A Cop's Dilemma

By Marion Eugene Williams

A Cops Dilemma is all fictional and is both a sequel to the first book and also a stand-alone book. The first books main character picks up his life as a police Officer in the city of Asheville, N C. After a fatal car accident is investigated, the officer deals with out of state insurance men. A young auto mechanic finds money from the wrecked car and due to circumstances leaves town. Eventually, a chase begins in Asheville traveling from the mountains across the state to the coastal town of Beaufort, N C. Scores are soon settled in Beaufort, but the brother of one of the killed bogus insurance men is determined to have revenge.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Aug 15, 2014
• ISBN: 9781499041019

Marion Eugene Williams

Pete Williams, a native of Wilson, NC, graduated Atlantic Christian College in 1958. He continues to live in Wilson with his wife Sandra and daughter Jennifer. After retiring a little golf was played, but mainly much more time was spent on his bicycle, accumulating over 30,000 miles during 12 years. Realizing he had enough family stories from both mother and father families he wrote an historic novel, embellishing the stories to fit a fictional story line.

Book preview

PROLOGUE

E vents in life can certainly cause mental depression, and Garland Wilkins suffered from the results of one major occurrence in his life near the end of World War II. Maturing from his early teens to a young adult, Garland’s great ambition was to own a farm just half a mile from his father’s farm in eastern North Carolina. A sudden opportunity presented a way for this farm to be paid for, but the scheme backfired. He lost his family, his farm, and his name and could not afford to tell anyone he was living a lie. His wartime army friend, military police officer, Maj. Don Renfrow, was the only person in the world who knew the truth and the only person Garland trusted to know the truth. After surviving a German POW (prisoner of war) camp, Garland regained his physical health and at 5'11", 185 pounds; his friend helped him to begin a law enforcement career. Immersing himself in his job with the Asheville, North Carolina, Police Department, he was quite proficient in his duties. Not being able to share his success also played a role in his depression.

Friendship with civilians and camaraderie with fellow police officers came easy to Garland, but they revolved around his police persona. He longed to have companionship and friends with whom he would be free to talk about his family and growing up as a farm boy in a prime tobacco country. His heart ached because of having to live and function in his job as if his previous life never existed. Now, in 1954, job duties were still his salvation, mentally more so than monetarily.

Garland was puzzled by the extreme interest of an insurance investigator, Norm Cantrell, from Texas, in a fatal auto accident in Asheville, North Carolina. His questions were not the usual questions an insurance investigator would ask.

A young mechanic, Jimmy Gordon, having recently moved to Asheville, towed the wrecked vehicle to the garage which was owned by his employer, Jack Tandy. When Jimmy appeared involved with a murder and then another death, he ran from the area. Jimmy was hounded both by the two mysterious insurance investigators and Detective Wilkins. A chase began in the Asheville Mountains and continued to the North Carolina coastal town of Beaufort. Along the way, Garland Wilkins took a side trip for purely personal and secret reasons. His dilemma caused his family real and unknown problems, continuing into the second generation.

CHAPTER 1

G arland Wilkins was happy, proud, and sad all at the same time. Leaving the chief’s office, Garland’s depression would descend upon him in a matter of minutes like a black cloud full of rain and wind. He certainly remembered the same scenario during his previous two promotions. When Asheville Police Chief Hubert Tyson called Garland into his office to inform him of his promotion, Garland was somewhat surprised in that never attending college he did not think he could qualify for a detective position. On the other hand, he was confident that he performed his police duties very well during his seven years in Asheville’s Police Department. Furthermore, his immediate supervisor, Major Braswell, and Chief Tyson recommended that Garland apply for the position, which was made available due to the retirement of the veteran detective in the job.

In addition to Chief Tyson’s secretary, Polly, and nearly every man in the police department on duty that day, all congratulated forty-year-old Garland on his promotion. That really made him feel good. But even so, when he got to his apartment, just off McDowell Street, that night the depressive mood was well on its way. Garland knew very well the cause of his bouts with depression. It was his secret, something he did not want a single soul in the city of Asheville to know, plus he couldn’t tell his family about it.

After a devastating life change occurred and prompted Garland’s arrival in Asheville in early 1947 at age of thirty-three, those first two years were the worst as far as his depression was concerned. While on duty, it wasn’t so bad, and he often worked longer shifts, whether needed or not. Depression was worse when he was alone in his apartment. He tried alcohol, but he was never much of a drinker and bourbon gave him terrible headaches. Garland quickly realized his metabolic system just would not tolerate hard liquor. The headaches and gastrointestinal problems were too much to bear in addition to the depression. There was never a problem during duty hours; it was during off-duty times that he tried to drown his sorrows. He stopped the use of alcohol, but the depression did not stop.

As an Asheville police officer, Garland frequently had contact with personnel in the Buncombe County Courthouse. Garland made friends with a young attorney, about three years younger, named Stan Beaman. Stan invited Garland to go on a bicycle ride with him, as he owned two bikes and could easily adjust the seat and handlebar to fit Garland. Being reminded of his last tragic trip home while riding a bicycle, it instantly caused bad memories and apprehension, so Garland was about to say, No, but thanks, anyway, Stan. Just as quickly, he realized he must get over his anxiety and try to face up to his troubles. As it turned out, Garland had never ridden a bicycle of that quality or one that had gears and was surprised to learn their ride covered over fifteen miles that Saturday morning. Garland privately laughed at himself for feeling like a kid at thirty-five years old out riding a bicycle. In those days, no one wore helmets on bicycles, and the cool air was refreshing as it swirled through his dark wavy hair. His legs were exhausted, but he somehow felt refreshed after the ride. More importantly, he was depression free for the rest of the weekend and the following week.

The thought entered his head that he might even consider getting his legs in shape and buying a bicycle of his own to ride the hills around Asheville. Just as quickly, the memories returned to that fateful day, returning home from the war. Once off the train in Wilson, he planned to hitchhike the twelve miles as close as possible to his farm, walking when necessary. Coming upon a young boy who had a used bicycle for sale, Garland instantly saw the opportunity of transportation, and more importantly, the bike would be an excellent gift to bring to his nine-year-old son. The last time Garland saw his wife and son was when he left to enter the army. He could not wait to see his family, bringing the surprise of a lifetime that he was still alive. However, the gift to his son and coming home to his family were never to be. Just ten miles from home, Garland found out that his wife, thinking he was killed in the war, had remarried.

Of course, he was devastated, and now the memories were once again invading his mind. No, he told himself. It would just continue to remind me of that awful day. I’ll just go for long walks to get some exercise. My friend Stan Beaman may not understand, but I will simply have to tell him I cannot ride a bicycle. Something about an old leg injury. I hope Stan will understand without my having to create a more complicated story. Stan’s help in court with police business has been beneficial to me, and I appreciate his friendship.

As it turned out, as a youngster Stan suffered a severe ankle injury, forcing him to use crutches, so he was sympathetic to Garland’s story, and they remained friends.

On the eve of his promotion, Garland thought about his secret, his two-sided secret. There was the possibility he would be fired if Chief Tyson, a very straight shooter, found out about it. The chief was, however, a compassionate man, so maybe he wouldn’t fire me, thought Garland. But his internal struggle was that he was not really Garland Wilkins. Oh, his name was legal all right; he simply felt in his heart he was Garvis Williams and, privately, he would always remain so. His thoughts quickly returned to his POW liberation.

During his duty as a military policeman in World War II, Garland, then known as Garvis, was captured by the Germans during the Battle of the Bulge. Because of a mix-up of military dog tags and other compelling but erroneous evidence, Garvis Williams was reported killed in action. His dog tags were lost during an artillery explosion immediately before being captured; therefore, while in the POW camp, the international Red Cross had not reported him as being a POW. Not being permitted by his German captors to write home, his family never knew he was still alive. At the end of the war when he was liberated from the POW camp, he met up with his MP superior officer and good friend, Maj. Don Renfrow. After the initial exhilaration of seeing one another again after the many months Garvis was held in captivity, Major Renfrow then turned serious and explained his concern.

Garvis, the war department has reported you killed in action and already paid your widow the full GI death benefit. I never expected to see you again.

Garvis was stunned. His immediate thoughts were for his family, his parents, and their heartbreak. Next, he wondered about his farm; he knew the death benefit money was enough to pay off the mortgage on his farm, and if he reported that he was still alive, he would have to re-mortgage his farm to repay the money. Having been a prisoner for so long, his health was not good as well as his immediate reasoning. There were feelings that his country now owed him a great deal for his suffering and he saw a chance to gain something out of his POW ordeal.

Forgetting the military protocol, he called his superior officer by name.

Don, I knew a soldier who had absolutely no family and was killed, so I will be discharged under his name. I will then legally obtain a copy of a birth certificate for someone long dead, and with a new name go home, I will quietly remarry my wife and get on with my life. And my farm will be paid for.

Garvis, except for the time you were held captive in prison, we have been together since the beginning of the war, and in fact, you once saved my life when you were a young MP under my charge. I will now help you in any way I can and back up your plans. I will see that you are liberated under another name and sent to a hospital in England. Meanwhile, as hard as this is, I advise you not to write home now since that will cause a big family news event, neighborhood commotion, and possibly attract attention from the government and local authorities. When you go home, arrive very quietly, and be sure your family and friends know what you are doing and that you must now use and be known by a different name.

Tragically, when Garvis got within a few miles of his home, he found out from a reclusive stranger that his wife was now remarried. The stranger died within days of natural causes, having told no one he ever saw Garvis Williams. Nearly as heartbreaking, Ruth married the best childhood friend of Garvis, Eddy DeWitt.

Garvis knew if he suddenly appeared at his home, things would never be the same. His wife’s marriage would have to be annulled or a divorce obtained. Of course, she would remarry him, but feelings would somehow be strange for some time since Ruth had shared her bed with Eddy, even in marriage. His nine-year-old son would be confused. Eddy, who married Ruth for all the right reasons, would now have different feelings toward both Ruth and Garvis. Surely, everyone might now think Eddy, and even Ruth, did something wrong. And, if through all this upheaval the government found out about his fraud, he might then face a prison sentence. So Garvis did the only thing he thought he could do, he left the area without anyone ever knowing he came within two hundred yards of his home and secretly observed his wife, his son, and their new husband and father in the yard from behind trees in the nearby woods on his farm.

Garvis headed south into South Carolina, doing odd jobs to survive. During the several months he spent in army hospitals after the war ended, his only friend, Maj. Don Renfrow returned to his home in Charleston, South Carolina, and was appointed Chief of Police for Charleston. While in Florence, South Carolina, Garvis learned about Don Renfrow’s position and made his way to Charleston. Chief Renfrow then hired Garvis as a patrolman for a few months.

With the help of a birth certificate Garvis obtained in Richmond, Virginia, for a dead man named Garland Wilkins, he gathered all the legal documents he needed and relocated to Asheville, North Carolina, and was then hired by their police department. Garland would now feel more secure than if he kept his Williams family name and if possibly someone in all innocence tried to connect him with the Williams family in Nash County, North Carolina. So that predicament was now the major part of his secret. Now alone in his apartment, he could not share the good news of his promotion with his elderly parents, his now-remarried wife, or his teenage son, all of whom thought he was dead. As he approached his ninth year in Asheville, only one person had ever indicated interest from a facial recognition standpoint and thought Garland may be his childhood friend Garvis Williams. Carlyle Bass and Garvis grew up in the same neighborhood and played baseball together in southern Nash County, North Carolina. Carlyle, and his wife, was in Asheville for a short visit and accidentally came upon a police officer he thought was Garvis.

The officer told Carlyle, You are mistaken, mister. My name is Garland Wilkins, and you can check that out with the police chief downtown if you wish. Ask for Chief Tyson. He is in his office now and will be glad to talk with you.

Chief Tyson convinced Carlyle that he was mistaken. Nothing further was ever heard from the encounter. Of course, Garland grieved about having to lie to his childhood friend.

Back at his apartment after a Sunday morning walk, Garland was tired, but his mind was at ease. Still, in the back of his mind, his secret continued to linger. He looked forward to his new job duties to help relieve some of his depression. The rest of Sunday afternoon he spent going over Police Department Protocol manuals and determining his responsibilities as a new detective. Finally, Garland turned to a couple of open case files, hoping to gain some insight as to where and how to begin his investigation. His sense of pride demanded that he perform his job to the best of his ability, and Detective Garland Wilkins was not going to disappoint Chief Tyson.

As bedtime approached, Garland replaced the case files in a new, but inexpensive briefcase, ready to be taken in the morning to his newly assigned cubbyhole office at police headquarters. The intense reading all afternoon made him drowsy enough that sleep came quickly.

CHAPTER 2

T he little town of Lake Lure, North Carolina, with a population less than ten thousand was a fine place for a young boy to grow up in. Situated about twenty miles from the city of Asheville, and even less distance to the town of Hendersonville, it was a fairly convenient drive to the larger shopping areas. Bass fishing in the lake was quite good and a youngster with enough initiative could make a little spending money by raking leaves or other odd jobs for people who had summer homes in the area. Another opportunity for teenagers was caddying at the local golf course. Jimmy Gordon did not have to go far to get to the golf course; his parents lived in a house right on the corner at the entrance to the local country club. His daddy, Mike, rented the house from the owners of the club and was employed by the club to maintain all the grass-cutting machines, golf carts, and any other mechanical devices associated with the golf course and clubhouse. Jimmy made his extra money finding lost golf balls and reselling them. Therefore, by living so near the golf course and being the son of the head of maintenance, Jimmy had pretty much free reign of the golf course. He never took to the game but did become reasonably good at caddying. After only one scolding from his father, Jimmy learned to keep out of the way of the golfers and to generally keep a low profile. During inclement weather or just slow times for the golf patrons, Jimmy would hang around the maintenance shed with his father. Eventually, he became adept at repairing small items and discovered he had a real mechanical ability. Observing his son’s natural aptitude for mechanics, Mike Gordon began proudly teaching Jimmy many of the things he had learned during his years of experience, including minor electrical problems and plumbing at the clubhouse in addition to the battery and gasoline motors of the golf carts.

Sadly, Jimmy’s mother suddenly took sick and quickly died when Jimmy was only ten years old. Consequently, Mike and Jimmy developed an even closer relationship, and Mike became quite protective of Jimmy. He wanted Jimmy to come straight to the golf course every day after school. Jimmy was somewhat disappointed that he could not play sports at school, but he had come to rely on money made from selling used balls and caddying. In addition, while the club owners could not hire Jimmy since he was only twelve, they did recognize he was a great help to Mike with getting all the equipment ready for scheduled tournaments. So they would hand Jimmy a fair amount of cash for helping his daddy get things in good running order on time for the special occasions.

By the time Jimmy was fourteen, things began to change with his daddy. Mike began drinking more and more and eventually left all household duties to his son. Being generally sympathetic to his father, knowing he was lonely without his wife, Jimmy’s mother, Jimmy also had some resentment toward his father concerning the household chores. He missed his mother too. The resentment grew when Jimmy would have to cover for his daddy for the maintenance work at the club when Mike was too drunk to get out of bed. After sobering up, things would be much better for two or three weeks, and then it would revert to the same sad situation. The club owners, of course, knew about the problem, but Mike had been such a good employee for so many years that they took no drastic action. Of course, they were aware of the stress caused by the death of Mike’s wife and hoped he could eventually straighten his life out.

They also knew that they could rely on Jimmy to keep the machinery running. Jimmy felt trapped but knew he could not leave without any means of support or a place to live. Mike continued to receive his paycheck but no raises, and Jimmy continued to receive more substantial cash payments. As soon as Jimmy reached his sixteenth birthday, he was able to get a workers’ permit, and the club immediately placed him on the payroll at a starting salary. Before reaching Jimmy’s seventeenth birthday, his father died as a result of alcoholism. Club members took up a collection, and with the owners also contributing, all the funeral expenses were paid for. Next, they paid Jimmy the full salary they had been paying Mike and offered the full-time job to Jimmy while still allowing him to finish high school. Jimmy was grateful, but of course, he also had no choice. In just over a year, he graduated high school and continued on full-time with the country club. Shortly after his twentieth birthday, Jimmy met with the club owners and explained how grateful he was for their assistance in giving him a job with several raises in pay, but after pretty much growing up on the golf course, he wanted to try something else. He also wanted to leave the house his mother had died in, try to forget about his dad’s drinking in that house, and go somewhere else. Another young fellow, actually five years older than Jimmy, who was Jimmy’s helper, was recommended to the club owners to take over the job as head of maintenance, as Jimmy was confident of his training and dependability.

The country club owners were genuinely sorry to see him leave, but secretly, they now had an opportunity to demolish the old rental house Jimmy grew up in at the club entrance and sell the lot for a substantial sum. It was an amicable parting, and Jimmy was actually given a letter of recommendation and a small bonus. Jimmy expressed his appreciation by thanking and shaking the hand of each member at that final meeting. Among his last comments was Thank you for taking care of Daddy with his problems.

When asked where he intended to go, Jimmy replied truthfully, I am going to try to find work in Asheville. The few times I have been there, I really liked the city and often wished I could live there someday. I have enough money saved so I can rent a one-room apartment for a few days and hopefully find a job.

So, in early 1954, Jimmy Gordon packed all his belongings in two old suitcases and caught the bus to Asheville. The relatively short bus ride ended, and Jimmy, being out of his familiar golf course environment, was somewhat overwhelmed. But he, as well as the city of Asheville, was still surrounded by the familiar Great Smoky Mountains, the same mountains of Lake Lure he had grown up in, and the twenty winding road miles to the east.

CHAPTER 3

S itting near the back of the bus, Jimmy waited for the passengers ahead to exit. Finally, it was his turn to leave his seat and follow the line of people to the door. Then he was off the bus and stretching his legs. Jimmy felt insecure, with his limited funds and no