“Look,” said the driver, later identified as Lawrence Vogel, a forty-three-year-old dentist from Concord, California, “I have a business to run, and I’m in a hurry to get home.”
Pointing to the parking spot next to Vogel’s hunting companions, Henry repeated, “Please park over there next to your friends.”
Vogel and his passenger were already in Austin’s face by the time Henry had parked his truck and joined the group. “How long is this going to take?” said Vogel. “My son and I need to get going. I have patients scheduled in the morning, and he has classes to attend.”
“If you gentlemen will hand me your hunting licenses, we’ll get you on your way as soon as possible,” said Austin.
Expecting the young rookie to grab the ball and run with it, Austin looked at Henry and handed him the six hunting licenses he’d collected. Taking Austin’s cue, Glance said, “You gentlemen have done a lot of hunting for the last two days. We’d like to inspect any game you have in your possession. We’ll begin with Mr. Shipley and Mr. Metzger, in the white-and-green Chevy pickup. Mr. Shipley, does this vehicle belong to you?”
“It’s mine,” said Shipley, kicking the gravel under his feet and pounding the back of the tailgate with his fist.
“This is probably gonna to take a while,” said Austin. “Why don’t the rest of you fellas grab a couple lawn chairs outta your pickups and relax.”
At Henry’s request, Harold Shipley, a forty-three-year-old insurance broker from Concord, opened his camper shell and pulled two large ice chests out onto the tailgate. The first ice chest contained drinks and various food items. The second contained several iced-down plastic bags stuffed with dove breasts. While Henry counted, Austin tallied the results. Henry counted a total of sixty dove breasts—twenty over the legal possession limit for two hunters. The twenty illegal dove breasts were seized into evidence and tagged. Glance and Austin proceeded to the red Dodge pickup.
Raymond Brooks, a forty-three-year-old pharmaceutical salesman from Pleasant Hill, stood up. “How much is this going to—”
“Is there a way we can speed this up?” interrupted Lawrence Vogel.
“Larry, you need to be quiet and let these officers do their job,” said Shipley.
“Since when do you tell me to shut up?” said Vogel.
“Since right now, Mr. Big Shot. Just because you drive a Mercedes and live on the hill with all the millionaires, you don’t have the right to screw things up for the rest of us. We want to get out of here just as badly as you do.”
“Looks like we’ve got a few more birds here,” said Henry, prompting Austin to get out his notepad. Brooks and Rumsey also possessed sixty dove breasts—twenty over the legal possession limit for two hunters.
After recording Brooks’s and Rumsey’s driver’s license information, Glance and Austin continued to the black Ford pickup. Lawrence Vogel and his twenty-year-old son, Scott, were waiting with two ice chests sitting on the tailgate. The first ice chest contained beer and soft drinks. The second held plastic bags filled with dove breasts. Henry counted a total of seventy-six dove breasts—thirty-six over the legal possession limit for two hunters. Immediately after Glance and Austin seized the Vogels’ unlawfully possessed doves, Scott Vogel closed the lids on the two ice chests, slid them against the cab of the pickup, and secured them with a bungee cord.
Henry was about to move on to the next step in the investigation when he remembered something he’d seen earlier that morning, just as the sun was coming up. A bird had fallen victim to the hunters’ shotguns, but it didn’t look quite right. The same size as a mourning dove, it flew at a distinctively different cadence. Playing a hunch, Henry asked Scott Vogel to release the bungee cord and slide the ice chest containing beer and soft drinks back onto the pickup bed.
“What for?” said the curly-haired spitting image of his father. “You already looked in that ice chest.”
“Scott, let him do his thing so we can get the hell out of here,” said the elder Vogel.
“But he already looked in that cooler,” said Scott. “All it contains are beer and sodas.”
Scott Vogel’s reluctance to surrender the ice chest gave Henry even more reason to suspect there was something illegal inside. Henry climbed into the bed of the pickup, walked to the ice chest in question, and opened the lid. Removing several beer and soft-drink containers, he reached under a layer of ice and felt yet another plastic bag. “Oh, no!” mumbled Henry, pulling the plastic bag from the ice and holding it up for everyone to see. The small, multicolored falcon inside looked nothing like a gray mourning dove. “It’s a kestrel,” said Glance.
“What?” said Lawrence Vogel. “Scott! I told you to get rid of that damn thing.”
Disgusted by what he’d discovered, the young rookie requested identification from the two violators and seized each of their shotguns into evidence. Placing the shotguns inside his patrol truck, Henry turned to Austin and whispered, “If it were up to me, these two would spend the next sixty days in the Butte County Jail.”
“You’re doing great,” said Austin. “When we’re done here, I’ll buy you lunch at Pearl’s.”
“Oh no you don’t,” whispered Glance. “It’s my turn this time.” Henry returned his attention to the six hunters. “I’d appreciate you gentlemen listening carefully while I explain what’s going to happen.”
“How does it feel to finally be a game warden?” said Austin, as he and Henry walked into Pearl’s Roadside Diner and sat down.
“I feel badly about all those doves,” said Henry. “And that beautiful little kestrel. What kind of lowlife scum would shoot a bird like that?”
“You’re gonna see a lot of that kind of thing over the next thirty years,” explained Austin.
“If it isn’t Tom Austin.”
“Hello, Pearl,” said Tom, standing up and giving her a hug. “It’s been a while.”
“I’ll say it has. I think it’s been ten or fifteen years.”
“Pearl, this is the new Gridley Fish and Game warden, Hank Glance.”
“You don’t have to get up,” said Pearl, shaking Henry’s hand. “Have you been in here before? You look familiar, and I never forget a face. Especially a nice-looking one like yours.”
“My friend and I came in here a couple years ago on our way to Chico State,” said Henry.
“Wait a minute. I think I’ve got it. Your friend was a great big guy, and one of you asked me about Norm Bettis.”
“That was me.”
“Pearl, we’d like to talk to you about that if you’ve got a minute,” said Austin.
“Let me take your order and as soon as these other folks leave, I’ll come back and sit down with you gentlemen.”
As Henry and Tom were finishing their afternoon meal, Pearl walked over and sat down at the end of the table. “Pearl, did I tell you how good you look?” said Austin. “You haven’t aged a bit.”
“Tom, you always were a charmer. How can I help you boys?”
“You may not remember this,” said Henry. “The last time I was in here you said you had your own thoughts about what might have happened to Norm Bettis but preferred to keep them to yourself. An old-timer was sitting at the bar, and you told him to keep quiet.”
“You’ve got quite a memory,” said Pearl.
“You don’t know the half of it,” said Austin.
“That old-timer must have been Earl Glenn,” said Pearl. “You know, he passed away last month, at ninety-six. Earl would come in every morning for his cup of coffee and a slice of apple pie. I didn’t mean to be unfriendly, Hank, but I didn’t know you from Adam at the time. How was I to know that this young man who walked into my restaurant would end up taking Norm’s place?”
“That is a little hard to believe,” said Austin.
“You can’t keep a secret in a small town like this,” said Pearl. “Nobody
really knows what happened to Norm, but everyone has a theory or two. Trouble is, if you mention somebody’s name, next thing you know, that person is ticked off and saying bad things about you. In my business, you can’t afford to have that happen.”
“Just between the three of us, what do you think happened?” said Austin. “Hank and I plan to break this case wide open before I retire in three years.”
“Oh you do, do you?” said Pearl, chuckling. “You two are gonna accomplish what all those detectives couldn’t? It’s been thirteen years since Norm disappeared, and nobody’s even found his car.”
“Please tell us what you think,” said Henry.
“This might not be anything, but I remembered it a couple days after that detective from Sacramento interviewed me.”
“Anything you can tell us would be helpful,” said Austin. “We’re starting from scratch, with nothing to go on.”
“The summer before Norm disappeared, I remember overhearing him talking to Earl about workin’ over in the hills west of Willows and running into a couple poachers he knew. It was near some lake.”
“East Park?” said Austin.
“No, that’s not it.”
“Black Butte?”
“No.”
“Stony Gorge?”
“That’s it—Stony Gorge Reservoir. Apparently, these two no-goods were up there deer huntin’ outta season, but they heard Norm coming and hid their rifle. Norm told Earl he ended up finding the rifle after the poachers drove away and left his business card in the rifle’s place. He’d written on his card that in exchange for the rifle, he’d give ’em each a citation for huntin’ deer outta season.”
“That’s funny,” said Henry.
“Norm and Earl thought so too. They got to laughing one day here in the restaurant and couldn’t stop. I asked what was so funny. That’s when Norm started laughing again and said, ‘I wish I could have seen the look on that smartass little punk’s face when he found my card.’”
“Did Norm mention any names?” said Henry.
“He may have to Earl, but that won’t do you any good now.”
“By any chance, did Earl have a wife? If so, is she still living?” said Henry, taking notes.
“He did,” said Pearl. “Her name is Thelma Glenn, and she lives in that trailer park up the road.”
“First chance we get, we’ll go over and talk to Thelma,” said Austin.
“Earl would grab that old homemade cane of his and walk over here every morning from the trailer park,” said Pearl, standing from the table as two customers walked in. “Unless it was raining, of course. That reminds me. It was raining cats and dogs the day Norm disappeared. I don’t think I’ve seen it rain that hard since.”
“Is there anything else you can think of?” said Henry, coming to his feet and placing a twenty-dollar bill on the table.
“Not at the moment, but if anything else comes to mind, I’ll give one a you boys a call. Do you have a card or somethin’?”
“I have a brand-new one,” said Henry, handing it to Pearl with his left hand. “I just received a box of these in the mail.”
“I don’t see a ring on your finger,” said Pearl. “Aren’t you married?”
“Not yet,” said Austin, laughing and giving Pearl a hug. “Give him a year or two.”
“Who’s the lucky girl?” said Pearl. “Anyone I know?”
“I don’t think you know her,” said Henry. “Anne lives in Chico. She and I met at Chico State. We’re not actually engaged, but I’m hoping to change that tomorrow evening.”
“Oh?” said Austin. “What’s happening tomorrow evening?”
“I’ve been invited to Anne’s parents’ house for a barbeque. I’m hoping for an opportunity to get Anne alone so I can pop the question.”
“Do you have a ring?” said Pearl.
“Yes. It’s not exactly the Hope Diamond, but it’s all I could afford.”
“It’s the meaning that counts,” said Pearl. “Good luck, Hank. I hope it works out for you.”
“Thanks so much, Pearl,” said Henry, following Austin out the door. “I do too.”
TWENTY-TWO
The next day, after Henry’s big dove case, wardens Glance and Austin stopped for breakfast at Pearl’s Roadside Diner.
“That was quick,” said Pearl, pouring Austin a cup of coffee. “I haven’t seen you two since yesterday. To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?”
“We’re taking yesterday’s evidence down to Sacramento headquarters,” said Austin.
“None for me, thanks,” said Henry.
“I forgot. You don’t drink coffee, do you?”
“I asked him how he planned to be a game warden if he doesn’t drink coffee,” said Austin.
“Before you gentlemen leave, there’s something else I’d like to tell you.”
“No time like the present,” said Austin.
“Four young men used to come in here for breakfast about once a week during the winter months. I remember ’em because they’d always leave mud tracks across the floor and under that table over there by the window.”
“Sounds like duck hunters to me,” said Austin.
“These guys would be jabbering away, but every time I came near their table, they’d clam up. I was about to take their order one morning when Norm Bettis drove past the window in his patrol car. He had a green Ford sedan like yours, Tom. Anyway, when they saw Norm walking from the parking lot to the back door, all four of ’em stood up and said they’d changed their minds.”
“Do you know who these men were?” said Henry.
“I didn’t at the time, and they never came back to the restaurant after Norm disappeared.”
“Did you tell any of this to the investigators?” said Austin.
“No, because it never crossed my mind. Not until last night, when I saw one of ’em on TV.”
“Who was that?” said Henry.
“He looks older now, and he’s lost most of his hair, but it was him all right. I recognized his voice and those pock marks on his cheeks.”
“Who?” said Austin.
“That big land developer who’s buying up property all over the county. They interviewed him last night about a gas station and a speedy mart he’s building out west of Chico. The film showed ’em bulldozing an almond orchard to clear the land.”
“What’s this guy’s name?” said Henry.
“The news reporter called him Blake Gastineau.”
Henry wrote down what he’d just heard on a notepad he removed from his shirt pocket. He remembered Anne talking about Gastineau a couple years before—the day of their picnic at the Sacramento National Wildlife Refuge. “Anything else you can think of?” he said.
“No, but I’ll keep my eyes and ears open. If you boys start asking questions around here, it’ll get back to me, as sure as there’s a ketchup stain on your shirt.”
“Oh, no!” said Henry. “This is a brand-new uniform shirt.”
“Don’t worry, Hank. This will get it out.”
“Thanks so much, Pearl.”
“My pleasure. You make sure Tom gets you back from Sacramento in plenty of time for the barbeque tonight. You don’t wanna be late for that.”
The Region 2 Fish and Game Office was located next to the Sacramento State College campus, off Highway 50, along the south shore of the American River. Austin led Henry down the hall to meet Captain Russ Gifford. Gifford oversaw the evidence locker and several evidence freezers. The freezers were filled with everything from salmon and steelhead to waterfowl, venison, doves, and bobcat hides. The walk-in locker was a spacious room lined with shelves containing hundreds of rifles, shotguns, rods, reels, and assorted tools of the poacher’s trade: spears, pitchforks, fish nets, snares, and steel leghold traps.
“What did you guys bring me?” s
aid Gifford.
“Two shotguns, some dove breasts, and a kestrel,” said Henry.
“Here’s where you log everything in. When you’re finished, I’ll show you where to put it.”
After logging and securing their evidence, Henry asked Captain Gifford about a rifle that would have been logged by Warden Norman Bettis back in 1956. “Any rifles or shotguns placed in the locker more than ten years ago would have been adjudicated and returned to their rightful owners,” said Gifford. “Either that or forfeited by the court and sold at auction.”
“Would you still have a record of them?” said Glance.
“We usually save the old evidence tags and store them in the cage at the back of the office,” said Gifford. “I’ll unlock the cage and you can search to your heart’s content.” Opening the door to the walk-in cage, Gifford pointed to several rows of shoeboxes, all containing old evidence tags. Henry located the box labeled 1956 and found one evidence tag issued by Warden Norman Bettis. It involved a Winchester, lever-action .30-30 rifle, owner unknown. Fortunately, Bettis had written the rifle’s serial number on the tag.
“Would you mind if I take this with me?” said Henry.
“Sure,” said Gifford. “I’ll put a dated notecard in its place.”
It was approaching 2:00 p.m. when Glance and Austin returned to Gridley. “Do we have time to contact Thelma Glenn and Martha Bettis today?” said Austin. “We can always do it next week. You don’t want to be late for your barbeque.”
“I think we can fit it in,” said Henry, “as long as I have enough time to take a shower and get to Chico by 6:00.”
Tom’s and Henry’s first stop was the trailer park where Thelma Glenn lived. Thelma was a sweet little old lady of eighty-seven who refused to let Henry and Tom leave before trying a slice of her blackberry pie. “I picked the berries myself, down by the slough,” said Thelma. “Earl and I used to do it every year.”
“Did Earl ever talk about any conversations he’d had with Norm Bettis?” said Austin.
The Case of the Missing Game Warden Page 17