Elvin Bodner's Stand

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by Ronald Gaines


  A little after one that night, Chief Deputy Larry Wyatt and Sergeant Tom Whitley walked in the jail to find what was totally unexpected. Using the jailer’s belt, Raskin had tied Lassiter’s hands to the bars well above his head in cell #8. He could do little more than make s strange humming sound with his socks removed and stuffed in his mouth. In addition to the indignity, Tyree was struggling to breathe through a badly broken nose.

  Pumpkin Mize was reclining on the cot with his back against the wall, his left leg and right peg extended toward the foot of the bed. There was a smile on his face, the only clue to the rich satisfaction he was feeling.

  Millard Raskin was long gone.

  10 No Way to Start the Day

  Monday, January 25, 2010 6:05 AM

  Janeen Bodner was an early riser. Her dad used to say, “Miss the rooster and miss the best part of the day.” She must have taken it to heart, since she was at the automatic coffee maker each morning as the last drop hit the carafe.

  On that Monday morning in January, there was an unexpected development. Janeen was stirring in the cream when the telephone rang. She moved quickly to answer, as much out of shock as an attempt to keep another ring from waking her husband.

  Who could that be, very few people have this number.

  “Hello.”

  “Mrs. Bodner, this is Bill Andrews.”

  “Yes, good morning Sheriff Andrews”….

  “I’m very sorry to bother you so early this morning, but I’ve got some news for you and the Judge.”

  Janeen carried the coffee cup and wireless phone over to the table, as Andrews described what happened at the jail during the night. The shock moved like liquid as it flooded her thoughts.

  “How did he escape Sheriff?”

  “He used a hand gun to force the jailer to unlock his cell and two other doors leading to the outside.”

  “….a gun? Where in God’s name did he get a gun?”

  “We’re still trying to figure that out Mrs. Bodner. He absolutely didn’t have it on him. Apparently, another prisoner in the adjoining cell had one and gave it to him. That’s still being investigated.”

  “You think he’s still in the area?”

  “We assume so, but we’re not sure at this point. Every effort is being made to locate him and the assumption is that he’s still in the area. It’s the place he knows best.”

  “Well now, that’s two things we don’t know Sheriff Andrews. We don’t know how he got a gun in his cell and we don’t have any idea whether he’s high-tailed it or is hiding right down the street. Perfect!”

  Janeen continued to listen as Sheriff Andrews tried again to assure her that everything possible was being done, when the doorbell rang.

  “Dear God Bill, someone just rang our doorbell. It’s not even daylight yet.”

  “Mrs. Bodner, that’s probably one of my deputies. We’re assigning an officer to stay with you and the Judge until Raskin is caught.”

  “Sheriff, how do I know that’s your deputy?”

  “We just talked with him on the radio and he said he was there.”

  “On the radio, you spoke with him just now, right?”

  “Yes we did, Mrs. Bodner.”

  “Okay, let’s go see.”

  Janeen didn’t make it to the hallway before she heard her husband open the front door.

  “Good morning Judge Bodner. I’m Deputy Dan Flintom. Sheriff Andrews wanted me to let you know that I’ll be right out front should you need me for any reason.”

  “And why would I need you deputy?”

  “Because Raskin has escaped,” said his wife, walking into the foyer from the kitchen.

  Judge Bodner turned and watched her come to a stop, as she focused on the officer just outside the door. With a quizzical look on his face, the Judge turned back to the deputy.

  “You people are telling me that Millard Raskin has escaped from the State Penitentiary?”

  “No sir, we were gonna transport him this morning but he escaped from our place late last night,” responded Dan Flintom.

  “Elvin, I’ve got Bill Andrews on the phone here and he can tell you about it. Thank you for coming deputy. By the way, would you like a cup of coffee?” asked Janeen Bodner, while putting her hand on the edge of the door.

  “Oh, no ma’am, I’ve got a Thermos in the car.”

  “Alright, do let me know when it’s empty and we can refill it for you,” said the Judge’s wife showing a strained smile as she pushed the door closed.

  The couple went back to the kitchen where the Judge took the phone. He had several questions for Sheriff Andrews. As he listened, Bodner knew the taskforce outlined by the Sturn County Sheriff was working hard to recapture the fugitive. However, that did little to warm the chill of this new pre-dawn concern in the Bodner home.

  The coffee pot was half empty when the telephone rang for the second time that morning. It was Kenneth Stepp. He and his wife, Melinda, had received their call from Sheriff Andrews and were in the middle of welcoming a deputy to their driveway.

  11 Rolling Out New Stands

  Wednesday, February 17, 2010 8:40 AM

  The craftsmen at Specialty Fabrication, LLC supplied Brantley’s hunting stands for almost two decades. Over the years, most were not all that dressed out. But they were well built, comfortable and highly functional. The most recent versions featured rust-resistant hardware, a good grade of carpet and thick, high-quality plywood. The legs, braces, ladder and platform were fabricated from heavy gauge galvanized metal.

  Faith, Butch’s wife, was quite an artist. She enjoyed water colors and it was Faith who suggested the camouflage graphics scheme on the six by seven foot shooting cabin. Specialty Fabrication asked her to help develop a layout and work with one of the company’s vinyl vendors in producing the materials. Looking at several of those identical units sitting along a tree line made quite a statement.

  Ten of the latest versions were already on the property before rights to the Connor tract were obtained. Assisted by three workers from Specialty, the Brantley crew had almost finished setting up an additional eleven, with just a few more to go. The new units were used to replace older, wooden shooting stations throughout the property, as well as cover the majority of the newly-acquired three hundred fifty acre Connor tract. They were placed near State Route 1101, running across to the river.

  All stand locations, including those newest installations, were made based on known wildlife movement patterns, feeder distribution, as well as existing cuts in the undercover brush and some attractive stands of trees.

  The newest placements and replacements were a main item on the morning’s agenda. Everyone was in the living room at the Lodge when Butch and his guest walked in from the front porch.

  “Okay folks, I know there are things we’ve all got to get done today so let’s get right to it. First, let me put a face with a name. We’ve all heard about Mr. John Crunkelton being named President at Specialty Fabrication. Well, there’s the face that goes with the name.”

  There was immediate applause and a scattering of “thumbs up” gestures. It was John’s first trip to Brantley Hunting Lodge since moving from Paducah, KY to Sanford, NC to head the company. John’s background was in aeronautical engineering and much of Specialty’s recent business growth was in tooling development for defense contractors who supply the military.

  From highly-precise metal tooling to galvanized steps for a super cool hunting stand, Specialty Fabrication did a variety of things in their three North Carolina buildings. Most of the old timers in Sanford remembered the days when the product line featured items like snap-together shelving for the inside walls of box trucks and powder-coated gun racks for the rear window in your pickup. The company had grown and the product line had undergone a high-tech revolution, but Specialty had never let the Brantley family down.

  “First John, let me thank you and your team for the terrific job in getting those new stands to us as quickly as you did. Your folks did a he
lluva job and they’re still at it out there helping set them up. Am I right everybody?” There was more well-deserved applause.

  “John, I’d like to introduce these folks to you since I’ve introduced you to them.”

  “Sitting by you there is Murphy Perkins, no new face around here. He’s been with our family nearly twenty years. That’s about right isn’t it Murph?”

  “Yes sir, somethin’ like that.”

  “Over there is Darnel Stone. He’s in his fifth year with the Lodge. That guy’s a real jack of all trades, good at nearly anything from stalkin’ to talkin’. Eddie Fulford, sitting next to Darnel is fairly new to us. He started last year. Eddie’s gonna be one of the best when it comes to game and game lands. In addition, he can butcher a buck or a boar before you can whistle Dixie.”

  “Sittin’ by Eddie is the newest full time member of our crew, David Bell. David’s a local guy, just started last month and he’s learnin’ fast.”

  “John, that young lady sitting over in the rocker is Stephanie Powell. She’s in the graphic arts program at the technical college. Stephanie is gonna be working part time, helping us develop new mail out and other promotional materials. She’s also going to help Scott and me at some trade shows. Hopefully, her good work will help us drum up some new business so we can keep you guys paid.”

  “Of course, sitting next to Stephanie is Sara Mae Mooney – without doubt, the best cook in the State of South Carolina. Her pot roast will make a bulldog jump a hound.”

  That observation brought the loudest applause of the morning.

  “Sara Mae started a couple of years after Murphy. We’d be hard-pressed to try and get along without either one of those folks.”

  “And then John, over by the fireplace is Dr. Preston Knowles. He holds a PhD in Wild Life Management. And, if that’s not enough, there’s a double major attached to his name. He’s degreed in genetics as well. Supposedly, he’s here on a study grant. But there’s a real question as to who’s learning the most, him or us.”

  Butch then turned things over to Scott, who went over hunter numbers compared to last year’s totals. Following the sales figures, Scott covered the new stand placements.

  Earlier that morning, Eddie Fulford asked to speak briefly. He stood to urge all who hadn’t done so to be sure and see the new upgrades at the processing room, including the newly-enlarged freezer.

  Stephanie Powell was last on the agenda. Her time was spent sharing the workups on two new pieces of promotional literature. When she’d finished, the crowd headed in different directions.

  After coffee, Butch motioned for John Crunkelton to step into the dining room. “John, let me take you on a quick spin and show you where and how we placed the new stations.” John and Butch started out the door, when David Bell called from the kitchen.

  “Mr. Brantley, I hope you don’t mind me asking, but could I come along?”

  Butch hesitated only briefly. “Sure David. That’ll be fine.”

  In his first few weeks, David had given every indication he was anxious to learn as much as he could as fast as he could. His enthusiasm was something Butch didn’t want to dampen.

  The three men drove by several spots where the new units had replaced older wooden structures. Each new, elevated stand drew smiles all around. Of course the new locations along the Turtle River, with access to more prime wetland spots would be saved till last.

  The investment with Specialty Fabrication was considerable but the more uniform, up-to-date look across the property spoke volumes to well-off hunter-guests – people who could afford to hunt most anywhere. The trick was to make and keep Brantley Hunting Lodge their destination of choice.

  A further step toward differentiating the Brantley experience from the competition was taken in September of ’09 when tests on solar-powered radiated heat began at two of the new stands. Simple and silent, the slick little systems could make several hours in a stand on a cold, cold day noticeably more enjoyable.

  12 Close the Door When You Leave

  Wednesday, February 17, 1994 11:40 AM

  River Bottom Road ran north and south on the west side of the river. No more than a single vehicle wide in places, it pretty much follows the serpentine ins and outs of the Turtle River. The distance from the dirt road to the river’s edge varied from one hundred fifty to three hundred yards.

  The footing for quite a distance up into the woods was always wet – not far from swampy in many places. This was particularly true in the winter when the rains came more into play. In the main, the Turtle was wide and shallow, extending out considerably beyond the relatively narrow main river run.

  The newest river frontage was all part of the Connor hunting lease, where several of the new stands replaced older shooting stations. The setups were at the front edge of the strip of trees that separated the river from the road. Adequate views up and down the dirt road were always maintained.

  The final newer units were being taken off the flatbed when Butch, John and David reached the far side of the Connor tract.

  Mr. Crunkelton lowered the passenger side window and motioned for one of his employees to walk over to the truck. “Skippy, looks like you guys are about to wrap things up here.”

  “Yes sir. Darnel and Eddie are all over this thing helpin’ us. Buggar and I don’t have to tell ‘em boys what to do anymore; we just have to try and keep up.”

  “Is that right?” replied John Crunkelton with a chuckle.

  “All we have to do now is finish assemblin’ and anchorin’ these last few bases, so we can get the cabins down on the platforms. Buggar allows we should have ‘er wrapped up by the end of the day. If not this evenin’ then we should be finished early tomorrow.”

  “Good work Skippy. You and Buggar bring the truck back to the lodge when you’re finished. I see Butch’s guys have their jeep here.”

  Not wanting to stop Darnel or Eddie who were tightening braces on the remaining frames, Butch motioned for David who was standing near the front of the truck to walk around to the driver’s window.

  “Run over there and ask Darnel if he or Eddie left the doors open on several of the stands behind us on River Bottom. Tell him I counted four standing wide open. Those guys know better than that.”

  “Yes sir. Be right back.”

  As many times as everyone had been told to close the doors when the stand wasn’t in use, Butch couldn’t believe his guys would have made that mistake. That’s the reason a latch was installed on the outside as well as the inside. Left open, the dry, wind-free interior attracted all manner of critter. On one occasion, a skunk left his calling card before heading back down the stairs. The stand was unusable of an entire season.

  “Mr. Brantley, they didn’t leave ‘em open,” announced David as he trotted back to the truck.

  “Well, if they didn’t who did?” asked Butch, more thinking out loud than expecting an answer.

  “Darnel says they were definitely closed last night when they headed back to the Lodge. He said to tell you Eddie and him was gonna close and latch ‘em before they came in today.”

  Four stands in a row with the doors opened, strange, thought Butch as he resumed the tour.

  The two ponds were of particular interest to Crunkelton. He loved to shoot waterfowl and promised a return trip with two of his associates. Crunkelton would later tell his staff at the office he’d never seen a more complete outfitter operation.

  It was hard to feel anything but good about the future of Brantley Hunting Lodge. Things were going the Brantley’s way.

  The fact was, for most of the remaining afternoon, Butch had difficulty getting those open doors off his mind.

  13 “Cash” and Carla

  Tuesday, February 23, 2010 5:10 PM

  Sheriff Bill Andrews and his entire department, Sturnburg City Police, the State Law Enforcement Division (SLED), State Department of Corrections personnel and Patricia Faye’s brother were all looking for Cash Raskin.

  Leon Corsey was a big,
barrel-chested retired SLED detective. For what he’d done to his neice and her mother, Raskin would be wise to hope some other “force” found him before Leon “Bear” Corsey.

  Still, no one had figured out how he got the gun. How did he get out of the city so quickly and most importantly, where had he been for the past month? All of his known contacts had been investigated. How and where was he eating? How was he getting around and if he was no longer nearby, which direction out of Sturn County had he taken? For a month, Raskin managed to evade his pursuers’ best efforts at putting him back behind bars.

  None but Millard Raskin himself knew just how well things had gone, and continued to go, for the first escapee in Sturn County history. He had thoroughly enjoyed escaping, and to date staying on the loose.

  That final key, the one he needed for the back fence gate, was what got Tyree Lassiter his broken nose, gladly arranged by Raskin. Toward the end of the ordeal, Lassiter had tried to stand his ground against Raskin’s demands. But by the time Cash finished slapping him down, picking him up and slapping him down again, the new jailer was ready to personally unlock any door in Sturnburg. All the slapping was close to pure pleasure for the Sturn County thug.

  Of course, the top of that .25 semi-automatic’s muzzle bloodying the roof of Lassiter’s mouth each time Raskin wanted an answer, fit right in with Raskin’s idea of personal persuasion. He’d loved it all and Pumpkin Mize had enjoyed the spectating.

  The escapee’s good fortune didn’t end when he walked out the back door of the county jail on January 24, 2010. Less than a quarter mile from the old flat-roof jail building, he was running his hand down the driver’s side of an ’83 Dodge pickup, with the driver’s window down.

  It was slightly chopped, chromed out and obviously the prize possession of some teenager. The former auto mechanic had little difficulty straight wiring the truck, using the light from a cell phone the thoughtless youth left lying on the front seat.

  Heading west into Butler County, he stopped and reversed the charges on a call to Carla Bayliss. Within ten minutes she was on her way to the lot behind the small motel, where the couple met so often over the past twelve years.

 

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