“That’s all you’re offering your own mother?”

“That’s the only point of contact you’ve got left,” I said.

At half past three the heavy glass double doors at the top of the courthouse steps swung open into the cold autumn wind.

Two federal marshals came out onto the granite landing, gripping Richard firmly by the arms.

My father didn’t have his heavy winter coat on, and his gold cufflinks glinted at his suit cuffs under the gray sky.

Captain Samuel Holt stood waiting near the bottom of the steps beside a parked military sedan, holding a beige folder with my service file in it.