Point of Origin

'But it was on the water. And that's where she wanted to be.'

'And what about jewelry? Do you remember her wearing anything unusual?'

He had to think.

'Maybe a bracelet?'

'I don't recall.'

'Her keychain?'

He shook his head.

'What about a ring?' I then asked.

'She wore funky ones now and then. You know, silver ones that didn't cost much.'

'What about a platinum band?'

He hesitated, knocked off balance.

'You said platinum?' he asked.

'Yes. And a fairly large size, too.'

I stared at his hands.

'In fact, it might fit you.'

He leaned back in his chair and looked up at the ceiling.

'My God,' he said. 'She must have taken it. I have a simple platinum band I used to wear when Claire and I were together. She used to joke that it meant I was married to myself.'

'So she took it from your bedroom?'

'From a leather box. She must have.'

'Are you aware of anything else missing from the house?' I then asked.

'One gun from my collection is unaccounted for. ATF recovered all the rest. Of course, they're ruined.'

He was getting more depressed.

'What kind of gun?'

'A Calico.'

'I hope that's not out on the street somewhere,' I said with feeling.

A Calico was an especially nasty submachine gun that looked rather much like an Uzi with a large cylinder attached to the top of it. It was nine-millimeter and capable of firing as many as a hundred rounds.

'You need to report all this to the police, to ATF,' I told him.

'Some of it I already have.'

'Not some. All of it, Kenneth.'

'I understand,' he said. 'And I will. But I want to know if it's her, Dr Scarpetta. Please understand that I don't care about much else at the moment. I will confess to you that I have called her condo. Neither of her roommates have seen her for over a week. Last she spent the night in her place was the Friday night before the fire, the day before it, in other words. The young lady I talked to said Claire seemed distracted and depressed when they ran into each other in the kitchen. She made no mention of going out of town.'

'I see that you are quite an investigator,' I said.

'Wouldn't you be if you were me?' he asked.

'Yes.'

Our eyes met and I read his pain. Tiny beads of sweat followed the line of his hair, and he talked as if his mouth were dry.

'Let's get back to the photos,' I said. 'Exactly why were these photos taken? Modeling for whom? Do you know?'

'Something local, as I vaguely recall it,' he said, staring past me out the window. 'I think she told me it might have been a Chamber of Commerce thing, something to help advertise the beach.'

'And she gave you all these for what reason?'

I continued slowly going through the pictures.

'Just because she liked you? Perhaps she wanted to impress you?'

He laughed ruefully.

'I wish those were the only reasons,' he replied. 'She knows I have influence, that I know people in the film industry and so on. And I'd like you to hang on to these photos, please.'

'So she was hoping you might help her career,' I said, looking up at him.

'Of course.'

'And did you?'

'Dr Scarpetta, it's a simple fact of life that I have to be careful of who and what I promote,' he stated candidly. 'And it would not have looked especially appropriate if I were handing around photos of my beautiful, young white lover in hopes that I might help her career. I tend to keep my relationships as private as possible.'

Indignation shone in his eyes as he fingered his coffee mug.

'It isn't me who broadcasts my personal life. Never has been. And I might add that you shouldn't believe everything you read.'

'I never do,' I said. 'I of all people know better than that, Kenneth. To be honest, I'm not as interested in your personal life as I am in knowing why you have chosen to give these photos to me instead of to Fauquier County investigators or ATF.'

He looked steadily at me, and then replied, 'For identification reasons I've already stated. But I also trust you, and that's the more important element in the equation. No matter our differences, I know you would not railroad anyone or falsely accuse.'

'I see.'

I was feeling more uncomfortable by the moment and frankly wished he would decide to leave so I didn't have to do it for him.

'You see, it would be far more convenient to blame everything on me. And there are plenty of people out there who have been after me for years, people who would love to see me ruined or locked up or dead.'

'None of the investigators I'm working with feel that way,' I said.

'It's not you or Marino or ATF I'm worried about,' he quickly replied. 'It's factions who have political power. White supremacists, militia types who are secretly in bed with people whose names you know. Trust me.'

He stared off, his jaw muscles knotting.

'The deck's stacked against me,' he went on. 'If someone doesn't get to the bottom of what happened here, my days are numbered. I know it. And anyone who can slaughter innocent, helpless horses can do anything.'

His mouth trembled and his eyes brightened with tears.

'Burning them alive!' he exclaimed. 'What kind of monster could do something like that!'

'A very terrible monster,' I said. 'And it seems there are many terrible monsters in the world these days. Can you tell me about the foal? The one I saw when I was at the scene? I assumed one of your horses somehow got away?'

'Windsong,' he verified what I expected as he wiped his eyes on his napkin. 'The beautiful little fella. He's actually a yearling, and he was born right on my farm, both parents were very valuable racehorses. They died in the fire.' He got choked up again. 'How Windsong got out I have no clue. It's just bizarre.'

'Unless Claire - if it is Claire - perhaps had him out and never got a chance to put him back in his stall?' I suggested. 'Perhaps she had met Windsong during one of her visits to your farm?'

Sparkes took a deep breath, rubbing his eyes. 'No, I don't think Windsong had been born yet. In fact, I remember Wind, his mother, was pregnant during Claire's visits.'

'Then Claire might have assumed that Windsong was Wind's yearling.'

'She might have figured that out.'

'Where is Windsong now?' I asked.

'Thankfully he was captured and is at Hootowl Farm, where he is safe and will be well taken care of.'

The subject of his horses was devastating to him, and I did not believe he was performing. Despite his skills as a public figure whose talent was to change polls and people, Sparkes could not be this good an actor. His self-control was about to collapse, and he was struggling mightily and about to succumb. He pushed back his chair and got up from my table.

'One other thing I should tell you,' he said as I walked him to the front door. 'If Claire were alive, I believe she would have tried to contact me, somehow. If nothing else, through a letter. Providing she knew about the fire, and I don't know how she couldn't have known about it. She was very sensitive and kind, no matter her difficulties.'

'When was the last time you saw her?' I opened the front door.

Sparkes looked into my eyes, and once again I found the intensity of his personality as compelling as it was disturbing. I could not abide the thought that he still somewhat intimidated me.

'I suppose a year ago or so.'

His silver Jeep Cherokee was in the drive, and I waited until he was inside it before I shut the door. I could not help but wonder what my neighbors might have thought had they recognized him in my driveway. On another occasion, I might have laughed, but I found nothing the least bit amusing about his visit. Why he had come in person instead of having the photographs delivered to me was my first important question.