Sintown Chronicles I: Behind Closed Doors (14 page)

In a letter dated October 1, a company official said that publicity tends to attract lawsuits that would normally be resolved through arbitration.

Dilson was not available for comment yesterday, but he has often said he loves publicity. He frequently calls news conferences and on occasion takes television news crews with him on drug raids. He once bragged to reporters that he had tested his trademark “spider car,” a Chevrolet Impala, at 143 mph on N.C. Highway 13 at 4 a.m.

The day he took office he banned televisions from the jail. When the jail needed paint, he had prisoners paint it a bright pink with blue teddy bears stenciled on the walls. His redecorated jail got national media attention.

Admiring citizens have purchased thousands of dollars worth of posters, T-shirts, mugs, toy spider cars and other items with his face emblazoned on the front. Proceeds go to a special victim's support fund established by the unorthodox lawman.

Commissioner Gerald Anderson said he had not heard of more claims against Dilson than against previous sheriffs. He also cited recent statistics from the Sate Bureau of Investigation that showed a dramatic decrease in crime during the first six months of this year.

“If we have a decrease of 24 percent in the crime rate and have to buy a new liability policy, I hope we have to look for a new company every year,” Anderson stated.

“Ah, the power of the press,” he said to Cathy as she approached his desk. “Use it or they'll use it against you."

Glancing upside down at the article he had been reading, Cathy said, “I read that earlier. With reporting like that, who needs spin doctors?” she joked.

Good, he thought. She's not pissed.

She placed a note on his desk while massaging her left breast sensuously—an unconscious habit he once thought, but now he wondered if she did it to tease him.

“It's a rental, all right. In fact, the same guy owns a bunch of houses in the area—a Pete Harlow of Dot. Well, he did own them. He's deceased and his nephew, Timothy Dollar, inherited them."

“Thanks, Cathy. I want to go over the interrogation reports on that Van Fans thing. Maybe this afternoon I'll take a closer look at those rentals. I want you to ride with me and take a few pictures."

“Shall I still go to lunch at noon?"

“Have a date?"

She shook her head. The short cropped blond hair barely moved.

“Well, you do now,” he grinned. “I'll buy you a burger when I finish the reports."

He watched her buttocks grind against each other as she left the office, adjusted his boxer shorts, and opened the thick folder on his desk.

Tim massaged Sandra's shoulders and read the headline of Sunday's newspaper that obviously was causing her present distress.

“They caught ’em, Tim. They caught all of them—except me. The sheriff says he will identify any other members of the gang and arrest them too."

Tim poured a cup of coffee and sat across from the still sobbing woman, but did not know how to respond, so he said nothing.

“Must I spend the rest of my life running?"

“Sandy, all of my life I have worried about many things that never happened."

“I'll bet many of them didn't happen because you took precautions against them,” she countered. “What can I do, Tim?"

“I don't know why we didn't see this coming, Sandy.” He prayed a quick prayer for guidance. “You mentioned running. I don't want you to do that. I think there is truth in the old saying that you can run but you can't hide. Running might delay the inevitable, but you would always have that ghost chasing you."

“Beside turning myself in, what other options are there, Tim?"

“I don't know. I think we need some professional advice."

“From who?"

“The only attorney I know is Mr. Coan."

The instant Tim mentioned Coan's name the tears ceased as if someone turned off the faucet. “Tim, you are on the verge of a new life—a life you are going to enjoy. I can't let you ruin it for me."

“What are you talking about?"

“If we tell Mr. Coan my story, the whole town will know. Your reputation will be shot all to hell."

“For one thing, I haven't established a reputation in the town yet. For another, I think Mr. Coan is a man who can be trusted. I have found some curious things among Uncle Pete's papers that Coan must have known about, but has kept confidential—even from me. Let's give it a try."

“I know Mr. Coan doesn't usually come in until ten or so,” Tim said to the lawyer's secretary over the telephone, “but I badly need to see him this morning if possible."

“He's a man of many surprises,” she replied. “He is already here this morning. Let me check with him."

Tim was on hold for only a few seconds. “Tim, how's everything going?” the lawyer asked politely.

“Pretty good, but I need to meet with you this morning. It's something I'd rather not discuss over the phone."

“My schedule is clear all day, Tim. Come anytime."

“We'll be there in thirty minutes."

Silas Coan listened intently to the amazing story coming from the lips of Tim and Sandra Dollar. He noted with unexpressed amusement that Tim wanted to present only an outline sketch of Sandra's history with the Van Fans, but that Sandra kept butting in with details. Except to ask an occasional question, the lawyer reserved his participation to attentive listening and the making of occasional notes.

When the telling of the story moved into retelling, Silas said, “I think I have the picture. I have some experience as a trial lawyer, and I know other attorneys who are outstanding in the courtroom. I assume you want my advice?"

“That's why we are here,” Tim replied and Sandra began to cry softly.

“First of all, you need to turn yourself in, Sandy. You must not wait for them to come after you. Both judges and juries like the responsibility such action implies. Second, you need to turn yourself into Sheriff Dilson himself. He's a showboat and thinks more highly of himself than he should, but he is more likely to treat you with consideration if we go directly to him."

“I don't want to go to jail,” Sandra quietly said.

“Of course you don't. Nobody does. I think there is a good chance they will release you on your own recognizance. At worse you will have to spend only one night in jail waiting for bond to be set."

“That's one night too long,” Tim responded.

Coan continued, “You were kidnapped and raped. Of course, you did willingly participate in prostitution and larceny. However, you've repented and are now trying to make something of yourself. A judge will like that too. I think we can get you off with a suspended sentence."

“Even so, it will be in the news. The townspeople will know,” Sandra said.

“Yes, but I think you are worrying too much about that. In time, it will blow over. I can tell you from first hand knowledge that most of the people in Dot have at least one skeleton in their closets."

The trio, after much discussion, agreed to present themselves to Matt Dilson Tuesday morning.

“Mr. and Mrs. Timothy Dollar and their attorney Silas Coan insist on seeing you and nobody else,” Deputy Long said irritably as she approached Matt's desk.

Matt interrupted his reading of the Tuesday edition of the
Charlotte Observer
, having just read the complimentary article on the hostage shootout. “Coan I know, and it seems I should know the Dollars."

“It's Timothy Dollar, the one who inherited those rundown rental houses we looked at yesterday."

“Yeah, that's it. What's the wife's name?"

“I believe they said it was Sandra."

He nodded, searching his recent memory for a Sandra Dollar.

“Matt,” she said. “Any chance of me having the afternoon off?"

“Hot date?” he smiled.

“Shopping."

“You know the rule. Anybody wants a favor from Matt has to be wearing Matt's favorite color. I don't see any red on you."

She grinned, turned her back, fiddled with her belt, bent over and mooned him, displaying her very brief red panties.

“You win,” he laughed. “Get out of here."

While waiting for Deputy Long to show the visitors in, Dilson reached for the Van Fan file, sifted through the reports and quickly scanned the one headed “Sandy Hutchinson.” He noted the officer's comment that a Sandra Hutchinson recently received a driver's license replacement in the name of Sandra Dollar—either an alias or her married name. Glancing back at the report of her expulsion ceremony, he shook his head.

Matt pulled additional chairs to his desk and, after the compulsory introductions and handshaking, Silas Coan said, “Sheriff, we have read the newspaper account of the capture of the Van Fans gang. Mrs. Dollar has some first hand knowledge of this group and thought you might want to ask her some questions."

“No need of that,” Dilson replied.

Coan was visibly surprised.

“Turns out we bagged the whole outfit. We also obtained full confessions. They're a bunch of lowlifes. They each sang like the proverbial canary, trying to outdo the other in return for lighter sentences. I do appreciate your offer to help, Mrs. Dollar."

“Sheriff,” Sandra said trying to hold back the tears. “You don't understand..."

He leaned forward and cut her short, picking up and waving the report. “You were a victim, robbed, beaten, raped, held captive for several years, forced to participate in gang activity, and when you tried to escape were savagely beaten, tortured, gang raped and abandoned to die. I don't know how you survived, but I'm happy for you. The report says you got a replacement driver's license in the name of Dollar, so I assume you and Timothy are now married and starting a new life together in Dot. I wish you well. I know you can't do it completely, but try to put this nightmare behind you, Mrs. Dollar."

There was total silence in the room for a full minute.

“I appreciate your time Sheriff Dilson,” Silas Coan at last said. “You can imagine the bitterness Mrs. Dollar feels towards these people. She wanted to help with this matter if she could."

Matt nodded and looked at Tim. “I hate to bring this up right now, folks, but Mr. Dollar, you have inherited some rental property that falls far below code. You'll be getting an official notice about it in the mail."

Surprised by the change in topic, all Tim could think to say was, “I haven't gotten to the rental property yet. I'll make it a priority."

Dilson ushered the group out of his office, but at the last second asked Sandra to stay behind for a moment. Closing the door for privacy, he said, “Sandra, I know more about this situation than I said before. I know I could probably get a conviction against you for prostitution and larceny. I also know the details of what the report calls your expulsion party. Seems to me you've suffered more than enough. I'm going to ask the D. A. not to even call you as a witness. We have all the evidence we need."

“I don't know what to say."

“It's over, Sandra. Say thank you."

“Thank you,” she said, hugging him tightly and placing a kiss on his cheek.

Damn, he thought after closing the door behind her. She does have tits.

“Cathy,” he spoke into the intercom. “Please come in for a moment."

“What's up, boss man?” she asked as she approached his desk.

“Have a seat, Dynamite,” he said, looking appreciatively at her babyish round face. “Can I talk to you in confidence?"

“Sure,” she replied as she massaged her right breast and took the offered chair.

“I could lose my job for telling you this.” He paused and looked into space for a moment. Then, looking directly into her dark brown eyes, he said, “I love you."

The tone of her response was very serious. “When did this happen?"

“I think I fell in love with you the day you interviewed for the job."

“How long do you think it will last?"

What a curious question, he thought before replying, “I can't foresee anything happening that would ever make me stop loving you."

“What about your wife?"

“Cathy, I didn't think it was possible for a man to love two women at the same time. I now know how foolish that was. I love my wife. I have no intention of hurting or leaving her. I don't expect to have sex with you Cathy. I'm not going to lie about it. If you were interested I would drop my pants in a heartbeat, but I know an old fool like me with stomach expanding and hair turning white could never be sexually attractive to you. I do want to be an important part of your life, though."

“You're not an old fool, Matt."

“Cathy, do you have any feelings for me at all? I need to know."

“You know, Matt."

He didn't, but grinned as if he did.

“I had a dream about you last night,” she said coyly.

“What kind of dream?"

“You know,” she said, adjusting the strap on her bra.

He didn't, but grinned as if he did.

“I've dreamed about you too, many, many times."

“And what were your dreams about?"

“Let's just say I now know your body like the back of my hand."

“You've never seen my body."

“Dynamite, I've seen, felt and kissed every inch of your body in my dreams. Funny thing about my dreams; they're often more accurate than my waking observations."

“Yeah sure."

“I'll give you some examples if you'll promise to honestly let me know if they are accurate."

“You're on,” she smiled, a little wickedly.

“Let's see, I'll start with your mouth. You like to kiss and be kissed, but you would rather have your tongue in your lover's mouth than have his in yours."

“You're probably right."

“In fact, kissing turns you on so much you sometimes have orgasms from kissing alone."

“Damn."

“Your skin is a beautiful ruddy complexion, but your breasts are snow white. You have reddish brown nipples that swell to at least an inch in length when excited. You frequently have orgasms from any kind of breast stimulation, but you respond best when your lover powerfully sucks as much of your breast as possible into his mouth and rapidly tongues your nipple."

“How could you possibly know that?"