She skipped the photos some kind soul had sent her of her father’s funeral. He’d obviously been trying to curry Mr. Hoover’s favor, as J. Edgar appeared in most of them. Ethel looked through the years of faces of those who had lived in this house. She stopped at Frank Mancini. He was a little thinner, his hair a little thicker. Then came Rudy Hauser, ambitious from the start, destined to one day lead the Bureau. Bradshaw overlapped him by a year. He was Secret Service, but just as ambitious. Anything that hinted at competition pitted the two against each other. Some people, like some things, never change.

She stopped at Jonathan Finch’s photo. The color had yet to fade. He was young and thin. She remembered the day he’d told her he’d become engaged. She brushed the protective sleeve as if trying to stroke his face, trying to touch his forever smile. She came to the end, where a fresh page was ready. When this was over, she’d have to add Douglas and Lisa. And, of course, Jesse. She had the feeling he could hold his own with any of them.

She flipped back to the photo of her with her father and the old Cessna. His death was as real to her as the book in her hand. Integrity, fairness, justice. She’d lived long enough to know they aren’t absolutes. Context cannot be ignored. Her father would understand.

At least she hoped he would.

Chapter 27

Ethel carefully slid the scrapbook back onto the top shelf, folded the stepladder, and closed the closet door. Again, she felt a little dizzy, but not to the extent she had earlier.

Other than her abbreviated workout, she hadn’t been physically active. Yet her mind had been racing since Detective Mancini’s dawn phone call. The scrapbook had been a brief diversion from the troublesome events of the past few days until her final thoughts about her father brought them back again. Fifty-five years ago, the Bureau had hushed up the fact that an inside betrayer had caused her father’s murder on that lonely West Virginia road. Then they’d hushed up the fact that Ethel had killed that betrayer. J. Edgar Hoover didn’t like the Bureau’s dirty laundry being made public. Would the same thing happen again?

Ethel checked the time. Two o’clock. Jesse wouldn’t be back from class till after four. Maybe she’d rest on the bed and close her eyes for a few minutes.

She’d just laid her head on the pillow when her computer chimed that a new email had arrived. She moved to her desk. The sender was Cory Bradshaw with a short message:

Here they are. Get back to me immediately.