Elvin Bodner's Stand

by Ronald Gaines

  “By the way Welch, this is Friday the 13th isn’t it?” asked Sheriff Scott as he backed around in front of the taxidermy office.

  “No sir, today’s the 14th Sheriff.”

  “Hell, sure feels like Friday the 13th, said Scott, as he slung gravel from under the unmarked black Charger.

  38 Narrowing the Field

  Tuesday, May 18, 2010 8:40 AM

  The meeting was called to order by Detective Ollie Welch just after 8:30 AM on Tuesday, May 18th. Others in attendance from the Franklin County Sheriff’s Office were Detective Gordon Terry and Deputy Russell Lineberry. Lineberry was attending because he’d lived his entire life near Brantley Lodge.

  Sturn County sent Chief Deputy Larry Wyatt and Sergeant Tom Whitley. The group was gathered in the living room at Brantley Hunting Lodge, with Butch and Scott given permission to sit in.

  “Folks, I think we know why we’re here this morning. We want to take another look at households located within walking distance of Brantley Lodge,” said Welch.

  “Both our bosses believe the recent abductions and possible killings are connected. No strange vehicles have been seen on or near the property, which makes access on foot a viable, if not obvious, answer as to how the perp had gotten in and out of here. It is very likely that someone in this area is doing or knows who’s doing these things,” continued Ollie Welch.

  “I’ll start first with the residences in Franklin County, which are adjacent or very near Mr. Brantley’s property lines. Any questions or thoughts, please feel free to interrupt me.”

  He passed out a list of five names, consisting of both individuals and couples. There were three columns by each name for notations – “Date Interviewed”, “Name of Interviewer”, “Additional Contact Yes or No”.

  “Now, as you can see, we’ve already contacted all five of the households. I would like to quickly run down the list this morning.”

  “Lawrence and Mary Hart are both in their eighties, with no children living at home. Their property adjoins the Brantley land. No follow-up recommended.”

  “Randall and Patricia Parsons are in their late sixties and Randall is suffering from Alzheimer’s. No children at home. They have two sons, both living out of state. Their property is across State Route 1101 from the Lodge. No follow-up recommended.”

  “The two trailers about a mile apart over here on State Route 1101 are owned and occupied by brothers, Will and Walter Eggers. Another visit is recommended. For the benefit of you folks from Sturn County, this pair is well-known to our department. They’ve been up to no good most of their lives.”

  “Yeah, I grew up knowing the Eggers boys,” interjected Russell Lineberry. When they get to drinking, I’d say they’re capable of just about anything.”

  “I know. That’s why we want to take a very good look at them Deputy Lineberry,” replied Ollie Welch.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Wiley Kilburn live just across the River from the Lodge off of Panhandle Road. Their property backs up to the Turtle. He’s legally blind and she works at the Methodist Children’s Home. They have one grown son who lives at home and two married daughters, one in Georgia and the other in Florida. No one has spoken with the son, so we are going to make another call on the Kilburn residence. We doubt if there’s much to be concerned about with the son. He’s an X-ray Technician at the hospital. He’s well known in the county and seems to be well liked also.”

  “Anybody have comments or questions?”

  There were none, so Ollie Welch asked Chief Deputy Larry Wyatt to go over his list. Wyatt passed out copies of the Sturn County residences as he stepped to the front of the room.

  “Good morning,” said Wyatt, a thirty-five-year-old ex-marine known for his perfectly pressed uniforms and highly-polished leather.

  “There are six names where we feel on-foot access to the Lodge property is reasonable. The area is very rural. Five of the six have been contacted and all five have passed the smell test to this point.”

  “Jeanette Maxwell is a single mother of two, who lives in a rented mobile home. She’s on every type of financial assistance known to man. There’s no boyfriend, live-in or otherwise that we have found to date.”

  “Braxton Marble, a widower, is a retired postal worker and a well-thought-of man up in the Clear Water Community. He’s been there for years. The likelihood that in his early seventies, he’s started dragging people off into the woods is slim and none.”

  “Mrs. Bernice Elrod owns about twenty acres north of Brantley Lodge. It’s adjacent to the Connor land recently leased by Mr. Brantley. She’s been married several times and has two sons we know of. One’s been in a mental institution for years and the other doesn’t live at home. Her last husband died several years ago. Due to the proximity of her property to the northern edge of the Lodge we’re planning further contact to make sure nothing has slipped through the cracks.”

  “Ashton Burnette is the only person who lives near the Brantley property that we haven’t contacted. He’s pretty much a recluse and as far as I know we’ve never had any trouble with him. He’ll definitely be talked to.”

  “Patrick and Pauline Whitehorn are newlyweds, living in her parent’s home. Her parents are deceased. As far as we know she doesn’t work and he’s a technician at the GMC place in Sturnburg. We’ll revisit them again just because they are new around here, but there’s no reason we can see for any suspicions.”

  “Finally, there is Martha Herndon, a retired English teacher. Realistically, we know of no reason she should be considered as possibly involved in any way. She teaches Sunday school and writes children’s books.”

  “That’s the only six houses where we think anyone would even consider going on foot into the back corners of the Lodge property,” concluded Larry Wyatt.

  Detective Welch stood and ticked off the households where further contact was planned, before Sgt. Tom Whitley asked a final question.

  “Any thoughts as to whether we’re looking for more than one person here? You know, Judge Bodner was no small man. To manhandle him could prove to be a real task. And to get that little bulldog Sparky Mills out of that building with all the stuff on the floor and nothing is knocked down or turned over….that just might take more than one person, especially when there’s no blood at any of these places. It looks like these people were, for the most part, simply overpowered.”

  “It would only take one, if he was holding a gun to your head,” replied Detective Terry.

  “Agreed, but why would the judge fight so hard if there was a pistol against his temple or why would the kidnapper fight so hard if there was a gun he could use?” asked Whitley.

  The several glances exchanged around the room made one thing clear – there were still many more questions than answers to the mysteries swirling around Brantley Hunting Lodge.

  Sara Mae served a third round of coffee before the officers headed for their cars to begin round two of questions for five of the neighbors. If the two Sheriffs were right, they would be in the offender’s base of operations.

  39 Just in the Nick of Time

  Wednesday, May 26, 2010 10:45 AM

  The home of Bernice Elrod was the final stop on Sturn County deputy Henry Baker’s list of follow up visits. He’d managed to find Ashton Burnette at home earlier that morning. After twenty minutes sitting in the living room of little more than a shack, Baker walked back to his cruiser shaking his head.

  Weird, eccentric, even a little wacko, but I don’t believe he’s our guy – not with that bum hip and a hearing aid in both ears.

  The Elrod home was on a narrow dirt road running off of State Route 1101. Once leaving the state route, two more turns were required to reach the driveway. With each, the woods seemed to get thicker and further away from civilization. It wasn’t the type place you just happened to drive by.

  In its day, the Elrod home had been a nice two-story farm house, with a large porch and columns sitting on wide brick bases. There were many things that now needed attention. A
s Baker pulled up in the driveway, he was struck by its state of disrepair. Observation training and service as an MP for four years had helped develop an eye for detail.

  The woman that stepped through the screen door and onto the porch was tall and angular. Her eyes appeared deep-set behind unusually thick, tented wire rim glasses. Her skirt was almost ankle-length as if from some past era. Her hair, drawn tightly into a ball on the back of her head, was strangely gray from the hair line back to the middle of her head. From that point on it graduated toward dark brown, becoming almost black. There was no sign of any jewelry or makeup.

  This was the first time Baker had been to the Elrod place. Apparently the same was true with the large majority of the department. The two veterans he asked had never heard of Bernice Elrod and the small Elrod farm on Turtle River. The new officer was taking it all in as he stepped away from the cruiser and started for the house.

  “Mrs. Elrod?”

  “That’s me. What can I do for you Sheriff?”

  Baker didn’t take the time to explain the difference between Sturn County’s highest elected law enforcement officer and one of his deputies.

  “I’d like to visit with you a few minutes if I could.”

  “What’s this about….uh….Sheriff Baker?” asked Mrs. Elrod, leaning forward to better read the deputy’s name tag.

  “Yes ma’am, it’s about the disappearances we’ve had around here over the past several months. I know you’ve seen it on television or read about them in the papers.”

  “Ain’t got any television and can’t see good enough to read no paper. But I done had one Sheriff come by here about all that. I told him I didn’t know nuthin’ ‘bout it. I just try and mind my own business here on my own place Mr. Baker.”

  “Yes ma’am, I’m sure you do. Could we sit down on the porch a few minutes? I’ve got just a couple of questions.”

  After a brief but noticeable hesitation, Bernice Elrod nodded her agreement and the two sat in rockers at the far end of the porch.

  “Ma’am I believe you live here alone, isn’t that right?”

  “Yes I’m here alone. Carlos comes in every day for a couple of hours to feed the hogs. His family lives somewhere up near Sturnburg.”

  “Yes ma’am and what’s his last name please?”

  “I think it’s Ramos or something like that. No, no, Ramos that’s it.”

  “Thank you,” said Baker as he made a notation on his pad. “Carlos Ramos…from Sturnburg every day just to feed hogs???”

  “I’m not really alone though. There’re two cows, a cat, about twenty hogs that my last husband loved dearly and Sam over there by the tree.” Deputy Baker looked around the front corner of the house at a coonhound lying near the base of an oak.

  “That’s Sam over there I suppose?”

  “Yeah, he just sort of took up here several years back. Didn’t have no collar or nuthin’. It makes me feel a little better at night knowing he’s out and about. When he sounds off it’d make any clear-thinkin’ criminal skedaddle.”

  “Yes ma’am, I bet it would. Let me ask you about your two sons Mrs. Elrod. You have one that has been away from home for quite a while and then there’s one that’s been in the hospital, is that correct?”

  “Yeah, that’s right. But what about my daughter, you ain’t interested in her?”

  “Yes ma’am, I certainly am. Honestly, I didn’t know you had a daughter. What’s her name and where does she live?”

  “She’s my oldest. Her name is Rebecca and she lives somewhere in Canada. Years ago, Becky got hooked up with some fella that took off up north to beat the draft or some such. I ain’t heard from her in years. But I still love her. You know Sheriff you gotta love your yunguns no matter what…you know?”

  “Yes ma’am I certainly do…About your son in the hospital, he’s still there?”

  “Oh yeah, I imagine Burl’s gonna be there the rest of his life. I used to go visit him, but with my husband gone, it’s got so I can’t do it no more. I don’t know, Burl just got confused about things when he was a teenager and never got ‘em straightened out again.”

  As she spoke about the boy, his mental issues and his prospects for the future, the attentive deputy make another notation in his notebook –“Comments on sonsound rehearsed!”

  “I’m sure that’s very hard Mrs. Elrod. Just one more thing, do you mind if I take a quick look around the place? Maybe you could give me a walk-through of the house and I’ll look around out back myself. Let me assure you, you’re not the only one in Sturn County being asked to do that.”

  Agreement came quicker than Baker expected as she stood and walked toward the front door. However, from the moment he asked permission, Baker noticed her becoming more erect, more matter-of-fact.

  The house was what the deputy expected. Old, filled with make-do furnishings and a musty smell. He tried to remain cordial as he opened every door and pressed his welcome by looking under beds. Baker was somewhat relieved when they reached the back door. With all the looking around, he knew the woman was nearing the end of her rope. She looked more than capable of having a conniption.

  “Thank you very much Mrs. Elrod. I appreciate your courtesy. I’ll take a walk around back here and then I’ll be out of your way.”

  The irritation was clear, as she closed the door without saying a word. Her next move was to the back bedroom where the window afforded her a view of the deputy’s every move. Her intense stare and the tenseness in her long frame belied the home-spun nature of her conversation on the porch.

  Walking up the hill, Baker made another note on his pad –Nervous. Something not right.

  On his way up the hill toward a small shed, Baker walked by a wooden frame that once supported large muscadine vines. It ran parallel to a sagging clothes line that appeared to still be in use. The two wash tubs leaning against the rear of the house also appeared to currently play a part in Bernice Elrod’s washing routine.

  Baker opened the shed door. There he found an assortment of rusting garden tools, rope, buckets and canning supplies, all of which appeared seldom, if ever, used.

  Further up the hill, a fence extended from each rear corner of the barn, enclosing an acre or more. It contained a sizable number of shoats and hogs, rooting in the already-pulverized ground.

  There was something that looked curious about the assortment of swine. Scattered among the domestic varieties several individuals looked to be feral, with different shapes, somewhat elongated snouts and long, coarse coats. Baker walked to the fence and stopped for a confirming look. There was no question; a number of wild animals were mingled in with the domestic breeds.

  Turning toward the barn breezeway, Baker’s eye was caught by something he immediately found interesting. In several places, there were new boards on two sides of the barn. In addition, there were new rails along much of the hog pen fencing. Many repairs to fence and barn – Who made them?

  As he finished his notation, Henry Baker used his shoulder microphone to answer a call from the office. Dispatch wanted to know his current location. When Baker advised he was still at the Elrod residence, the operator dispatched the first-year deputy on a call to a domestic disturbance several miles north of the Lodge just off State Route 1101. Bernice Elrod listened from the open kitchen window as Baker walked by.

  “10-4, I know where it is. I’m on the way.”

  Watching from the front window until the patrol car pulled out of the driveway, the widow abruptly walked to the back screen and looked up at the barn loft door. It was now standing slightly open. Inside, the ax had been returned to its place on the loft floor.

  After cranking the cruiser, Baker sat in the driveway a moment and made a final note-to-self… Getsurveillance approval!!

  40 Adios Senor

  Friday, August 13, 2010 1:50 AM

  Cash Raskin spent the four months leading up to August 13, 2010 in two places – Calico, Louisiana and Prescott, Texas. Engine trouble put him on the side of US 90 just
east of Calico. Even with his auto-repair background he wasn’t sure what happened and he was in no position to stand around and wonder. Managing to get it parked behind an abandoned building, the fugitive was faced with making his next move on foot.

  He caught a ride on into town and was fortunate to get a bed in a shelter for homeless men. The shelter was obviously a shoddy operation, run by a man and wife far more interested in the state-aid money than they were enforcing admission rules. Things again went Raskin’s way.

  Over the next few days, he was able to get work with Diego’s Auto Repair, a small neighborhood shop owned by Diego Torres. Torres didn’t ask many questions. He grew up in a neighborhood where it was best not to. He and his junior partner, Tomas Gomez, believed in a job well done and few personal questions asked. They even agreed to pay Raskin in cash.

  Torres had been in business for several years and his reputation for prompt, excellent repair work was spreading to all segments of the Calico community. Part of his thinking in hiring Raskin was having a gringo mechanic working out front might help build the non-Latino trade. There were even no questions when on his second day Raskin asked to borrow Diego’s wrecker.

  Sitting right where he left it, the car was hooked up and pulled back to Diego’s place to be parked behind the shop. It was still sporting the tag Raskin had stolen shortly after crossing the Louisiana state line. The electrical problem was fixed in less than an hour and Raskin had wheels again.

  On a Wednesday afternoon, at the beginning of his third month in Calico, Raskin returned from a thirty-minute lunch break to find Diego and Tomas celebrating over a bottle of tequila.