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twenty-nine-year-old, side view and front. Hal with long hair. Hal with a trimmed beard. Hal with a shaggy beard and short hair. Hal Bonner clean-shaven and bald. She left the last one on the screen.
    It was excellent work, but like every computer enhancement he’d seen, something was lost from the original photograph. Some spark in the eyes. While everyone stared at the television screen and murmured, Frank took another look at the small class photo.
    He’d never believed in reading things into people’s eyes. All that windows-of-the-soul bullshit. But Hal Bonner’s eyes were tempting. In the class photo there was a brooding defiance in them that Sheffield had seen once or twice in the eyes of torture victims. Soldiers who’d suffered excruciating ordeals in POW camps, and because they’d managed to survive the worst their captors could inflict, they no longer knew real fear or cared quite as much as they once had about the suffering of others.
    In Hal Bonner’s eyes there was also a glint of bitter humor. This was one smug little alien bastard. On the television screen, however, his eyes were flat and empty. Drained of any hint of humanity by the digital rendering.
    For several moments after Helen snapped the television off, Senator Ackerman continued to stare at the blank screen.
    Sheffield took a breath, the photos of Joanie Ackerman and Hal Bonner still burning in his head. He didn’t have a weak stomach, but just now the floor felt soft beneath him, the room expanding and contracting with each breath.
    Charlie Pettigrew pushed his chair back and stood up, trying in some measure to assume control of the proceedings. Though even a casual observer could tell poor Charlie was a distant third in this group’s pecking order.
    â€œSo, I suppose you’re curious to know, Frank, where you fit into all this.”
    â€œIt crossed my mind.”
    â€œWell, actually there are several reasons,” the senator said.
    Frank waited. This wasn’t the time for witty comebacks.
    â€œYou worked a murder case five years ago,” Charlie Pettigrew said. “Ed Keller, Assistant U.S. Attorney.”
    â€œYeah, Ed Keller and his wife, Martha. Sure I remember it. Never solved.”
    â€œAnd a certain persistent relative.”
    â€œYou mean Hannah, their daughter.”
    â€œThat’s right.”
    Helen Shane was studying Frank, her eyes scouring his features. It was the same way Frank’s ex-wife had looked at him most of the time. Collecting faults, adding them to the heap.
    â€œYou think Hal Bonner was involved in the Keller murders?”
    â€œNo, Frank,” said Helen. “We’re interested in the daughter. Hannah. Whatever you can tell us about her. We understand she made quite a fuss about the way you were handling the case. There are a dozen letters from her in our files, protesting the direction you took on the investigation.”
    â€œShe had her own theory, yeah. There were a lot of midnight phone calls. She showed up on my front porch a few times.”
    â€œIs the woman unbalanced?” Ackerman asked.
    â€œShe’d just lost her parents, Senator. She was deeply distraught.”
    Ackerman nodded. It seemed to be an emotion he vaguely understood.
    The senator fixed Sheffield with an earnest, vote-getter look.
    â€œI knew your father, Frank. Not well, but I knew him. I was greatly saddened by his passing. I had the utmost respect for the man.”
    Frank nodded.
    A lot of people had known Harry Sheffield. Liked him, respected him. He was that kind of man. Friends in high and low places and everywhere in between. The folks whoshowed up at his funeral could’ve been herded directly onto the next Noah’s Ark, diverse enough to be the complete breeding stock for a new world. Before Harry died there’d been talk of politics. Democratic nominee for Florida governor. Maybe something national. It all seemed possible for Harry