which ones are not. What can I show you?”
“Which department has the most on-going contracts?” I asked.
“That would be a toss-up. Roads and Bridges or Water and Sewage Authority. Both pretty much have contractors doing work around the clock. They sign off on the invoices and then they come to me. If the project is approved, then I sign off for the checks to be cut.”
“So, you don’t sign the checks? But are they hand-signed or are they computer-generated?”
Shelia shook her head. “We’re not locked into the dark ages. Well, at least not completely. I authorize the check and sen
d it over to our Finance Department. They code in the checks and send them out to the vendors. Once I authorize, the system generates the check and an image signature makes it complete.”
“Are all the contractor local?” I asked.
“Most are here, keeping the tax money local. Some of the bigger contractors come from Gainesville. That’s usually the paving companies or the crews that lay the waterlines.”
“Could you tell me if any of them are unusually expensive?”
“Well, if you mean do we pay them a large sum of money, the answer is yes. Some of the roads have a poor sub-bed, or they wash out easily because of the mountains and the rain run-off. The county has laid enough waterline to reach to Tennessee. But in a rural county, the Board of Commissioners had better be putting the services out there, or people will vote them out quick as a wink.” She was building momentum. “Some of the projects they sign off on are a big waste of money, but they keep everybody happy by paving roads to churches or running a waterline down a damned road that nobody lives on. Growing for the future, they call it. I call it keeping your job.”
“You seem to be pretty direct,” I said. “May I call you Shelia?”
“Sure, and tell your mom she raised you right. You have good manners for a young one.”
“Thanks,” I said. “I’ll be sure to tell her. Are you aware of the allegations the District Attorney has made?”
“Sure, everybody in this courthouse knows about that. He’s a damned fool and a blowhard.”
“So, you think the DA is wrong?”
“No, not at all. He’s just a fool and a blowhard. He’s probably right on the money with what he claims. But I see every dime that goes out the door here, and I don’t know how they are doing it—if they are.”
I watched her look at paperwork on her desk. “I can show you balance sheets and invoices to match checks. I can tell you where all the county money goes, and I’d be the first to tell you if anybody was stealing from our accounts.”
I waited for her to continue. She seemed to be thinking. After almost a full minute, she said, “But I can tell you several select individuals in the county government have gotten well off in the last ten to fifteen years.”
“Such as . . .”
“Our Commission Chair, the Sheriff, the Chief Judge of this circuit. The Judge’s daughter is a Lawyer here in town. She just bought a huge house on Fort Mountain, just inside the county. Looks over this whole territory. Like she wants to show she’s king of the hill.”
“Wow. Shelia, can I come back tomorrow and talk to you a little bit more?” I asked.
She smiled. “I am here to serve the public from eight until four each day.”
“Thanks.”
I had turned to leave when an average-sized man with hair dyed jet black came out of the back office, marked “Commissioners.” He was dressed in a white shirt with black cotton pants and had on cheap looking black shoes with white socks. I guessed he had to be Turner Mayfield. Turned out, I was right.
“Shelia,” he said. “Working late today?”
Shelia pointed at me. “Helping this GBI man get some information. He got stuck with checking on the District Attorney’s claims about how we spend money here in this county.”
Mayfield was visibly shaken. His complexion was pale, and he had the look of a heavy drinker. He stuck out a clammy hand and shook mine. His hands were shaking. “I’m Turner Mayfield. The Chairman of the Board of Commissioners here. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
I acknowledged his introduction and gave him my business card.
“Mr. Chairman, I appreciate all your office’s help in getting this investigation over with. I sure would like to put all this to bed and get back to my normal life.”
He nodded, his head nodding up and down like a fake dog in a car’s back window. “Well, we support you in that.”
“I understand you are on the Board of the Water and Sewage Authority, as well. That seems odd to me that you serve the county in two capacities.”
He seemed to be trying to swallow something. His jaw was working and his Adam’s apple was bobbing up and down. I almost felt sorry for him.
“Well, this is a small county,” Mayfield said. “Lots of us have to do double duty. I don’t get a big check from the Water and Sewage Authority since we only meet once a month. I mostly do it out of civic duty.”
I thought about that. “Well, I’m sure the county is lucky to have someone so civic-minded to serve their needs.”
He went silent, and so I excused myself and left his office.
I made my way out of the courthouse and wound around to my car. Thinking back, Shelia Haney struck me as the person who knew where a lot of the bodies were buried in that courthouse. She had access to most of the paperwork needed to keep the county operating. I was looking forward to spending more time with Ms. Haney.
I couldn’t tell you if I was followed, or if the patrol car just happened on me. Either way, I watched the marked Sheriff’s car go by the end of my car as I backed out. I was trying my best to look casual. I watched as the patrol car went by and then slammed on the brakes.
But I was out in the street pulling away from town by the time his brake lights flared. I figured I was about to see how interested they were in finding me. And if I could get out of sight before any of the Deputies got a good look at me or my ride.
I hit the gas and shot down the street as fast as my Expedition would accelerate. I saw the patrol car trying to turn around. He had already declared his intentions by turning on his blue lights. But I figured I was far enough ahead that I could keep him from making a positive identification of me or my truck.
I headed out on Highway 52 toward Chatsworth. I didn’t want to head toward Fannin County, whether he might know I would go that way or because I didn’t want to give up my secret headquarters. I heard the deputy come on the radio, “Five-oh-nine to Gilmer County.”
In a second, I heard the dispatcher come back to him, “Go ahead, five-oh-nine.”
He came back on the radio. “I’ve got a white SUV running from me back toward Chatsworth. It could be the GBI man, but it has a Tennessee tag.”
I could hear the excitement in the dispatcher’s voice as she asked, “Can you give me the tag number.”
“No, but I’m trying to catch up.”
Luck was on my side.
I was going about sixty miles an hour inside the city limits. The street was narrow, and there were brick walls on each side as I came to a sharp left turn. I dropped the shifter into second gear and felt the truck slow down sharply. I could feel the rear end of the big truck trying to break loose. With the engine whining as the transmission held second gear, I pressed the gas pedal and waited till I was in the apex. I popped the gear lever back to high gear and pushed the pedal to the floor. That maneuver was an old trooper trick to keep momentum in curves. My truck rose to the occasion.
I could hear the siren wailing behind me as I gained speed up the hill. I looked in the rearview mirror and saw the patrol car come into the curve. But the deputy had to brake sharply to keep from leaving the roadway.
I knew as long as I didn’t do anything stupid, I had the edge. I was almost a full minute ahead of the patrol car, and I had grown up driving way too fast on these mountain roads.
The Expedition was heavy and sluggish compared to the Crown Vic patrol car. But I held the pedal down and used the gear shift to adjust for the curves. The truck would need some love after tonight, but it was holding up better than I expected. I could smell the brakes heating each time I used them, but they weren’t fading yet.
Keeping one eye on the mirror, I tried to keep the movement of the steering wheel smooth and keep my foot away from the brake pedal. For one thing, using the brakes took away much of my momentum. For another, the pursuing deputy could use the flare of the brake lights to his advantage and see me further away.
I heard the dispatcher on the radio. “Five-oh-nine. Ten-twenty?”
�
��Headed up the mountain on Georgia fifty-two. Are any units out this way?”
Another voice came on the radio. “Five-oh-nine, this is five-oh-two. Can you tell if it’s that GBI man?” Five-oh-two had to be the Chief Deputy, Givens. I was a little bit surprised they openly talked on the radio about me. But I realized they weren’t aware the GBI had recently added all the local channels to our car radios.
“I ain’t sure. It looked like the picture we got, but he got out on me too fast.”
I was surprised to hear they had a photo of me. I had been discreet in my movements around town and had been sure there were no cameras in the courthouse. I reckoned I had been under observation more than I had realized.
“Five-oh-two is coming your way. You stay on him, you hear me?”
“Yes, sir. I’m coming up on Cowboy Trail. But he is hauling ass, and I’m having a hard time keeping him in sight.”
Five-oh-two came back on the radio. “Don’t lose him. Step on the gas and keep him in sight.”
“Roger, Chief. Should dispatch let Murray County know we’re coming their way?” It was during this transmission I heard a crash in the background.
Everyone heard it. “Dispatch to five-oh-nine. Are you ten-four?”
“Gilmer, I’ve run in the ditch up here by the overlook. I lost the subject. I may need a wrecker.”
Taking my foot off the gas, I felt a bit of relief as I crossed into Murray County. I knew, though, if they thought I was a legit criminal, the most logical move would be to notify Murray County dispatch. I switched my radio over to the Murray County radio channels and made my way down the other side of the mountain. When I rolled into the city limits of Chatsworth, I pulled into a grocery store parking lot and changed out my license plate. I threw the Tennessee tag under the back seat and put a clean Georgia tag on the rear. Murray County hadn’t put anything out on their radio channel.
I decided to be safe and go up into Tennessee and circle around to Blue Ridge.
Mountain Justice Page 7
