'And the press?' Though I knew he was suffering, I could force no warmth into my voice. His disloyalty had hurt me, professionaly and personaly.

'That wil come. I must determine how best to handle it.'

Best for whom? I wondered.

'If it's any consolation, Earl Bliss acted on my orders. He never believed anything against you.'

'Most who know me did not.'

He released my arm but his eyes held firm. Overnight he'd come to look like a tired old man.

'Tempe, I was trained as a military man. I believe in respecting the chain of command and carrying out the lawful orders of my superiors. That predisposition led me not to question things I should have questioned. The abuse of power is a terrible thing. Failure to resist corrupting pressure is equaly contemptible. It's time for this old dog to rouse and get off the porch.'

I felt a deep sadness as I watched him leave. Larke and I had been friends for many years. I wondered if we could ever be friends again.

As I made coffee, my thoughts shifted to Simon Midkiff. Of course. It al made sense. His intense interest in the crash site. The lies about excavating in Swain County. The photo with Parker Davenport at Charlie Wayne Tramper's funeral. He was one of them.

A sudden flashback. The black Volvo that had almost run me down. The man at the wheel had looked vaguely familiar. Could it have been Simon Midkiff?

===OO=OOO=OO===

I was completing my report on Edna Farrel when my cel phone rang a second time.

'Sir Francis Dashwood was a prolific guy.'

The statement came from a different galaxy than the one in which my mind was orbiting.

'I'm sorry?'

'It's Anne. I was organizing stuff from our London trip and came across a pamphlet Ted bought at the West Wycombe caves.'

'Anne, this is not—'

'There are gobs of Dashwoods stil around.'

'Gobs?'

'Descendants of Sir Francis, later known as Lord Le Despencer, of course. Just for fun I popped the name Prentice Dashwood into a genealogical site where I'm registered. I couldn't believe how many hits I got. One was particularly interesting.'

I waited.

Nothing.

I cracked.

'Do we do this with twenty questions?'

'Prentice Elmore Dashwood, one of Sir Frank's many descendants, left England in 1921. He opened a haberdashery in Albany, New York, made bundles of money, and eventualy retired.'

'That's it?'

'During his years in America, Dashwood wrote and self-published dozens of pamphlets, one of which recounted tales of his great-great-great-something, Sir Francis Dashwood the Second.'

'And the other pamphlets?' If I didn't ask, this would take forever.