CHAPTER 12

By the summer of 1991, Stephen and Pat Scher were preparing to leave Las Cruces. In recent years, gangs from nearby Mexico had begun to infiltrate the area, and crime in the city was on the rise. Concerned about Jonathan, then almost eleven years old, the Schers decided to relocate. They made arrangements to lease space to another physician in order to keep the allergy practice in Las Cruces running.

The timing seemed right. Michael Dillon was spending most of his time on the road, racing professionally, and Suzanne was happy studying fashion design in Colorado. Robby Karveller, Pat’s brother, was settled in Las Cruces, running an auto dealership. He would look after Laura Karveller, now a widow. John Karveller had passed away unexpectedly several years earlier, just weeks before what would have been the couple’s fiftieth wedding anniversary.

Through an agency that matched physicians with hospitals in need of certain specialities, the Schers started their search, at one point considering an offer from a hospital in Washington. Scher had flown there for a visit but ultimately declined the offer. Then, in the spring of 1992, the agent told Scher about Lincolnton, North Carolina, near Charlotte.

It sounded ideal. Six months earlier the area’s previous physician, who had served the community for thirty years, had retired after undergoing open-heart surgery. The community, small yet growing, was in dire need of a family practitioner. The Charlotte Airport was a main hub for US Airways, making it easy to travel back and forth to Las Cruces.

Stephen Scher flew to Lincolnton in April, and the hospital’s administrator, Ken Wehunt, met him at the airport. Wehunt was anxious to make a good impression. He showed Scher around the hospital and introduced him to about ten physicians at a small reception hosted by the board of directors. Wehunt then accompanied Scher to inspect a newly renovated office on Dave Warlick Drive, just a few blocks away, where Scher could open his practice. Later, Wehunt took his visitor for a drive around town, answering questions about the school districts and passing several houses for sale. At one point, the administrator slowed down in front of a sprawling brick split level for sale, less than a mile from the hospital, but Dr. Scher immediately dismissed it. “Pat wouldn’t like that,” he said. “That’s too cold looking.”

As Scher got a feel for the area, Ken Wehunt was sizing him up as well. He found the doctor a bit distant, but Scher was forthright and Ken liked that about him. He’s plain spoken, Wehunt thought.

That evening, several physicians from the hospital joined Scher and Wehunt for dinner at a restaurant overlooking Lake Norman. The doctors spoke highly of their practices in Lincolnton and about the medical facility.

Scher was amenable to the package the hospital offered. For the first two years, in order to build up his practice, he’d have free rent in the new office and a guaranteed salary of $12,000 a month.

Over the next two months, Scher visited Lincolnton at least three times, and Pat came on several occasions as well. As it turned out, Scher was mistaken—Pat loved the corner brick house.

When Wehunt joined the doctor and a realtor to tour the inside, the doctor bluntly gave his opinion. “Why in the world would anyone put this chickenshit brown carpet all over the house?” he asked.

The realtor was taken aback, but Wehunt wasn’t. By now, he understood the doctor a bit better. Plain spoken, Wehunt thought.

Over the summer of 1992, Larry and Jo Dillon learned from their grandson, Michael Dillon, of the Schers’ move. In July, the Dillons drove several hours to Hagerstown, Maryland, to watch Michael compete on a Harley-Davidson at the Camel Pro AMA, bringing along Joann Reimel’s youngest son, Matthew. When the race was over, Michael returned with his grandparents to Montrose for several days.

The Dillons were delighted to spend time with their grandson. At one point during the visit Larry Dillon managed to ask Michael if he’d received the insurance money from his father’s policy, and the young man said he had, that the money had been invested for him and his sister. Michael told his grandparents he had recently bought a house in Las Cruces with his share of the inheritance.

In August of 1992, when Stephen, Pat, and Jonathan Scher moved to Lincolnton, the hospital board paid the agency a $20,000 fee for referring the doctor. They considered it money well spent. Scher opened his office on Dave Warlick Drive and hired a staff. The local newspaper, the Lincoln Times, published a story about his arrival, and patients began calling to set up appointments. Once a month for a few days Scher commuted to Las Cruces to work in his original office. Financially, the Schers were doing quite well.

They settled in quickly. Within a short time, Dr. Scher was invited to join Wehunt and several physicians in the hospital cafeteria for coffee every morning after rounds. The doctors liked Scher. He seemed professional and committed to his work. Wehunt heard mostly good reports from Scher’s patients, and the hospital administrator was pleased. In a short time, Wehunt began to use Dr. Scher to help recruit other medical personnel. Scher told visitors that Lincolnton was a great place to work.

A month after their arrival, the Schers joined the one-room shingled St. Dorothy’s Catholic Church, about three miles from downtown in the western tip of Lincolnton. The Reverend Richard Farwell welcomed them warmly. The priest, ordained in 1981, had served as a monk for ten years before becoming pastor of the Hickory, North Carolina, church and ultimately transferring to St. Dorothy’s in the early 1990s. The church had a membership of about 150 families.

From the start, the priest was not shy about admitting that he took notice when a professional couple moved to town. Fund-raising, Farwell believed, was a crucial foundation for any religious organization. Within a few months after the Schers’ arrival, Fall-well approached them about donating money toward a new organ. The Schers wrote a $1,000 check without hesitation.

A year later, during St. Dorothy’s campaign to build a new church, the Schers were even more generous, giving $2,000 in memory of some of their relatives. At other times, Pat and Steve paid for new stained-glass windows with images of St. Jude.

The priest was delighted by his new parishioners. They attended mass regularly, even joining an evangelism program called Renew in which they met with about fifteen other congregants for prayer services weekly for two years. The Schers enrolled Jonathan in Sunday School, and the boy also participated in the youth ministry program on Sunday evenings. Pat volunteered as a team member for the program on a retreat. The couple continued to respect Stephen Scher’s religious heritage—on Passover, the Schers even invited Reverend Farwell to their home for a seder.

The Schers were clearly happy in their new home. “We’ll never go anyplace else,” Pat confided in her new friends. “We just love the people here.”

But five hundred miles away, the drumbeat continued. There had been some setbacks in the past year—in February 1992 John Conarton died undergoing surgery for cancer, and eleven months later Dr. Grace, too, died of cancer—but the state police reassured the Dillons that the deaths wouldn’t derail a prosecution. Throughout most of 1993 the state police waited for more detailed FBI reports. At the end of the year, Major Jordan acknowledged to the Dillons that the case against Stephen Scher deserved to be put before a jury.

By now it had been five years since the Dillons and Bonnie Mead began their push. It was almost time.