“Please tell the jury what happened next,” said Braden.
“I was down on my knees, checkin’ ta see if the game warden was breathin’, when Hollis said, ‘He’s deader ’n a doornail. I can tell by the way his eyes are rolled back in his head.’”
“And where was Mr. Gastineau while this was going on?”
“He was walking up and down the floor, whinin’ about losin’ his inheritance. Blake couldn’t a cared less about what happened to the game warden.”
“Objection!” shouted Spratt. “This witness doesn’t know what Mr. Gastineau was thinking.”
“Sustained,” said the judge. “The jury is instructed to disregard the witness’s last statement.”
“Did Mr. Gastineau actually say that he was worried about losing his inheritance?” said Braden.
“Several times,” said Riddle.
“Do you remember his words?”
“It was somethin’ like, ‘If we go down for this, Chet will get it all—the money, the land, everything.’ He just kept repeatin’ that, over and over again.”
“Who is Chet?”
“Chet is Blake’s brother.”
“What happened next?”
“Nobody knew what to do. Blake began to panic and said we had to get rid of the body.”
“How did you react to that?”
“I reminded Blake that it wasn’t gonna be easy. It was pouring down rain outside, and we’d also have to get rid of the game warden’s car. I wanted to turn ourselves in and claim it was an accident.”
“Did you suggest that?”
“I practically begged ’em. We were standin’ there arguin’, when Hollis said he knew how to get rid of the game warden and the car—both at the same time. He took the keys from the game warden’s pocket and made Richie help him remove the game warden’s uniform shirt. The shirt was three sizes too small, but Hollis put it on anyway. I told him he looked ridiculous and wouldn’t fool anybody. That’s when Blake told Hollis and Richie to throw the game warden in the trunk of my car.”
“What did you say to that?”
“I said, ‘Nothin’ doin’. You ain’t puttin’ no dead body in my car.’ Blake kept tryin’ ta talk me into it. I told him he was waistin’ his breath and they’d better come up with somethin’ else soon because my mom might have heard the shot and would be comin’ down to investigate.”
“What did the four of you end up doing?”
“We used Blake’s hot rod. You should have heard him complainin’ about all the mud.”
“Speaking of cars,” said Braden, “where did you find Warden Bettis’s patrol car?”
“It was sittin’ out by the county road. The plan was for Hollis to drive the game warden’s car and for the three of us to follow in Blake’s hot rod. When we got to a steep canyon over in Glenn County, where Hollis and Richie said the road was washed out, we’d put the uniform shirt back on the game warden, strap him into the driver’s seat of his patrol car, and roll him off the cliff. If anybody found him, they’d think he accidentally drove off the cliff and killed himself.”
“What time of day was this?”
“It musta been about ten o’clock in the morning. I remember the rain comin’ down in buckets.”
“And you followed Bogar all the way to Glenn County?”
“Yeah, we drove up Highway 99 to Highway 162 and took 162 the rest of the way. When we reached Stony Gorge Reservoir, we left the pavement and drove up a muddy Forest Service road to a locked gate. Hollis got out and unlocked the gate with a key he found in the game warden’s car. I remember we closed the gate after goin’ through but didn’t relock it. A couple miles up that slippery road is where things got crazy.”
“What do you mean, things got crazy?”
“Richie was sittin’ in the back seat and he heard it first.”
“Heard what?”
“A thumping sound comin’ from the trunk. Blake flashed his headlights for Hollis to stop. Then we slowed down, and Blake turned off his engine. That’s when we heard the game warden moanin’.”
“Please continue,” said Braden.
Coughing again, Riddle requested a glass of water. “Blake climbed out of his car and trudged through the mud up to the driver’s window of the game warden’s car. I could see him tellin’ Hollis somethin’ and pointin’ toward the trunk.”
“Where were you while this was going on?”
“I was sittin’ in the front seat of Blake’s hot rod.”
“Then what happened?”
“Blake headed back our way while Hollis climbed outta the game warden’s car and opened the trunk.” Overtaken by another coughing spell, Riddle apologized and continued to cough until he began spitting up blood.
“I suggest we take a fifteen-minute break,” said the judge. “Bailiff, please ask the nurse to step in.”
With the jury out of the courtroom, Judge Rhodes asked the district attorney if he’d like to adjourn until the next day. Hearing the judge’s question, Riddle said he would be all right if they’d just give him a few more minutes. “This has happened before,” he said.
Once the jury was reseated, Judge Rhodes asked the court reporter to read back James Riddle’s last statement. “Blake headed back our way while Hollis climbed outta the game warden’s car and opened the trunk,” said the court reporter.
“Mr. Riddle, please tell the jury what happened next,” said Braden.
“When Blake made it back to the hot rod, he opened the driver’s door and grabbed his keys outta the ignition. That’s when I saw Hollis headin’ our way with a shovel in his hand. I knew what he planned to do, so I got outta the car and tried to stop him.”
“Were you successful?”
“No. He swatted me aside, causing me to slip and fall in the mud. When I climbed to my feet, I saw that Blake was about to open the trunk of the hot rod and Hollis was waitin’ ta clobber the game warden with the shovel.”
“Did you say anything?”
“I started shoutin’, ‘Blake, he’s alive. We can’t do this.’”
“Please describe to the jury what happened next.”
“Blake and Hollis were standin’ at the back of Blake’s car, soaked to the gills and lookin’ like drowned rats. Blake shouted back at me, ‘I’m not goin’ ta prison because this sonofabitch is too stubborn ta die.’”
“And those were his exact words?” said Braden.
“Yes,” said Riddle. “A person doesn’t forget somethin’ like that.”
“What happened next?”
“Did you ever have a jack-in-the-box toy when you were a kid?”
“I did.”
“What happened next was kinda like that. As soon as Blake turned the key and raised the lid, allowin’ the light and the rain to pour in, the game warden sat up in the trunk. I can still see him sittin’ there in his white T-shirt, starin’ at Blake.”
“Did Warden Bettis say anything?”
“Not a word, but it musta scared the hell outta Blake because he started yellin’, at the top of his lungs, ‘Kill him, kill him!’ I shouted at Hollis not to do it. When Hollis hesitated, Blake grabbed the shovel outta his hands and bashed the side of the game warden’s head in.”
BAM-BAM-BAM. “There will be order in the courtroom,” warned Rhodes. “I will not tolerate any more outbursts.”
Braden waited for the spectator section to quiet down. “Then what happened?” he said.
“Next thing I knew, Hollis was runnin’ through the pourin’ rain back to the game warden’s car and Blake was closin’ the trunk on his hot rod. Blake yelled at me to get in or he’d leave me behind. Richie was already in the front seat, so I climbed in back. We followed Hollis another mile or so before Richie piped up and said we were gettin’ close to the place where the road was washed out. Hearin’ that, Blake took his f
oot off the gas and we dropped back to about fifty yards behind Hollis. We saw Hollis stop at the end of the road, seconds before half the mountain caved in and took him and the car with it.”
“What did you end up doing with Warden Bettis’s body?” said Braden.
“We weren’t about to go anywhere near the mudslide, and Blake couldn’t wait to get the game warden out of his car, so we dug a hole right there.”
“Can you be a little more specific?”
“Just above us was a rock formation sticking out from the side a the mountain. We buried the game warden next to the road, directly beneath that big rock.”
“Who did all the digging?”
“We only had one shovel, so we took turns. I wasn’t gonna have anything to do with it, until Blake said I was just as much to blame as the rest of ’em. ‘If we go down, you go down,’ he said. That’s when Richie chimed in and said, ‘Yeah, we’ll tell the cops it was you that killed the game warden.’ Just before we all got back in Blake’s car, I saw Blake walk over to the other side of the road and fling the shovel into the canyon.”
“Where did the three of you go from there?”
“After that, we went slippin’ and slidin’ back down the hill. We were lucky to get outta there without slidin’ off the cliff ourselves or gettin’ stuck in the mud. Before Blake dropped me off at my house, he told Richie and me that he never wanted to see either one of us again. He said, as far as he was concerned, our duck-killin’ days were over.”
“What about all the ducks you guys had left in the packing shed earlier that day?”
“That afternoon, I dug a big hole out in the orchard and buried ’em,” said Riddle.
“Mr. Braden,” said the judge, “if you have no more questions for this witness, we’ll adjourn until eight o’clock tomorrow morning. At that time, Mr. Spratt and Mr. Burke will begin cross-examination. Mr. Spratt, may I expect you to be here on time?”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
“Good.” BAM-BAM-BAM. “Court is adjourned.”
THIRTY-EIGHT
Attorney Marvin Spratt fired a barrage of confusing questions at Jimmy Riddle for two and a half hours on the morning of May 2, 1972.
“Mr. Riddle,” said Spratt, “during your earlier testimony, you quoted Richie Stillwell as saying, ‘Yeah, we’ll tell the cops it was you that killed the game warden.’ Do you remember saying that?”
“Yes,” said Riddle.
“How long have you known that Richie Stillwell is dead?”
“I didn’t know he was dead.”
“I remind you that you’re under oath, Mr. Riddle. You know as well as I do that Richie Stillwell was executed by the State of Oklahoma for robbing a gas station and murdering the attendant.”
“Objection,” said Braden. “Mr. Spratt intentionally injected that statement to sway the jury.”
“I’m going to overrule,” said the judge. “Mr. Riddle is instructed to answer the question.”
“I didn’t know Richie was dead,” repeated Riddle. “I figured he musta gone back to Oklahoma, but I haven’t heard anything about him for fifteen years.”
Spratt ignored Riddle’s response. “Isn’t it true that when you found out Stillwell was dead and no one was left to dispute your story, you made a deal with the district attorney to testify against my client?”
“I didn’t make a deal with the district attorney or anybody else,” said Riddle, coughing. “When Warden Glance and Detective Foster knocked on my door and asked me about Warden Bettis’s disappearance, I saw it as an opportunity to finally get this weight off my chest. The story I told is true. Every word of it.”
“That will be all,” said Spratt.
“I’ve carried this—”
“I said, that will be all,” repeated Spratt.
“Objection,” said Braden. “Mr. Spratt asked the question. Mr. Riddle should be allowed to finish his answer.”
“Mr. Riddle, please continue with what you were saying,” said the judge.
“Thank you,” said Riddle, trying to control his coughing and reaching for a glass of water. “I’ve carried this guilt around with me for fifteen years, feelin’ sick every time I thought about that game warden sittin’ up in the trunk of Blake’s car and Blake crushing his head with a shovel.”
The courtroom was deathly quiet. “Mr. Spratt, do you have any more questions for this witness?” said the judge. Busy consulting with Burke at the end of the defendant’s table, Spratt did not answer. “Mr. Spratt, you’re stretching my patience.”
“No more questions at this time,” said Spratt.
“Mr. Braden?”
“The prosecution rests, Your Honor.”
“It’s five o’clock, so we’ll adjourn until tomorrow morning at 8:00,” said Judge Rhodes. “Mr. Spratt and Mr. Burke, you may begin your defense at that time. I remind the jurors not to speak to anyone about this case.”
That night, Burke, Spratt, and Gastineau sat in Burke’s Chico office, deliberating over ways to extricate Gastineau from his life-threatening predicament. “Blake’s best chance,” said Burke, “is for us to come up with a plausible alternative to Riddle’s story.”
Gastineau directed his attention to Spratt, waiting for an explanation. “You see, Blake,” said Spratt, “Mr. Burke and I are not particularly interested in who’s telling the truth—you or Riddle. Our job is to make sure the jury finds you not guilty.”
“Either that or they’re unable to reach a unanimous decision,” said Burke. “All we need is one juror who believes your word is better than the word of that burned-out, drunken loser, and we have a hung jury.”
“How do we do that?” said Gastineau, lighting a cigar and resting his alligator-skin cowboy boots on the top of Burke’s desk.
“Blake, the last time you did that, it took me a month to get rid of the smell,” said Burke.
“Did what?”
“Lit up one of those giant cigars of yours. Where do you get those damn things, anyway?”
“Same place I get my boots,” said Gastineau, snuffing out his cigar and continuing to chew on the end.
“What about this?” said Spratt. “If Richie Stillwell hit Warden Bettis in the head once, who’s to say that he didn’t hit him again?”
“I like it!” said Burke. “By the way, that was a stroke of genius today, mentioning to the jury that Stillwell had been executed for murder.”
“I thought so,” said Spratt. “If Blake answers my questions exactly the way I tell him to, we’ll have that hick jury eatin’ out of our hands tomorrow.”
“Richie hit the game warden twice with the butt of his shotgun,” testified Blake Gastineau on the morning of May 3, 1972. “The first time he hit him in the forehead, like Jimmy said. After the game warden fell to the floor, Richie hit him again—this time on the side of his face. I yelled at him to stop, but it was too late.”
“Why did Mr. Stillwell hit the game warden?” said Spratt.
“Richie was crazy and unpredictable. When the game warden pointed his pistol at him, he probably reacted in self-defense.”
“Are you saying that Warden Bettis never regained consciousness after Richie hit him?”
“Yes,” said Gastineau. “Maybe all the drugs and alcohol had something to do with the way Jimmy remembers it. All I know is, Warden Bettis never moved a muscle from the time Richie hit him until the time Richie and Jimmy buried him on that hillside.”
“Mr. Riddle testified that your car was used to transport the body and all three of you took turns burying Warden Bettis,” said Spratt. “Was that an accurate account of what happened on December 13, 1956?”
“No,” said Gastineau. “There’s no way I would’ve driven my prized possession up that muddy mountain road, and I was so upset about what Richie had done, I refused to help ’em bury Warden Bettis.”
�
��Please explain to the jury what you meant by your prized possession.”
“That would be my 1949 Ford coupe with chrome rims and whitewall tires,” said Gastineau, watching the jury out of the corner of his eye. “My father gave me that car as a high-school graduation present.”
As Spratt and Gastineau performed their rehearsed Q and A for the jury, Warden Glance began shuffling through a pile of papers in his file folder. Finding what he was looking for, he nudged Braden with his elbow. Braden acknowledged Henry’s discovery with a nod and continued to follow Gastineau’s testimony.
“Whose car did you use to transport Warden Bettis’s body?” said Spratt.
“Jimmy’s Oldsmobile, of course. I only went along with this gig because they made me.”
“What do you mean, they made you?”
“It was three against one. If I hadn’t gone along with them, they were gonna say I killed the game warden.”
“Did you kill the game warden?”
“Absolutely not! Richie killed the game warden, and Jimmy knows it. Like you said, Jimmy’s just goin’ along with the district attorney to keep from bein’ sent to prison himself.”
“Do you have anything else you’d like to say?”
“Huh?” mumbled Gastineau.
“Mr. Gastineau,” repeated Spratt, “is there anything else you’d like to say to the jury?”
“Uh . . . yeah, there is,” said Gastineau, shifting to his left and facing the jury, tears welling up in his eyes. “I’m sorry about what happened. We were all young, foolish, and . . . really scared. Richie killed the game warden, and there was nothing I could do about it.”
“Thank you, Mr. Gastineau,” said Spratt. “The defense rests.”
“Mr. Braden, are you ready to cross-examine the witness?” said Judge Rhodes.
“Your Honor, may I request a fifteen-minute recess to confer with my officers?”
“I’ll do better than that. It’s 11:30 now. We’ll take a ninety-minute lunch break. Everyone be back at one o’clock sharp. The jury is advised not to talk to anyone about this case.”
“How did you happened to have this?” said Braden, as he, Glance, and Detective Foster huddled in the sectioned-off space behind the court’s law library.
The Case of the Missing Game Warden Page 31
