I think it's time to tell y'all a story.
I live in a sleepy little Southern town, that in some ways, I suppose, isn't too different from Hampton. It's about 4 times the size of Hampton, but still not too large to prevent most of us from knowing each other's business. I grew up here, although I moved away to go to college, and it was even more intimate, back then in the 60s and 70s.
By the "accident of birth" I mentioned earlier, meaning where I grew up, a number of my neighbors and friends were well-connected in that group I also mentioned earlier. They were our equivalents of the Murdaughs and Harpootlians (although not as vile). And because I was an engaging and active teenager, I was invited into the junior rank of that organization. And I must say, that they were a fun bunch. The drink always flowed freely, even (or perhaps especially) when inappropriate; they had all the right connections, and got all of the breaks in life. But, fortunately, I got out, when it dawned on me just how things work with them. I wouldn't have done well; I abhor corruption and cronyism.
We moved away from this town in 1978. The following events took place shortly afterward.
There was a man who served as the district attorney here. I didn't know him well, but my parents did. He was a pleasant sort, and in fact helped my parents out of a little jam that they wouldn't have been able to resolve without him speaking to the right person. But he was a member of that organization, as was our local sheriff (I referenced him in previous posts on another thread, in regards to narcotics smuggling and unsolved murders). It was something that one simply had to do, to attain elective office here, back then.
Now, as a member of that group, he was expected to serve their interests...meaning, that when the interests of that group conflicted with justice, the group was meant to prevail. So, from time to time, someone from the group would instruct him on how a trial should go.
Now, not long after we moved away, there was a trial, and he was told what the verdict should be. But the opposite happened. The group was angered.
Shortly after the conclusion of the trial, his teenage daughter was raped, by an unknown assailant. The group had sent the D.A. a message: Don't let that happen again. And though he may not have known who committed the crime, he would have known who ordered it up, and why. And so would the sheriff.
I was acquainted with that girl, but only vaguely. My sister knew her better; they both took dance lessons at the same studio. The girl was no Timmy; she was nice, and very proper, and I assure you, quite innocent.
But though innocent, she was no dunce. She knew why she had been raped. To be raped is bad enough; to know that she was raped, because of the actions (or, perhaps, inaction) of her father, and that her D.A. father and the local sheriff could have pursued a prosecution of the rapist, and refused to, was more than she could bear.
After struggling with this issue for a while, she committed suicide. It was a small-town tragedy that cast a dark and painful shadow over a lot of hearts.
Plombo o plata, as it is said in Mexico. Lead or Silver. It's your choice. You can have all of the Silver you want, if you play the corruption game correctly, which means discreetly. But if you mess up, you get Lead.
So, I'm going top speculate again, and again, I'm going to assert that this is informed speculation, because I know how that group works.
When Maggie and Paul were murdered, the Plombo o Plata explanation lurked dimly in the back of my mind, as a possibility. Now, in light of recent events, and from what little news has trickled out of the investigations, I find this explanation the most likely. I think AM was being sent a message.
You messed up, Alex. You had it all, but you messed up. You and Timmy got careless. Now, there is public scrutiny. Soon you will head into court, not as an attorney, but as a witness and as a defendant, and you had better keep your damn mouth shut....because there is plenty more where this came from.
I suspect that, as Alex stood there, gazing at the bodies of his wife and son on the ground at the kennel, he didn't know who had killed them, but he would have known why they were killed, and probably, who ordered up the murders.
Shut up. Zip that lip. Don't make us come to Islandton again.
So Dick Harpootlian was brought in to manage the crisis, to put a lid on, to shut out the light. I think the story about oxycodone addiction was concocted, or at least exaggerated, so that he could be whisked away to some private treatment clinic, where, presumably, his conversations would be privileged by HIPAA laws.
Again, this is just speculation, but it makes the most sense to me.
I really hope that Mr. Keel succeeds, that his investigations go where they should go, and uncover what they should uncover. But I won't hold my breath. Because I know how that group works.
