Sheriff Scott’s department reacted quickly when they received Scott Brantley’s call. Detective Ollie Welch, two deputies and Criminalist, Darlene Mattos, arrived within an hour. Mattos began taking pictures and blood samples as soon as the Sheriff’s detail arrived.
Sheriff Scott was standing with Butch and Scott near the processing building. “Conrad, this crap’s gonna ruin my business. It’s gonna shut us down. What in the name of God are we gonna do? You’ve got to find out who’s doing this,” urged the frightened outfitter.
“Butch, believe me, we’re doing everything humanly possible. There’s a task force working out of our office with four agencies represented. We’ve interviewed almost a hundred people that have been convicted in Judge Bodner’s court. Everyone living anywhere close has been talked to, some more than once. And remember, at your request, we’re trying to do all this with as little fanfare as possible – trying not to flood your property and the area with cars and personnel.”
The Sheriff and the Brantleys weren’t the only ones talking in small groups. Banger Club members were huddled in several places considering their options. They called husbands, boyfriends or partners regarding the over-night development. Most of those contacted urged an end to the trip.
Ten of the sixteen, including owners of the three blood-splashed trailers, decided to leave for Maryland after the afternoon hunt. They asked for no refunds, just everyone’s understanding that they didn’t want to expose their property to that creepy treatment two nights in a row.
Staying was the tough-minded Myra Tarleton, Libby Bressler, Sheila Havens, Penny Prescott, Tiara Aldrich and the spry grandmother of ten, Millie Mateer.
Millie made her feelings clear. “I’ve got another day to go and no devilment like that’s gonna run me off,” she said in support of the Brantleys. Over the years, Millie had become good friends with Faith Brantley, who was standing nearby when she expressed her intentions.
“Etta, I sure hate to see you, Elise and the others leave this afternoon,” said Butch, standing near her truck’s open door.
“I know Butch and we all wish this hadn’t happened. But most of the members are upset and, frankly, it’s just a little too weird for me too. I’m sure after things settle down we’ll see you again later this year.”
In the wake of the growing mystery surrounding the Elvin Bodner stand, this was the reaction and negative impact on Lodge business Butch and Scott greatly feared.
33 No Way to Treat a Lady
Saturday, May 1, 2010 5:05 AM
At breakfast the next morning, the half dozen remaining Bangers were more chatty than usual, trying not to appear overly ill-at-ease after the night’s vandalism. Although no one had told the Brantley’s, everyone in the Maryland group knew about the recent happenings. From day one, they were all aware of the Bodner mystery, but had chosen not to broach the subject with the Brantleys – everyone but the often head-strong Myra Tarleton, who had mentioned it to Butch the very first day.
Following the meal, the hunters were dropped off at their stands along Turtle River. As best they could, each was determined to enjoy the day.
About twenty minutes before dawn, Millie Mateer was getting situated in #12. As she stepped onto the rear platform, her palm-size LED flashlight didn’t catch the brass plaque above the door which read simply, “Elvin Bodner April 16, 2010 388 Pound Boar”. A smaller sentence below read, “41 Pound Wildcat Taken on Same Day”
Her routine was always the same. The front window panel was lowered to rest on its three supports, becoming a shelf the width of the opening. The right and left window panels were lowered, affording a clear view up and down the road and into the trees along the roadway. On that morning, the rear window panel was left closed. There was a stiff breeze from off the river and she didn’t want it blowing through the cabin.
Next came something special to Millie, a picture of her grandchildren, which was placed on the shelf to her right. That was followed by a shiny apple, which went into the opposite corner, along with three additional cartridges for the Savage 300. Finally, a small Thermos bottle was placed within easy reach. It was filled with Sara Mae’s coffee. Millie was ready and happy to be back in the stand doing something she had long enjoyed.
As she blew softly across the hot coffee in the plastic Thermos lid, she heard something bump against the stairs. It wasn’t a distinct sound, but it was definitely solid enough to be startling.
Now what was that? ....maybe a bird misjudged the clearance between the steps….maybe the wind blew something against one of the handrails… aw, it could be a dozen things.
Millie turned to make sure the latch was in place on the rear door. It was, as was the latch on the closed rear window panel.
That’s when the walkie talkie in the bedroom at the Lodge crossed her mind.
…of all times to forget my radio... I’d love to give Libby a call.
Her good friend, Libby Bressler, was hunting south of Millie’s location, across River Bottom Road in stand #11.
It was several seconds before the continuing silence began to ease Millie’s mind. Like the other five, she had brought the edginess from the night before into the stand for the morning hunt.
All I need this mornin’ is a bunch of thumpin’ and bumpin’ in the night, thought the Brantley hunting veteran. She was known as quite a trooper, but strange sounds along a stretch of road where people disappear can take the wind out of anyone’s sails.
The sun was issuing its first glow when Millie Mateer was rocked to the core. Someone or something pushed inward on the rear window panel. This time, there was no mistaking what she’d heard and felt. It wasn’t the wind; it wasn’t a limb riding the breeze; it was a sudden lick against the rear window closure – distinct and very frightening.
Millie jumped from the chair and backed into the left front corner of the cabin. The sixty-three-year old grandmother stiffened, terrified, unable to move, snarled in the web of paralyzing fear.
What followed erased any possibility of an over-active imagination. Someone or something took the handle and shook the door in its frame. The restraint of the latch was being tested. Someone was on the back deck, pulling and pushing on the handle, giving every intention of coming inside.
“Hey, get away from here. I have a gun and I know how to use it!” shouted Millie. She stepped quickly to the other side of the cabin and picked up her rifle. She stood silently, listening for the slightest sound. There was nothing.
Millie moved closer to the door and window, tilting her head and shoulders in the direction of the back wall. Again, there was nothing but silence.
“Whoever you are, you better leave right now. I’ll shoot you right through this wall!”
Three violent blows struck the door, sending Millie backing up against the front shelf. The pace and force of the blows expressed frustration and surging anger.
“I’ll tell you once more. Get away from here or I’m going to shoot!”
There was no response, no sound and no indication of whether the aggressor had left the platform. She felt certain he hadn’t used the stairs or she would have heard and probably felt something. Millie gave no further thought to how the intruder made a getaway; she was just happy the coast sounded clear and she could breathe again.
The sun had been up over an hour before she gathered the courage to slowly lower the rear window panel. After the first couple of inches, the closure was allowed to fall against the wall. Stepping back quickly, she pointed the Ruger toward the back of the cabin.
The only movement she saw was a bird flying from a nearby tree. It had been frightened by the clatter of the window panel. Her imagination was running in overdrive.
Could he be standing to the left of the opening on the other side of the plywood door? Is there enough room for him to hide to the right of the opening? No, no, he’s simply sat down on the landing below the window, waiting for me to push the rifle through so he can jerk it out of my hands.
The moment
was excruciating. Millie kicked the rear wall, partly out of anger and partly hoping to elicit some movement or sound that would answer her questions. There was no response of any kind from outside. She finally began to feel the interloper may have gone.
Mateer stood several moments, carefully considering her next move. She tightened her grip on the rifle, and stepped to her left behind the door, fully prepared to shoot. The safety was off and her finger was on the trigger when she unlatched the door and kicked it open. It flew to the right, slamming into the center of the rear wall. The landing was clear.
The morning’s blue sky and bright sun proved comforting as the Banger’s oldest member walked briskly down River Bottom Road. She was headed for stand #11 and her friend, Libby Bressler.
“Libby! Libby!” shouted Millie as she drew closer to the stand on the right side of the road. Her first call went unanswered, bringing to mind a terrifying thought.
What if the attacker went to Libby’s stand first and managed to get inside? What if he’d gotten to Libby? What if she can’t answer? What if she’s no longer there?
“Libby Bressler!” yelled Millie again.
The feeling of relief was intense, as Libby stuck her head out of the front window. “Pearly, what’s wrong?” There was no response until Mateer reached the foot of the stairs, where Libby was already waiting.
“Libby…someone…someone tried to break into my stand!”
“Break into your stand? What do you mean?”
“They hit the rear window and shook the big door. When I threatened to shoot through the wall, they hit the door really hard three times. There’s no doubt there was someone out there trying to get in.”
Libby wrapped her arm around Millie’s shoulder and helped the unnerved woman up the stairs and into the stand. Only one or two more questions were needed to convince Libby that Millie had experienced exactly what she described. They agreed not to mention anything about the experience in the Brantley vehicle on the way back to the Lodge. That discussion would wait until the six Banger Club members could be together in private.
As the two women comforted each other in stand #11, the door on the Elvin Bodner Stand was slowly being pulled open. The intruder surveyed the inside, before claiming the picture of Mateer’s ten grandchildren. Some memento from the predawn excursions was typically taken.
The meeting in Libby Bressler’s camper was short and to the point – the remaining club members were leaving at once. Only the briefest discussions were held with Brantley personnel. By 1:30 every Banger-assigned bedroom and camper space was vacant.
Libby Bressler had been thoughtful enough to only discuss the frightening experience with Butch and Scott, who stood and watched as the last camper reached the end of the entrance road.
“Dad, what we gonna do about this? There’s no question now, somebody’s on our place trying to destroy our business.”
There was no immediate response to his son’s question. Butch continued to stand and stare as the final camper disappeared from view. The events were stupefying. His thoughts bounced back and forth between fear and bitter anger.
“I’ll tell you one thing Scotty. We’re going to have a good look around this place and anyone who ain’t a payin’ customer or a dedicated employee had better have a good place to hide!”
34 Take a Look for Yourself
Saturday, May 1, 2010 2:40 PM
Butch and Scott had always carried identical Thompson/Center 308 magnums. Darnel Stone hunted with a Remington 300 mag. Eddie Fulford didn’t own a rifle at that time. He’d sold his older rifle to help pay for a new one being custom made in Colorado. On May 1st he was carrying his Smith & Wesson 357 in a shoulder holster. In addition, there was a Bowie knife on his right hip. When they entered the woods near stand number one, the quartet was armed to the teeth, determined and angry. They were heading for the banks of the Turtle River and a hoped-for rendezvous with the person or persons behind their torment.
“Scott, you and Eddie cross here and head up the other side. Darnel and I will go up this side. We’re looking for anything, anything out of the ordinary. Keep your eyes open fellas.”
“You got it boss,” replied Eddie as he and Scott waded into the knee-deep water.
“What you think we’re dealing with Scott,” asked Eddie, while scanning the surrounding bank.
“I don’t know Ed. When you think about it, it’s a helluva bad scene. David Bell disappears, and you can’t tell me that boy just took off like that. Somethin’ happened to him. Judge Bodner looks to have lost in a fight for his life with a murderer that followed him right into one of our stands. Somebody splatters blood all over three trailers and then some bastard tries to break in on Millie Mateer…”
“I’ll tell you one thing Scott; whoever’s out here doin’ away with folks, I’m gonna let this Smith & Wesson do my talkin’! The County ain’t gonna need to spend no money on no trial!” Scott wouldn’t agree with his entire plan, but he understood Eddie Fulford’s sentiments.
By 4:45 that afternoon, the foursome had worked their way up the river far enough to draw even with stand #15. To that point, their search only turned up the spot where either a fox or hawk had killed a squirrel, the remains of a dead coyote and weathered coals where someone had built a fire to fish on the east side of the river.
It was not until Scott and Eddie had come back across the Turtle and the four men headed out of the woods toward River Bottom Road that they found something which might prove helpful.
Just under the water about four feet from the Brantley side was a pair of blue jeans, a University of South Carolina football t-shirt and a single tennis shoe, all partially buried in the mud. Butch took the items back to the Lodge and called county investigators, even though the clothing matched nothing being worn by Bell or Judge Bodner at the time they disappeared.
They walked in the edge of the field heading back to the Lodge. Nothing unusual turned up before Murphy Perkins arrived to drive them on in. It had been a long shot, but the Brantley’s were growing desperate to do something other than stand on the sidelines. Enduring the gut-wrenching situation was becoming all but impossible.
Something terrible was out there, and it had to be stopped.
35 A Bizarre Twist
Tuesday, May 4, 2010 10:10 AM
Darlene Mattos and Detective Gordon Terry had been discreetly seeing each other almost eight months. Frequently, they started the work day with a breakfast wrap and coffee at the Sunrise Diner just outside Scottsville.
“Gordy, what do you make of the stuff up at Brantley Lodge?” asked Darlene, carefully taking a sip of her just-poured black coffee.
“What are you talkin’ about, Bodner’s kidnapping or the Bell boy’s disappearance?”
“Both, I guess.”
“Well, I think that scum Raskin did what he said he’d do, and so far at least has made good his getaway. On David Bell, I really don’t know what to think. Now you see him and now you don’t. You know, a question I have on Bodner is why go into an area where folks have high-powered rifles to protect themselves? Why do something with so many eyes on the lookout for anything moving? Why not just shoot him in the head like he did the Assistant Solicitor? That part of it doesn’t make much sense to me.”
Darlene patted her lips with a napkin, leaned nearer to Gordon Terry and spoke softly. “I’ve got something that’s gonna knock the boss’ socks off this morning. Thanks for the breakfast you good lookin’ gum shoe you,” said Darlene before heading for the door.
“Wait a minute. What you got?” asked Gordon as Mattos pulled the front door closed.
The criminalist wanted to deliver the news in person. She knew it was going to be another distressing twist in the Brantley Lodge mystery. She also knew her boss wouldn’t take the news in stride either.
“Sheriff, you got a minute?” asked Darlene, leaning in the open door.
“Sure Darlene, what ya got?”
She moved over in front of the leather chair i
n front of Conrad Scott’s desk and laid a folder on the right front corner.
“That blood on those trailers Friday….”
“Yep,” replied the Sheriff retrieving and opening the folder as he put on his glasses.
“It’s human!”
Sheriff Scott fell back against his chair. “It’s human?”
“Yes sir, type O-Negative and before you ask, David Bell was A-negative and Judge Bodner was B-positive.”
“So, we have another body out there somewhere?”
“It looks that way Sheriff, at least one more.”
“Lord God Almighty,” said Scott, slowly shaking his head as he focused on the notation in the “blood type” box near the bottom of the report form.
Scott found the bizarre twist even more disturbing than the criminalist had expected. When Darlene Mattos returned to her office, he called Bill Andrews in Sturnburg.
“Sheriff Andrews please, this is Conrad Scott down in Scottsville.”
“Good morning Conrad.”
“Good morning Bill.”
“I hope your day has started okay,” said Conrad’s long-time friend.
”Not too good I’m afraid Bill. You know the blood splashed on the RV’s I told you about?”
“Sure, you’re talking about the blood on those decaled trailers at the Lodge?’
“Yeah, well, Darlene Mattos just walked in here and told me it was human!”
“Oh, come on Conrad, that can’t be right. Is she absolutely sure?”
“Yes….absolutely sure….even told me the type and it doesn’t match either the Bell kid or Judge Bodner. You know what that means?”
“You’ve got another body out there somewhere my friend!”
“You said that right, at least one more! Listen Bill, I been thinkin’ about what’s goin’ on. Think this through with me a minute. There’s nobody driving in there, killing people and driving away. The Brantleys would see something if that was happening. This is not being done by someone in a car or truck. There’s one way in and only one way out and the road goes right by the Lodge.”
Elvin Bodner's Stand Page 10