Henry watched from his hiding place as hunters assumed their positions in various duck blinds and spread their decoys. With a thirty-mile-per-hour south wind blowing throughout the morning, ducks and geese from the 11,000-acre closed area to the north frequently took to the air and ventured into the hunting zone. Some of the more skilled hunters allowed birds to come within range, while novices and so-called sky-riders shot at anything that flew over. At one point, Henry heard a hunter shout, “What were you shooting at, you jackass? Those ducks were a mile high.”
While enjoying the peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich Mary Austin had made for him, Henry noticed two hunters leaving their blind a few minutes before noon. They began wading across an expanse of shallow water, in Henry’s direction. Reaching the shore, the hunters fought their way through another two hundred yards of tules and high grass before coming to the levee on the opposite side of the canal from Henry’s hidden position. Each man had a leather duck strap containing three ducks slung over his shoulder. With the aid of binoculars and the brilliant afternoon sunshine that had just broken through the clouds, Henry easily identified the contents of each duck strap: the bearded man’s strap contained three drake mallards while his hunting partner’s strap held one drake and two hen mallards.
Henry quickly jotted down detailed descriptions of each hunter. The first displayed a scruffy, three-day-old beard and had smeared his face with black and green paint. Dressed in full camo, he wore suspendered chest waders and a black stocking cap. His 12-gauge pump shotgun was decorated with camouflage paint. Five different duck calls hung from his neck.
The second hunter was slightly taller than the first and had a slender build. He wore brown chest waders and a waist-length camo rain jacket. His face was also splattered with black and green paint, and a camo baseball cap covered his head. Henry watched him unzip his rain jacket, exposing a black-and-red, plaid flannel shirt.
At 12:58 p.m., a black, 1960 Chevy pickup approached from the west. It stopped at the south side of Norman Road, directly across from where the two duck hunters were waiting. Henry wondered how the driver of the pickup knew where to stop, then spotted a ten-foot-high willow growing at the top of the north levee, clearly visible from the road and from inside the shooting area.
Turning his portable radio to the on position, Henry pressed the mic and whispered, “Two-five-one, Portable One.”
“Two-five-one, go ahead.”
“A transfer is about to take place. The vehicle is a black Chevy pickup, occupied by a single adult male. Stand by.”
“Ten-four.”
Henry watched as a slender young man wearing Levi jeans and a dark-blue sweatshirt ran from his pickup to the top of the north levee. Seeing him, the hunters began tossing ducks over the twenty-foot-wide canal.
“How many are there, Josh?” shouted the young man.
“Six.”
“I only see five here.”
“One of ’em fell in that clump of high weeds next to the water.”
“I see it.”
“Be careful you don’t fall in.”
“I got it. Do you still want to meet at Dwight’s?”
“Yeah, we should be there by 6:30.”
With three ducks in each hand, the young man raced back to his pickup, threw the ducks in the bed, and took off.
“Two-five-one, Portable One,” said Henry.
“Two-five-one, go ahead.”
“The black pickup is headed east, in your direction. Disregard that; he just made a U-turn and is headed west, toward the highway. There should be six mallards in the bed of the pickup.”
Warden Austin raced past Glance with his red spotlight in the on position. Watching with his binoculars, Henry saw the black pickup and Austin’s patrol car come to a stop several hundred yards down the road. Thirty minutes later, Austin radioed Henry. “Portable One, Two-five-one.”
“Portable One, go ahead.”
“I made contact, and your description of items transferred was correct. Are you able to see the suspects from your vantage point?”
“Affirmative.”
“Continue surveillance and leave your radio turned on.”
“Ten-four.”
The wind calmed to a gentle breeze that afternoon, and hunter success dwindled with it. Instead of non-stop shooting, as was the case in the morning, only occasional volleys were heard. At 3:10 p.m., Henry watched a flock of five mallards set their wings and swoop in on the suspects’ decoys. Only one duck flew away.
Austin returned and picked up Henry at 4:30. While Austin checked hunters leaving the hunting area, Henry sat in the patrol car and waited for the violators to appear. It was 5:35 when the suspects stopped at the check station in a mud-splattered, 1968 Jeep Wagoneer. Recognizing the driver, Henry signaled Austin.
“How’d you boys do?” said Austin.
“We popped a couple birds, but it was pretty slow today,” said Josh, the driver.
“May I please see your licenses and duck stamps?” Both men complied, revealing their identities as Josh Colton and Dwight Lynch, both from the nearby town of Willows. “Could I get you to pull your car over here?” said Austin, pointing to his patrol car. “I’ll take a quick look at your birds.”
After moving his car, Colton climbed out of his Jeep and dropped the tailgate. “We shot six ducks,” he said, pointing to six ducks lying next to a mesh bag filled with plastic decoys.
“Are these all of the birds you killed today?” said Austin, examining four mallards, a hen wigeon, and a drake gadwall.
“That’s it,” said Colton. “I told ya the hunting was slow.”
“Please dump out your decoy bag,” said Austin.
“What for?” said Colton. “I didn’t see you do that to the hunters in front of us.”
“Would you like to do it, or shall I?” said Austin.
“I’ll do it,” said Colton, emptying the bag out on the gravel parking lot. Noticing that the bag had not been completely emptied, Austin reached inside, felt around with his hand, and pulled out a rooster pheasant.
“Looks like you forgot something,” said Austin, proceeding to search the car from front to back while Colton and Lynch stood by silently. When Austin had finished searching the vehicle, he requested driver’s licenses from Colton and Lynch.
“So how much is that pheasant gonna cost me?” said Colton.
“I’m afraid there’s a little more involved here than taking a pheasant out of season,” said Austin.
“What?” said Colton.
“Are you familiar with a young man named Jake Colton?”
“He’s my kid brother. What about it?”
“You gentlemen were seen transferring six mallards to him earlier in the day. The mallard limit is three per person. By my count, you killed ten between the two of you.”
Passenger Dwight Lynch had been quiet up to that point, but no longer. “Nobody saw me transferring any mallards!”
Austin calmly walked over to his patrol car and asked Henry for clarification. “Ask him to unzip his jacket,” said Henry. “If you see a black-and-red plaid, flannel shirt, that’s our man.” Returning to the jeep, Austin instructed Lynch to unzip his jacket. Lynch complied, revealing the shirt Henry had described.
A formal criminal complaint would be filed with the Glenn County District Attorney, Austin explained. “Mr. Lynch, you will be charged with take and possession of an overlimit of mallards, take and possession of an overlimit of ducks in general, and violation of hunting-area regulations. Mr. Colton, you will be charged with unlawful take and possession of a pheasant during closed season, take and possession of an overlimit of mallards, take and possession of an overlimit of ducks in general, and violation of hunting-area regulations. Your eighteen-year-old brother, Jake, will be charged as an accomplice in the taking of an overlimit of mallards and an overlimit of ducks
in general.”
“Why involve my brother?” said Colton. “He ain’t done nothin’. Me and Dwight killed the ducks.”
“When the three of you planned this event, you created a criminal conspiracy,” said Austin. “Your brother helped you carry it out by meeting you out on the road and taking the ducks so you two could continue to kill more birds. Remember when I asked if you had killed any other birds today? You told me these six ducks were it. The only reason I’m not taking your shotguns is because you gentlemen have good identification. Would you like me to continue or move on to these other hunters patiently waiting behind you?”
“Josh, let’s get outta here before he changes his mind,” said Lynch.
It was just after 7:00 when Austin and Henry left the hunting area and headed east, toward Chico. “How ’bout I buy you dinner?” said Austin. “That’s the least I can do after you made those cases for me.”
“I had a good time,” said Henry. “Those guys seemed pretty angry. I thought I might have to help you arrest them.”
“They were just blowing off steam. The trick is to stay calm and not let them trap you into an argument or some type of altercation.”
With the warden’s exam in March and graduation looming in June, Henry decided to case his aces. Beginning in early February, he took exams every Saturday morning for seven weeks straight. The positions he applied for included Chico police officer, City of Sacramento fireman, state insurance investigator, state narcotics enforcement agent, fisheries biologist, state park ranger, and Fish and Game warden.
“How many exams are you gonna take?” said Larry, as Henry Glance, Larry Jansen, Gary Lytle, Brad Foster, and Dennis D’Agostino sat around their usual corner table at Denny’s on a rainy Sunday evening in late March 1969.
“Yeah, Hank. Don’t tell me you’re planning to be a narc,” said Foster.
“No, Brad, I’m not planning to be a narc.”
“Then why’d ya sign up to take the exam?”
“For the same reason Larry takes batting practice before every game. I wanted to get a feel for civil-service exams before taking the one I was interested in.”
“How’d ya do?” said Dennis.
“Knowing Hank, he aced every damn one of ’em,” said Larry.
“Why do you say that?” said Dennis.
“Because the guy’s got a photographic memory. Back in high school, the teachers stopped correcting his papers. They’d just write a big A across the top and save themselves the time and trouble.”
“That’s enough, Larry,” said Henry. “Don’t forget I got a B in quantitative analysis last semester.”
“I think I know why that happened,” said Larry.
“Why?” said Dennis.
“He was in love, and his mind was on something other than figures,” said Larry.
“Will you guys knock it off?” said Henry. “Dennis, you haven’t said what you’re gonna do.”
“Didn’t I tell you? I’ve been offered an auditor’s position by Sacramento County. I start the first of June, right after I graduate. They said if I get my CPA, it won’t take long to move up the ladder.”
“Congratulations!” said Henry, standing up and snatching Dennis’s dinner tab from the table. “You’re the first one in Mrs. Iverson’s pit to be offered a real job.”
Part three
TWENTY
Tom Austin called again the last week in April 1969. “How’d you like to work the opening day of trout season?”
“I’d love to!” said Henry.
“Then I’ll see you Saturday morning at five o’clock. We’ll grab a bite at Ruby’s before heading up the mountain.”
When Austin pulled into the driveway at Mrs. Iverson’s pit, Henry was waiting with a backpack in one hand and a pair of new hip waders in the other. “What’s with the boots?” said Austin. “You’re always welcome to borrow mine.”
“I know,” said Henry, “but I think I’m gonna need my own pair soon.”
“Why? Did you hear the results of your warden’s exam?”
“I did.”
“Let me guess. You received the highest score in the history of the department and came out number one on the list.”
“How’d you know?”
“You can’t keep something like that a secret in this department. Congratulations, my friend. Well deserved.”
“Thanks, Tom. I owe it all to you and Ned McCullough.”
“I doubt that, but we have a lot to talk about,” said Austin, parking in front of Ruby’s, a converted train car located just five blocks from the Chico State campus.
“I think it’s my turn to buy you breakfast,” said Henry, following Austin up the steps.
“Maybe next time we work together you’ll be wearin’ a badge and a gun. Then you can buy me breakfast,” said Austin. “Ruby, how the hell are ya? I swear, you look more ravishing every time I see you.”
“Tom, you rascal. Flattery will get you everywhere. Find yourselves a seat. Let me guess—coffee for you and water for your young friend.”
“Promise me you won’t breathe a word about this to anyone,” said Austin.
“I promise.”
“After leaving the Gridley warden’s position vacant for the thirteen years since Norm Bettis’s disappearance, the department has finally advertised it.”
“What does that have to do with me?”
“It has a great deal to do with you, since no warden in the entire state has put in for it.”
“Nobody?”
“Not a soul. And Gridley is one of the best warden’s positions in the state. It has everything: waterfowl, pheasants, deer, quail, salmon, steelhead—”
“I still don’t get it,” said Henry
“It means they’re gonna have to fill the Gridley warden’s position from the list.”
“And if I’m number one on the list?”
“Bingo!”
“Wow! My head is spinning. Do you really think I have a chance at the Gridley position?”
“I do, but don’t count your chickens just yet. Better wait ’til you receive official word from Sacramento. Meanwhile, they’ll be sending you a stack of papers to fill out. Don’t hesitate to put me down as a reference. One of the captains will do a background check on you. It’ll probably be some desk jockey out of Sacramento, but it could be Chuck Odom.”
“Who’s Chuck Odom?”
“He’s my captain. He’ll be yours too, if you get the job. Chuck’s captain’s squad includes the Portola, Chico, Quincy, Oroville, Orland, Willows, and Gridley warden’s districts.”
“I’ve learned a lot from you, Tom, and I want you to know how much I appreciate everything you’ve done for me.”
“You’ll learn even more when they send you to the POST academy,” said Austin.
“POST?” said Henry.
“Peace Officers Standards and Training. You’ll have to go through the training course before you become a California peace officer. I think it’s eight or ten weeks now, maybe longer.”
“Where do I go for that—Sacramento?”
“No, I think the department is still using the Riverside Sheriff’s Academy.”
“That’ll be nice. Riverside is only forty miles from home.”
“You’ll probably get to go home on weekends, but I think you stay in the barracks during the week. This is a military-style boot camp, just like the army. You’ll have to cut your hair and wear a uniform.”
“What are some of the courses?”
“You’ll spend half the day in the classroom, learning about search and seizure, the California Penal Code, the Vehicle Code, ethics, and things like that. The other half will be outside, doing firearms training, cuffing techniques, hand-to-hand drills, and lots of physical exercise. I hear the instructors like to torture everyone by making them r
un up Mount Rubidoux and back.”
“I’ve run up Mount Rubidoux before.”
“No kidding?”
“Yeah, it was for a fund-raising event when I was a junior in high school.”
“How long has your family lived in the Riverside area?”
“My parents originally came from San Diego and bought the farm in Temecula when I was in second grade.”
“I heard Temecula is growing.”
“Way too fast for my taste. Developers are buying up all the land and building subdivisions.”
“Well, if things work out the way we talked earlier, you may be living in Gridley before long.”
“Do you know how strange that sounds to me?”
“What’s strange about it?”
“Remember when I told you about meeting Ned McCullough when I was eleven and him telling my friend Larry and me about a Fish and Game warden who mysteriously disappeared?”
“Yeah.”
“When Norm Bettis disappeared in 1956, I was nine years old and living 500 miles away. What are the odds of me becoming a game warden myself and taking over Warden Bettis’s patrol district?”
“That does seem like quite a coincidence.”
“If you think that’s a coincidence, wait ’til you hear the rest. At the end of November 1967, Larry and I were on our way to Chico for the first time when we passed a sign that said GRIDLEY 4 MILES. Ned McCullough’s story about the game warden who disappeared immediately popped into my head. Larry was amazed that I remembered the name of the town where it happened. He was hungry, so we stopped at the first restaurant we came to. It was a little coffee shop just south of Gridley called—”
“Don’t tell me,” said Austin. “Pearl’s Roadside Diner?”
“You guessed it!”
The Case of the Missing Game Warden Page 15
