The director disconnected. Having sources in other agencies was all part of the game. He knew Cory Bradshaw had his own communication lines into the Bureau. So, Jonathan Finch had been shot. A local murder with huge implications.

Hauser speed-dialed his office in the Hoover Building. One of his immediate staff would be on duty. He bypassed the switchboard, and his number was recognized.

“Sir, Agent Sims here.”

“Tony, pull me everything you can on a Secret Service agent named Jonathan Finch. I’ll want whatever you can get as soon as possible.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Tony, this is not an official request. Nothing in writing yet.”

“Understood, sir.”

“And one more thing. See what you can learn about an Ethel Fiona Crestwater on North Highland Street in Arlington. She rents rooms to agents, and I’d like to know if we have anyone currently staying there.” He ended the call.

Jonathan Finch. A name he knew well. A man who could have the key to twenty million dollars.

Chapter 10

The gray government sedan pulled onto the concrete driveway of a brick ranch home in the Spottswood Park neighborhood of Richmond. In the carport was a green Subaru Forester.

“Good,” Bradshaw said. “Someone’s home.” He glanced at his wristwatch. “Ten thirty. Their son should be in school.”

“Maybe,” Ethel whispered, “but he does have special needs.” She sat in the back seat beside the Secret Service director. She’d chosen a navy blue pantsuit to look respectful, not her charcoal one that would visibly foreshadow a funeral. But now she worried she looked too much like a government agent, only missing a flag lapel pin to complete the image. She was there as Jonathan’s friend.

Bradshaw opened his own door, telling the driver to stay in the car. Then he opened Ethel’s and offered his arm as she stepped out.

“Thank you. I’ll be fine.” She turned, deciding to leave her purse with her cell phone on the seat. She didn’t want any annoying vibrations interrupting what she knew would be a traumatic event.

Side by side, they walked to the front door.

“I’ll first ask if we can come in,” Bradshaw said. “Try and avoid breaking the news out here on the threshold.”

Ethel nodded and let Bradshaw press the bell. A chime sounded from somewhere in the house.

Light footsteps drew nearer, and then the door opened.

Susan Finch smiled as her hazel eyes lit first on Ethel. She wore black jeans and an untucked, oversized white shirt with the sleeves rolled back, one of her husband’s now too frayed to wear for work.

“Ethel?” The first syllable came out with delighted surprise. The second trailed off in fear. She focused on Bradshaw.

“Mrs. Finch,” Bradshaw said softly, “may we come inside?”

Susan’s face paled and then crumpled as she scrunched her eyes shut trying to block out the two faces, trying in vain to hold back the tears.