The closest she’d come to hearing Cash’s side of things was in the television coverage of his rants and denials. Only once in the seven weeks she’d harbored him, had Raskin agreed to talk about what happened that night in the kitchen with Patricia and the baby.
His story remained the same – a terrible accident caused by the slippery soap in the baby’s water. Try as she may, Carla couldn’t get around two things – the glib manner in which he described the events and his glaring lack of heartfelt regret.
She had also been aware of his threat to kill the two court officials when he escaped – something else they hadn’t discussed since his arrival. It was no longer just a sensational headline in the local paper. Cash Raskin had escaped and Ken Stepp was dead.
On Saturday night following dinner, the killing of Stepp was clearly the elephant in the room. Carla had never even had a speeding ticket and she was wrestling with the reality that a murderer, a cold-blooded killer who could walk up and shoot a man in the back of the head, was in her home and in her bed.
“Cash, is there any way they can trace that killing back to this house?”
Raskin slowly lowered his arms so he could look over the top of the newspaper. “What killing….what killing are you talking about Carla? I don’t know anything about no killing! Don’t bring that subject up again please; it’s not a good after-dinner subject. Besides, you shouldn’t worry about somethin’ that you have nuthin’ to do with. Old Cash knows what he’s doin’.” He returned to the local news section, keeping the paper in front of his face to hide a self-satisfied smile.
Carla Jean stared at the backside of the newspaper, knowing only two things for sure – she was growing increasingly unhappy with the situation and disturbing new realities were dissolving the notion of Cash Raskin being “her man”.
What really troubled the cafeteria worker was the distinct possibility that the man across the room might well have killed little Paige, and if he did, there would be little hesitation should his rage be turned toward her.
Carla now realized the high school bluster had grown into evil ways and wicked deeds. She was becoming frightened by the man she now realized she’d never truly known – beginning to feel more like a landlord than a lover.
21 Four’s a Crowd
Saturday, April 10, 2010 7:00 PM
Following his escape from the Sturn County Jail, law enforcement’s effort to recapture Cash Raskin had been intense. Before and after the murder of Ken Stepp, there seemed few areas where efforts could be redoubled, but that’s what was done. Local and state authorities were joined by Federal investigators in an attempt to prove the obvious – Millard “Cash” Raskin had stalked and killed the prominent prosecuting attorney.
For Elvin and Janeen Bodner, the multi-agency, broad-brush campaign boiled down to one or two deputies nearby, day or night. Given the brazen way Raskin had killed Stepp, nothing was taken for granted. That’s why Sergeant Tom Whitley and Corporal Sally Moretz were seated two tables away as the Bodners had dinner at the Sturnburg Steak House.
“It looks to me like we could have a little privacy once in a while,” said Elvin to his wife, as he cut his ribeye with added determination.
“It’s aggravating Elvin, but I’m glad they’re around. I have no intention of losing my husband like poor Malinda Stepp. It’s all such a horrible nightmare.”
“Janeen, I’m so sorry I got you involved in all this,” said her husband, feeling a rush of warmth for the woman he loved so very much.
“Honey, it’s not your fault. You’re a good man and an excellent Judge. This monster has been a dark cloud over everyone he’s ever known, and that includes his innocent little baby. You just know through all this that I’m with you and I’ll always be,” said Janeen, reaching across the table and taking her husband’s hand. With good reason, they were both anxious and distracted by the situation; but in a real way, the persistent worry was drawing them closer together.
For twenty years, it had been just Elvin and Janeen. In spite of all good efforts, visits to specialists, medicines and prayers, there had never been any children. During the fears and unease surrounding the Raskin threats and escape that followed, their interdependency was serving them well.
Earlier in the evening Janeen gave Elvin a beautiful black titanium and 18-karat yellow gold ring. The Judge had commented on the ring to Roger Millman three days earlier when he was in Millman Jewelers. He was there buying his wife the beautiful necklace she was wearing that evening.
When the Judge got up to kiss his wife in appreciation for the ring, Sally Moretz knew she was watching a very personal moment – as each expressed their concern and love for one another.
Eight different Sturn County deputies were working the Bodner protection rotation. Sergeant Tom Whitley and Corporal Sally Moretz had been heavily involved. They were both in the courthouse detail during the trial and either would readily recognize Millard Raskin.
While Moretz watched the Judge and his wife from two tables away, Sergeant Whitley focused on the closest windows and hall leading in from the front lobby. During the evening the coast had proven clear and the steaks perfectly prepared. All four stood and prepared to leave. Realizing the county allowance would fall short of covering the deputies’ meals, Judge Bodner insisted on paying for their dinner.
The procedure was always the same. When the Bodners walked into the street, the officers were mere feet away. One walked to their right and the other to their left, slightly behind in order to widen their field of view.
That sort of vigilance would prove warranted. Cash Raskin was on the move.
22 A David Bell Update
Wednesday, April 14, 2010 9:50 AM
Sheriff Conrad Scott and newly-promoted Franklin County Detective Ollie Welch were meeting with Butch and Scott Brantley at the Lodge on Wednesday morning April 14th. It was their third update for the Brantleys since David Bell disappeared the evening of March 10th. Five weeks had passed and the case continued to be treated as a missing person with foul play suspected.
Darnel Stone passed the doorway into the living room and whispered for permission to come in. With a motion from his hand, Scott signaled Darnel to take a seat.
Butch continued. “Then Conrad you’re sayin’, after nearly a month and a half there’s nothin’, not a scrap of evidence as to what happened to our man?”
“Yes sir, that’s pretty much what I’m sayin’ here. In the road, there were what might have been scuff marks but they were random and really of little help. They could have just as easily been made by some animal or blowing limbs as by two people in a fight. There were no drag marks like someone was pulling a body as the victim’s heels cut into the dirt. It’s like David Bell dropped off the face of the earth or left on a space ship. And I assure you, that’s about the only thing we haven’t tried to run down.”
There was little record of Bell’s youth. He grew up in an orphanage near Dillon, SC. Most of the institution’s records were destroyed in a fire when David was three. It had been confirmed however, that his mother left him at the orphanage when he was eighteen months old. As had the past five weeks, much of his life seemed filled with more questions than answers.
“Sheriff Scott, everybody knows something happened to that boy. Somebody got him and probably killed him. What we gonna do here, just write him off with a big question mark by his name?” asked Darnel, plainly frustrated by the lack of results and motivated by his protective, older-brother-like feelings toward the boy.
Ollie Welch moved up to the edge of the sofa before he spoke.
“Ah, Darnel, isn’t it?”….
“Yes sir, I’m Darnel Stone.”
“Darnel you talk about someone killing David Bell. We don’t have a murder here; we don’t have a body; we don’t have a crime scene and as things stand, we don’t have a crime. I’m sorry, but at this point that’s just the way it is.”
“What we’ve got is a missing nineteen-year-old who has a history of running
away. That’s what we have Mr. Stone. Please know that I and many others in our office, assisted by other agencies, have been and will continue to scrub things clean looking for David. If he’s out there, he’ll turn up, one way or the other.”
The sad reality was David Bell would not be turning up.
23 Here Comes da’ Judge
Thursday, April 15, 2010 3:05 PM
With things as they were, Carroll Swicegood couldn’t get a Brantley hog hunt lined up until mid-April. About three o’clock on Thursday, April 15th, Carroll, Elvin and Myron Marks were just inside Franklin County, about to take the left off State Route 1101 into Brantley Hunting Lodge.
It was Carroll’s trip, so Carroll did the driving. He again chose to use that bright yellow ‘93 Dodge diesel crew cab – the one that matched up so well with the rig driven by Sparky Mills. The truck itself was a sweet running powerhouse. It was the exploded decals on both sides depicting thatgoofy-looking chicken with teeth in its beak that really got away with his two passengers. Then there was the electric blue, oversized wording of the slogan running across the tailgate and the full length of the rear fenders: “Swice...GOOD...Chicken”. Before leaving Myron had whispered to Judge Bodner, “Now that’s a really nice touch!”
“I can’t believe it’s been nearly six years since you have been down here,” said Carroll, for the third time that day.
“Well Carroll, I’ve been doing most of my hunting out west and you know how time flies. The Circuit Court and trying to support Janeen in her new endeavor…time gets by,” replied Judge Bodner with a little agitation in his voice. Janeen was back in school, working on her Masters Degree in Political Science.
Heading down to Brantley Hunting Lodge, Myron Marks had done more listening than talking, which was typical of the recently-retired dentist. That was never more the case than when Carroll was on a roll.
A brief silent spell was broken when Carroll looked in the rearview mirror and asked, “Hey Myron, you know why they arrested the man for looking at a new set of dentures in the dentist’s front window?”
“No, no I don’t Carroll, why was that?”
“’cause it was against the law to pick your teeth in public!” Carroll’s belly laugh plainly indicated he enjoyed the punch line more than his two companions. Elvin and Myron smiled and shook their heads. Carroll Swicegood had always been one of those I’ve-got-a-million-of-‘em kinda guys.
When the dually pulled up in front of Brantley Lodge, Elvin was thinking everything looked just about as he remembered, with the exception of a fresh coat of white paint here and there. Carroll led the way, as the three men stepped up on the porch and approached the front door. Scott pushed open the screen and walked out to greet them.
“Hey Carroll, good to see you Dr. Marks and this must be Judge Bodner,” said Scott, shaking each guest’s hand. Carroll had been sure to let them know Judge Bodner was returning when he called and reserved dates for the hunt.
“Scott, you lookin’ good,” said Myron.
“You are too Dr. Marks. Come on in fellas.”
They were joined by Butch who had been in the dining room with Randall and Ray Evans. The Evans brothers were going to be hunting that Friday and Saturday along with the Swicegood group. Randall also brought along his teenage-age son, Randy, and Randy’s friend, Gary McAdams.
“Hey guys. Welcome, welcome, welcome,” said Scott’s dad shaking the hand of each Sturn County regular before turning to Judge Bodner. “And Judge, it’s so very good to have you with us again.”
“It’s been a while Butch, but Carroll and Myron have been keeping me up to speed on all the good goins on down here. I’m told you’ve expanded your acreage here at the Lodge.”
“Yes sir, I guess we’re probably twice as big as we were the last time you were here. Judge, it’s really nice to have you back with us.”
Soon the Evans party joined the new arrivals in the living room. Everyone sat around while past hunts and hopes for a successful weekend were discussed. The stories touched on previous deer and boar hunts, as well as Carroll’s tumble from the deer stand. Judge Bodner even gave the buck-sniffin’-my-rifle story a whirl. He’d never wished harder for photographic proof.
Ray Yates could really get your juices going with his famous story of the huge copper-colored boar he’d taken several years back. That’s the one that landed him the current record for the largest hog ever taken on Brantley property. The boar hoisted at almost four hundred eighty pounds. He’d told the story so many times every little detail was perfectly honed.
Raymond typically came to the edge of his seat when describing the agonizing wait for the brute to step from the edge of the woods and give him a clear shot. It became even more the stuff hog hunters thrive on as he recounted passing on two other good hogs, following his hunch that the larger target would turn into the open rather than walk deeper into the trees.
Everyone washed up and sat down to one of Sara Mae’s evening meals. The delightful black lady served up pot roast, green beans and corn she’d canned several months back. There was coleslaw, pickled okra, homemade biscuits, fresh butter and the amber molasses that was always kept on the table. You could wash it down with her just-right sweet tea or hot coffee. A bowl of the best vanilla sauce you’ll ever eat sat right beside the large pan of golden brown bread pudding.
Elvin Bodner was feeling more and more comfortable with his return to Brantley Hunting Lodge. The good feelings he’d stirred on that Texas hog hunt were beginning to simmer again as he reminisced and laughed with those like-minded hunters. The Judge couldn’t help feeling the next two days were going to be a good experience.
24 Afternoon Delight
Friday, April 16, 2010 4:00 PM
Friday morning’s hunt hadn’t added up to much. From thirty minutes before dawn to eleven forty-five the Judge saw a random assortment of wildlife, but no hogs. There were song birds, a bevy of crows, a rabbit, two chipmunks (probably the same one twice) and a red fox trotting into and then up the far end of River Bottom Road. He’d seen what he thought was an armadillo and a column of buzzards a half mile to his left – no hogs, no deer, not even a turkey strutting about.
But, as a hunter, Bodner was more than aware one disappointing session doesn’t tell the story of a two-day hunt. There was the afternoon and a different stand. Plus, tomorrow had to be lucky – it was his birthday.
At lunch, everybody reported the same thing – nothin’ happenin’. Only Randy Evan’s friend, Gary McAdams, said he’d seen a couple of hogs. The sixteen-year-old recently joined Randy in completing the Firearms Safety Course offered at the Lodge and was on his first trip looking for a big porker.
“They crossed the road way down below me, but it was good to see something at least,” said Gary, obviously excited with his ground-breaking effort.
After excusing himself from the table, Elvin stepped to the kitchen doorway and spoke to Sara Mae. “Nice lady, that was a mighty fine lunch. Thank you very much.”
“Oh you’re more than welcome Ya Honor. It always pleasures me to see folks enjoy our food here at the Lodge.”
It wasn’t just her talents in the kitchen that had pleased the Brantleys for some many years; it was how she attempted to learn something about every hunter. Only once the previous evening had she heard someone say something about Elvin Bodner being a Judge. To Sara Mae Mooney, good customer relations were as serious as the right self-rising flour.
When Bodner walked into the living room, he saw only Myron Marks and Preston Knowles sitting on the sofa in front of the fireplace. Knowles was looking through the pages in a three-ring binder and Myron was just sitting, looking like he’d been rebuffed.
“What’s up guys?” asked Bodner as he sat down in the leather chair beside the fire.
“Just chillin’ Elvin, just chillin’,” replied Marks, apparently willing to show some of the tension in the room through his expressionless words.
The retired dentist’s body language spoke loud and cl
ear. He was put off by the young scholar’s apparent arrogance. Several attempts to crank up a conversation with Knowles met with only two and three word responses.
“And, hope your day’s as you’d have it, Dr. Knowles,” said Bodner.
“I am doing well, thank you.” Knowles never looked up from the paperwork in his lap. The Judge glanced over at Myron, who responded with a quick shrug of the shoulders and an upturned bottom lip.
“Myron, we’ve got this afternoon to make something happen on this Friday. Maybe we’ll see some action this evening. I believe Scott said we’d be back down on the river again,” said Bodner, trying to do something about the bogged-down conversation.
“I hope so Elvin,” replied Myron, still feeling put out by Preston Knowles’ snubby ways. That’s when the researcher looked up from the binder and asked, “I suppose you two gentlemen have killed quite a few hogs in your hunting days.”
“Not all that many for me. I really haven’t done that much hog hunting. Myron there and our other buddy, Carroll Swicegood, have gotten their share,” replied Bodner.
“Gotten their… share….have they?”
“How ‘bout you Dr. Knowles, you done any hog huntin’?” asked Marks.
“Me? Oh no, no, not me. I’d much rather study them than shoot them. Now gentlemen, if you’d excuse me.”
Knowles unceremoniously closed his binder, put on his coat and headed for the front door. Marks and Bodner briefly looked at each other before Dr. Marks spoke.
“Right thin-skinned to be doing research at some hunting Lodge, wouldn’t you think Judge?”
“Yeah Myron, it would seem that way.”
The researcher was staying in one of the trailers Butch Brantley kept in the RV Park next to the Lodge.
The four Brantley trailers were used to house family guests and hunters when the bedrooms were full. The other spaces were available for regulars to park their trailers if they chose to pull them in for a hunt. Each slot was equipped with dump, electric and cable TV hook ups. It was a topnotch option for those wanting to bring their own housing.
Elvin Bodner's Stand Page 7