It was a black-and-white photograph of a crushed sedan on a dark highway.

The date stamped on the bottom was October 12, 2014.

Helen’s face went completely white.

“Turn that off,” she whispered.

She turned to Michael, grabbing his arm with both hands.

“Michael, tell them to turn it off. Use your authority.”

Michael looked down at her hands, then up at the screen.

“I don’t have any authority, Mother,” he said.

The next slide began to load, a document with the header of the Virginia State Forensic Laboratory.

At the top of the stairs, the main entrance doors to the building opened.

Two men in civilian suits with federal badges pinned to their lapels entered the hallway.

They walked directly toward our group.

The two men in suits stopped three feet from us.

The taller one adjusted his coat, revealing a gold shield on his belt.

“Mrs. Rogers,” he said, his voice flat. “I am Special Agent Vance, Naval Criminal Investigative Service.”

Helen did not look at him; her eyes remained locked on the projector screen.