“That’s the one. What do you know about it?”

“I found mention of it in an article on secret societies at the University of Virginia. I didn’t follow through because it didn’t seem like a big deal.”

“Do you know who wrote the article?”

“A professor at UVA. I’ll give you his name and number.”

She jotted the information down, told Stocker she would be in touch, and relayed her findings to the Trouts. Gamay wasted no time getting the professor on the phone.

“Good news,” she said after hanging up. “The professor would be glad to see us between classes, but we’ll have to hurry.”

Trout pressed the accelerator and the wide-bodied vehicle picked up speed.

“Next stop, University of Virginia.”

NUMA 7 - The Navigator

Chapter 39

THE WIDOW OF THE DEAD wreck diver lived in a square, three-story house that may have once been elegant before years of neglect took a toll. The antique yellow paint was flaked and peeling. Shutters hung off at drunken angles. The air of dilapidation stopped at the freshly mowed front lawn and the neat flower beds along the foundation.

Austin pressed the front doorbell. Hearing no chimes, he rapped his knuckles on the door. No one answered. He knocked as loud as he could without breaking the door down.

“Coming!” A white-haired woman emerged from around a corner of the house. “Sorry,” she said with a bright smile. “I was out in the garden.”

“Mrs. Hutchins?” Austin said.

“Call me Thelma.”

She brushed the dirt off her hands and extended one to Austin and then to Zavala. Her palm was calloused and her grip surprisingly firm.

Austin and Zavala introduced themselves.

She narrowed her flinty blue eyes in a squint. “You didn’t tell me when you called that you were good-looking,” Thelma said with a grin. “I would have gussied up instead of looking like an old mud hen. So you found Hutch’s helmet.”

Austin pointed to the Cherokee parked in front of the house. “It’s in the back of the Jeep.”

Thelma strode purposely down the walk and opened the car’s hatch. The marine vegetation had been removed, and the brass and copper gleamed in the sunlight.

Thelma caressed the top of the helmet with her fingers. “That’s Hutch’s brain bucket, all right,” she said, brushing a tear from her eye. “Is he still down there?”

Austin remembered the grinning skull. “I’m afraid so. Do you want us to notify the Coast Guard so they can bring his remains up for burial?”

Thelma said, “Let the old coot be. They’d plant his bones in the ground. He’d hate that. I’ve had two husbands since then, bless their hearts, but Hutch was the first and the best. I couldn’t do that to him. C’mon out back. We’ll have our own memorial service.”