The Killers in Gilbourne County

CHAPTER 1

JUNE, SEVERAL YEARS AGO, 5:00 A.M.

The morning air is crisp for this time of year. It’s perfect weather for a morning afield in search of red meat. It’s 5:00 a.m.

The jaunt for Deason Flegar and his youngest son, Kleary, to the north end of Mrs. O’Leary’s open pasture is quiet in Deason’s electric golf cart. The quietness of the vehicle suits the purpose—stealth. For a poacher and subsistence hunter, this is a key asset.

Deason has Trevor, his eldest son, to do the heavy lifting around the house, provided he gets beer money as an allowance. Otherwise, the eighteen-year-old Trevor isn’t good for much. With Trevor’s penchant for larceny, drunkenness, and contentious behavior, his future career opportunities are limited to being an inmate in a state or federal institution somewhere.

However, Trevor, the squat and rotund ninth-grade dropout has a special talent. He can mend or repair just about anything and is proficient enough to make veteran engineers look inept. With Deason’s prodding, Trevor keeps the old golf cart and other appliances around their forty-acre homestead, tucked away in a small corner of Gilbourne County, in working order. Not pretty but working.

Kleary, a lanky thirteen-year-old, is very different from Trevor. He is already taller than his older brother, and he’s attentive and respectful of his mentoring father. His grades at Hales’ Junior High, keep him in the top 1 percent of the class, and he’s on track to merit a Hundley Scholarship—a full-ride college opportunity for underprivileged high-achievers in Gilbourne County.

The old man has been taking Kleary deer hunting for several years. In that time, Kleary has learned the techniques for locating game, proper aiming and shooting, and the meaning of providing sustenance for the family. Most importantly, he’s learned to stay anonymous while doing it.

Deason learned from this grandfather that the time to hunt venison is when the strawberries are ripe. Subsistence hunting in the old days, before regulations existed, was a way of life for many rural Americans. That means Deason Season starts in June, and Deason won’t miss the opportunity to hunt during his perceived primetime deer season. It is now early June. The state regulated deer season opens in October, for archery. Gun season begins late in November.

Beyond the north end of Mrs. O’Leary’s pasture is the sprawling five-thousand-plus acres of Charles Anglerodd’s ranch. Few souls venture into these woods this time of year, except the bounty of deer and other game.

As the Flegars reach Mrs. O’Leary’s northern boundary fence, Deason stops the cart and listens for several minutes. When he deems he’s unobserved, he approaches a section of fence where he manufactured a gate that no one would otherwise notice. When he unlatches the nearly invisible hook-and-eye fasteners he created there, a whole section of fence gives way. Driving through it, he carefully reconnects the gate and drives the cart a short distance further before stashing it in dense cover. From here, they go on foot.

Kleary is carrying the single-shot, bolt-action, .22 caliber Hornet Savage rifle. It is a vintage firearm and vintage caliber. He represents the third generation of Flegar using it as a primary deer-hunting weapon. The .22 Hornet is a midpowered, center-fire cartridge. It’s effective on deer at close range, provided it’s a head shot. The discharge from this rifle is very, very quiet compared to other rifles, making it ideal for a poacher.

Deason knows where to go. A clearing not far from the gate is an ideal wildlife grazing area. The bounty of acorns in the area and high-quality browse provide nutritious grazing for hungry deer and other critters. Years ago, Deason planted clover in the area to augment nature’s menu, and with great success. At this time of year, clover is a favorite meal for deer and other wildlife.

Deason and Kleary find cover on the perimeter of the deer feedlot amid waist-high scrub oaks. They snuggle in and get cozy. They are downwind of the feeding area directly in front of them, and daybreak is approaching.

As the inevitable and approaching daylight turns shades of gray into discernible shades of green, Deason spots movement. To his left, a doe steps tentatively into the clearing. The deer is fifty yards away—too far for the unmighty Hornet round.

Deason notices that Kleary has seen the quarry, too, but otherwise has not reacted. Good, Deason muses. Teaching his young son patience is a critical part of the lesson plan.

From his shirt pocket, Deason removes a single .22 Hornet round and passes it slowly and gingerly to Kleary. Kleary has the rifle’s breech open. He slips the cartridge into the rifle and slowly closes the bolt. The well-oiled rifle action makes no sound. The rifle stays on Kleary’s lap.

The doe is feeding ravenously. Deason judges it to be a one-year–old, last year’s yearling. Older, mother does this time of year remain close to newborn fawns or remain secluded when they are about to give birth to a new generation.

It isn’t long before the doe is within twenty yards of the well-hidden hunters. Kleary begins raising the Savage. In a moment, Kleary positions himself to take aim through the rifle’s buckhorn iron sights. The sight picture is wonderful, with no obstructions from the surrounding foliage. The doe is unaware of any intrusion at her breakfast table.

When the doe’s head is down and gathering food, its head is bobbing about constantly. It’s a poor target until the animal raises its head and begins chewing the collected morsels. Then, only its jaws are moving. Then the doe turns and comes broadside of the waiting hunters. The doe’s right ear is stable and inviting. As that opportunity presents itself, Kleary is managing his breathing and his patience. With his elbows resting on his knees and the rifle butt firmly planted into his right shoulder, he hardly notices he’s pulled the trigger until the young doe drops straight to the ground.

Deason and Kleary do not react. The shot is muted compared to most firearms, but if someone were nearby it won’t be long before they investigate. They wait a full five minutes before attending to the downed animal.

Fresh venison is on the Flegar menu tonight. A few more will keep them in protein-rich red meat for another year.

CHAPTER 2

EARLY DECEMBER, LAST YEAR, 3:58 A.M.

MITCHELL GRANGER

The alarm on my BlackBerry is set for 4:00 a.m., but, as usual, I’m awake a couple of minutes ahead of that time and switch the alarm off. I anticipate this will be my last hunt of the season. I have two deer in the box, so I have plenty of venison made into Italian sausage, summer sausage, hot links and various steaks and chops, but I neglected to stock up on burger. Another medium to largish sized animal will do nicely.

My hunting partner, Craig Huntsman, is out of state on business, so I’m hunting solo today. Typically, I prefer sharing my hunting experience with others. I enjoy the camaraderie shared among hunters, and it’s a lot safer to hunt with friendly company around. In any wilderness, anything can happen, even bad things. Still, loving the outdoors and the hunting experience, I seldom miss the opportunity to practice my style of stress management in the woods, with or without company.

Today’s outing is a perfect scenario for me. I like to stand hunt but usually don’t to avoid stumbling into the sights of other hunters. No one has fun with that. But, I can have fun with it today. Stand hunting is a technique that works well for me. It’s easy. You stand, you step, you stop, you look, and you step again. It’s slow and wonderful, provided you spot game before they spot you.

At 4:30 a.m., I am out the door. I stop at a QuikTrip to coffee up and fill my thermos. The ride to the hunting lease is about seventy-five miles, and it goes quickly on wide-open and mostly vacant state highways this time of morning. Once out of the city, the cosmic fog we call the Milky Way and the constellation Orion dominate a clear, starlit sky.

I stay alert for glowing eyes along the roads. Deer movement has diminished somewhat with the thawing of the mating season that peaked in November. Does not impregnated now will again come into season in a few more weeks. Deer activity will spike a little then, but it’s nothing like the onset of the activity starting in late October.

This time of year, deer have had their fill of acorns. That important food source piles fat on deer and other critters ahead of the winter season. Now, deer focus their feeding on grasses, and they are keenly fond of winter wheat. Most ranchers in the area, including Bill Leeman, our hunting acreage benefactor and lessor, set aside big chunks of acreage for this vital feed crop.

I arrive at the Leeman ranch and park near my four-wheel-drive ATV. I keep the ATV stashed in the woods on property during the season so I don’t have to haul it around so much, and on this private property, no one is around to mess with it.

I unload nonessentials from my backpack to lighten it up and tie on my lightweight folding stool. I’ve already determined where I’ll be hunting and decide to set out on foot instead of rumbling through the area on the ATV. I’ll come back for the four-wheeler to haul a critter out of the woods. I hope.

I head south into a southerly breeze to an area not trodden on by man this season. It’s a dense stretch of woods about two hundred yards wide and over half a mile long, and running between open pasture and a winter wheat field. Deer either bed down in the woods or pass through it to get on the winter wheat to the east. My plan is to intercept deer moving between the two fields before they notice my incursion. I move out to reach the north end of my hunting area before first light.

5:55AM

I love this time of day. The last thirty minutes of darkness before daybreak is still, quiet, and peaceful, and where I am totally at ease with my thoughts and solitude. This is the time I can feel my soul breathing.

The chirping of the first bird signals the awakening of the new day, and the forest begins to reveal its definition and late fall colors. Movement and sound become easily noticeable. I decide to wait a few minutes before starting my stand-hunt.

In time, I rise slowly and look at everything. I look for deer-like shapes and for things that move. Looking through the woods, most shapes, like trees, are vertical. Deer are horizontal, unless they are facing directly toward you, or away from you, so I also look for ears (those movable radar devices are distinctive), and for those bright white wagging tails. When deer are happy and sated, they wag their tails like happy little puppies.

I take one or two steps at a time. Between steps, I stand motionless and scan for shapes and movement. I repeat the process, slowly. If I do this right, I should spot movement before being spotted myself, and that’s the point.

After covering about one hundred yards, I detect movement coming from my right. It’s a deer, a doe, and she’s moving purposefully, not walking, not running, not meandering. She’s probably heading to a meal in the winter wheat field to my left. I judge her trajectory should put her within fifty yards of my position as she approaches.

I raise my rifle, a scoped Winchester Model 70 Featherweight, for a better look. She appears to be a yearling. I’m looking for something bigger, so I watch her pass. If she noticed me at all, she was unconcerned and focused on her objective. Then I turn my attention to where she came from to see if a friend or potential lover is following.

I take a knee to the forest floor to lower my profile, and wait. My instinct is correct. A young buck, a six-pointer, is on the doe’s trail and is following at a respectful courtship distance. I pick a spot ahead of me where I know the animal will pass through. Within moments, the buck enters my target area, and I make a barely audible grunt sound. The young buck stops in its tracks and looks directly at me. When he does, I already have the crosshairs of the Leupold scope fixed on the animal’s front left shoulder—a target area that will put the animal down in its tracks, and it does. The 7 x 57, 7 mm Mauser round is very effective.

I‘ll have my burger, and Craig will share in the bounty. It’s been a good season.

CHAPTER 3

EARLY SUMMER

MITCHELL GRANGER

The Nile Rivers Industries’ request for proposal in front of me is an enigma, and not because it’s complicated, but because I’ve been submitting proposals to their CEO, Nelson Peterman, for more than fifteen years, and never once won his business. I excel at putting together winning proposals, but this Peterman character has me stumped. It’s frustrating to think I may be wasting my time with it.

The project is intriguing and has huge profits painted all over it. The scope of the project is for the complete remodeling and expansion of the Nile Rivers shopping mall in Bedford, an affluent community and the seat of commerce in Lorraine County, Missouri.

Everything on my project punch list is satisfied. I have all the data and all the numbers. The deadline for submittal is ten business days away. All that’s needed is the final touch, that bit of business artistry that creates a winning proposal. I’ve been working on it for weeks.

Winning proposals are my specialty. My first partner, Richard Howard, handles materials, logistics, and labor. Stan Letterman, my second partner, handles financing and architectural services. Together, Granger, Howard, and Letterman is strong, effective, and the largest general contractor in the tristate area. I wish my father were here to be part of this.

CHAPTER 4

EARLY SUMMER

Susan Daily, our do-everything-around-the-office person, calls me on the intercom. Mr. Granger, Craig Huntsman is on line two for you. Susan insists on addressing the business partners in a formal manner, although we bade her not to.

Thanks, Susan, I say.

That’s odd. Why would my friend and hunting partner call me on the office phone. I glance quickly around my desk for my BlackBerry. I don’t see it. I must have misplaced it, again.

I punch line two, and say, Hey, Craig, calling me on the office phone. This must be official business. Can I interest you in a water softener system?

Craig speaks. Hey, Mitch. I tried your cell a couple of times. Have you lost it again?

Actually, yeah, I think I did. It’s not on the desk. It’ll turn up. So what’s new in the feed business?

Craig replies, Business is good. I want to talk about hunting. I’m thinking of archery hunting this year. You’ve done that, haven’t you?

I sure have, but not for several years. I have all the gear. So you’re thinking about getting a bow. That is so un-you, Craig.

Yeah, well, I want to try it. The season opens October 1. What do you think?

I’m up for it, but early October is still a bit too warm. Later in the month should work. I’ll have to hone my shooting skills. You know, get the rhythm back.

Craig, a little confused, says, Rhythm? What does that mean?

I’ll give you the short story, Craig: practice, practice, practice. It’s like golf, if you don’t play, you don’t play. That simple! If you’re thinking of buying a bow off the rack and taking down a deer without paying your dues, think again.

Craig says,