I thanked him. I knew he was in a tough spot. Director Hicks was a retired FBI Agent. He was an outsider in Georgia politics, much like I was in Gilmer County. He had an uphill battle to get the Governor to change his mind.
Scott Andrews met me in front of the hospital and helped me into his car. Will made a point of telling me I could take as much time as I needed to recover. He shook my hand and mumbled, “Good job, kid.”
Scott drove me back to the little house I had rented. The ride was mostly awkward silence. Every Agent knows there are things that can’t be discussed until the official investigation is over. Scott tried to get me to talk about normal stuff, but my head wasn’t in it. We finally arrived at talking about GBI in-house gossip. Who was getting promoted, who was getting transferred, and who was in trouble. That made the ride go a little better.
When I walked into my house, Scott tossed my bag onto the couch in the living room. I thanked him and shook his hand. He made sure I had his home number and then left. I limped to the mailbox and got the accumulated mail. Then I got in a hot shower. I stood with my head hanging down with the water as hot as I could stand it. I saw drops of blood on the floor and the occasional bit of matter. Most of that was from the bodies of other people since my wounds were bandaged over. It was a strange sensation to see remnants of a couple of dead men circling the drain in my shower.
CHAPTER 14
IT AIN’T OVER TILL IT’S OVER
I was restless that first night at home. I had trouble sleeping and was sore all over from the crash. I had gotten a prescription for Ambien, and that was some help in resting but it seemed to intensify the dreams. I woke up frequently in the night with vivid dreams of that night in Ellijay. Regardless of the scenario, I was always in molasses. For the first couple of days, when I showered, I would find small chips of the Judge’s skull in my hair.
Even into the first week at home, I would wake up in the middle of the night from dreams that were, no doubt, related to the double shooting. Each time I was confronted with a similar situation. Sometimes, the Judge would turn and shoot me, sometimes the Sheriff did the shooting. In one, Linda Pelfrey was naked, bent over a table, and the Sheriff was shooting her again and again. No matter what, I would sit up in bed, wide awake and covered in sweat.
By the time the second week rolled around, I was beginning to rest. I was trying to pay attention to my alcohol intake, particularly with that on top of sleep medication. But each day, my physical and mental health got a little bit better.
I had given a statement to the Agent assigned to investigate the events of that night. Her name was Jamie Abernathy. She was one of Carver’s angels, one of a group of female Agents assigned to my new office, a two-year veteran there. She told me Chief Givens was tight-lipped, and the other Deputies had little to say. She had been easy to talk to and shook my hand warmly before she left.
With time, the nightmares happened less often. I was getting my life back to a normal rhythm. In the evenings, when I poured a drink, my hands barely shook, but five o’clock came earlier some days more than others.
I spent a couple of days locating an apartment in Canton. I ended up in some apartments near the city center. The nickname of the place said it all, “alimony hill—if you weren’t collecting it, you were paying it.” I got a bargain on the rent and started making arrangements to move. A couple of times, I picked up the phone to call Rose, just to check in with her, but then I remembered what it might do to any criminal case.
It had been almost two weeks since the shooting when I got an email from GBI Headquarters. I was planning to go back to work the next day, but the email changed things.
I read the email saying one of the Atlanta TV stations would like to get the details of the story about that night in Ellijay. The email outlined what I could talk about, then gave me the ground rules for the topics I was to avoid. I could describe what my investigation uncovered but not comment on any pending charges. I could describe the shootings but only the bare facts. I was cautioned not to give my opinion or editorialize in any way. The Director offered to sit in with me. He suggested I could drive down to Atlanta for an interview around lunch time. That would give the Reporter time to edit the story before the first news run at four p.m. Director Hicks agreed to buy my lunch. That was the only part of the story I thought was far-fetched. I knew the talk around the GBI was that he was extremely tight with both his money and the Bureau’s money.
I called Machelle and told her to let Carver know I wouldn’t be in the office until Wednesday morning. She was happy to hear from me, she said. I thanked her and then sat down at my kitchen table to make notes of what I thought I would be able to say.
Tuesday morning was exactly two weeks after I walked out of the ER. I got up that morning and started getting ready. After I got out of the shower, I turned on the TV. Little did I know the tragedy that I would be greeted with. It was Tuesday, September 11, 2001. On that day, the world was turned upside down. What had happened in Ellijay was no longer even in the news. I watched in horror when the second plane hit the tower. Then, sitting in disbelief, I tried to make sense of the reports that were coming in. The images on TV, I knew from past experience, were only a snapshot of the bigger picture of death and destruction.
In slow motion, I put on the suit I had laid out for the interview. I got dressed and called my office. They told me to head to GBI Headquarters to see what I could do to help. I never gave an interview on the Gilmer County investigation.
Over the next several weeks, the GBI was scrambling to support the FBI and Secret Service in figuring out what had happened in New York, Washington, and Pennsylvania. I was tasked with interviews at all the airports in Atlanta along with an FBI Agent. We went to each airfield and tried to identify anyone who was in flight training who might have been associated with the 9/11 hijackers. We all wanted to do our part to respond to the unthinkable attack on our homeland.
In mid-September, I came back to the Region Eight Office for the first time since the shooting. I was turning in reports and reviewing administrative paperwork. Machelle looked like a worried mother hen when I walked into the office, trying my best to hide the aches I still had in my back and right knee. She helped me get my desk set up and gave me the news that the Bureau was going to repair the crashed Expedition, rather than give me one of the few cars the Agency was budgeted for that year.
When I went to the breakroom for coffee, I saw a discarded newspaper on the kitchen table. That’s when I read about Linda Pelfrey’s appointment to her dad’s judgeship by the Governor. That same day, I got a letter of commendation from Director Hicks in the interoffice mail. It commended me for my investigative ability, my tenacity, and my strength of will. He forgot to mention my arrogance, my dull wit, and my sex drive, all of which contributed to the outcome of the investigation.
I was pouring a cup of coffee when Jackson Farmer came into the kitchen. I knew of him by reputation, but we hadn’t met. He was a long-time Agent in Region Eight. We shook hands and he welcomed me into the fold. He poured himself a cup and sat down with me at the table.
Jackson was a no-nonsense investigator, with hundreds of homicide investigations under his belt. He had that outward calm that good detectives exhibited.
I had just finished reading the newspaper account of the Judge’s appointment and my letter of commendation when Farmer looked at me. “The Governor always has our back; except when he doesn’t,” Farmer said with a sardonic smile.
“I guess you heard about most of what happened?” I replied.
He nodded. “Nothing you could have done different. The Bureau expects nothing less. Still, appointing her so quickly after all this mess seems pretty cold.”
It was my turn to smile. “The Governor has bigger fish to fry than whatever my problems may be. He wants to get re-elected. Election year is every year if you’re running scared.” By then, I was over it.
Farmer laughed. “Don’t let it get under your skin. I’m on my fifth
Governor. Doesn’t really matter to me who is in that office. I don’t do this job for him, I do it for the victims out there.”
I nodded. “I get that.”
Farmer was looking me over. He sipped his coffee, checking the temperature, and then looked me in the eye. “In my younger days, I worked a case with a couple of Texas Rangers. Spent some time in Fort Worth, and those boys helped me out for a good week. One of them told me the Rangers’ motto.” Farmer waited for me to bite.
“Which is?”
“‘A man in the wrong can never stand up to a man in the right who keeps on coming.’”
I pondered that. “Not a bad motto. And for folks like us, it just fits.”
“You get the two keys to that, right?”
“I guess,” I said.
He held up two fingers. “One, you have got to be right. Not always easy to figure out, but you have to do it.” Then he went down to one finger. “Two is, you never give up. Long as there is life in your body and you still carry a badge, you keep on coming.”
I finished my coffee and thanked Farmer. I never forgot that conversation. Or the commitment we made when we raised our right hands and took our oath.
EPILOGUE
TIME TO GO
When he finished talking, Byrd gulped down the last of his drink. The Lawyer hadn’t taken any notes, but he would occasionally text someone. Byrd was curious, but the lighting in the bar had made it difficult to read the phone display.
“I’m assuming you are here to see if anything in my investigation will keep Judge Pelfrey from being appointed to the State Supreme Court. Everyone knows she’s tight with the new Governor.”
The Lawyer smiled but wouldn’t answer the question. “That was a great story. But it’s full of things that can’t be corroborated. And you wouldn’t want anyone to know about some of the things you’ve told me today.”
“You misjudge me. I couldn’t care less what gets out. Everything I’ve told you is in the official case file.”
“Everything?”
“Everything.” Flat, without emotion.
“Do any pictures or videos exist of your surveillance of Judge Pelfrey’s house?”
“Beats me. I put everything in the case file. What happened after that is out of my control.”
The Lawyer seemed to be running over his mental list of questions. After a couple of minutes, he drained his own glass. “Did the GBI ever solve the murder of the informant, Harris?”
“Do you mean was Givens charged? No. He wasn’t. He was ultimately my only suspect. I think the late Judge would never have had the balls to have acted on something like that. He figured he could protect his daughter with his political influence. And I think the Sheriff would have been in the same boat. I think they had Givens do their dirty work.”
The Lawyer nodded.
I continued. “And I think the sitting Judge was too spaced out back then to have kept anything she did private. She was up to her nose in the scheme to defraud the government, but she didn’t have much control over the events back then. Even if she was the catalyst.”
The Lawyer shrugged. “Just your opinion. Not anything that would be provable. I’m sure you wanted some form of revenge for Chief Deputy Givens after what he did to you.”
Byrd frowned. “That wasn’t the first time somebody pointed a gun at me. And it turns out it also wasn’t the last.”
The Lawyer didn’t know what to say to that.
“Any more questions, Counselor?” Byrd said.
“Just one. You worked in that area for several years after that.”
Byrd cocked his head. “That’s not a question.”
The Lawyer acknowledged with a raised eyebrow. “Okay, in the form of a question, why did you stay?”
Byrd leaned forward in his seat. “You think I should have run? I was in the right. I was doing the job I was paid to do, that I swore to do. I take my oath of office very seriously.”
The Lawyer leaned back and smirked. “I think you really believe that. Sort of sad you wasted your life chasing folks the public kept electing, isn’t it?”
Byrd smiled. “No sadder than a man who wasted his life cleaning up their messes. You’re so jaded you don’t see the good in the world. I think I’ll take my path over yours every time.”
“Some misplaced sense of duty, in my opinion. Some people like off-the-rack suits and fast food. I enjoy the finer things in life.” The Lawyer looked more relaxed, now that his questions were answered.
Byrd put both hands on the table. He leaned in toward the Lawyer. “Do you believe in God?”
That got a quick, uncomfortable laugh. “No. Do you?”
“This job takes a toll on your soul. Lots of cops quit going to church because of the bad things we see.” Byrd watched the Lawyer’s face closely as he continued. “There was an episode of CSI on television I watched—”
The Lawyer interrupted. “I thought cops hated that show.”
Byrd shrugged. “The stories were all Hollywood, but the characters were well developed. So, have you seen it?”
“Once or twice,” the Lawyer responded.
“One of the main characters in the series was an atheist, or maybe an agnostic. His name was Grissom. Grissom found his killer in a church, sitting in a pew praying. The killer, who had interacted with Grissom before, says a line I think of often. The killer looks at him and says, ‘You may not believe in God, but you do His work.’”
“What does that have to do with me? Are you trying to recruit me to do God’s work?” The Lawyer was trying not to laugh.
“It means we all have to pick a side. I chose mine. So, whether you believe in Him or not, you better think about whose work you’re doing.”
The Lawyer seemed to dismiss him. Byrd didn’t care, he felt like he had put the Lawyer on notice. That’s all he could do.
Byrd stood, acting just a little unsteady on his feet, and strode out of the bar and down the hall. The Lawyer was texting someone, and Byrd had a pretty good idea what was up.
He didn’t bother looking for surveillance, since he knew it was there. He walked down the hall to the restroom, shoving the door with some force, and took a couple of minutes to relieve himself.
Washing his hands, he left the restroom and crossed the lobby toward his parked car. It was parked off to the right of the front door. He looked at his watch and realized it was near midnight. His eyes were tired, and he was ready to get back home.
First, he gave the cars parked nearest to the front door a once-over. He spotted a Lincoln Town Car with a Gilmer County license plate. He noted the license plate number. It was a guess, but an educated guess. He could have waited for the Lawyer to come out, but that wouldn’t suit his plan.
As he passed the Lincoln, he noticed an old model Honda, also with Gilmer County license plates. He saw a man sitting in the driver’s seat. When the Honda driver saw Byrd look his way, he tried to look in any direction but Byrd’s. That made sense, Byrd thought.
Byrd strode across the parking lot to his vehicle and slid into the driver’s seat of the Tahoe. He quickly backed out and crossed the lot toward the exit.
He was not surprised to see the blue lights activated, even before he left the parking lot. In Georgia, a driver could be charged with driving under the influence, even on private property. He smiled to himself and pulled over near the exit of the lot. He waited for the officer to approach and was not the least surprised to see a State Trooper in his blue-and-gray uniform approaching his door. He looked young and still very sharp, even at this hour.
The Trooper stood back from the driver’s window and said, “Sir, may I see your license and insurance card?”
“You bet.”
“How much have you had to drink tonight, sir?”
“If you mean alcohol, none. If you mean liquids in general, I could be at risk of a diabetic coma from the orange juice I drank this afternoon and evening.”
The Trooper looked incredulous. “You’ve been in the
bar here drinking orange juice? All afternoon?”
He handed over the driver’s license, without an insurance card. The Trooper looked at the license. He was all business, keeping one eye on Byrd as he checked the documents.
“You want to get that insurance card and your registration information for me, then step out of your car for a couple of tests?” The Trooper was examining the license closely. “Any reason your truck is registered under another name?”
He sighed, “Trooper, the registration is different than the license I showed you because the Tahoe is registered in my undercover name. And the insurance card will be just like the one you have in your patrol car. Both rides belong to the State of Georgia.”
“I thought I recognized your name. GBI, right?”
“Yes, sir. Just been grilled by a Lawyer over an old case.”
The Trooper smiled. He had spent enough time in court in his short career to feel sympathetic. As Byrd stood up, the Trooper said, “Well, you look all right. But my Post Commander called me and told me to get you stopped. Gave me the tag number and description of your Tahoe. Told me how you were dressed and everything. Said you had been sitting in the bar here all afternoon, drinking like a fish.”
“Did your Sergeant say who called that in?” Byrd asked.
“No, sir. Just told me to come down here a couple of hours ago and wait on you to leave.” The Trooper seemed uncomfortable. The easy arrest he had been waiting for had begun to vaporize.
“Well, I haven’t had anything to drink, so I can do any test you want.” Byrd stepped down from the Tahoe. His legs were long enough that he didn’t use the step rails on the side. He stood and stretched a bit as the Trooper reached into his patrol car.
“Would you mind taking a breath test?” the Trooper asked as he came back holding a black box with a straw coming out the top.
“Not one bit.” Byrd leaned in to the box and blew hard while the Trooper held the box. After several seconds, the device beeped and the Trooper examined the display. “Sir, you scored all zeros.”
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