Patricia Cornwell - Point of Origin

'I don't understand.' Sparkes seemed to be telling the truth. 'Of course, I set the alarm before I left town.'

'And you were headed where?' Marino probed.

'London. I got there and was immediately notified. I never even left Heathrow and instantly caught the next flight back,' he said. 'I got off in D.C. and drove straight here.'

He stared blankly at the ground.

'Drove in what?' Marino asked.

'My Cherokee. I'd left it at Dulles in long-term parking.'

'You've got the receipt?'

'Yes.'

'What about the Mercedes at your house?' Marino went on.

Sparkes frowned. 'What Mercedes? I don't own a Mercedes. I have always bought American cars.'

I remembered that this had been one of his policies that he had been quite vocal about.

'There's a Mercedes behind the house. It burned up, too, so we can't tell much about it yet,' Marino said. 'But it doesn't look like a recent model to me. A sedan, sort of boxy like they were earlier on.'

Sparkes just shook his head.

'Then we might wonder if it was the victim's car,' Marino deduced. 'Maybe someone who had come to see you unexpectedly? Who else had a key to your house, and your burglar alarm code?'

'Good Lord,' Sparkes said as he groped for an answer. 'Josh did. My stable hand, honest as the day is long. He quit for health reasons and I never bothered changing the locks.'

'You need to tell us where to find him,' Marino said.

'He would never…' Sparkes started to say, but he stopped and an incredulous expression came over his face. 'My God,' he muttered with an awful sigh. 'Oh my God.'

He looked at me.

'You said she was blond,' he asked.

'Yes,' I said.

'Can you tell me anything else about the way she looked?' His voice was getting panicky.

'Appears to be slender, possibly white. Wearing jeans, some sort of shirt, and boots. Lace-up boots, versus Western.'

'How tall?' he had to know.

'I can't tell. Not until I've examined her.'

'What about jewelry?'

'Her hands were gone.'

He sighed again, and when he spoke his voice trembled. 'Was her hair very long, like down to the middle of her back, and a very pale gold?'

'That's the way it appears at this time,' I replied.

'There was a young woman,' he began, clearing his throat several times. 'My God… I have a place at Wrightsville Beach and met her there. She was a student at the university, or at least on and off she was. It didn't last long, maybe six months. And she did stay with me on the farm, several times. The last time I saw her was there, and I ended the relationship because it couldn't go on.'

'Did she own an old Mercedes?' Marino asked.

Sparkes shook his head. He covered his face with his hands as he struggled for composure.

'A Volkswagen thing. Light blue,' he managed to say. 'She didn't have any money. I gave her some in the end, before she left. A thousand dollars cash. I told her to go back to school and finish. Her name is Claire Rawley, and I suppose she could have taken one of my extra keys without my knowing while she was staying on the farm. Maybe she saw the alarm code when I punched it in.'

'And you've had no contact with Claire Rawley for more than a year?' I said.

'Not one word,' he replied. 'That seems so far in my past. It was a foolish fling, really. I saw her surfing and started talking to her on the beach, in Wrightsville. I have to say, she was the most splendid-looking woman I have ever seen. For a while, I was out of my mind, then I came to my senses. There were many, many complications and problems. Claire needed a caretaker, and I couldn't be that.'

'I need to know everything about her that you can tell me,' I said to him with feeling. 'Anything about where she was from, her family. Anything that might help me identify the body or rule Claire Rawley out. Of course, I will contact the university, as well.'

'I've got to tell you the sad truth, Dr Scarpetta,' my former boss said to me. 'I never knew anything about her, really. Our relationship was mainly sexual, with me helping her out with money and her problems as best I could. I did care about her.' He paused. 'But it was never serious, at least not on my side. I mean, marriage was never in the offing.'

He did not need to explain further. Sparkes had power. He exuded it and had always enjoyed almost any woman he wanted. But I felt no judgment now.

'I'm sorry,' he said, getting up. 'I can only tell you that she was rather much a failed artist. A want-to-be actor who spent most of her time surfing or wandering the beach: And after I'd been around her for a while, I began to see that something wasn't right about her. The way she seemed so lacking in motivation, and would act so erratic and glazed sometimes.'

'Did she abuse alcohol?' I asked.

'Not chronically. It has too many calories.'

'Drugs?'

'That's what I began to suspect, and it was something I could have no association with. I don't know.'

'I need for you to spell her name for me,' I said.

'Before you go walking off,' Marino jumped in, and I recognized the bad-cop edge to his tone, 'you sure this couldn't be some sort of a murder-suicide? Only she kills everything you own and goes up in flames along with it? You sure there's no reason she might have done that, Mr Sparkes?'

'At this point, I can't be sure of anything,' Sparkes answered him as he paused near the barn's open door.

Marino got up, too.

'Well, this ain't adding up, no disrespect intended,' Marino said. 'And I do need to see any receipts you have for your London trip. And for Dulles airport. And I know ATF's hot to know about your basement full of bourbon and automatic weapons.'

'I collect World War II weapons, and all of them are registered and legal,' he said with restraint. 'I bought the bourbon from a Kentucky distillery that went out of business five years ago. They shouldn't have sold it to me and I shouldn't have bought it. But so be it.'

'I think ATF's got bigger fish to fry than your barrels of bourbon,' Marino said. 'So if you got any of those receipts with you now, I'd appreciate your handing them over to me.'

'Will you strip search me next, Captain?' Sparkes fixed hard eyes on him.

Marino stared back as guinea hens kicked past again like breakdancers.

'You can deal with my lawyer,' Sparkes said. 'And then I'll be happy to cooperate.'

'Marino,' it was my turn to speak, 'if you'd give me just a minute alone with Mr Sparkes.'

Marino was taken aback and very annoyed. Without a word, he stalked off into the barn, several hens trotting after him. Sparkes and I stood, facing each other. He was a strikingly handsome man, tall and lean, with thick gray hair. His eyes were amber, his features aristocratic, with a straight Jeffersonian nose and skin dark and as smooth as a man half his age. The way he tightly gripped his riding crop seemed to fit his mood. Kenneth Sparkes was capable of violence but had never given in to it, as best I knew.

'All right. What's on your mind?' he asked me suspiciously.

'I just wanted to make sure you understand that our differences of the past…'

He shook his head and would not let me finish.

'The past is past,' he said curtly.

'No, Kenneth, it isn't. And it's important for you to know that I don't harbor bad feelings about you,' I replied. 'That what's going on now is not related.'

When he had been more actively involved with the publishing of his newspapers, he had basically accused me of racism when I had released statistics about black on black homicides. I had shown citizens how many deaths were drug-related or involved prostitution or were just plain hate of one black for another.

His own reporters had taken several of my quotes out of context and had distorted the rest, and by the end of the day, Sparkes had summoned me to his posh downtown office. I would never forget being shown into his mahogany space of fresh flowers and colonial furniture and lighting. He had ordered me, as if he could, to demonstrate more sensitivity to African-Americans and publicly retract my bigoted professional assessments. As I looked at him now, with sweat on his face and manure on his boots, it did not seem I was talking to the same arrogant man. His hands were trembling, his strong demeanor about to break.