Cullifer looked thoughtful. “Tell the world what he did—I told him it would mean the end of his career, it would mean a huge scandal, a lawsuit to break the bank, it would have meant beggaring the estate, depending on the sharks the little girl’s family hired. But most of all, I told him he would be tried and convicted of vehicular homicide and go to jail.

“Of course he knew all this. He also fully realized his family would be dragged into it—Laurel and Stefanos, and Quincy, all his staff on the Hill, me because I’ve been his lawyer for nearly forever.”

Jack said, “Regardless, someone took it upon him- or herself to silence him. Rachael is convinced it’s Laurel and Quincy.”

Brady asked, “You’re certain only these people knew what he was preparing to do?”

“As far as we know,” Jack said.

“This was why Jimmy had stopped drinking and driving his car?”

Rachael nodded. “After he killed the little girl, he never took another drink, and never drove his car again. That’s what he told me and I believed him.”

“During the press conference, Agent Savich mentioned that a woman was involved.”

Jack said, “Yes, we think so. But we don’t yet know who hired her.”

Rachael said, “Sir, do you think Laurel and Quincy could have murdered Jimmy?”

Cullifer arched a sleek eyebrow at her. “Laurel? Quincy? Kill their own brother? Evidently you believe it. As for me, Rachael, I don’t know. Again, the motive isn’t strong enough. I would prefer Greg Nichols, only because I don’t know him well. And he would indeed go to jail when Jimmy confessed.”

He shook his head. “A real-life assassin, and you brought her down in the Barnes & Noble in Georgetown. Amazing.”

Rachael said, “There’s something else, Mr. Cullifer. Jimmy was committed to telling the truth. After he died, as you know, I decided to make his confession for him because it was what he planned to do, and what he wanted to do. And I told those same people, to prepare them, just as I told you.”

Cullifer didn’t say a word, just continued giving her that emotionless lawyer look until she said, “Someone has tried to kill me—three times.”

It was rare to see a good lawyer caught off-guard. Cullifer leaped to his feet. “No! I can’t believe that, no, Rachael, it simply—” He stopped dead in his tracks. “That’s why you’re with an FBI agent, isn’t it? He’s protecting you?”

“Yes,” she said.

“Because you plan to make Jimmy’s confession for him and someone is trying to stop you.”

“Yes. I can think of no other reason.”

“Are you still going to make his confession?”

“I don’t know. I was sure about my reasons, sure about what Jimmy wanted, but now, I don’t know.”

“It is a difficult question,” Cullifer said, and nothing more.

Rachael said, “Several people have pointed out that it’s an ethical question. How can I presume to have Jimmy’s entire life judged by one incident, and I’m assured that is what would happen. I don’t know what to do, Mr. Cullifer.”

“Are you still certain it’s what he would have done?”

“Yes.”

“Then do it and the fallout be damned.”

They spoke to Brady Cullifer for another ten minutes. When he hugged Rachael good-bye, she said, “Thank you for accepting me as Jimmy’s daughter, sir. Thank you for your kindness.”

“Well, I didn’t want to accept you, Rachael, not initially, despite Jimmy’s enthusiasm. I should tell you I hired an investigator to do a thorough check on you and your mother. That was what convinced me. And I didn’t charge your father for the investigator’s time.” He patted her cheek. “You’re an Abbott now, Rachael, all right and proper. If you choose to be his spokesperson, then I’ll be behind you one hundred percent.”

FORTY-ONE

They ate lunch at a taqueria known for its guacamole and chips, then took an array of photos back to Millie at the diner near Black Rock Lake.

Millie was busy, and they waited. When she dropped into the seat next to them in a booth, Jack handed her a series of black-and-white shots. She looked at Donley Everett’s photo carefully, the man Jack shot in the kitchen at Slipper Hollow. She shook her head and picked up Clay Huggins’s photo, the man he shot and killed at Slipper Hollow, studied it for a good minute, then regretfully shook her head again. The same for Marion Croop. Jack handed her Roderick Lloyd’s photo, the man who walked right into Roy Bob’s garage in Parlow and started shooting. She shook her head again.

Rachael was nearly out of hope when Jack looked down at the last photo, then handed it to Millie.

Millie studied it, then looked up at them. “Now isn’t this a kick? I would have sworn it was a guy who came in last Friday night and ordered the two coffees, but it’s her”—she stabbed the photo with her finger—“all dressed up like a guy.”

Jack and Rachael stared at Perky’s—aka Pearl Compton’s—photo.

Rachael’s heart was pounding. “You’re certain, Millie?”

“Yeah, all that blond hair—if you look at her and think black hair, then it becomes clear. Yes, Agent, it’s her. I’m sure.”

As they drove back to Washington, a light summer rain falling, Rachael said, “So Perky carried me by my arms down the dock. Who was carrying my feet? Donley Everett or Clay Huggins or Roderick Lloyd? Who’s that fourth guy—oh yeah, Marion Croop?”

“If so, then who hired them?”

“Or maybe it was Quincy or Stefanos carrying my feet.”

“Or Laurel,” he said.

The windshield wipers moved slowly back and forth, steady as a metronome. “I’m tired, Jack.”

With no hesitation at all, out of his mouth came, “Sleep with me and you won’t worry about a crook coming in through the window. You’ll sleep soundly. With me.”

Rachael turned in her seat to look at his profile. “How long has it been since you had a date, Jack?”

He laughed. “Fact is, I stopped seeing a very nice woman about a month before I flew to Lexington to pick up Timothy. It seems like ten years ago.”

“It’s only been a week.”

He increased the wiper speed.