“He’s taking it personally.” She’d reach out to him after work, listen to his frustrations. She understood how he felt—she often took cases personally. Sometimes, she couldn’t avoid it. But she recognized that the more personal, the more likely one could make mistakes—that tunnel vision could cloud judgment or how one viewed evidence.

Nate continued, “While you were talking to Ash, I tracked down Henry Kiefer. He’s now the general manager for a quarry in Bandera. Used to run a multi-million-dollar construction company, now makes mid–five figures working for someone else.”

“Because of the embezzlement?”

“I skimmed a couple news articles, but I don’t think they explain the whole picture. In essence, he took a contract from the federal government for a major public works project. He’d already ordered supplies and paid for permits and fees and a bunch of stuff, hired additional staff, and started work. When the bills came due, there was no money to pay for them—I don’t know if that was why he hired the auditor, or if that was just standard practice and it spooked Albright.”

“And he kills her whole family?”

“Don’t know, but we’ve both seen worse.”

Nate was right about that.

They decided not to call ahead. While on the surface it didn’t seem plausible that Kiefer would kill an entire family out of rage over stolen money—and not get the money back—they couldn’t discount that he might be violent. It was sometimes better to get a first reaction.

It was less than thirty minutes to Henry Kiefer’s workplace. They arrived just after eleven that morning and showed their badges. Kiefer was out in the quarry, and it took a good ten minutes before he arrived in the crowded, but functional, office.

“FBI?” he said, and shook their hands. “Henry Kiefer. What can I do for you?”

“Is there a place we can sit and talk?” Lucy asked.

He glanced around. “I have a desk in that room, but it’s tight. This would be better.” He leaned against a table piled high with papers, then he suddenly stood straight, his face ashen. “Did something happen to my girl?”

“No, sir,” Nate said. He nodded toward a family photo on the wall with Kiefer and a young woman in a Marine uniform. “Your daughter is a Marine?”

“Yes, twelve years now, went through ROTC at Texas Tech with a double major in computer science and mathematics. She’s a smart girl, now a major. Major Paulina Kiefer. I didn’t think when they said FBI—”

“We’re not here about your daughter, I’m sure she’s fine,” Nate said. “Is she deployed?”