CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
The drive north took them through increasingly sparse neighborhoods until the urban sprawl gave way to rolling hills dotted with scrub oak and manzanita. Vic navigated the winding two-lane road while Miles worked on his laptop, the screen bouncing slightly with each curve and bump.
"Find anything useful?" Vic asked, glancing over at the passenger seat.
"Was it still producing then?"
"No, production had stopped years earlier.
But Larry saw tourist potential. He reopened it as the 'Hartwell Hole Experience.
' Underground tours, gold panning demonstrations, the whole nine yards.
" Miles clicked through to another page.
"Looks like it was moderately successful through the eighties and early nineties.
Family-friendly attraction, school field trips, that sort of thing. "
Vic slowed as they approached a weathered wooden sign barely visible through overgrown vegetation. "What happened to shut it down?"
"Insurance costs, mostly. Plus some safety concerns after a minor cave-in in '97 when a pair of twenty-somethings went in looking for gold.
No one was hurt, but it spooked the insurance company.
" Miles then moved on to another article.
"Larry Hartwell died in 2003, and his daughter Diana inherited the property.
She closed the tourist operation permanently almost right away. "
"Diana Hartwell." Vic turned onto a dirt road that seemed to lead nowhere. "What else can you find about her?"
Miles typed rapidly and scanned as Vic drove.
"Not much online. She's kept a low profile since closing the mine. No social media presence that I can find. No recent news articles. But…interestingly enough, there is a result for the Golden Gate Museum of Natural History. Looks like she’d been on staff for about fifteen years, according to this staff directory. "
"What's her position?"
"Curator. Specializes in geological exhibits." Miles looked up from the screen, considering. "So, a museum curator with access to gold specimens and expert knowledge of San Francisco's mining history."
"Someone who'd understand the symbolic significance of gold in the city's development," Vic agreed. "And someone with legitimate reasons to handle gold professionally."
“Diana is checking a whole lot of boxes.”
The dirt road curved around a small hill, and suddenly they could see their destination.
The land spread out before them, flat and featureless except for patches of yellowed grass and scattered boulders.
In the distance, a deteriorating forest of oak and pine created a natural barrier.
Miles wasn’t certain, but he assumed that somewhere beyond that lay the actual mine shafts.
A modest single-story house sat near the front of the property, its paint faded and siding warped from years of weather.
A few outbuildings clustered nearby—a barn, a storage shed, what might have been a gift shop in better days.
The whole place had the melancholy air of abandoned dreams. It looked like a remnant from a ghost town but with a warm, nostalgic charm.
Vic parked near the house and they climbed out, shoes crunching on the gravel driveway.
The afternoon sun felt warm on Miles's shoulders, but there was something desolate about the silence.
No birds, no insects, just the whisper of wind through dry grass.
A lone Toyota pickup truck was parked in the dusty driveway.
They approached the front door of the house, noting the drawn curtains and general appearance of emptiness.
There were clear indications of recent activity—a watering can beneath flowerboxes on the windows, and a pair of old, tattered boots by the front door.
Vic knocked firmly on the door, the sound echoing off the porch roof.
They waited, knocked again, but no response came from within.
"Nobody home," Miles said, stating the obvious.
"Or they're just not answering." Vic walked to a window and peered through a gap in the curtains. "Looks empty, though. No lights, no movement."
A voice behind them made them both turn. "Can I help you folks?"
A man in his sixties approached from the direction of the barn, wiping his hands on a grease-stained rag. He wore work clothes that had seen better decades and a John Deere cap pulled low over weathered features. His gait suggested a lifetime of physical labor, but his eyes were sharp and alert.
"FBI," Vic said, showing her badge. "I'm Special Agent Stone, this is Dr. Sterling. We're looking for Diana Hartwell."
The man nodded, unsurprised by their presence. He removed his hat and held it by his side. "Sam Ragland. I work the land here, have since Larry took it over in the seventies." He gestured toward the house. "Diana's not here, though. She's at work."
"At the museum?" Miles asked.
"That’s right. Golden Gate Museum of Natural History. She's a curator there. Rocks and minerals and such." Sam tucked the rag into his back pocket. "Been there for years. Usually doesn't get home until after six on weekdays."
“And what is it you do around here, Mr. Ragland?”
He chuckled and said, “Not much. I’m starting to think Diana only keeps me on as a reminder of her dad.
I was close with him. I used to keep the behind-the-scenes doings for the tours running.
But for the last…God, the last twenty years almost, I’m little more than a handyman.
I cut the grass, keep the old barns and sheds stable.
Last week I fixed the dishwasher in the kitchen. Shit like that, you know?”
"Mr. Ragland, do you mind if we ask you a few questions about the property?” Vic asked.
“Not at all,” Ragland said, taking a seat on one of the porch steps.
“Have you noticed any unusual activity lately? Strangers coming around, anything like that?"
Ragland’s expression grew thoughtful. "Can't say I have. Pretty quiet out here most days. Just me and Diana, and she keeps to herself."
"What about the old mine shafts?" Miles asked. "Are they still accessible?"
"Oh sure…well, the main shaft anyway. Diana's got it all sealed up properly for safety, but she goes down there from time to time." He pointed toward the deteriorating forest behind the property. "Mines are back that way, maybe half a mile through the trees."
"She goes down into the mines?" Vic's voice carried a note of increased interest.
"Yeah, every few weeks or so. I suppose she goes out there sometimes to remember her father and the better days.
" Sam's expression grew wistful. "This place was something special back then.
Families would come from all over the Bay Area.
Kids loved the underground tour, and Larry was a natural showman.
Could spin stories about the Gold Rush that'd make your hair stand on end. "
Miles felt pieces clicking together in his mind. "What happened to change that?"
Ragland’s face darkened. "Corporate greed, plain and simple. Around the mid-nineties, some development company got interested in this land. Prime location, they said. Perfect for a resort or housing development. Larry wouldn't sell, though. This place meant everything to him."
"So they gave up?" Vic asked.
"Hell no. Started playing dirty. Inspectors showing up unannounced, looking for violations.
Permits getting delayed or denied for no good reason.
Anonymous complaints to the county about safety issues.
" Sam spat into the dust. "They were trying to force Larry out, make it too expensive and too much hassle to keep operating. "
"Did it work?"
"Eventually. Between the insurance costs and all the regulatory pressure, Larry couldn't afford to keep the place going for the tourists.
Broke his heart, really. He died just a few years after closing it down.
" Ragland looked toward the distant forest. "Diana's never gotten over what they did to her family. Can't say I blame her."
Miles exchanged a meaningful look with Vic. A person with deep resentment toward corporate greed, expert knowledge of gold, and access to the very substance being used in the murders. The profile was becoming clearer.
"Mr. Ragland," Miles said carefully, "do you think there's still gold in those mines?"
The old man winked at them, a conspiratorial gleam in his eyes.
"Officially…no. But between the three of us, yeah, there is. I doubt there’s much, but Diana showed me some that she pulled out of there just a few weeks ago.
Nice chunks too, not just dust and flakes.
I imagine she went down one of the old tunnels and found a vein of it.
Larry, he went down there and puttered around for time to time and I think he had some luck, too. "
Miles felt his pulse quicken. "So you think Diana has been extracting gold recently?"
"Yeah. But not for profit or anything. Just enough to satisfy her curiosity, I think. She's got her father's appreciation for the stuff. Always said gold tells the story of California better than any history book. I think it’s like a hobby for her, you know?"
Vic stepped closer. "How much gold would you estimate she's pulled out over the years?"
Sam scratched his chin thoughtfully. "Hard to say.
She doesn't talk about it much, and I don't pry.
But she's got proper equipment down there—sluices, pans, even a small rock crusher Larry installed back in the day.
If she wanted to extract significant quantities, she'd have the means if she knew where to look. "
"And no one would question her having it," Miles added quietly.
"Why would they? It's her land, her gold. Been in the family for thirty years." Sam looked between them with growing curiosity. "And like I said, she’s not profiteering off of it anyway. So…what's this all about? Is Diana in some kind of trouble?"
"We're just following up on some leads," Vic said diplomatically. "Nothing concrete yet."
But Miles could see in her expression that they both understood the significance of what they'd learned.
Diana Hartwell had motive—deep resentment toward the kind of corporate greed their victims represented.
She also had the means to access significant quantities of untraceable gold and the knowledge to process it.
And she had opportunity: a job at a museum that would give her cover for possessing and working with gold, plus detailed knowledge of the city's mining history.
And as Miles considered it all, he also supposed that working at such a position in a museum might also give her at least periodic access to high-profile people from time to time.
"Mr. Ragland, thank you for your time," Vic said, pulling out a business card. "If you think of anything else unusual, or if Diana mentions anything about recent visitors or people coming by with questions about the mine, please give us a call."
Sam Ragland took the card and squinted at it. "You think Diana's mixed up in something bad?"
"We're just being thorough," Miles said. "Covering all our bases."
As they walked back to the car, Ragland called after them. "You want me to tell Diana you came by?"
Vic paused with her hand on the door handle. "That won't be necessary. We'll catch up with her ourselves."
Once they were back in the car, Miles instantly turned to Vic. "Tell me you're thinking what I'm thinking."
"I’m thinking Diana Hartwell just became our prime suspect." Vic started the engine and started down the driveway toward the main road.
"And she's been extracting gold recently," Miles added. "Which, if I’m being honest, I didn’t think would be possible in these old mines anymore.”
As they reached the paved road and turned back toward the city, Miles felt a tingle of what he supposed was apprehension, but almost felt like fear.
Everything about Diana Hartwell aligned with what they were looking for in a killer.
If they were right, they were on a crash course with a devious murderer.
But if they were wrong…well, Miles had no doubt that he’d be back in Virginia at this time tomorrow while a killer remained at large.