Bryson City Secrets: Even More Tales of a Small-Town Doctor in the Smoky Mountains (9 page)

As the bus pulled away with its precious contents, we all waved and shouted our good-byes. And in that moment I decided — in a memory ever attached to that particular mental picture — that I would do everything I could to protect my children and prepare them for the day they would leave our home to move into the world.

And I decided that I needed to start praying every day that their future mates would be protected and nurtured, raised and cared for, fostered and cherished, encouraged and trained up, in a way that would allow them to hold hands and share tears the way Barb and I did on that most special day.

chapter eight

SORROW AND
SPECULATION

I
had just finished seeing the last patient of the morning when my nurse, Bonnie Cochran, informed me that Barb was waiting in my office. Bonnie had taken over as my office nurse when Beth Arvey, my first nurse in the new office, and her husband moved away.

My interest was instantly piqued. I gave the chart to Bonnie and walked down the hall to my office. Barb was reading a magazine, which she quickly put down as I entered. Her smile lit up the room.

“Got time for lunch?” Barb asked.

“You bet!” I answered.

Then she must have seen the furrow in my brow. “Are you worried?”

I laughed. “Nope. I just wonder where the kids are.”

“It's Nancy Cunningham's day off, and she wanted to take them on a walk around Hospital Hill while we go on a date!” Nancy, Ray's wife, was the nurse in charge of infection control at the hospital and often served as one of the hospital's nursing supervisors.

“Sounds good to me! The grill at Super Swain's?”

Barb nodded, and we were off.

It was only a short drive down Hospital Hill to the drugstore. After parking in the lot across the street, we walked hand in hand toward Super Swain's and chatted.

“Hey, Walt! Barb!” we heard a voice shout. Pastor Hicks was jogging toward us.

“Hey, Ken!” we called out in unison.

As he reached us, winded, he panted, “Headed to lunch?” Like me, the slightly plump pastor carried a bit more weight than he should have.

“You bet!” Barb laughed. “Want to join us?”

“That is,” I added, “after your heart recovers?”

Ken laughed in his usual jovial way. “OK, OK. This is
not
‘parishioner pick on the pastor' day. You know, the Bible says that the Lord sent the
Holy Spirit
to convict me of my sin, not you guys!”

We both smiled. “Rebuke noted,” I said.

As we entered the store, Doc John saw us from the back and came to greet us after we sat down at an empty booth.

“Hi, guys!” he said with a wide smile. “Louise Thomas was just in here pickin' up a prescription. She was tellin' me she thinks you're a purty good doc, Doc.”

I was surprised, as I had never heard of Louise publicly complimenting
anyone
— especially a doctor. I wasn't really sure how to respond. “John, she's just being kind” was all I could muster.

“I don't think so,” Ken commented. “Doc, you know that woman will tell you exactly what she thinks — whether you ask or not. I agree with Doc John; I honestly think she likes you.”

“Well, she sure has taught me a lot.”

Ken started laughing. “That reminds me of a story Dr. Mitchell told me about Louise. I mean, the older docs may be the deans of our medical community, but Louise is definitely its most unique personality. I'm told she not only runs the emergency room at the hospital; she runs the doctors at the hospital — at least when they're in
her
ER.”

Barb and I smiled. I had personally experienced the truth of this statement.

“Anyway, Dr. Mitchell was caring for a terribly old woman named Aunt Minnie before she died. One day, Mitch walked into the emergency room, and Louise told him that Aunt Minnie had died the night before. Dr. Mitchell asked, ‘Who was the doctor?' Louise looked at him like he had two heads and in a dead-serious tone told him, ‘She didn't have no doctor. She died a
natural
death.' ”

John threw back his head and roared. We were all laughing as he made his way back behind the pharmacy counter and Becky arrived at our table with the locally famous burgers we'd ordered.

“There's just nothing like a fried hamburger at an old-timey grill,” Ken commented as he took his first bite.

I was already chewing mine and merely nodded. The taste was delectable — especially when Becky placed the cheese slice on the burger while it was still on the grill. Then, when the sizzling patty was placed on the toasted bun — which was buttered and then coated with mayonnaise — well, it's just about as good as you can get.

“I bet you don't think this food is very healthy, do you, Walt?” Ken said.

“Probably not, Ken,” I replied. “At least not physically. But it sure is satisfying to the taste buds and the emotions!”

“Especially when combined with crispy, just-out-of-the-fryer fries — salted and dipped in fresh ketchup,” Ken added, laughing.

“It's a combination just about as all-American as apple pie and the Fourth of July!” Barb commented.

“Hey, Walt,” Ken said, “has the fire department talked to you about crowning the new Miss Flame this July?”

I groaned as I recalled the embarrassment of being roped into dressing like a female beauty contestant, along with a number of other local male “celebrities,” for the first annual fire department fund-raiser the previous summer. “No one has talked to me yet, but I'll tell you this: There's
no way
they're going to get me in a dress
ever
again.”

Barb giggled, “But, honey, you were so cute!”

I scowled while Ken laughed. “Guess you wouldn't be a very good wife, Walt.”

I attempted to change the subject. “Ken, speaking of traumatized women, how's the woman who survived the stabbing?”

Ken pursed his lips. “Well, she's doing as well as can be expected.”

Because Ken had responded to Rick's request to come to see the woman when she was being treated in the hospital, his “spiritual consult” opened the door for him to counsel the victim through her post-traumatic stress, anxiety, and depression.

“Although it was no surprise to you, Walt, it certainly was a shock to a lot of folks here in town to hear that the handyman was charged with a murder and attempted murder.”

I nodded. “My suspicion level was high when I was on the scene, but I didn't know for sure until the state investigators finished evaluating the evidence. I've heard that the trial starts in a couple of months.”

“Yep,” Ken said. “And the widow is going through all the usual — flashbacks, nightmares, emotional numbness, and an overwhelming sense of loss and sorrow. Of course, she's gone through denial, anger, questions about why this happened, and feelings of powerlessness. But I think she's about to start coming to church, and that will be good.”

“Do you expect her to ever recover, Ken?” Barb asked. “I can't imagine what she's had to endure.”

“Well, different people react differently to this type of trauma, Barb. Many get better with counseling and support, but there can also be upsetting reactions that are delayed for months or even years. Part of her died along with her husband, and that missing piece can never be restored. And not only is she more isolated than ever, but she also has a ton of new tasks to do and skills to learn. But at least they had a great marriage.”

“Is that an advantage?” I asked. “I would think that would make the sorrow even harder to bear.”

“Actually, if a marital relationship is troubled at the time of a death, there may be even more residual feelings of guilt and anger to deal with. But I bet that if this lady will get involved in our fellowship, over time she'll be able live on — building new, happy memories while the sad ones fade. But the long and critical task for us as a church is to help her establish new meaning and new joys as the years go on.”

“Is she going to sell the farm?” Barb asked.

“I don't know,” Ken answered. “But I do know that following a trauma like this, it's extremely hard to face the future. So I'm encouraging her not to make any big decisions right now. I'm hoping our church members can help her live in the present — so she can avoid being overwhelmed by her past — and to help her slowly build up positive expectations for the future. She'll be asking a lot of ‘why' questions, none of which she'll find answers for. I'm hopeful that our congregation can be instrumental in starting her on the road to healing and in walking through the murder trial with her.”

“I've heard that Fred Moody has been assigned the job of defending the accused,” I said. “I've worked with him on other criminal cases.”

Ken laughed. “Folks still chuckle about how he treated you on the witness stand when you were an expert witness for the first time.”

Barb joined him in laughing.

“That's
not
funny,” I complained.

“It really is,” Barb countered. “There you were on the stand, dressed up in your best suit — ”

“My
only
suit,” I interjected.

“Indeed!” Barb agreed as she continued. “And after Fred allowed the district attorney to qualify you as an expert, he asked you to tell the jury how many cases you had worked as a medical examiner. And you had to admit it was your first.”

Barb and Ken were now both laughing at my expense. I could feel my face flushing with embarrassment, and then I began to chuckle.

“It really was pretty funny,” I commented. “Anyway, he's a great attorney and a good friend. But I don't think there's much he can do to get this guy off the hook. The CSI folks found both the husband's and wife's blood under the handyman's fingernails, as well as in the
drain trap of the sink in his house where he washed his hands.”

“Any idea what the motive was?” Ken asked.

“According to one of the deputies down at the jail, the accused has admitted to going into the kitchen to get a glass of water while the husband was in the barn. He says the woman made advances toward him. When he turned her down, she began to scream that he was attacking her. He told the deputies that she then tried to attack him, and when he fought her off and grabbed the knife, it cut her as she continued to punch him. Then the husband rushed in and began to attack him, and he was simply defending himself.”

“That story won't hold water, will it?” Ken asked.

“Nope. If it had happened that way, the accused would have told 911 what went on and then stayed at the scene until help arrived. But this guy left the scene and then lied about it.”

“Couldn't he say he panicked?” Barb asked.

“That's what he
is
saying. But there are other problems with his alibi. First, the wounds on the man and woman are totally inconsistent with his story — especially the woman's. All the wounds are defensive. Second, he had no bruises or marks on his body — nothing that would indicate that either the husband or the wife had attacked him in any way.”

“So,” Ken inquired again, “what
was
his motive?”

“Well, in my experience, unpremeditated murders like this are usually prompted by passion. Most of the time, drugs, sex, or money are at stake. In this case, there is no evidence to indicate he was trying to rob the couple, nor was there any indication of any sort of drug use by him or the couple.”

“Sex, then?” Barb wondered out loud.

“That's the current theory,” I responded. “The investigators think he may have entered the kitchen and tried to seduce the wife. Likely she refused in a way that triggered him to erupt. My theory is that he grabbed the knife she was using to peel some vegetables and turned it on her. I think her screams caused her husband to run from the barn to the kitchen, where he was murdered. It turns out that his last act in this life may have saved the life of his wife.”

“But didn't the handyman notice that the wife wasn't dead? Why didn't he go ahead and kill her? He left a witness behind,” Ken observed.

I nodded. “Here's my theory on that. She was covered with blood from her chest wounds and was out cold on the kitchen floor in shock. Likely her breathing was very shallow, and he may not have seen her breathing at all. In addition, he was probably panicking about what he had done and wanted to get out of there as soon as possible.”

Ken furrowed his brow and thought for a second. “But Walt, I don't understand why he would call 911. Why didn't he just run? It would have given him the night to collect his senses. He could have called the next morning and reported it then — as though he had found the dead couple when he came to work.”

“Good question, Ken. I mean, we know it was he who called 911. His fingerprints were on the phone. And it appears he tried to wipe them off. Maybe he does have a conscience. Maybe he
did
realize the horror of what he had done.”

We were quiet for a moment, and then Barb startled us with a theory I had not considered.

“Or,” she began, “maybe he did see her breathing. Maybe he realized that if he called 911, they could identify the number and send help. Maybe he was trying to save her life.”

“Well, no matter the motive or what actually happened,” Ken concluded, “we've got our work cut out to minister to them both.”

“Both
?” Barb asked, a bit startled.

“Yes. The church and community need to continue helping the wife as she begins her healing.
And
we need to try to reach out to the accused.”

“But he's a murderer!” Barb exclaimed.

“I know, but I believe we still need to reach out to him.”

“Why?”

“Remember the two men crucified with Jesus? Jesus was innocent, but they were — ”

“Murderers,” Barb filled in.