“Does Sparacino work for Orndorff & Berger?” I managed to ask.
“He’s their entertainment lawyer. That much is true,” he answered.
I said nothing, tears fighting to break out.
“Stay away from him, Kay,” Ethridge said, his voice a rough caress in its attempt to be tender. “For God’s sake, break it off. Whatever you’ve got going with him, break it off.”
“I don’t have anything going with him,” I said shakily.
“When’s the last time you had contact with him?”
“Several weeks ago. He called. We talked no more than thirty seconds.”
He nodded as if he had expected as much. “The paranoid life. One of the poisonous fruits of criminal activity.
I doubt Mark James is given to long telephone conversations, and I doubt he’ll approach you at all unless there is something he wants. Tell me how it is you were with him in New York.”
“He wanted to see me. He wanted to warn me about Sparacino.” I added lamely, “Or this is what he said.”
“And did he warn you about him?”
“Yes.”
“What did he say?”
“The very sorts of things you’ve already mentioned about Sparacino.”
“Why did Mark tell you this?”
“He said he wanted to protect me.”
“Do you believe that?”
*
“I don’t know what the hell I believe,” I said.
“Are you in love with this man?”
I stared mutely at the attorney general, my eyes turning to stone.
He said very quietly, “I need to know how vulnerable you are. Please don’t think I’m enjoying this, Kay.”
“Please don’t think I’m enjoying this either, Torn,” I said, an edge to my voice.
Ethridge removed his napkin from his lap and folded it neatly, deliberately, before tucking it under the rim of his plate.
“I have reason to fear,” he said, so softly I had to lean forward to hear him, “that Mark fames could do you terrible damage, Kay. There is reason to suspect he’s behind the break-in at your office–”
“What reason?”
I cut him off, my voice rising. “What are you talking about? What proof–” The words caught in my throat, as Senator Partin and his young companion were suddenly at our table. I hadn’t noticed them get up and head toward us. I could tell by the look on their faces they realized they had intruded upon a tense conversation.
“John, good to see you.”
Ethridge was pushing back his chair. “You know the chief medical examiner, Kay Scarpetta, don’t you?”
“Of course, of course. Yes, how are you, Dr. Scarpetta?”
The senator was shaking my hand, smiling, his eyes distant. “And this is my son, Scott.”
I noticed that Scott had not inherited his father’s rugged, rather coarse features or short, stocky build. The young man was incredibly handsome, tall, fit, his fine face framed by a crown of magnificent black hair. He was in his twenties, with a quiet burning insolence in his eyes that bothered me. The cordial conversation did not ease my disconcertedness, nor did I feel any better when father and son finally left us alone again.
“I’ve seen him somewhere before,” I said to Ethridge after the waiter refilled our coffees. “Who?
John?”
“No, no–of course I’ve seen the senator before. I’m talking about his son. Scott. He looks very familiar.”
“You’ve probably seen him on TV,” he replied, stealing a distracted glance at his watch. “He’s an actor, or trying to be one, at any rate. I think he’s had a few minor roles in a couple of the soaps.”
“Oh, my God,” I muttered.
“Maybe a couple of bit parts in movies, too. He was out in California, now lives in New York.”
“No,” I said, stunned.
Ethridge put down his coffee cup and fixed calm eyes on me. “How did he know we were having breakfast here this morning, Tom?”
I asked, working hard to keep my voice steady as the images came back to me. Gallagher’s. The lone young man drinking beer several tables away from where Mark and I had been sitting.
“I don’t know how he knew,” Ethridge replied, his eyes glinting with a secret satisfaction. “Suffice it to say that I’m not surprised, Kay. Young Partin’s been shadowing me for days.”