“His blood was on the door of Jonathan’s SUV. No explaining that away if he were required to provide a DNA sample. So he had to go or else he might have ratted out his accomplices.”

“Was he required?”

“The real implication is if he wasn’t.”

With that cryptic comment, Ethel went back to checking text messages on her phone. Jesse wondered how high up this conspiracy could go. Bradshaw? Or Hauser, based on what Lisa had told him about the FBI director? He thought of Ethel’s admonition not to get ahead of the facts. Stick with the plan. He mentally braced himself for what lay ahead, beginning with his grasping the hands of a dead man.

Walthers Funeral Home was located on the outskirts of Richmond only a few miles from the Finch house. The two-story structure looked like its white sideboards had been freshly painted, and the yard was nicely landscaped with lawn intermixed with flowerbeds. A circular driveway looped through a porte cochere that extended from a wraparound porch. A small, empty parking lot was on one side, and a triple garage on the other. Mounted in a stone wall terracing a raised bed of colorful fall pansies was a bronze plaque reading “WALTHERS—SERVING RICHMOND SINCE 1925.”

“Park in the side lot,” Ethel said. “I don’t want to advertise our presence.”

Jesse pulled to a stop next to a handicap space. He retrieved his backpack and carried it by one strap.

“Pop the trunk,” Ethel said.

Jesse used the remote key fob, and the release clicked.

Ethel reached in and removed a wooden cane. The black sheen of its finish contrasted with the ornate silver handgrip. “Gives me a certain dignity, don’t you think?”

“Definitely.”

She winked. “And I want to be seen as future business. Make them a little more malleable to our request.”

Jesse closed the trunk. “And I’ll say as little as possible. Other than I’d appreciate a moment alone with my mentor, or should I say father figure?”

“Stick with mentor. Jonathan’s too young for a father figure.”

“Like an older brother,” Jesse suggested.

“Sounds good. So, let’s do this.” She walked up the handicap ramp to the porch, tapping her cane in time.

A sign covered by a plexiglass shield hung over the glowing button of a doorbell. It read, “Please ring for assistance.”

Ethel nodded her approval. “The Walthers must be available for grieving families day or night.” She pressed the button and held it a few seconds. A buzz sounded from inside the door and also from the floor above. “They must have multiple units throughout the house.”