8:42 A.M.
NORTHWEST OF
REDDING, CALIFORNIA
Faith drove her gray Hyundai Elantra rental car down the winding dirt road. On either side of her, thirty yards away, a solid forest of evergreens blocked out any signs of civilization. She went up and down a ridge, and a sprawling ranch home came into view five hundred feet ahead.
A generous swath of green, manicured lawn rolled out to greet visitors at the end of the turnaround driveway, split-rail fences marking the dividing line between the different terrains. Similar patches of luxurious grass went along both sides of the house before disappearing into a sea of dark-green pines behind the dwelling.
Faith made a right and parked the car in front of a gap between two sections of weathered wooden fencing. She climbed out of the mid-size rental, faced the house, and spotted a mid-fifties man in blue jeans and a red flannel shirt off to her one o’clock.
Coming from behind the house, a taller, leaner, younger man wearing overalls and work boots—bare chested under the straps holding up his clothing—pushed a wheelbarrow toward the older gentleman.
Making the trip up the sloping landscape, she saw a beautiful vista of trees and a distant mountain materialize before her. When she reached the man with the shovel, she gazed beyond him and saw parts of a valley over the treetops.
“May I help you, ma’am?”
Faith blinked a couple times to block out the scenery and refocus on why she was here. “I’m hoping so. Are you Mister William Hammerstein?”
He pushed the shovel into the ground near the toes of his cowboy boots, crossed hands over the end of the handle, and let the tool support some of his weight. “Last time I checked.” He poked his chin at her. “And who might you be, little lady?”
“This little lady’s a,” observing his features—gray-haired stubble covering cheeks and chin, pointy nose, wild salt-and-pepper eyebrows, and gray hair sticking out from under the band of a straw cowboy hat—she pulled back the right half of her short, waist-length burgundy leather jacket, “United States Deputy Marshal. Faith Mahoney.”
Hammerstein glimpsed the badge on her belt before studying the shiny pistol just behind it. He cleared his throat and went back to work sticking the shovel into grass and depositing the sod into the empty wheelbarrow.
‘Overalls’ adjusted the gloves on his hands and joined Hammerstein in the task at hand while casting glances at the visitor.
“I understand you work for Barker National Bank. You’re a Senior District Manager there. Is that right?”
“May I ask what this is about?”
“I’d like to ask you a few questions about a string of robberies at three different banks...all of which are owned by Barker.”
Hammerstein cleared his throat again. “Which branches would you be referring to?”
Taken aback by the query, Faith paused. “The two where the robberies just took place in the last few days as well as the one in Redding last year. I would think you’d remember, since you were working at those locations at the time of the thefts.”
Nodding, he drove his spade into the loose dirt like a spear and peeled off his gloves. “Look,” he picked up a bottle of water from a stack of landscape timbers and twisted off the top, “why don’t you just come out and ask me what you came here to ask me, little lady.” He took a drink, screwed on the cap, and tossed the bottle. “I’ve been through this multiple times, and nobody’s yet to find me guilty of anything.”
“All right.” Faith shoved fingers into back pockets and shifted her weight to her right foot. “Did you have anything to do with those bank robberies, specifically in providing information on delivery schedules to those who perpetrated the crimes?”
“No.” He cleared his throat. “I did not. Are we done now?”
Noting the repeated throat-clearing, a possible nervous tick brought on by lying, Faith took another approach. “What about your son?”
Hammerstein stood taller. “What about him?”
“Did he have anything to do with the heists?”
“You’ll have to ask him that question.”
“I’d love to. Can you tell me where I can find Mister Duke Hammer?”
Hammerstein confronted the deputy marshal for a long moment then hefted his shovel out of the ground. “Haven’t spoken to him in quite some time.”
“Not what I asked you.”
Hammerstein sighed. “I believe he has a place over in Spokane.”
“Why did your son change his name?”
“I’m sure you’ve done your homework, and you know what happened to him overseas.”
“To him? Don’t you mean what he did...as in going on a rampage and murdering innocent civilians?”
The shovel in his hands whipping around with him, Hammerstein whirled on her. “He was...”
Seeing the point of the tool coming toward her, Faith slid her right foot backward and reached for her weapon.
The visibly rattled Hammerstein jammed the shovel into the ground. “...found not guilty on all charges.”
She dipped her forehead toward the man whose pale cheeks were now turning red. “Thanks to you spending a whole bunch of money and political influence.”
Hammerstein huffed and turned away from her while letting the shovel sag in his grip. “It’s because of people like you, hounding us day and night, that my wife drank herself into an early grave.”
“I thought she died in a car accident.”
“She did. Two years ago. Got behind the wheel on a rainy night after having too many beers. Drove off the side of the mountain,” he gestured, “not more than a mile from here.”
Faith recalled reading the accident report which had stated the victim’s blood alcohol level had been three times the legal limit. “So, she had a drinking problem?”
“Not until all the reporters and cops started coming around and asking their questions.” He hung his head and stared at his boots for a good twenty seconds. “As long as I live,” he faltered, “I will never forget that night. It’s a date that’s burned into my brain.”
“I’m sorry for your loss. That must’ve been—”
Hammerstein lifted his head to glare at Faith. “You don’t get to do that.” He shook his head. “No. No. You,” he gritted his teeth, “you...” A beat. “We’re done here.” He jabbed his chin toward the driveway. “Get back in your car over there and get the hell off my property.”
Faith watched him poke the spade into the ground then drive his foot down on top of the curled lip.
The steel disappeared into the grass.
After seeing him slam a heap of grass and dirt into the wheelbarrow, she spun on her heels and strode toward her rental, her mind trying to process his words, his actions. Outside of him clearing his throat several times, she could not find a solid clue to his guilt.
She climbed into the Elantra, fired up the engine, and drove away, her heart whispering in her ear that she might have pushed the still-grieving man too hard. Her right hand on the wheel, she washed her free hand down her face before scratching her cheek. I don’t know. Maybe he’s innocent in all this, and I’m just trying to find something where there isn’t anything to be found.
Reaching the crest of the hill, she glimpsed the rearview mirror and saw a reflection of Hammerstein and Overalls standing shoulder to shoulder. Both men were staring back at her, as the car took the downward slope. In the next instant, the men disappeared from her sight, her gut twitched, and the hairs on the back of her neck stood up. Then again...
∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞
.