The Case of the Missing Game Warden

by Steven T. Callan

  Henry telephoned Anne to tell her he would be working on a preliminary report for the district attorney until the wee hours of the morning. “Henry, are you saying that you’ve solved the murder of Norman Bettis and you’re about to arrest the person responsible?” said Anne.

  “It looks that way, but we still have to find Bettis’s body. It may be another week or so before we slap the cuffs on this guy. Meanwhile, don’t tell anybody about this.”

  “I understand, Henry. I’m so proud of you.”

  “For what?”

  “For being such a good person and sticking with this case when everyone else had given up.”

  “Maybe I’m just stubborn,” said Henry, laughing. “I love you, and I’ll be home as soon as possible.”

  Henry’s next call was to Captain Chuck Odom. He would tell Odom that he could not work the next morning’s dove opener because he would be in the final stages of the Norm Bettis murder investigation. After a thirty-second pause, Odom said, “Are you telling me you’ve found Bettis’s murderer?”

  “It may be another week or so before we make an arrest, but we know who did it,” said Glance. “We’ve also found Bettis’s patrol car and have a good idea where Bettis is buried.”

  “Hank, I owe you an apology. I admit that I thought this whole thing was a boondoggle and you were wasting the department’s time and money. I hope you’ll forgive me.”

  “Nothing to forgive. If I had been in your shoes, I probably would have thought the same thing. I’m looking forward to chasing duck poachers again when this is finally over.”

  “You’re one hell of an investigator, Hank.”

  “Thanks, Chuck. I’ll talk to you again soon.”

  At 8:00 a.m. on the morning of September 1, 1971, Brad Foster and Henry Glance handed their professionally prepared narrative to District Attorney Frank Braden and walked out the door.

  “Where are you guys going in such a hurry?” said Sheriff Carlson, just arriving.

  “We’re going up into the mountains to see if we can find Norm Bettis’s body,” said Foster.

  “That’s right,” said Carlson. “Good luck, and don’t come back until you do.”

  Because the Bettis murder case had been given top priority by the Glenn County sheriff and the Glenn County district attorney, the chief deputy coroner was instructed to participate in the search for Norm Bettis’s remains. Warden Glance and Detective Foster led the way in Glance’s Dodge Power Wagon, while Chief Deputy Coroner Roy Giles, Evidence Sergeant Jack Weaver, and Deputy Holly Ward followed in a fully equipped van assigned to the coroner’s division of the sheriff’s office.

  “What do you think, Hank?” said Foster, as the search vehicles passed through the iron gate and headed up the hill. “Are we gonna find Bettis?”

  “We’ll find him,”said Glance.

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “It’s bigger than the both of us, Brad. You can call it superstition, intuition, confidence, or whatever you want, but we’re going to find Norm Bettis today, and we’re going to find him right where Jimmy Riddle said he’d be.”

  “I hope you’re right, Hank. The success of our case depends on it.”

  Members of the search detail noticed that several basketball-sized boulders had rolled down from the mountain and covered the area directly beneath the rock formation Riddle had described. After the group rolled the boulders aside, Glance grabbed a pick and began loosening the hard clay surface. Jack Weaver and Brad Foster were next, shoveling the loosened dirt. This process continued for almost an hour, until Holly Ward shouted, “Stop! I think I see a rib cage.”

  Ward immediately went to work with a four-inch pointing trowel, a small hand pick, and a three-and-a-half-inch, soft bristle brush. As more bones were uncovered, she graduated to smaller tools, including a standard toothbrush. “Holly, you’re pretty good at that,” said Giles.

  “I should be,” said Ward. “I majored in archaeology at USC.”

  “And became a deputy sheriff?” said Foster. “What happened?”

  “I ran out of money and needed a job. Here’s something that looks like . . . yup, we have a skull.”

  One look at the left side of the victim’s skull confirmed what Jimmy Riddle had said. Henry envisioned the assailant grabbing a shovel handle, as if he were going to swing a baseball bat, and walloping Norm Bettis across the side of his head with the metal blade.

  “Do you think it’s worth trying to find the murder weapon?” said Foster, breaking Henry’s concentration.

  “Let’s go see,” said Glance, leading Foster across the narrow dirt road to the cliff on the other side. “It has to be down there somewhere, if what Riddle told us is true.”

  “Everything he’s told us has been right on the money so far,” said Foster.

  “I’m gonna edge my way down this embankment and see what I can find,” said Henry. Being careful not to lose his balance and slide all the way to the bottom, Glance skidded his way down the mountainside until he was beyond a jungle of stunted black oaks and out of sight.

  “Hank, are you all right?” shouted Foster.

  “I’m okay,” said Henry.

  An hour had passed when Foster again heard rustling in the vegetation below. He watched with great anticipation as his partner reappeared, covered with oak duff and dead leaves. Glance held a rusted shovel in his left hand.

  “You found it!” said Brad.

  “It was lying half buried in oak leaves, about fifty yards down,” said Henry. “This has to be the one they took out of Bettis’s patrol car. It’s a standard-issue Fish and Game shovel, just like the one in my truck.”

  Returning to the excavation site, Glance and Foster found Deputy Ward photographing the victim’s left hand. Still clinging to the proximal phalanx bone of the ring finger was a badly tarnished wedding band. “If there’s an inscription on the inside of that band, our job is done,” said Henry, recalling a comment Tom Austin had once made about Norm Bettis never taking off his wedding ring.

  “We’ll find out soon enough,” said Giles. “We’re about finished here, so if you gentlemen are ready, I’d like to get back to the lab. The DA is eagerly waiting for our results.”

  When the Glenn County Grand Jury convened on Tuesday, September 7, 1971, District Attorney Frank Braden’s proposed indictment charged Blake Ralph Gastineau with one count of murder in the first degree, with the special circumstance that the homicide was committed for the purpose of avoiding or preventing a lawful arrest. The indictment was granted, after which a warrant was issued for Gastineau’s arrest. On the morning of Wednesday, September 8, 1971, Warden Henry Glance, Detective Bradley Foster, and two uniformed officers from the Chico Police Department entered the Chico land office of Blake R. Gastineau.

  “Mr. Gastineau, Warden Glance and three other officers are here to see you,” said Gastineau’s receptionist over the intercom.

  “Glenda, I thought I told you not to allow Warden Glance in my office unless he had a warrant.”

  “He does have a warrant, Mr. Gastineau. He says if you don’t come out, they will come in after you.”

  When Gastineau failed to comply, Glance and the other officers walked into Gastineau’s office and found him on the telephone, trying to reach his attorney. “Mr. Blake Gastineau,” said Glance, “you’re under arrest for the murder of Warden Norman Bettis. Please put your hands behind your back.”

  The local newspaper and TV stations had somehow gotten word that Blake Gastineau was about to be arrested. When Gastineau walked out of his office wearing handcuffs and was driven away in the rear of a caged police car, it set off a statewide media frenzy. After fifteen years, the mystery of Warden Norman Bettis’s disappearance had finally been solved, and one of the lead investigators was a young Fish and Game warden with two years on the job, named Henry William Glance.

  Blake
Gastineau was arraigned on the afternoon of September 8, 1971, in Glenn County Superior Court. When asked by Superior Court Judge Nelson A. Rhodes if he would like to enter a plea, Gastineau, with attorney Gerald M. Burke standing by his side, entered a plea of not guilty. Judge Rhodes set bail at two million dollars. Coming up with ten percent to pay the bail bondsman was an impossible task for Gastineau, since most of his capital was tied up in land deals and construction projects. Brother Chet refused to talk to Blake, let alone loan him money, so the elder Gastineau was forced to take out a second on one of his newly constructed buildings.

  Blake Gastineau and attorney Gerald Burke had been wheeling and dealing in real estate since Blake inherited his fortune years earlier. Also in his forties, Burke was a slick-talking lady’s man who wore expensive suits and drove around Chico in a Mercedes convertible. Shortage of available cash and arrogance dictated Gastineau’s decision to rely on Burke for legal representation, rather than hiring an experienced criminal attorney.

  Due to Jimmy Riddle’s rapidly deteriorating health, the district attorney made every effort to honor the defendant’s Sixth Amendment right. Trouble was, Blake Gastineau was out on bail and the last thing Gerald Burke wanted was a speedy trial. He worked the system for all it was worth, stalling and asking for a continuance every time he came before Judge Rhodes. Had Burke known that the prosecution’s primary witness had less than a year to live, his stalling tactics would have been even more relentless. Judge Rhodes set a trial date of Monday, April 3, 1972.

  One week after the trial date was set, District Attorney Frank Braden announced that, due to the egregious circumstances surrounding this case, including the torture and brutal slaying of a peace officer to prevent Gastineau’s arrest, the prosecution would seek the death penalty.

  THIRTY-FIVE

  The trial began on Monday, April 3, 1972, in Glenn County Superior Court. Constructed in 1894, the Glenn County Courthouse was located in the county seat of Willows, California. Graced with fine, handcrafted woodwork throughout, the courthouse hosted an elegant courtroom on the second floor, at the top of a stately wooden staircase. Emblazoned in glass above the doorway were the words SUPERIOR COURT JUDGE NELSON B. RHODES.

  Judge Rhodes was a sixty-two-year-old former prosecutor with fourteen years on the bench. A large, gray-haired man with a booming voice, His Honor was well known amongst fellow barristers for being firm, but fair, and displaying little tolerance for theatrics or courtroom shenanigans.

  At the time of the trial, Glenn County boasted a population of 17,500 residents, with most of them living in Willows or Orland. Just about everyone else in the county called Hamilton City, Elk Creek, Butte City, or Artois home. Politically conservative and economically dependent on agriculture—particularly almonds and rice—Glenn County’s citizenry was overwhelmingly white.

  It took two full days to voir dire and finally seat a jury of seven men and five women. Except for a Hispanic gentleman who worked at the Holly Sugar plant in Hamilton City, the entire jury was white. Members of the jury ranged in age from thirty-five to seventy-two, two of them four-year college graduates and one a PhD.

  District Attorney Frank Braden’s opening statement was brief and to the point. “The prosecution will show, beyond a reasonable doubt, that on December 13, 1956, the defendant, Blake R. Gastineau, tortured and brutally murdered California Fish and Game Warden Norman Bettis—and that he committed this heinous crime for the purpose of avoiding or preventing a lawful arrest. The defense will try to convince you that this is a case of one man’s word against another’s. I urge you to carefully consider the evidence and make your ultimate decision accordingly. If you do, you’ll find the defendant guilty as charged and give Warden Norman Bettis, at long last, the justice he deserves.”

  After making his introduction and trying to endear himself to the jury, defense attorney Gerald Burke eyeballed each of the twelve jurors and suggested that some of them, particularly the gentlemen, might have been hunters at some point in their lives. “Did you ever toss an extra duck or pheasant in your game bag? Perhaps you lost count, or maybe the hunting was so good you got carried away. The point I’m making is, we all did things we probably shouldn’t have when we were young and foolish. What’s important is whether we matured and eventually became responsible, productive members of society.”

  Burke continued. “The prosecution’s so-called eyewitness is going to tell you that fifteen years ago, he saw Blake Gastineau kill Warden Norman Bettis. While you’re listening, ask yourselves this: If that’s true, why did he wait fifteen years to tell someone about it? Somebody killed Warden Bettis, it’s clear, but how do we know it wasn’t the witness himself? My money is on a convicted thief and murderer named Richie Stillwell, whom you’ll no doubt learn about as the prosecution presents its tangled web of confusion and inuendo. One thing Mr. Braden said is true: This case may very well come down to whom you believe. Knowing what an intelligent, responsible group you are, I’m confident you’ll make the right decision and find Blake Gastineau not guilty.”

  “All of the witnesses shall remain outside the courtroom until they’re called to testify,” said Judge Rhodes. “Mr. Braden, would you like to call your first witness?”

  The prosecution’s first witness was Glenn County Sheriff’s Deputy Holly Ward, who testified that she discovered the remains of Warden Norman Bettis on the morning of September 1, 1971. Identification was confirmed through dental records and a wedding band identified by the victim’s wife, Martha Bettis. When Gerald Burke had finished cross-examining Deputy Ward, Mrs. Bettis was called to the stand.

  “Mrs. Bettis, would you please state your full name for the record,” said the judge.

  “My name is Martha Abigail Bettis.”

  “Mrs. Bettis, were you the wife of Norman John Bettis?” said the district attorney.

  “Yes.”

  “How long were you married?”

  “Forty-three years.”

  “Would you please describe your husband’s occupation.”

  “Norman was a California Fish and Game warden.”

  “When was the last time you saw your husband?”

  “The morning of December 13, 1956.”

  “Would you please describe, to the best of your ability, the sequence of events that occurred on the morning of December 13, 1956.”

  “Well, Norman got up around 6:30, like he always did. I was out of eggs that morning, so he drank a cup of coffee, ate a bowl of corn flakes, and drove off to work. That’s about all I can remember—except for one thing.”

  “And what’s that?” said Braden.

  “While Norman sat at the kitchen table, drinking his coffee, he asked me if I thought he should retire. I found that strange because he usually avoided the subject of retirement like the plague.”

  “What did you tell him?”

  “I’m not sure what came over me,” said Martha. “Normally, I would have shrugged my shoulders and told Norman to do whatever he thought best. Instead, I became emotional and reminded him of the early years, when he’d be called out in the middle of the night because shots were fired down in Butte Sink or some deer poacher was shining a spotlight around in the foothills south of Oroville. I started sobbing and told him every time he threw on his uniform and rushed out the door, I worried myself sick that he wouldn’t come back.”

  “How did your husband respond?”

  “He said I was being silly. Then he climbed up out of that old wooden chair at the end of the kitchen table, gave me a kiss on the forehead, and walked out the door.”

  “Mrs. Bettis, I would like you to look at this ring and tell the jury if you recognize it.” Braden handed Martha Bettis the wedding band that Deputy Ward had found on the finger of the victim’s left hand.

  “Yes, I recognize it,” said Martha, holding back tears. “It’s the same one I gave to Norman on our wedding day.”

&nb
sp; “What is it about this ring that you recognize?”

  “Engraved on the inside are the words Norm and Martha.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Bettis,” said Braden. “That’s all I have, Your Honor.”

  “Mr. Burke, your witness,” said the judge.

  “I have no questions for this witness,” said Burke.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Bettis,” said the judge. “If Mr. Braden or Mr. Burke don’t intend to call you again, you are welcome to remain in the courtroom.” Martha took a seat in the spectator section, next to Tom Austin.

  The district attorney called Elwood Keene to the witness stand. “Mr. Keane,” said Braden, “do you know the defendant, Blake Gastineau? If so, how long have you known him?”

  “I’ve known Blake Gastineau since elementary school,” said Keane. “We were in the same grade and graduated from Gridley High School together.”

  “Is Mr. Gastineau in the courtroom today? If so, would you please point him out to the jury.”

  “That’s him,” said Keane, pointing to the defendant, who was sitting at the defendant’s table, next to his attorney.

  “On the morning of December 13, 1956, did you encounter the defendant, Blake Gastineau?”

  “I did.”

  “Would you please describe the sequence of events that took place.”

  “I was about to open up the station when—”

  “What station was that?”

  “Bill’s Friendly Service in Gridley.”

  “Please continue.”

  “Like I said, I was about to open the station when these four duck poachers drove in before daylight, demanding that I serve them first.”

  “Objection!” said Burke, requesting a sidebar.

  Burke and Braden approached the bench. “Referring to my client as a duck poacher is clearly an inflammatory statement that could unjustly prejudice the jury,” Burke said.