The civil lawyers examined the deed.
They found the same handwritten number.
It appeared on three other property transfers.
All three involved people who had been arrested by Sheriff Voss.
All three properties had been purchased by Pinecrest Holdings.
And all three had been sold for far less than their assessed value.
The number was not a case number.
It was an internal code.
A code used by the county clerk's office.
The lawyers traced it to a ledger.
The ledger showed that the property transfers had been processed before the owners had signed the final documents.
Some of the signatures were missing.
Others had been witnessed by people who later testified that they had never seen the owners sign.
One document had been notarized on a Sunday.
The notary was the sheriff's brother-in-law.
Another document listed a witness who had died six months earlier.
The lawyers asked the court to reopen the property cases.
The judge agreed.
The county clerk was subpoenaed.
Her name was Martha Bell.
She had worked in the office for twenty-three years.
She had been charged with conspiracy and obstruction.
She had pleaded guilty.
Now she was cooperating with the civil investigation.
She testified that Sheriff Voss had visited her office several times.
He had brought documents.
He had asked her to process them quickly.
Sometimes he had asked her to change the dates.
Sometimes he had asked her to remove a name from a notice.
She said she had believed he was acting on behalf of the county.
Then she admitted that she had known some of the transfers were wrong.
The lawyer asked why she had done it.
She looked down.
"Because I was afraid of him."
The lawyer asked whether she had received money.
She nodded.
"Yes."
"How much?"
"Twenty-seven thousand dollars."
The courtroom was quiet.
Martha Bell began to cry.
She said she had used the money to pay off her mortgage.
She said she had been ashamed.
She said she had told herself the owners would eventually get their property back.
Then the lawyer asked about Hattie Greene.
Martha looked at the table.
"She came to my office."
"When?"
"About two weeks before she was arrested."
"What did she want?"
"She wanted a copy of her deed."
"Why?"
Martha swallowed.
"She said somebody had been asking about her land."
The lawyer asked whether she had given Hattie the copy.
Martha nodded.
"Yes."
"Did you know that the property was going to be transferred?"
She looked toward the jury.
"Yes."
"Did you tell her?"
Martha shook her head.
"No."
The lawyer waited.
Martha wiped her eyes.
"I should have."
I watched from the back of the courtroom.
I had no role in the case.
I was there because Evelyn had asked me to attend.
I sat beside Aunt Lorraine.
She held a small notebook in her lap.
She had written Hattie's name on the cover.
The testimony continued.
Martha explained that the sheriff had told her the property transfers were necessary for the highway project.
He had said the owners would be compensated.
He had said the paperwork was temporary.
Then he had told her not to ask questions.
She had obeyed.
The lawyer asked whether she had ever seen Hattie Greene after the arrest.
Martha nodded.
"At the jail."
"When?"
"The day before she died."
"Why were you there?"
Martha looked down.
"I brought a document for her to sign."
The courtroom became silent.
"What document?"
"A property release."
The lawyer asked whether Hattie had signed it.
Martha shook her head.
"No."
"Why not?"
"She couldn't hold the pen."
The lawyer paused.
"Was she receiving medical care?"
Martha began to cry.
"No."
The lawyer asked whether she had told the sheriff that Hattie was too ill to sign.
Martha nodded.
"What did he say?"
She closed her eyes.
"He said we would get another signature later."
I felt Aunt Lorraine's hand tighten around mine.
The lawyer asked whether Hattie had died before another signature could be obtained.
Martha nodded.
"Yes."
The courtroom was quiet.
The judge called a recess.
I walked outside.
The sky was gray.
Rain was beginning to fall.
I stood beneath the courthouse awning.
Aunt Lorraine joined me.
She looked at the rain.
"Your grandmother used to say that the truth always comes out."
I smiled.
"She also said never trust a man who doesn't return a borrowed tool."
Lorraine laughed.
Then she became serious.
"Do you think Hattie knew?"
I looked at her.
"That they were trying to take her land?"
"Yes."
I thought about the deed.
The letters.
The property transfers.
The sheriff's arrest.
"I think she suspected."
Lorraine nodded.
"She was a smart woman."
We stood quietly.
Then she said something I had not expected.
"I want to help Evelyn."
I looked at her.
"How?"
"With the land."
She had a small savings account.
She had kept it for emergencies.
She wanted to use some of it to help pay the family's legal fees.
I told her she did not have to do that.
She shook her head.
"I know."
Then she smiled.
"But I want to."
I did not argue.
I knew what it meant to her.
Hattie had been her friend.
And Lorraine had spent years watching people in Pell County lose things they could not afford to lose.
The civil case continued for another six months.
The court found that the property transfers had been obtained through fraud.
The deeds were voided.
The land was returned to the original owners or their heirs.
In Hattie's case, the court ordered Pinecrest Holdings to return the forty-two acres to her estate.
The company had already sold part of the land.
The developer was ordered to restore the property or pay damages.
The family received compensation for the years they had been deprived of their home.
It was not enough to bring Hattie back.
It was not enough to erase what had happened.
But it was something.
The day the order was entered, Evelyn called me.
She was crying.
"They gave us the land back."
I closed my eyes.
"Yes."
"My mother's land."
"Yes."
She paused.
Then she said, "She would have liked that."
I smiled.
"I think so."
The next week, I drove to Cypress Creek Road.
The land was quiet.
The trees were tall.
The old house was still standing.
The porch needed repair.
The windows were boarded up.
But the land was theirs again.
Evelyn stood beside me.
She had brought a small bag of seeds.
She opened it.
Inside were tomato seeds.
Her mother had saved them every year.
Evelyn knelt beside the garden.
She pressed the seeds into the soil.
Then she stood.
I looked at the house.
The porch.
The trees.
The fence.
The land.
For the first time, I understood what Hattie had meant.
The land remembered.
And now, so did the law.
Source: kaylestore.net
Click here to continue reading: PART 8: I Returned to the Magnolia Diner One Last Time, and the Sheriff’s Empty Chair Reminded Me What Justice Was Supposed to Mean
I Thought Keeping Quiet Would Protect Me, Until a Sheriff Decided My Silence Meant I Had Something to Hide
Part 7 of 13
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