Chapter 4 - The File Dominic Buried
The strongest evidence against Dominic came from someone he believed no one would listen to.
Her name was Evelyn Cross.
She was sixty-three years old and ran Red Creek’s only independent newspaper, the County Lantern. Her office occupied two rooms above a pharmacy and smelled of printer ink, dust and strong coffee.
Evelyn had investigated Dominic for four years.
She had copies of county invoices showing that armored vehicle parts were purchased but never installed. She had photographs of military generators stored at Dominic’s hunting property. She had testimony from residents pressured into selling land to companies connected to his brother.
What she did not have was protection.
Dominic had sued her twice, searched her office three times and convinced advertisers to abandon the newspaper.
When I introduced myself, she did not seem impressed.
“So Washington finally remembered Montana exists,” she said.
“I’m not from Washington.”
“That’s what everyone from Washington says.”
I placed a sealed authorization letter on her desk.
She read the first page, then looked up.
“You’re really going after him?”
“Yes.”
“Then you’d better understand what kind of man he is.”
“I’m beginning to.”
“No. You’re studying his paperwork. I’m talking about the man.”
She opened a filing cabinet and removed a thin blue folder.
Inside was a photograph of a wrecked patrol vehicle.
“Five years ago, Deputy Aaron Pike discovered Dominic was selling confiscated property through private auctions. Aaron planned to testify.”
“What happened?”
“His patrol vehicle went off a mountain road.”
“Accident report?”
“Dominic wrote it.”
“Any evidence of interference?”
“The brake line had been replaced before state investigators could examine it.”
I closed the folder.
“Why wasn’t this included in the federal records?”
“Because Dominic had the file sealed.”
As a National Guard officer, Dominic had used military legal channels to classify certain communications involving equipment transfers. Civilian investigators had been denied access.
That was why JAG mattered.
My office had requested authority to unseal Dominic’s military personnel records, disciplinary complaints and communications connected to the federal equipment program.
Approval had taken weeks.
Until that order arrived, Dominic could dismiss every allegation as rumor.
Evelyn leaned back in her chair.
“He likes public performances,” she said.
“What do you mean?”
“He humiliates people where others can see. It reminds the town who has power.”
“Has he done that to you?”
“He arrested me during a town festival. Marched me through the crowd in handcuffs.”
“On what charge?”
“Obstructing traffic.”
“Were you?”
“I was standing on the sidewalk.”
She gave me a tired smile.
“If Dominic suspects you’re a threat, he won’t attack you in private. He’ll make a show of it.”
I thought of the sheriff’s increasing attention toward me.
The traffic stops.
The comments at the grocery store.
The way Amelia repeated his words during our arguments.
“What happens if I don’t react?” I asked.
“He’ll increase the pressure.”
“And if I react?”
“He arrests you.”
Evelyn closed the cabinet.
“That’s his favorite game. He forces a man to become angry, then punishes him for it.”
As I left, my secure phone vibrated.
The message came from military legal command.
Unsealing request approved. Effective Friday at 1400 hours.
May you like
Friday was two days away.
All I had to do was avoid giving Dominic an excuse to destroy the evidence before then.
