‘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.’