Ethel saw a flicker of movement at the door behind Lisa. “Wait. Hear me out. For all your smarts, you made some dumb mistakes. Faking the break-in was the first. You broke the window after you knocked Jesse out. I saw the photos of what you cleaned up before I got home. Jesse might not have noticed because he was worried about the money in the basement, but he would have had to step over some of the peripheral specks of glass that landed farthest from the door. Glass particles that should have stuck to his socks. Yet his socks were clean.”

Lisa forced a laugh. “That’s your proof? Socks?”

“That’s what made me suspicious. So, I tossed out a little lie. I told you, and only you, that Director Bradshaw was requiring all of the counterfeit team to give a DNA sample. That he was looking for an internal match to the blood in Jonathan’s SUV. That wasn’t true. Bradshaw hadn’t said that. And the FDDU, that’s the Federal DNA Database Unit,” she said for Susan’s benefit, “the FDDU doesn’t keep agent DNA profiles. You know those are only taken if a crime scene could have been contaminated by an agent, and investigators need to rule out the errant sample.

“So, I told you the lie over our evening banana ritual, and the next morning Trevor Norwood was found dead with the missing money. How easily you could have slipped out in the middle of the night, driven the few miles to Roosevelt Island Park, and eliminated your perceived threat.”

Ethel looked at the body of O’Hara. “And then there’s your partner’s dying whisper. ‘She shot me.’ He was still surprised as he died.”

“You’re making all this up. You’re trying to keep the money, aren’t you?”

“No. I’m happy to wait for Rudy Hauser. After all, you did call him, didn’t you?”

The noise of the plane grew louder. It seemed to be circling before a final approach.

Lisa’s eyes narrowed. “All right. No more games.” She waved the gun between Ethel and Susan. “I can shoot you both and take what I want from Jesse. And there’s always the boy.”

“Ethel?” Susan Finch’s frantic plea rose to a wail.

Ethel lowered O’Hara’s pistol to the floor. “All right, Lisa, you win. But there’s been enough killing, hasn’t there?”

“I only did what I had to do. We had no idea Jonathan Finch was the one selling the Bitcoins.” She glanced at Susan. “No one was supposed to die.”

“Don’t kid yourself,” Ethel said. “You shot Norwood and O’Hara in cold blood. And for what?”