“Oh Millard, come in amigo, we just got a very good phone call. The Calico Police Department is going to start letting us repair the police cars! Isn’t that something Amigo?” asked Torres.
Raskin almost fell over backwards. He knew at once that his days in Calico were over. All he needed was a constant stream of cars and officers flowing through Diego’s Auto Repair.
“That’s really somethin’ Diego. When does this start?”
“Right away I think. It should start by next week anyway,” said Torres, leaning across the desk and shaking Tomas Gomez’s hand for the third time.
It was good news alright, for everyone but Cash Raskin.
Although questions hadn’t been a problem, he wanted to head off any that might linger concerning his sudden departure. To that end he slid a note under the shop door about ten PM on his way out of town. It explained a sudden illness back home, which required his immediate return.
In the next few days, Millard found himself sitting in a rank motel room just north of Laredo in Double Branches, Texas. His vision of simply walking across the border had faded away.
As of June, 2009 the identification requirements to enter Mexico stiffened considerably. Raskin didn’t have a US Passport Book or US Passport Card, a Nexus SENTRI or FAST Card and he had never heard of an EDL (Enhanced Driver’s License). That lucky, free-wheeling style he adopted after stepping out of the Sturn County Jail was finally beginning to crumble.
Even with the decent cash he received while working for Diego Torres, the $700 he had in his pocket leaving South Carolina had dwindled to about $270 sitting on the edge of that motel bed.
Raskin was mindful of the good luck he had in the Latino community when he met and went to work for Diego Torres in Calico, Louisiana. He thought, maybe I can do something like that again here. All I gotta do is get hooked up with the right person.
A little after four o’clock, he headed for Laredo. It was the evening he would meet Camilla Chastain, a mother of two who had lived in Laredo for over five years with her gringo husband. Drew Chastain had been killed in a 2008 construction accident. The Sturn County shyster could still turn on the charm when he wanted to. He did just that with his new girlfriend.
The rest of Millard Raskin’s story is both simple to tell and completely predictable.
Within two weeks, he moved in with Camilla and her two daughters. Within four weeks he was drinking heavily and abusing the relationship. Late Thursday night, the 12th of August, the interloper knocked Camilla down a flight of stairs at the back of the apartment building. He then got in the car and drove away as a downstairs neighbor took Camilla to the hospital. Cash retreated to his favorite seat at the end of his favorite bar.
He was no longer in the rural areas of Sturn County, bullying a couple of local yokels. There would be no negotiations with the Lopez brothers. In that very different place, the evil manner of his death would match the evil manner of his life.
Millard never saw Camilla’s brothers come in the back door. Emiliano and Carlos Lopez didn’t say a word. With little notice taken, Raskin was seized and swept into the back seat of Emiliano’s car. His mouth was taped, his shirt removed and his hands were bound on the way to his death.
His luck ran out in the early hours of August 13, 2010. The long end of the rope used to tie his hands was thrown over a limb, after being used to drag him from the car. His belt was used to tie his feet together. Raskin was pulled up until his bound feet only scuffed the dusty ground. Emiliano watched approvingly as Carlos eased the three-inch blade into his victim’s left side, holding the cross guard firmly against the skin. Then he simply walked in a slow, grisly circle. Millard Raskin’s final Friday the 13th was as bad as they get.
41 The Summer of 2010
Sunday, September 19, 2010 4:45 PM
The summer of 2010 at Brantley Hunting Lodge was like none before. Bookings for hog and deer hunts were lagging badly. Even the local trap and skeet shooting contingent had become aware of recent happenings as evidenced by the sharp drop in activity. Uncertainty about the upcoming fall and winter seasons seemed to permeate every hour of every day for the owners and staff.
No significant progress had been made on the Bell, Bodner, Mills or McDonald disappearances. There were still no leads on Millard Raskin’s whereabouts. Frequent strategy and logistics meetings were held, involving the departments of Burns County Sheriff Carl Lisenby, Franklin County Sheriff Conrad Burns and Sturn County Sheriff Bill Andrews. Investigators from the South Carolina State Law Enforcement Department were heavily involved. The meetings were plentiful. The results were excruciatingly scarce.
During the late summer and fall, the Lodge typically had a display in three or four outdoor tradeshows. In 2010, Scott and Stephanie Powell attended only one – a show in Pennsylvania. Scott was troubled by the number of fellow outfitters stopping by the booth to express regret over the situation. He couldn’t help feeling many just wanted to let the Brantleys know they were aware of their difficulties.
For years, Brantley Lodge had been a very successful place, and his thoughts on the competition’s numerous condolences may have been more accurate than cynical.
In Pennsylvania, the Brantley booth was located just down the main isle from Mills Taxidermy. On Sunday afternoon, as the displays were being broken down, Seth Acree stopped by.
“You folks have much traffic?”
“I can’t say we did Seth. How ‘bout you guys, you two make any new contacts?”
“Not really. There were only a few new faces. But we did okay I guess. A lot of people stopped to express their sympathy for what happened with Sparky, you know?”
“I’m sure,” replied Scott, thinking about how many times he’d seen little Sparky Mills sea sawing down some tradeshow isle on that shortened left leg.
42 Keeping On Keeping On
Thursday, October 21, 2010 10:05 AM
Both men looked up at the elevated hunting stand as the dually rolled past on River Bottom Road.
“What do you think really happened up there boss?” asked Darnel. Until it was fully behind the truck, Butch turned and continued to look at #12, the focal point of the mystery.
“I don’t know Darnel. It’s a helluva thing and it ain’t doin’ our business a bit of good. That’s for sure.”
Scheduled hunts were down thirty percent from the usual total on the books by October 1st. There had been two deer hunts in late August, involving ten hunters. A primitive weapons deer hunt had seven shooters in camp earlier in the month and a second either-sex day hunt in October put a group of eight hunters in the stands. There was activity, but revenue was well below its usual pace. However, the cooler temperatures were encouraging hogs to get more active and that was always buoyed feelings.
Everyone at the Lodge was wondering if Butch would put #12 back into service following the Bodner and Millie Mateer events six months earlier – everyone but Butch Brantley. He wasn’t going to let the six-month nightmare dictate his every decision.
A little past ten AM, Scott poured himself a cup of coffee and sat down at the Lodge dining table to write out hunting station assignments. Eight hunters were coming in, starting with an evening hunt and continuing with two hunts a day through Saturday.
Four of the guests were regular hog hunters at the Lodge – Taylor and Adrianna Arner and Adrianna’s sister, Angela, and her husband, Vince. The foursome was in their fifth year hunting in Franklin County. The two couples were driving over from Augusta.
Three of the weekenders were students at Clemson University, all from the Greenville, SC area. Alex Mendel and Elliott Kephart were seniors and Agribusiness majors. A sophomore, Perry Downey, Alex Mendel’s neighbor growing up in Greer, was working on a degree in Animal and Veterinary Sciences. The trio was due in about two o’clock.
The weekend’s eighth hunter was Matthew Langley, a high school wrestling coach from Savannah. Matt’s fiancé was scheduled to come along, but a last minute complication at the hospital
where she worked as an Emergency Room RN prevented her from joining her future husband on the trip.
Scott was about halfway through the paperwork when Darnel finished filling the corn spreader on the back of the Jeep. He dropped the burlap bag in the trash barrel as he walked in the back door.
“Hey there Scotty, what’s happnin’?”
“Oh, nothing much Darnel, you good?” replied Scott, glancing up from the legal pad.
“I’m doin’ just fine sir. Thanks for asking. While I’m thinking about it, you do want me to take the Jeep and Eddie the dually to drop some corn here in a little bit, right?”
“Yeah, that’s fine. I’ll use the Hummer if Sara Mae needs me to run to the store for something. We’ve got eight shooters coming in after a bit. Depending on when they get here, I’m not sure just how many will want to get in an evening hunt – probably all of them,” added Scott.
Evening hunt options on the day of arrival often proved complicated by the potential for late arrivals, especially for Sara Mae and meal planning.
As Darnel was heading back outside, he met Scott’s dad in the doorway. “Mr. B,” he said with a quick salute.
“You okay Darnel?”
“I just never have been better. Oh, sir, I understand we’re using #12, correct?”
“Indeed we are. It’s business as usual at that stand,” replied Butch, without looking back at Darnel Stone.
Butch helped himself to a cup of coffee and sat down across the table from his son.
“You ‘bout finished?”
Scott stopped writing and began spinning the pencil between his thumbs and index fingers. “You know dad, I can’t help feeling a little squirrely about assigning #12, not knowing if this Matt Langley fella knows the story. It’s like we’re trying to pull something over on him.”
Although he wasn’t showing it, Butch was very uneasy with his own decision. The taut inner tension quickly became irritation and then anger.
“What do you propose we do Scott? Wait a year, two years, why don’t we wait three years before we assign the Bodner stand? Let’s think about this.”
“We’ve got tens of thousands of dollars in these new stands. We have thousands in that one alone. The floor is over twelve feet off the ground, higher than required by any state law, with a cabin up top over-built by about three times.”
“We didn’t use any old metal; no, no we used heavy gauge galvanized stuff that’s gonna outlast me and you put together. Wide metal steps lead up to a rear platform that doesn’t just cover the door; it goes all the way across the back. Hell, you could have a patio party up there. Not one chair, no sir, we put two swivel, roll-around black vinyl office chairs in there. That way you don’t have to stand up to get around. Just give yourself a little push and roll around on that soft, sound-deadening indoor-outdoor carpet.”
“And you don’t have to reach down to the floor to get your Thermos or bottle of water, just sit it on the shelf right under the oversized, trimmed-out window.”
“If you want a better view or a nice breeze – and that’s about the only thing we didn’t try to provide – you can lower the over-sized window panels on each side of the cabin and the one in the back wall, all provided for your hunting pleasure. And besides, #12’s in a great location for hogs and almost as good for deer.”
“And what we’re going to do is shut ‘em down if something unexpected happens? I don’t think so!”
Scott said nothing. He slowly returned to his paperwork, placing #12 by the name of Matthew Langley. In the silent moments that followed, Butch felt increasingly bad about jumping on his boy.
“Scotty, I’m sorry I went off on you like that. I know you’re just trying to stay on top of all this like I am. But we can’t run scared every day son,” said Butch, squeezing the top of his son’s shoulders.
The truth was, both men couldn’t keep their thoughts from traveling back to those terrible days six months ago and the dark cloud the events put over so much at the Lodge.
The sound of car doors slamming broke the silence. The Clemson students were the first to arrive.
By two-thirty, all eight hunters were sitting in the living room, their rifles with open bolts leaning in the rack along the wall. A welcome had been issued by Butch and Scott. Darnel, Eddie and Murphy Perkins came in and everyone was getting along well, exchanging introductions and sharing laughs.
Still there was the twinge of uneasiness that Scott couldn’t escape every time he looked at Langley, his huge smile and keen anticipation of his first hog hunt.
Thoughts continued to dance in Scott’s head as he leaned against the living room wall.
The Bodner stand is in a great location, right down on the river, it’s a super fine place to see big hogs. Oh, everything’s gonna be okay. He persisted in trying to stay on the up side, convincing himself that all was going to be just fine, as he had done time and again that day.
Sara Mae served up pot roast, green beans, mashed potatoes and biscuits, with terrific sweet tea for the afternoon meal topped off with apple cobbler. The fixins were enjoyed along with the collateral conversation about past hunting trips and the group’s hopes for a successful weekend in the woods.
The Bodner mystery was not mentioned around the table. Either none of the guests knew the story, which seemed unlikely with the Augusta couples’ history with the Lodge. Perhaps understanding the sensitive nature of the subject, the guests chose not to bring it up.
About five o’clock, Butch headed the group out behind the lodge and into vehicles for the ride to their assigned stands. Eddie took the Clemson students in the Jeep, while Darnel went in the opposite direction in the Chevrolet dually with the Arners, Maxeys and Matt Langley.
Each hunter was dropped off, seen securely into the stand and told they would be picked up shortly after sundown.
That evening, the consensus around the living room fire was that all had gone well. Taylor Arner reported seeing three hogs, each at different times and all too far away for a shot. His wife, Adrianna, did get a shot about dark that was off the mark. Elliott Kephart confessed to falling asleep most of the time. It was Perry Downey, the aspiring veterinarian that was the big winner. He took a one-hundred-thirty pound bore in fairly short order after entering his stand.
As the accounts of the evening hunt played out, what pleased Scott and Butch Brantley the most was Matt Langley’s report of “no movement” around the Bodner stand.
43 A Downward Spiral
Thursday, October 21, 2010 12:30 PM
Bernice Elrod married three times in her life, losing her first two husbands to cancer and the third to a sudden heart attack. The coronary came as he was feeding farm animals at the Elrod barn. Horace was a decent and hard-working man. He did two things most of his life – work at the vehicle maintenance department in Franklin County South Carolina and tend his hogs – an avocation he thoroughly enjoyed. The swine were frequently pasture-fed and hosed-down two or three times a week.
When he was alive, the small farm was well-kept, even prosperous looking. The fences and buildings were routinely maintained, while the livestock was well cared for on a daily basis.
Before his death, Horace took great pains to teach his son, Burl, about farm life and farm animals. However, by the boy’s mid-teens Horace and Bernice realized their son had serious socialization issues. He was overly large for his age, slightly hump-shouldered with an unsettling stare that never seemed to go away. His eyebrows seemed to always be highly arched in a look of alarm, or drawn down in a look of ill-intent. Since his father’s death, he’d become increasingly sullen and at times tended toward intense temper tantrums.
After a male tutor hired by his parents was physically assaulted, the courts tested the fourteen-year-old and placed him in a psychiatric facility in Charleston. There it was determined he was “Moderately Retarded”, requiring supervision and assistance for the rest of his life. Four days after his nineteenth birthday, he was released into his family’s care.
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When Burl came back to Franklin County, things started off in a hopeful way. He smiled more often than not and he soon settled into his new bedroom and surroundings. Within a year however, he became more withdrawn and low-minded, at times vulgar and offensive. More and more he stayed in the barn and around the animals, particularly the hogs. He abandoned the indoor plumbing for the decrepit old outhouse.
Brow-beating and eventually intimidating his mother, Burl moved his bedroom furniture into the barn loft, expecting his meals and what clean clothes he agreed to wear be placed at the foot of the loft ladder. The only person he seemed to enjoy and listen to was his older brother, who visited periodically and exercised considerable control over Burl. Most of their contact was by cell phone, which his brother provided.
Bernice Elrod had lied to Deputy Henry Baker back in May. She was afraid they would take Burl away and she would lose forever the opportunity to let him know how much she loved him. Burl was indeed out of the institution and his mother wanted it that way, even if he chose to live in the most bizarre of circumstances.
There was no Carlos Ramos coming in to tend the animals. The only one Burl Elrod permitted to feed the hogs, was Burl Elrod.
Her son slept most of the day, being active at night. At midnight on October 21st, she was doing what she often did, standing on the back porch looking at the yellow lantern light seeping out through the cracks around the barn loft door.
Burl, what are you thinking? Where’s your mind? How can I help you? What are you doing out there? How can I let you know how much I love you son?
There was one thing Bernice Elrod hadn’t lied to the deputy about on that Wednesday five months earlier. It was one of her strongest convictions and a belief that motivated her current actions.
“You gotta love your younguns, no matter what!”
44 Just Imagine the Unimaginable
Friday, October 22, 2010 4:50 AM
Elvin Bodner's Stand Page 13