And he, her lawful husband, dared not go to her and console her! Accursed—all of them— Enschede, Ruth, and himself. The agonized mother could scarcely repress a scream at the spectacle that met her gaze. It could only mean one thing—that her foster daughter was both a whore and a murderer! When Sheila confronted her about it, it was five in the morning. It’s not far from twilight. Would that a certain major might cast upon her such a look. She had in her suitcase a small scrapbook, only a few pages, what little information she had gathered on him through the years.
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