Before Earl could reply, Davenport exchanged the paper in his hand for a brown envelope, and shook two photos from it. He glanced at the larger, laid it on the desk, then pushed it toward me with one finger.

For a moment I thought it was a joke.

'That is you, Dr. Brennan, is it not?'

Ryan and I were eating hot dogs across from the Great Smoky Mountains Railroad Depot.

'And Lieutenant-Detective Andrew Ryan from Quebec.' He pronounced it Qwee-bec.

'What is the relevance of this, Mr. Davenport?' Though my face was burning, I kept my voice frigid.

'Exactly what is your relationship with this man?'

'Detective Ryan and I have worked together for years.'

'But I am correct in assuming that your relationship extends beyond the professional, am I not?'

'I have no intention of answering questions about my private life.'

'I see.'

Davenport pushed the second photo across the desk.

I was too stunned to speak.

'I surmise from your reaction that you know the gentleman pictured with Detective Ryan?'

'Jean Bertrand was Ryan's partner.' Shock waves were passing through every cel in my body,

'Are you aware that this Bertrand is being investigated in conjunction with the Air TransSouth crash?'

'Where is this going?'

'Dr. Brennan, I shouldn't have to spel it out. Your' — he feigned indecision over word selection — 'coleague has ties to a principal suspect. You yourself have acted' —

again the careful search 'erraticaly.'

'I have done nothing wrong,' I repeated.

Davenport tilted his head and twisted his mouth, neither smiling nor grimacing. Then he sighed, indicating what a burden this was for al.

'Perhaps, as Mr. Bliss has suggested, your only offense has been one of misjudgment. But in tragedies of this nature, with so much media attention, and so many grieving families, it is of utmost importance that those involved avoid even the appearance of impropriety.'

I waited. Davenport began gathering papers.

'Reports of suspected misconduct are being lodged with the National Disaster Medical System, the American Board of Forensic Anthropology, and the Ethics Committee of the American Academy of Forensic Sciences. The chancelor of your university wil also be informed.'

Cold fear shot through me.

'Am I suspected of committing a crime?'

'We must consider every possibility, painstakingly and impartialy.'

Something snapped. I shot to my feet, fingers tightening into fists.

'There's nothing impartial about this meeting, Mr. Davenport, and you have no intention of treating me fairly. Or Detective Ryan. Something's wrong, very wrong, and I've been set up as some sort of scapegoat.'

Tears burned the backs of my lids. It's the glare, I told myself. Don't you dare cry!

'Who turned this meeting into a publicity circus?'

Red splotches appeared in Davenport's cheeks, looking oddly out of place in the bland complexion.