he said as they entered the house. “You got my money?” the woman said, recognizing Dahlgren as the man who had first met with her. “We’ll take care of you, not to worry,” he said. “You said we’d be here two days, three at most. It’s been near on to a week. I want more money,” she said. “Shut up. I said you’d be taken care of. Tim,” he said to the young boy, “you’ve done a fine job here. Help load out the weapons and then get out.” “Yes, sir,” the boy replied. In ten minutes, two of the vehicles were gone, one with weapons loaded under a thick tarpaulin and one with two dead ATF agents bouncing in the truck bed. Only Captain Dahlgren remained, his Jeep Cherokee parked over the crest of a hill behind the cabin. “Get your purse, and I’ll take you back into Redding,” he said to the woman. As she turned to pick it up, without hesitation, Dahlgren fired a shot into the back of her head, instantly dropping her to the floor. He looked for a moment at the two smaller children, both too young to be aware of what had transpired.
