‘Did you know anything about a lady maybe staying with him in Warrenton?’ I asked as we headed back outside again. ‘Did you ever see anyone when you went to work with his horses?’
‘No,’ Foster said.
We picked plastic chairs and sat with our backs to the arena, overlooking woods.
‘But Lord knows, Kenny’s had girlfriends before, and I don’t always know about them,’ Foster said, turning around in her chair to look back inside the ring. ‘Unless you’re right about Windsong, the horse Kenny’s on now is the only one he has left. Black Opal. We call him Pal for short.’
Marino and I did not respond as we turned around to see Sparkes dismount and hand the reins to one of Foster’s stable hands.
‘Good job, Pal,’ Sparkes said, patting the horse’s handsome neck and head.
‘Any special reason this horse wasn’t with the others on his farm?’ I asked Foster.
‘Not quite old enough. He’s a barely three-year-old gelding who still needs training. That’s why he’s still here, lucky for him.’
For a flicker, her face was contorted by grief, and she quickly looked away. She cleared her throat and got up from her chair. She walked away as Sparkes came out of the arena adjusting his belt and the fit of his jeans. I got up and Marino and I respectfully shook his hand. He was sweating through a faded red Izod shirt, and he wiped his face with a yellow bandanna he untied from his neck.
‘Please sit down,’ he said graciously, as if he were granting us an audience with him.
We took our chairs again, and he pulled his out and turned it around to face us, the skin tight around eyes that were resolute but bloodshot.
‘Let me begin by telling you what I firmly believe right now as I sit in this chair,’ he said. ‘The fire was not an accident.’
‘That’s what we’re here to investigate, sir,’ Marino said, more politely than usual.
‘I believe the motivation was racist in nature.’ Sparkes’s jaw muscles began to flex and fury filled his voice. ‘And they — whoever they are — intentionally murdered my horses, destroying everything I love.’
‘If the motive was racism,’ Marino said, ‘then why wouldn’t they have checked to make sure you were home?’
‘Some things are worse than death. Perhaps they want me alive to suffer. You put two and two together.’
‘We’re trying to,’ Marino said.
‘Don’t even consider pinning this on me.’
He pointed a finger at both of us.
‘I know exactly how people like you think,’ he went on. ‘Huh. I torched my own farm and horses for money. Now you listen to me good.’
He leaned closer to us.
‘I’m telling you now that I didn’t do it. Would never, could never do it, will never do it. I had nothing to do with what happened. I’m the victim here and probably lucky to be alive.’
‘Let’s talk about the other victim,’ I spoke quietly. ‘A white female with long blond hair, as it looks now. Is there anyone else who might have been in your house that night?’
‘No one should have been in my house!’ he exclaimed.
‘We are speculating that this person may have died in the master suite,’ I went on. ‘Possibly the bathroom.’
‘Whoever she was, she must have broken in,’ he said. ‘Or maybe she was the one who set the fire, and couldn’t get out.’
‘There’s no evidence that anyone broke in, sir,’ Marino responded. ‘And if your burglar alarm was set, it never went off that night. Only the smoke alarm.’
‘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.