A Triple Thriller Fest (7 page)

“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.

Situated in the heart of an agricultural county, Woodland’s Chamber of Commerce boasted that anything that grew anywhere in the world could be grown in Yolo County. Primary crops were rice, tomatoes, almonds, walnuts, sorghum, and saffron. Promoting international commerce had become a major part of Dan’s job as county administrator.

Since the early fifties, when smaller farms found it difficult to make a go of it, only the larger holdings or corporate conglomerates had succeeded in showing a profit. To complicate matters, weekenders from the San Francisco Bay area had discovered Rumsey Valley, and since it was only a two-hour drive from the city, buyers had begun to snatch up small plots for recreation homes. For some years, the Yolo County Board of Supervisors had been limiting subdivisions to a minimum of twenty-acre plots, which temporarily delayed the influx of recreationally minded people. The pressure was now on to loosen that zoning requirement to allow for two-and-a-half acre mini-lots. So far, the planning commission had been able to resist additional development by warning that the installation of multiple septic systems in close proximity would contaminate the local aquifer. The legal and financial pressures were on for development, but the older families who had descended from the valley’s original settlers, like Dan’s grandfather—Jack Rumsey—were resisting the change.

As the two men entered Dan’s office, Pat closed the door, and Dan stepped to greet them.

“Good morning, Dan. Good to see you again.”

“And you, Ted,” Dan responded to Franchi.

“I’d like to introduce Hank Alverez. Hank is with the MexiCal Labor Services.”

Dan shook hands with Alverez and motioned for both to take a seat. Dan sat on the couch opposite them. “So, Ted, how’s the crop look this year?”

“Up about eight percent. It’s going to be a bumper harvest. That’s part of the reason for our visit. We’re going to need additional labor for harvest and transport, and Hank has contracted with us to provide temporary workers.”

“I see. Where will these workers come from, Mr. Alverez?” Dan asked.

“Throughout the state, Señor Rawlings. We will obtain our field laborers from other commercial concerns, where they are already employed.”

“
Documented
workers, Mr. Alverez?”

“Oh, sí, Señor.”

Dan reclaimed some notes from the credenza behind his desk, then returned to his seat. “Ted, I had a visit last week from the Bureau of Citizenship and Immigration Services, asking for our cooperation in locating farms where illegal immigrants are working.”

“I see,” Ted replied. “What’s immigration worried about in Yolo?”

“Same as everywhere. Illegal workers being preyed upon and jobs lost to local laborers. Will these additional workers be employed by the co-op?”

Franchi hesitated momentarily, glancing at Alverez. “No. As with most temporary workers, including those clerks you use here in the county building, they’ll work for a temporary agency. That’s where Hank comes in. MexiCal Labor Services will employ the workers and assign them out to us for the duration of the harvest.”

Great dodge, Dan thought. No taxes, no benefits—and deportation for anyone who complains. “I see. How can we help?”

“Housing. We’d like to contract with the county to house some of these workers in the facilities at the county fairgrounds. We’ll provide the bedding, but we’ll need the toilets and showers activated and electricity to the buildings turned on, including the kitchen facilities.”

“I see. As I recall, you’ve arranged this before, haven’t you, Ted? Before my time?”

“Yes, we have. Supervisor Hernandez put forth the first proposal about eight years ago, and since then, whenever we’ve needed to bring in a larger group of workers, the temporary housing has been provided at the fairgrounds.”

“Fine,” Dan said, standing. “I’ll add the proposal to the next agenda packet. Mr. Alverez, it’s been a pleasure meeting you. Please come again.”

The two men rose, and Ted offered his hand. “Thanks, Dan. Coming to Rotary today?”

Dan laughed. “We’ll have near perfect attendance. Everybody wants to see Senator Turner’s dog and pony show.”

“He makes a lot of sense, as proven by the election results. Californians are fed up with all the garbage rules and regulations coming out of Washington.”

“Could be, but killing a couple of federal judges who disagree with you seems a rather harsh approach, wouldn’t you say?”

“Turner didn’t kill anybody.”

“Really? His rhetoric goaded those who did, and they don’t need much goading, especially from a United States senator, to make them feel in the right. You know, my grandmother used to warn against throwing the baby out with the bath water. We still get some benefit from being part of this nation. Besides, the last time a state tried this, it brought on a devastating war.”

“Granted, we don’t want a war, but Washington saddles us with a lot of regulations and expensive welfare requirements for which we don’t get any federal money. I like Turner’s thinking, and so do millions of Californians.”

“I can’t argue with that,” Dan said, seeing them to the door and following them out into the foyer. “Thanks for coming.”

After Dan’s visitors entered the elevator, he stopped in Jim’s office and closed the door. As Dan took a seat on the couch, Jim looked up from the staff classification project he was working on and smiled.

“Days like this, do you wish you were a financially secure author?”

“I suppose I’d trade places with John Grisham—and he was once a humble lawyer, too,” Dan replied. “I don’t know, Jim. It seems we’re caught in the middle here.”

“How so?”

“Well, I just met with the rice co-op about housing for migrant workers. The Feds want California to crack down on illegals, but the farms in the county need the labor.”

Jim smiled again, leaning back in his chair and placing both hands behind his head. “That’s why they pay you the big bucks, and I get to do the staffing paperwork,” he drawled, nodding toward the stack of papers on his desk.

Taking a big breath and exhaling forcefully, Dan leaned back, resting his head on the couch. “Time was, as my grandfather says, when the
braceros
came up from Mexico legally, worked the fields through the harvest season, and earned enough money to last them through the winter. All that came to a halt years ago when many of them stopped going back to Mexico and became illegals. Now, we deny them the legal right to work, but at the same time covertly foster their
illegal
work to raise profit margins. Then we require our government agencies and schools to provide all health, welfare, and education services that they need, whether they’re here legally or not. It’s a lousy system, and it needs to be fixed.”

Jim stood and tucked in his shirttail. “Tell you what, Daniel. Let’s go see what Turner’s solutions are. Maybe he knows a way to make all these problems disappear,” he said, grinning. “He’s still drumming up support to overturn the court injunction against the governor proceeding with the secession.”

Dan also stood. “You know, only last week I was writing about one of my characters who lived in Utah during its pursuit for statehood. Originally, they thought they would be an independent nation, or state, calling themselves Deseret. That changed when the U.S. finally offered statehood.” Dan grew more serious. “Jim, what do you make of Turner’s platform about this secession? Posture or substance?”

“Posture, initially—at least before the primary elections. But, once the results were in, it took everyone by surprise. And then in November, it turned into a tidal wave. What was initially just a groundswell has practically become a mandate. Courts or no courts, we’re going to have to contend with it, and it’s going to hit the County Board sooner or later. The city council already addressed it last week. They voted to instruct the city manager to prepare Woodland for a transition to an independent republic. They’re already fighting amongst themselves for the revenues they expect to flow from Sacramento.”

“Yeah, I read their minutes. They’re a bit premature … I hope.”

Jim’s eyes narrowed, and his facial expression became sinister. “Politicians, Daniel, my boy. Politicians. They will be dead set for—or against—as soon as the polls are in. Situational Ethics 101. Didn’t they learn you nothin’ at Stanford?”

“Cynical, Mr. Thompson. Very cynical,” Rawlings said. “Well, let’s get over to Rotary in time to get a good seat where we can hear from the leader of ‘Turner’s Rebellion.’ That’s what they’re calling this in the press, in case you Wyoming boys can’t read. I’m beginning to feel like a colonist heading for a Thomas Paine lecture.”

Chapter 5

Woodland, California

The Woodland Rotary Club meeting was packed, the number in attendance bolstered by the many guests brought by members to hear Senator Turner. Ever since the state superior court had overturned the election results, preventing the governor from proceeding with the secession, Turner had stumped his way through California, voicing his support for an appeal to the California Supreme Court. While publicly decrying the murder of two of the three superior court judges who had issued the ruling, Turner nevertheless made certain his audiences knew that he thought the justices had been wrong. The California Supreme Court would rectify that, he always added.

Having been previously alerted by the senator’s staff, reporters from the
Sacramento Bee, Woodland Democrat,
and
Davis Enterprise
newspapers, as well as a film crew from the Sacramento CBS Television affiliate, Channel 13, were on hand to report on Senator Turner’s comments. His original call for secession had shocked even his staunchest supporters, and press pundits had initially dismissed it as a trial balloon in response to his younger, more energetic opponent. But now, having retained his senatorial seat in the November, 2010 elections, and with two successful statewide votes for secession behind him, that had all changed—dramatically.

Every speech given by the senator over the past month had been covered by the local and national press—as seen to by the senator’s public relations staff. Even two foreign journalists had taken to following the senator in an attempt to ascertain the basic reasons behind his call for secession—something Senator Turner had never even alluded to in his previous twenty-four years in office, including his three terms in the House of Representatives. His most recent campaign, however, as radical a departure as it had been, had been viewed as just that—a campaign. “Full of bluster and bravado,” as someone had said. Yet, now he had been elected for another six years and was
still
calling for the formation of an independent Republic of California and publicly castigating the courts that had declared its establishment unconstitutional.