Sanchez slid into the pew, followed by Colonel Harman, with General Del Valle taking a seat on the aisle.
Dan could see through the gathering that Mrs. McFarland sat on the front row of the right section. Two women, whom he took to be her sisters, were seated on either side of her, with her mother and mother-in-law on either side of the sisters. The remaining men of the family filled the outer edges of the pew. Kenny and his associates took seats toward the back, and as far as Dan could tell, Kenny had not noticed Dan’s presence.
The front of the chapel contained a large floral arrangement. In the center, directly below the dais, sat the closed coffin, draped with an American flag. A large photograph of Lieutenant Richard McFarland, in Army dress blues, was displayed on a raised tripod next to the casket. Dan felt the blood rush to his head and neck, his face suddenly warm and flushed. He took several deep breaths and willed himself to calm down. Then the National Guard chaplain, Major Alexander Butterman, stood behind the pulpit and motioned for all to rise. He waited for the shuffling to die down and commenced with an opening prayer, then motioned for all to be seated.
“It has often been stated,” Chaplain Butterman began in a low, soft voice, “that in time of peace, sons bury their fathers, and in time of war, fathers bury their sons. But our world has become more complicated, and war is not always as we once knew it. .”
Following the service, six platoon commanders, all young lieutenants, carried the casket with precision as the cortege followed them slowly across the soft, grassy field to the burial site. There, Lieutenant McFarland’s family sat next to the open grave, beneath a green canopy, on two rows of folding chairs. Surrounding the site was a large crowd of both civilians and uniformed men and women of the California National Guard. To one side, a hundred yards away and standing on a gentle rise beneath a small grove of trees, was an honor guard of seven soldiers, standing at parade rest, their rifles held at order arms, the stock grounded beside their right legs.
The graveside service was brief as General Del Valle spoke to the assembled crowd about duty, honor, and country. His remarks echoed those of Chaplain Butterman, who had reviled the cowardly act that had taken the life of a brave young American soldier. Concluding his remarks, General Del Valle stepped back into the throng, and the first volley of rifle fire rang out across the field. An involuntary shudder rippled through the crowd at the expected, but startling sound. Two additional volleys rang out, completing the twenty-one gun salute to a fallen soldier. Mrs. McFarland stifled a sob and laid her head on her father’s shoulder. The older man, proudly wearing his blue-and-gold VFW cap, wrapped his arm around his daughter and wiped at his own eyes with a handkerchief.
Finally, McFarland’s company commander, Captain Everton, accepted the folded, tri-cornered flag from the pallbearers, and, in a precise movement, stepped toward the young widow, coming to attention directly in front of her. Everton leaned down and presented the flag to the woman, mouthing a few words not heard beyond several feet. He returned to attention and rendered a slow, deliberate salute. Then he turned on his heel and resumed his position with the pallbearers.
Dan experienced a quick flash of himself sitting in the widower’s position at Susan’s funeral. His temples began to pound as his heart raced, sweat beads broke out on his forehead, and again he breathed deeply, willing himself to control his thoughts and emotions.
As the crowd began to disperse, Dan decided not to pass through the line and offer his condolences. Choosing instead the solitude of his vehicle, he walked alone across the lawn toward the parking lot. When someone fell into step alongside him, he wasn’t at first aware that it was Special Agent Nicole Bentley.
“Good afternoon, Captain Rawlings. Do you know the Chili’s restaurant on Madison and I-80?”
“I do,” he replied, startled by her unexpected appearance.
“Could you meet me there in twenty minutes? Please?” she asked.
“Yes,” he said, nodding as she turned away, moving to where her car was parked.
Dan arrived first and was drinking a glass of lemonade when Agent Bentley entered the restaurant. She looked around and spotted Dan sitting in a booth at the rear. As she walked toward him, Dan felt a twinge of nostalgia, remembering several times when he had met Susan at this same restaurant. Nicole Bentley looked nothing like Susan, but still, here he was, sitting in a booth, waiting for a beautiful woman to join him.
Bentley was wearing something more feminine than the dark business suit he had seen her in before- perhaps, Dan thought, to blend in with the crowd of mourners at McFarland’s funeral. She wore a light-colored knit skirt and matching jacket over a light blue blouse-buttoned up the front-and sandals. Her dark hair, cut short, was slightly windblown, but as she neared the table, he noticed that she had freshened her lipstick.
He stood as Agent Bentley approached and smiled to himself, remembering how Susan had often surprised him by wearing a new outfit or a changed hairdo. Susan had told Dan early in their relationship that her father had never paid any attention to what her mother wore, nor complimented her on her appearance. Dan had picked up on that and had made it a point to notice whenever Susan got a haircut or bought new clothes. It became something of a game with them, spotting anything new before she closed the door to their apartment in Susanville. Susan loved his attentiveness and had relished the pride her husband took in her appearance.
“Thanks for meeting with me,” Bentley said as she slid into the other side of the booth.
“My pleasure, Agent Bentley,” Dan replied. “Something to drink?”
She glanced at his glass. “The lemonade looks good,” she answered. Dan motioned to the waitress a few tables away and pointed to his glass, holding up two fingers, which she acknowledged with a wave of her hand.
“So, how can I be of assistance?” Dan asked, sitting down.
“I presume you noticed your brother-in-law at the funeral.”
Dan nodded. “I did, but we didn’t speak. How did you know. .?”
Nicole smiled and ran her fingers through her hair, teasing the windblown look. “I’ve done my homework, Captain Rawlings.”
“Would that I were as up-to-date.”
“Excuse me?”
“Well, I mean, you know something about me, but I know nothing about you.”
“That’s the way I like it,” she smiled again. “When did you last speak to Kenny?”
“Wednesday.”
Nicole’s eyebrows raised, and Dan laughed.
“Yeah, I guess it’s peculiar for someone to know exactly when he last spoke with someone else-especially when I seldom meet with Kenny, but Sheriff Sanchez asked me to check with Kenny about an item that was found at the crime scene.”
“The silver toothpick?” she said as the waitress delivered a glass of lemonade.
“Yes,” Dan replied, not surprised that she knew about the evidence.
“And. .?” she asked, peeling the wrapping off a straw.
“And he said he lost it on a camping trip two weeks ago.”
“I see,” Nicole said. “Do you believe him?”
“What you mean is, do I think he participated in the killing of Lieutenant McFarland.”
“Perhaps that
“I hope not, Agent Bentley. His parents are two very fine people who have suffered enough grief, what with their daughter-my wife-dying two years ago. Can you imagine how his mother would feel if her son turned out to be a murderer?”
“Captain Rawlings, everyone on death row has, or had, a mother.”
“I guess so,” he said, continuing to stir the ice in his drink. “So, how can I help you today?”
“I was wondering if you could come into our San Francisco office and look over some mug shots.”
“Today?”
“No, early next week, if possible.”
“What are we looking for?”
“You’ve lived in Yolo County most of your life. I thought you might recognize someone in the photos we’ve taken of the members of the militia and could help us with background.”
“Yeah. I could do that, I suppose. Any particular day?”
“How about Tuesday?”
“Fine. Tuesday would suit me. Late morning?”
“Good,” Nicole replied, finishing her drink and standing. She took a dollar from her purse and left it on the table. “Until Tuesday, then.”
“Agent Bentley,” Dan said, also rising and picking up the check, “will I find my picture in those mug shots?”
