“Mr. Roberts, is your client ready to enter a plea this afternoon?”
“I don’t need this pipsqueak speakin’ for me. He told me my choices and I want a jury trial. I ain’t guilty! What happened was a terrible accident. I lost my grip. She’as wet. I’m not guilty Judge!”
Roberts leaned toward his client and whispered a simple directive. “Shut your stupid mouth, you dumbass.” Judge Bodner felt it was some of the more pertinent legal counsel he had heard uttered recently.
Another issue was on the Judge’s mind that afternoon. Bodner had spoken with both the prosecutor and defense attorney on the advisability of some mental evaluation of Millard Raskin. His past was filled with brutality to animals, which began at an early age, as well as a variety of particularly unpleasant harassment charges. Perhaps most concerning, he was known to have rambling conversations with himself, the most recent occurring almost daily in his cell.
Bodner decided to proceed with the CST (Competency to Stand Trial) evaluation. The testing would be done by two examiners from the State Department of Mental Health. That announcement drew a particularly exaggerated, indignant laugh from Raskin.
“Knock it off Cash,” said his attorney, giving the defendant a bump with his shoulder as they stood before Judge Bodner.
“And you go to hell,” came Millard Raskin’s reply, glaring down at the pocket-sized lawyer. Judge Bodner watched, waiting for the exchange to end. He then announced a court date and marked the calendar – Monday, January 11, 2010, 9:00 AM.
Being led out of the courtroom, Raskin looked over his shoulder and shouted; “Hope to be speakin’ with you again right soon…. Judge… Elvin… Bodner”.
5 LastPiece of the Puzzle Thursday, December 17, 2009 2:00 PM
In the winter of 2009, while Elvin Bodner was adjudicating matters before South Carolina’s 17th Judicial Circuit, Butch Brantley was wrapping up negotiations on the final long-term Hunting Rights Agreement he had targeted.
Addison Connor’s name was the last one he had pursued in a two-year negotiating campaign. Broderick Adams glanced up from the table at Butch Brantley, as the land-owner signed the final document. Butch was already looking at his attorney. Both smiled, silently awash in the good feeling that comes when a long-pursued objective is realized.
“Thank you very much Mr. Connor,” said Adams, taking the documents and extending his hand. Addison Connor responded with a hand shake and nod of his head.
There was still uncertainty in the long-time land owner’s mind. What Addison Connor called the “River Bottom Parcel” had been controlled by his family for over a century. To see someone else making calls regarding his family’s land along the river seemed strange.
“Addison, my son Scott and I want to thank you again for working with us on this. Please know we will make every effort to manage not only the wildlife but the land itself, just as if it were our own. We give you our word on that.”
“Yes sir. I’m glad we could get this settled Mr. Brantley,” said Connor as he stepped toward Scott and shook the hand of Butch’s son.
Actually, it was a good deal for both families. Connor would see the Brantley’s considerable game management know-how brought to bear on his property, and the Brantleys would close up a hole on their operations map along Turtle River. In so doing, they would gain widened access to the large number of wild hogs they knew roamed the Turtle River’s banks. That’s what really excited Butch and Scott. They wanted very much to expand the premier wild hog hunting options at the Lodge.
The Brantley’s commitment was reasonable as well – a flat annual fee of $3,750 and a combined calendar year total of three gratis deer, hog or turkey hunts for Addison’s two sons and five grandchildren. The hunts were to be taken in accordance with Brantley Hunting Lodge scheduling calendars and hunting policies.
Before his untimely death at the age of 57, Nelson Brantley emphasized deer hunting above all else. Butch long argued that hogs, turkey and even water fowl represented untapped potential.
Two ponds were built and the ducks showed up, just as Butch and Scott predicted. Turkeys had always been plentiful, but when it came to hogs, the wetter, choicer habitat needed to be enlarged and that’s just what the Connor deal accomplished.
Everyone had gone but Broderick and Butch, when the attorney reached into his lower desk drawer and took out a bottle of Rebel Yell – the Counselor’s much preferred brand. Next came two elegant crystal shot glasses.
Broderick Adams loosened his tie and proposed a toast. “Here’s to new territory and bigger trophies!”
Both men threw back their drinks and harmonized in a fervent, “Aaaah….”
Butch loved his dad, but he couldn’t help feeling deep satisfaction having accomplished what Nelson Brantley had often said wasn’t possible.
Adams leaned back in his chair. “I’ve got to say Butch that I never thought you’d pull it off. What was it at the beginning, hunting rights on six parcels involving…let’s see…fourteen signatures?”
“Yep, somethin’ like that. But Broderick, this really couldn’t have been put together without your team. The research you folks did on good wildlife management and its positive place in the ecosystem – very persuasive stuff.”
There was no doubt Broderick Adams would be charging for the time on the internet, telephone and at the library pulling together the data, but he knew it had proven a worthwhile investment.
“I’d better get on back. We’ve got some new stands to set up.” Butch headed for the door, stopping only to thank Robin Smallwood one more time. He knew it was Robin who was responsible for most of the multi-source research that had been done.
It was her efforts that alerted Dr. Preston Knowles to the Brantley operation. He held a PhD with an emphasis on game management and genetics and was currently doing research at the Lodge on the wildlife and Brantley’s operating model.
Including the original eight hundred twenty acres, which was owned by the Brantley family, the Lodge now controlled over one thousand seven hundred acres of choice low country hunting property for their free-range hunts. The Brantleys had good reason to celebrate.
Driving back to the Lodge, Butch began doing what he seldom did – whistle an improvised tune. Several miles ahead, after cranking up the radio, Scott launched his celebration. It featured rhythmic tapping on the steering wheel, while singing along with Patsy Cline on her version of “San Antonio Rose”.
6 What’s Up Doc?
Tuesday, December 21, 1993 9:50 AM
Dr. Debra Donley did quite a bit of CST testing for the 17th Circuit Court. Her colleague, Dr. Stanton Archer, typically conducted the collateral interview and testing regimen. The Psychologist and Psychiatrist, respectively, took a simple approach. They met separately with the individual and then prepared the mandatory reports. Not until each had completed their tasks did they meet and discuss findings.
The vast majority of the time the findings and attendant write-ups were all but identical. To insure that work was done on the same playing field, they used the same battery of tests.
The door to Dr. Donley’s waiting room opened at 9:50 AM and in walked Millard Raskin, escorted by two Sturn County deputies. The sight of a hard-faced prisoner, wearing wrist and ankle chains, escorted by two uniformed deputies might rattle most receptionists, but not Staci Conway. She’d seen it many times. Besides, she knew both deputies well.
“Good morning Tom and Dan,” said Dr. Donley’s assistant, looking up from her computer keyboard with a pleasant smile.
“Good mornin’ Staci,” replied Sergeant Whitley. Dan Flintom responded with a quick wave.
“And Staci, this thing standin’ here is Dr. Donley’s ten o’clock appointment.”
She glanced back at her computer screen and typed in the day’s schedule. “Okay….that…would be…Millard Raskin, right?”
“No, no. that would be Mister. Millard “Cash” Raskin if you please Ms. Conway,” replied the long-time Sturn County officer. Since
he’d walked through the door, Raskin hadn’t taken his eyes off the attractive young receptionist. But that type of threatening glare was something Staci Conway had come to expect from the likes of Cash Raskin. Perhaps he’d be a little less presumptive looking, if he knew about the Ruger 9mm in Staci’s middle drawer – the one she practiced with at least twice a month.
Debra Donley motioned through the open door for the officers to bring Raskin on in. They led him into her office and sat the criminal at the table where Staci was waiting. Then Whitley and Flintom took a position on each side of the prisoner.
“Gentlemen, can we strike a deal here? I wonder if you might wait just out front with Staci, while Mr. Raskin and I go over some things.”
“Doc, we’re….”
“I know…I know, but you could be in here in a flash if I get too rough with him.” Pausing a moment to look at one another, Sergeant Whitley was the first to turn for the door, followed by his young partner.
As Donley began scanning sheets in the folder, Raskin blurted out, “What’s up Doc?” Donley looked up with surprise and puzzlement on her face.
“You know Doc, the Barbara Streisand movie. I’ve been waitin’ a long time to say that again. Last time was up in Nash County where some creepy old shrink tried to stumble-me-up with a bunch of goofy questions. Now you ain’t gonna try and do that this mornin’ are ya, Doctor…Debra…Donley?”
Up and down the line, law officers and members of the court had noticed the way he drug out the pronunciation of their names, almost as if he wanted you to know for sure he had a fix on the face that goes with the name.
The psychologist moved from heading to heading on the personal info sheet. “Born in Sturn County, South Carolina; mother Margret, father Austin; no brothers one sister; graduated from Sturn County High; worked as an auto mechanic for, let’s see, six years. Did you like doing that sort of work Millard?”
“Sure did Doc. I could tear ‘em up, then turn right around and fix ‘em up. In the wild years of my youth, believe I liked tearin’ ‘em up more ‘n I did fixin’ ‘em up. Know what I mean?”
Debra Donley looked up, responding only with a shallow smile.
“Okay…Millard “Cash” Raskin…I notice “Cash” appears in quotation marks most places here. That’s a nickname, I suppose?”
“Well Doc, I suppose it would be a nickname. They started callin’ me that when I was about twenty years old ‘cause I always had a big roll of money in my pocket….just might be a big wad in there right now Doc…you want ‘a come ‘round here and feel?”
Ignoring or sidestepping suggestive comments and the random vulgarity, Donley managed to get through the fifty-five minutes. The interview and Raskin’s answers to two dozen questions provided the insights she wanted from that morning’s session. The questions were designed to establish to what degree someone understands basic legal proceedings and objectives.
As things proceeded, it was the several degrading remarks about his attorney and attorneys in general that bothered Donley most. An adequate current ability to consult with one’s attorney, based upon a reasonable degree of rational understanding, is one of the fundamental elements in the Criminal Justice Mental Health Standard.
“Millard, ah, you seem to have difficulty with attorneys. Really, toward anyone in a position to which you or others are accountable. I’m inclined to say you struggle with authority itself. Do you think that statement might be correct?”
Raskin leaned across the table, closer to his interviewer.
“I was born into a situation where…you might say…I got two for the price of one lady doctor. My old man, before he blew his brains out in front of my mama and sister, was a mean-as-hell drunken two-bit lawyer. When he got that leather strap to me and my sister, after usein’ his fists on my mother, is where I got me all this “trouble” with lawyers and authority.”
“Here’s what I got to say to your interviews and questions – to hell with Keenon “Shorty” Roberts, to hell with Judge Elvin Bodner, to hell with that prosecutor, whatever his name is, to hell with the court and to hell with you Lady Shrink.”
Raskin got up and headed for the door, snapping at the deputies, “Hey you examples of Sturn County’s finest, I’m ready to go!”
Debra Donley nodded her approval to Sergeant Whitley, who took Millard Raskin’s arm and opened the door to the hall.
“Sharp guy huh,” said Staci Conway as she stepped into her boss’ office. The Psychologist only shook her head as she sat down behind the handsome natural pine desk.
Dr. Stanton Archer always brought three doughnuts to Debra’s office when they were comparing notes on a CST evaluation. Staci took care of the morning coffee. The chocolate-filled was for Staci and the two old-fashioned cake delights were for himself and his fiancé. Debra and Stanton had plans for an August wedding.
The two analysts sat down at the work table where the coffee had been poured and the goodies placed on napkins. Leafing through the contents of his file, Archer opened the proceedings.
“Okay, let’s see here….and by the way Dr. Donley, you look quite lovely this morning.”
Debra didn’t look up, but she smiled broadly.
“Interestingly, his IQ is several clicks above normal – no problem there. I don’t see any problem with his ability to understand essential elements of the adversarial system or his ability to comprehend the specifics of the situation he’s in.
“I believe he probably can think rationally about alternatives in decisions that may be made on his behalf, and I think the scoundrel could make choices among defense strategies Shorty Roberts might propose.”
“Debbie, my biggest concern is an inability to communicate, much less inform and strategize with his attorney. When you listen to his ranting about Roberts, or any lawyer, how could he ever successfully communicate precise information relevant to the charges against him?” asked Archer.
Debra listened carefully, as she checked off very similar issues and conclusions in her notes.
Then the Psychologist mentioned a factor she’d underlined earlier on her legal pad.
“He mentioned several times defending himself against what he called, blown-up charges. He vowed time and again that the death of his baby was absolutely, absolutely an accident. I’m afraid I found myself wrestling with the possibility that he was telling the truth. Did he ever get to you like that Stan?”
“Oh yeah…and I hope the Solicitor gives a lot of thought to what he charges this character with. I’m not sure it was fully his intent to kill that child. Of course that’s for the jury to decide Debbie. The thing I am sure of is that Millard “Cash” Raskin is a bitter, vindictive man, who’s mean as hell!” Two days later reports were delivered to Judge Bodner’s office declaring Raskin competent to stand trial.
7 All Rise
Monday, January 11, 2010 9:00 AM
Solicitor Marshall Hazelhurst tapped Ken Stepp to handle the Raskin prosecution. The two met twice to discuss details of the case, as well as evaluate the possibility of a murder charge rather than the charge of manslaughter. The likeliest avenue toward a conviction was clearly the second of the two. Proving malice aforethought might well be a stretch.
The prosecution came to view the tragic events that night in the Raskin kitchen as an unlawful death rather than murder. In addition, Hazelhurst’s office was confident Keenon Roberts could convince jury members to feel the same way if, in Judge Bodner’s charge to the jury, too fine a point was put on the definition of murder.
It was time for the Raskin trial to begin. Bailiff Mel Hoxie spoke the instruction he’d given so many times before: “All rise.”
Judge Bodner walked from his chambers and moved to the bench, where he gaveled the proceeding to order. The list of witnesses was short and no one expected a lengthy trial. Only Raskin and the child’s mother, Patricia, were in the house at the time of the crime.
Ken Stepp was seated next to Marsha Lowe, who was in her fifth week with the Solicitor’s
Office. This was her first real-world courtroom action since graduating from law school. Ken Stepp asked that the bright new Assistant Solicitor assist in the prosecution. She was well on her way toward impressing everyone in Solicitor Hazelhurst’s office.
At the defense table, Raskin was sitting to Keenon Roberts’ left. On Roberts’ right was his veteran assistant and part time investigator, Anne Carlstead. Anne never attended law school. Her degree was in Criminal Justice, but most observers would argue her gritty work ethic was behind much of Shorty Roberts’ success. No question, they were a pair to see, Anne Carlstead at over six feet and her employer coming in a full foot shorter.
“Mr. Stepp, are you ready to call your first witness?”
“We are Your Honor, the state calls Patricia Faye Raskin to the stand.” Ken Stepp had always believed in cutting to the chase, especially where things seemed clear-cut and only a single witness could gather up the hearts and minds of the jurors and take them to the heart of some horrific moment.
Patricia Raskin had been with her husband for just over nine years – married the final three. That first morning of the trial, their five-year-old son, Bo, was with Patricia’s mother, as he was the night little Paige died.
Several minutes were spent establishing the basics in the couple’s relationship. And, to the extent Judge Bodner would permit, examining Patricia’s past abusive experiences at the hands of Millard Raskin.
It was the final exchange between Stepp and the witness that ignited the fire storm.
“Okay, Ms. Raskin would you tell us what happened after you picked your daughter up in the bedroom and took her in the kitchen where you were boiling the bottles.”
“Well, Cash had been drinkin’ most of the afternoon and he’d been hollerin’ all evenin’ about Paige cryin’ so much. I went in the bedroom and got her out of the baby bed. I took her in the kitchen with me, thinkin’ I could quite her down. But she only got more upset. I still believe she was sick or something,” said Paige’s mother, as her voice began to break and her eyes redden.
Elvin Bodner's Stand Page 2