Gordon Ryan - State of Rebellion

Jim nodded. “That’s fine. Is it that guard officer?”

“Yes,” Dan replied. “McFarland. Most of the Cal Guard will turn out.”

“A real shame,” Jim said, shaking his head.

Dan paused for a moment, thinking once again about his wife’s death and his reluctance to attend another funeral- any funeral. “Okay,” Dan said, clapping his hands together to break the moment. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

Dan flipped through his daily planner for several minutes after Pat left, pausing to reflect on the entry for Lieutenant McFarland’s funeral in the afternoon. A disturbing vision of the young officer’s distorted face flitted across his memory. The quiet rap on his doorjamb broke his reverie, and he looked up to see Tony Sanchez standing in the doorway.

“C’mon in, Tony. Cup of coffee or a glass of juice?”

“Just had one, thanks. Mind if I. .?” he said, making a gesture to close the door.

“By all means,” Dan nodded, coming out from behind his desk to sit on the sofa on the windowless side of his office.

“I just wanted to keep this information between the two of us.”

“Of course. Got something on McFarland’s murder?”

“Several things have turned up, actually. First, the tire tracks. The treads fit the profile of original equipment on Ford trucks.”

Dan laughed. “Well, Tony, that narrows it down to, what-a half-million vehicles?”

Tony grinned. “Something like that, but don’t forget, police work is long, tedious, and usually mundane, but each data point narrows the possible permutations.”

“I know, Tony. I’m sorry. Please, what else?”

“Well, the lab has analyzed the vomit found on the scene.”

“The what?”

“One of the people at the scene puked his. . or her . . guts out.”

“I’d be terrified if I were facing a lynching, wouldn’t you?”

Sheriff Sanchez nodded. “I’m sure I would’ve, but it’s not McFarland’s.”

“And that means?”

“It means that someone else at the scene wasn’t used to seeing such violence. He lost his ham and egg sandwich when he vomited in the dirt.”

Dan nodded. “That makes sense. So, we have a half-million trucks, and one terrified person.”

“This will go a lot smoother if you’ll just listen for a minute.”

Dan smiled. “Sorry. What else?”

“The autopsy showed that McFarland had been brutally assaulted-tortured, actually-prior to his hanging. Every finger was broken, and he had construction-type staples in his knees and elbows.”

Dan winced. “Good grief, his death might well have been a relief.”

“I’ll grant you that,” Sanchez replied. “Deputy Collins, on the other hand, died instantly. He took a military-style.45 caliber slug through the head at extremely close range, judging from the powder burns on his forehead. Fortunately, we recovered the bullet where it had impacted the bridge after exiting Collin’s head, and it appears that Collins got two shots off before he was killed.”

“Was there any other blood at the scene? Perhaps from someone Collins shot?”

“No.” Sanchez pulled a plastic sandwich wrap from his carrying case and held it up for Dan to see. “Do you recognize this?”

Dan looked closely at what appeared to be a slender piece of metal, about two inches long.

“It’s a. . a sliver of something?”

“Look closer, but don’t take it out,” he warned.

Dan took the plastic wrapper and held it up to the light, his eyes focusing on the object. Suddenly his eyes grew larger.

“You recognize it, don’t you?”

Dan looked at Tony, then back again at the object. “There aren’t as many of these as there are Ford pickups, but it’s still circumstantial.”

“True, but it narrows it down, doesn’t it? In fact, two of my deputies regularly play pool with Kenny, and he constantly has this-or a similar-silver toothpick hanging from his lips. He drops it in his shirt pocket when he really concentrates, but it’s as much a part of your brother-in-law’s clothing as that sweat-stained ‘A’s’ baseball cap he always wears backwards.”

“Lab tests?” Dan asked.

Tony shook his head. “Can’t match it to the vomit. Not enough saliva remaining on it. Technicians said the ants and insects probably had a go at it. I’m afraid we didn’t spot it until the following day when we did a thorough ground-eye search.”

“Still,” Dan added, “if Kenny doesn’t have his toothpick anymore, then. .”

“Exactly. That’s one reason I came to see you this morning.”

“Why would he be involved?”

“The FBI is convinced this was a militia job. Kenny’s been identified-in fact, he’s been bragging about being part of the Shasta Brigade.”

“He’s never said anything to me,” Dan said. “But we haven’t really talked much more than to say hello-at least since Susan’s death. We never really hit it off, even after I married his sister. I see him occasionally at church, but he only attends when he’s visiting them.”

“Could you see if you could, uh, find out about this?” Tony asked, holding up the bag and then replacing it in his case.

Dan stood up and took a deep breath, then walked toward the window. “Where’s this all gonna go, Tony? If they did this. . if Kenny did this. . how far will these people go?”

“If the brigade is responsible for these killings, apparently they’ll go as far as they need to go. One more thing, Dan. This may be confidential, and maybe you can’t answer, but was McFarland on assignment for the Army? Working with you, perhaps?”

Dan turned immediately to face Sheriff Sanchez and nodded. “I can’t fill in the details until I see General Del Valle, but McFarland was undercover, on an assignment that had something to do with the brigade. In case you don’t know, some of your deputies are also in the brigade. But that’s all I can share with you, Tony. I’m sorry.”

Sanchez stood, picking up his case and stepping toward the door.

“That’s enough. . for now, Dan. And yes, I know I have a few deputies in the brigade. Thanks for your help. If Kenny was involved, I’m truly sorry. His parents have already been through enough for one lifetime, losing their daughter and all.”

“That they have. I’ll find out how much of the brigade information I can discuss with you, Tony. And I’ll let you know if I can contact Kenny. He lives up near Redding in a small trailer near Shasta Lake, but he comes back to Woodland often enough.”

“Fair enough. You going to the funeral this afternoon?”

“Yeah. Most of the guard will turn out. The general wants a full military honors funeral.”

“From what I could see, the kid deserved it. The department will bury Collins with full honors tomorrow over at Knight’s Landing. It’s been a lousy week!”

“That’s the shame of it, Tony. In any war, here or on a beachhead-even in law enforcement-it’s mostly the young ones who pay.”

The sheriff snorted. “Look in the mirror-we are the young ones. I’ll see you at the funeral,” he said, departing and waving to Pat as he left.

Dan moved back to the window and felt, rather than saw, Pat come up behind him.

“Dan, Mr. Franchi and Mr. Alverez are here to see you.”

Dan held silent for a moment and took another deep breath, exhaling slowly. He thought of the day he had interviewed McFarland for an undercover assignment and how confident the young officer had been. McFarland had even said how proud his wife would be. He had become momentarily deflated when Dan explained that he couldn’t tell her.

Finally, he turned to face Pat.

“Thanks, Pat. Show them in, please.”

The Yolo Rice Co-op was Yolo County’s largest rice dealership and had contracts with most of the growers for their harvest. More than sixty percent of Yolo rice ended up in Korea. The primary stockholder in the co-op was the Franklin Group. They owned the trucks, the rice that was hauled to the Port of Sacramento, and the ships on which it was transported to Asia.