The following day, Szody and I met Ross Hamilton on a secluded road east of Redding. Ross recounted his recent conversation with Jason Lee. “Jason asked me if I knew anyone who had gallbladders to sell,” reported Hamilton. “He even told me how much he usually pays for ’em.”
Szody and I glanced at each other, our eyes wide with surprise. “Wow!” I said. “We’ve been trying to catch this guy in the act for the last two years. Now the kingpin is laying it on a silver platter for us.”
Lee was openly soliciting new gallbladder business and he had definitely come to the right place. With opportunity knocking, I asked Ross Hamilton if he was willing to take the next step and actually sell gallbladders to Lee. Without hesitation, Ross said he was willing to do anything we needed.
Ross Hamilton telephoned Jason Lee on the evening of October 28, 1997. I had coached him on what to say. Lee began the conversation by telling Ross he had a client he was going to take hunting the following day.
“My client does not speak English. He just wants the gall,” said Lee.
“Well, I have a friend with some gallbladders,” replied Hamilton. “He said they were available.”
“I do not want to meet your friend and I do not want him to know my name,” replied Lee. “I will only deal with you.”
“That’s fine with him,” said Ross. “He said he doesn’t want to meet you either.”
“How much does he want for the galls?” asked Lee.
Ross described the size of five gallbladders I had provided for the transaction. “My friend knows his stuff,” he said. “He has a good idea what galls were going for and just wants to be treated fairly.”
“All right, then,” Lee said. “Bring the galls up to my rental house tomorrow evening.”
Then he gave Ross directions, which was a huge boon for us: Szody and I knew Lee had rented a house in the mountains but, up until then, had been unable to locate it. We were recording the conversation—all recordings of conversations during the course of our investigation were pre-approved by the district attorney’s office or the circuit environmental prosecutors.
Ross Hamilton met with Warden Szody and me, along with three other officers, at 1:30 p.m. on October 29. One of those officers was U.S. Forest Service Special Agent Don Hoang. At that point in our three-year investigation, we were engaged in several operations. Hoang was scheduled to make a gallbladder buy two days later, with Jimmy Westerby.
Five bear gallbladders had been packaged, photographed and prepared for sale to Jason Lee. Hamilton was wired with a hidden microphone and instructed as to what to say. I had previously received approval from the Shasta County District Attorney’s Office for the use of recording devices by civilian undercover operative Ross Hamilton. “We’ll be just down the road, listening to every word,” I reassured Ross. “If there is any problem we can be there in minutes.” Ross appeared cool and collected. He would later explain that he had worked at boring, labor-intensive jobs since leaving school and this was the most exciting and worthwhile thing he had ever done.
It was 4:11 p.m. that afternoon when Ross Hamilton arrived at Jason Lee’s mountain rental house, thirty miles east of Redding. He was carrying a grocery bag with five bear gallbladders inside. A quarter mile away, Szody and I listened intently. Jason Lee was busily skinning a bear in the garage as Hamilton approached. Several of Lee’s clients were inside the house and Lee wanted to conduct business in private.
“Hi, Jason. What’s that?” asked Ross.
Lee didn’t understand him and responded, “Huh?”
“Is that a bear head?” Ross asked.
Lee didn’t respond. True to form, he skipped the small talk and immediately got down to business. “Are you ready to go bear hunting with us?”
“Can you get Ricky and Buck to knock off the price as much as possible?” Ross countered.
Lee seemed distracted. “I’ll try,” he said as he opened the grocery bag to examine the bear galls that Hamilton had brought.
“Two of the galls look like they’re spoiled and I don’t want to pay for them,” said Lee. “I will pay three hundred for the three good ones.”
“Whatever you think,” Hamilton replied.
A few minutes into the conversation, Jason Lee apparently had a change of heart.
“I want to help your friend so I will pay four hundred for all five galls,” said Lee. “I will give you an extra hundred for making the deal.” Lee counted out five one hundred dollar bills. “Are you sure you were not followed?” asked Lee.
“The only one who knows I was coming here is my friend with the gallbladders,” Hamilton said. “Nobody followed me.”
“Don’t talk about this with anyone,” Lee commanded. “I know lots of people who deal in galls but I don’t tell anyone.”
Hamilton wisely changed the subject. “You should see this giant gallbladder that my friend has. It’s huge!”
“Nice. Sure, I’d like to see it,” Lee said. “I want to treat your friend fairly—you tell him that. I treat all my employees fairly. You know I pay Ricky and Buck five hundred dollars for every bear they tree for me.”
“I have to get back,” said Hamilton, “but I will tell my friend what you said.” As Ross climbed into his pickup, Lee again reminded him to keep quiet about their business.
VII
On October 31, 1997, U.S. Forest Service Special Agent Don Hoang met with his old friend and hunting buddy, Jimmy Westerby. He had telephoned Westerby earlier that week to say he was coming through Redding and ask if Westerby had anything for him. Westerby said he did, so they arranged to meet in an Anderson parking lot. Agent Hoang was wearing a wire at the time and several of us were listening nearby. Westerby’s reputation for being unpredictable and dangerous concerned us, so we took extra precautions.
“How you doing, buddy?” said Hoang, as he climbed out of his Mustang. Westerby was standing next to the cab of his pickup.
“What’s goin’ on?” replied Westerby, fidgeting. His eyes were darting everywhere.
“You got something for me?” asked Hoang.
“Three,” said Westerby.
“Three?” Hoang asked.
“Yeah, right there in the SOS box,” acknowledged Westerby.
Westerby pointed toward a yellow SOS scouring pad box sitting in the bed of his truck. Hoang walked over and picked it up. He was just about to look inside when a red sedan, with a woman driving, pulled up behind Westerby’s pickup. Puzzled by the interruption, Hoang looked back at Westerby for an explanation.
“Don’t worry,” said Westerby, “that’s my girlfriend.”
Hoang examined the three gallbladders, hiding them with his hand and keeping his back toward the woman.
“So what’s been going on?” Westerby asked. “I tried calling you a dozen times.”
Hoang convinced Westerby that he had been out of the country.
“I figured you was,” said Westerby.
“These aren’t too bad,” said Hoang.
Westerby began to act impatient. “What’ll ya give me for ’em?”
“These aren’t too fresh,” Hoang said. “When did you take them?”
Westerby blinked a few times and looked around some more, as if stalling while he decided how to answer. “One was killed two days ago, one was four days ago and the other was five days ago. I’ll be gettin’ more, too,” he added.
“Yeah?” said Hoang.
“I killed two cougars yesterday,” said Westerby
“Wow!” said Hoang.
“Ya know, I just got home about two nights before you called,” said Westerby.
“I’ll give you four hundred,” said Hoang.
Westerby puffed himself up and pursed his lips, unhappy with the offer. The diminutive undercover agent realized that the much larger man—a classic bully—was going to try to intimidate him, so he played along, milking his role as the timid, soft-spoken Asian. Agent Hoang had become quite proficient at his temporary job. The more he negotiated over pri
ce, the more convincing he appeared.
“I can get two apiece for ’em right up the road here,” Westerby growled, gesturing wildly.
Having recently listened to a recorded conversation near Jason Lee’s mountain rental house, Hoang immediately realized who Westerby was referring to.
“The guy right up the road gives me two for the small ones and three or three and a half for the bigger ones,” Westerby boasted.
“Who are you dealing with?” asked Hoang.
The easily excitable Westerby launched into a tirade. “Every hound hunter in the world. Ya know what I mean? Hell, there’s only a hundred hound hunters around here who have connections, ya know. And Jason does better than that.”
Westerby’s recorded statement validated what Szody and I had suspected for some time: many of the area houndsmen were selling gallbladders and most of them were selling to Jason Lee, either directly or indirectly. The cat was out of the bag.
“What’s Jason offering?” asked Hoang.
A bit calmer, Westerby said, “Well, he pays me by the size. The guys normally say, ‘Just give me the money for the small ones.’ The small ones I get two hundred for right here.”
“What about five-fifty?” countered Hoang.
“You just cost me money,” Westerby shot back.
“I’ll deal with just you, man,” said Hoang, as he stepped back slightly. Agent Hoang was not intimidated by Westerby’s bullying, but his law enforcement training had taught him to maintain a safe distance between himself and a possible recalcitrant.
No telling what this unstable character might do, thought Hoang.
Westerby paced back and forth beside his pickup, then turned to Hoang and said, “Yeah, we can do that. Just leave the galls in the box and take the whole thing.”
Agent Hoang put the box in his car and began counting out the cash to pay Westerby. All along he had kept his back toward the woman in the red sedan. Westerby appeared relieved, as if he was under a lot of pressure to come up with money. As Hoang handed him the cash, Westerby said, “That guy up there gives me three and a half for the big ones, but to hell with him.”
“So how many bears have you killed this season?” asked Hoang.
“Seven bears and three cougars,” answered Westerby.
Hoang pretended to be impressed, all the time imagining how much Szody and I were going to enjoy lowering the boom on this guy. Cougars were totally protected and every tagged hunter was only allowed one bear per season.
“Ya know, them cougars is good eatin’,” said Westerby, as he ambled toward his pickup.
Hoang had hoped that their transaction was over but Westerby suddenly did an about-face.
“Hey, what about that stuff we talked about before? I got some on the dryin’ table right now.”
“Really?” replied Hoang. “How much you got?”
“I ain’t weighed it yet but it’ll be two or three pounds. I know a guy over in Trinity County who’s got a whole crop going. In the next thirty days there’ll be a lot of it around. By the way, did ya happen ta bring any coke with ya?”
Agent Hoang thought about handing Westerby the bottle of Coca-Cola that was resting in the cup holder of his car. He knew exactly what Westerby was referring to, but wisely decided against joking around with a character as off-balance as this one. The agent dodged the question by saying that he was in a hurry and they could talk about that stuff on the next trip. Westerby seemed to accept Hoang’s explanation.
“Drive safely,” the man said, as Hoang was about to close his front door.
VIII
On November 1, 1997, Ross Hamilton was invited to join Jason Lee and his entourage on a bear hunt. The group consisted of Jason Lee, Buck Millsap, Millsap’s tagalongs, Lee’s tagalongs and several Korean clients. Two of the Korean clients were young women. The hunt took place in the mountains west of Redding, a few miles east of the Trinity County line.
By 6:50 a.m., Millsap’s dogs had already treed a bear. Ross found himself right in the middle of the activity and started his video camera rolling. What a scene, he thought. Dogs were baying and the entire group was milling around under the tree. Ross would later say that it looked more like a backyard barbecue than a bear hunt. Everyone seemed to be asking the same question—who is going to shoot the bear? Ross decided to find out. He walked over to Jason Lee.
“Jason, who’s gonna shoot the bear?”
“I will,” replied Lee, emphatically.
It was common knowledge that Jason Lee had a big ego but with two young, attractive women in the group, his ego took on new dimensions. Apparently everyone heard him except Buck Millsap.
“Hey, who’s gonna kill that bear?” shouted Millsap, sounding impatient.
Lee scanned the crowd, looking for the two women. He found them standing off to one side in private conversation. One of them was cradling a lever action .30-.30 rifle that Lee had given her. Lee walked over and took the rifle from her hands. With everyone watching, he pointed the rifle at the bear and fired. The small, reddish-brown bear couldn’t have weighed more than a hundred pounds, but it painfully endured a direct hit to the midsection without falling from the tree. Wanting to avoid further embarrassment, Lee took careful aim and hit the bear in the side of the head. It immediately fell limp, crashed through several branches and bounced on the hard ground.
If this had been a routine hunt, Lee might have ordered one of his flunkies to gut the bear. He was still trying to impress the ladies, however, so he gutted the bear and removed its gallbladder himself. Ross watched as Lee placed the gallbladder into a small plastic baggie, tied it off with a string and secured it in his truck. Lee told Hamilton that he had intended to tag the bear with the woman’s bear tag, but the bear was too small. Instead, Lee pulled an envelope from his pocket. Hamilton noticed that the envelope contained several bear tags with hunting licenses attached. One of the tags belonged to a man named Kim, who Ross later learned was still in Southern California at the time. Lee was killing bears and filling out bear tags for people who were hundreds of miles away. When Jason Lee wasn’t looking, Ross tape recorded the information from the bear tag that Lee had fraudulently filled out.
Under California law, it is unlawful for anyone to have another person’s license or tag in his possession while hunting. Lee had a whole handful of them. Every person who had given Lee his or her bear tag was also in violation. Legally, Lee was allowed to kill one bear per season, as long as he tagged it with the one tag that had been issued to him. Every time Lee shot an additional bear he was taking an over-limit.
The next day, November 2, Ross Hamilton was invited to go on another hunt with the same group of people. An average-sized bear was treed by Buck Millsap’s dogs.
Jason Lee pointed to the bear and, looking Ross straight in the eye, said, “Shoot it.”
Ross shot the bear and legally tagged it with his own bear tag. Lee gutted the bear, which had an unusually large gallbladder.
Ross didn’t think anything more about the gallbladder that Lee had taken from his bear until Jason Lee walked into Shipley’s Taxidermy Shop the following afternoon. Hamilton had been instructed to record his conversations with Jason Lee, which he did on that date. On tape, Lee told Ross that he routinely paid Millsap and Nettles five hundred dollars for each of the bears they treed for him and his clients. He also said that he had to pay Millsap five hundred dollars for Ross’s bear because it had an extra large gallbladder.
Commercial transactions such as these are illegal—some being felonies—as per Fish and Game Code sections 2536, 12012 and 4758.
Ross Hamilton accompanied Jason Lee and his group on a November 9 bear hunt. This time the group members were Buck Millsap, Ricky Nettles, a Korean client named Hyun Park and several of Millsap’s tagalongs. They hunted the Trinity National Forest, near Clear Creek Campground. Ross was allowed to videotape much of the hunt.
Hamilton was riding with Lee and Park when Nettles came over the CB radio. “We got a bear cornered i
nside a culvert,” said Nettles. Lee responded and advised Nettles that he and his client were on their way. At the time of the radio call, Lee’s Bronco was a good half hour away from the culvert. By the time Lee, Park and Hamilton arrived, the bear was already dead. Nettles had shot the bear with a pistol, then another man shot it, then Nettles shot it again.
Ross watched as two men dragged the bear out of the culvert. Although Hyun Park had not been in the area when the bear was killed, his tag was placed on the bear’s ear. Several photographs were taken of Park with his ill-gotten trophy. Lee eventually gutted the bear and presented Park with the gallbladder.
Sport had nothing at all to do with it. Clients didn’t seem to care who killed the bear as long as they got their package of magic bile.
Over and over again, flagrant violations were committed, with little or no attempt to abide by the law. These outlaws had gotten away with their crimes for so long, they had lost all fear of being caught.
Their most despicable act occurred on November 29. Fortunately, Ross Hamilton was there to witness and record the incident. Jason Lee was present, along with Buck Millsap, Stan Harder, Fred Belcher, some clients and a few tagalongs.
At 10:05 a.m., a small, black-colored bear cub was treed on Behemotosh Mountain. Ross Hamilton immediately began videotaping Jason Lee and one of Lee’s clients. Others could see that Lee was about to shoot the cub, so they attempted to stop Hamilton from filming the scene. Ross was so disgusted by the prospect of Lee shooting the tiny cub that he called out, “Jason, that bear’s too small.” Lee fired anyway and killed the bear.
When the cub fell to the ground, Jason Lee walked over and picked it up. With very little effort, he held it in his outstretched arms while a photograph was taken. Lee tried to appease Hamilton by saying that he had to kill the bear or the dogs wouldn’t hunt. Since the cub bear was obviously unlawful to possess, it was left to rot at the bottom of the canyon.
Badges, Bears, and Eagles Page 27
