Chương 6
Nora’s employer placed her on paid leave.
Her landlord asked when the news vans would leave.
Someone posted Evelyn’s home address.
A photograph of Nora at nineteen, drunk at a college party and wearing her father’s uniform cap, appeared online beside the phrase MILITARY PRINCESS PROFITS FROM DEAD CIVILIANS.
No one explained what profit they meant.
The Army moved Daniel’s body to a secure mortuary facility until the family chose whether to resume the funeral. Evelyn did not want another public service.
“I cannot sit through strangers deciding whether to stand,” she said.
They returned to Maryland under police escort and entered the house through the garage.
Daniel’s boots were still beside the back door.
Evelyn stopped when she saw them.
Nora carried the folded flag into the living room. The flag case ordered by the funeral office had not arrived, so she set it on the dining table beside an unopened package of paper towels.
For ten minutes, neither woman spoke.
Then Evelyn began making soup.
She chopped carrots with unnecessary force. Nora sat at the counter and watched a local helicopter circle above the neighborhood.
“You should close the blinds,” Nora said.
“I like daylight.”
“They have cameras.”
“They already know what I look like.”
Nora turned her phone face down.
Evelyn put celery into the pot. “Your father hated celery.”
“I know.”
“No, he told you he hated celery. He ate it when it was cooked.”
“That sounds like him.”
“He said most dislikes were failures of preparation.”
Nora almost smiled.
Evelyn added salt, tasted the broth, and added too much more.
“Did you know about the civilians?” Nora asked.
“No.”
“Would he have told you eventually?”
“He told a camera.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
Her mother wiped the knife on a dish towel. “Daniel confessed when he could control the room. He could stop the recording. He could choose his words. He could not do that with me.”
“He was ashamed.”
“So was I, sometimes. I still managed conversation.”
Nora looked at the boots by the door.
“I used to think he told me the truth because I didn’t ask him to be normal.”
Evelyn lowered the heat beneath the soup. “You asked him to be impressive.”
“That’s not fair.”
“No. It isn’t.”
The doorbell rang.
Both women froze.
A man’s voice called through the door. “Nora, it’s Amos.”
Grant entered carrying a cardboard tray of coffee and a bag from a hardware store.
“What’s in the bag?” Evelyn asked.
“Window film.”
“We are not covering my windows in silver plastic.”
“It’s clear security film.”
“Does it stop cameras?”
“No.”
“Then it’s ugly for no reason.”
Grant set down the bag. “Nice to see grief hasn’t ruined your hospitality.”
He had brought Daniel’s personal notebook from the attorney. Investigators had released it after scanning every page.
Most of the notebook contained lists.
Call dentist.
Replace garage bulb.
Ward—flight logs.
Ask Nora about lease.
Milk.
The ordinariness made Nora angrier than the confession video had.
Near the back, Daniel had written several names with times beside them. One was Major Celia Ward. Another was Gideon. A third was E.M.
Evelyn touched the initials.
“That could be me.”
“It could be Dad,” Nora said.
“His initials were D.M.”
“I know.”
Grant took a sip of coffee. “Could be Elias Monroe.”
“Who is that?” Nora asked.
“A civilian auditor Danny trusted. Worked procurement cases.”
“Is he alive?”
“As far as I know.”
Rachel Kim called him. Elias Monroe was alive, retired, and living outside Richmond. He agreed to meet after making Rachel repeat twice that Nora would not bring reporters.
They drove the next morning.
Monroe lived in a small brick house beside a drainage pond. Plastic flamingos stood in his neighbor’s yard. He answered the door wearing slippers and holding a cordless drill.
“Cabinet hinge,” he said. “I’ve been fixing it since February.”
He made them wait while he put the drill away.
Inside, the living room smelled of dust and orange peel. Monroe was seventy-three and thin enough that his shirt hung from his shoulders. He did not look like the secret holder of important information. He looked like a man whose television remote was always missing.
“I told Daniel not to call me again,” he said.
“When?” Nora asked.
“Last spring.”
“Why?”
“Because your father wanted me to believe he had discovered corruption after three years of helping hide something worse.”
“He was trying to come clean.”
“He was trying to choose the part of the truth he could survive.”
Evelyn sat beside Nora on a floral sofa. “Did he tell you General Hale threatened him?”
“He said Hale reminded him that disclosure would expose the first operation.”
“That’s a threat,” Nora said.
“It is also a fact.”
Monroe bent to adjust one slipper. “Your father wanted a route to report financial misconduct without reopening the civilian-strike review. I told him there was no clean door.”
“What did he do?”
“He stopped calling.”
“That’s it?”
“For a while.”
Monroe looked at Evelyn. “Then you called me.”
Evelyn’s posture changed.
“I have never spoken to you.”
“You called from Daniel’s phone. A woman asked whether I was the inspector he planned to meet in Virginia.”
Nora turned to her mother.
Evelyn shook her head. “I didn’t.”
“Maybe somebody used his phone,” Monroe said. “Maybe I misunderstood. The call lasted thirty seconds.”
“What did you say?” Nora asked.
“I said I no longer had authority and that Daniel should contact the inspector general directly.”
“Did you tell the caller where the meeting would have been?”
Monroe frowned. “No.”
“Did you tell anyone Daniel contacted you?”
“I made a note in a protected file. Standard practice.”
“Who could access it?”
“More people than should have.”
He rose slowly and walked to a desk. From a drawer he removed a printed email.
Daniel had written it nine days before his final deployment.
May you like
Elias,
You were right about the clean door. There isn’t one. I will make the full report, including my own conduct. I need forty-eight hours to secure the files and protect one person who acted under direct coercion. After that, no more conditions.
