“Says he was into World War II shit and just collected it as he went along, like his kegs of bourbon, which came from a distillery in Kentucky that went kaput five years ago. The bourbon he gets nothing more than a slap on the hand, because in light of everything else, who gives a shit about that. As for the guns, all are registered and he’s paid the taxes. So he’s clean on those scores, but this cockeyed investigator in Warrenton has a notion that Sparkes’s secret thing is selling arms to anti-Castro groups in South Florida.”

“Based on what?” I wanted to know.

“Shit, you got me, but the investigators in Warrenton are running after it like a dog chasing the postman. The theory is that the girl who burned up knew something, and Sparkes had no choice but to get rid of her, even if it meant torching everything he owned, including his horses.”

“If he were dealing arms,” I impatiently said, “then he would have had a lot more than a couple old submachine guns and a bunch of empty grenades.”

“They’re going after him, Doc. Because of who he is, it may take a while.”

“What about his missing Calico?”

“How the hell do you know about that?”

“A Calico is unaccounted for, am I correct?”

“That’s what he says, but how do you . . .”

“He came to see me today.”

There was a long pause.

“What are you talking about?” he asked, and he was very confused. “Came to see you where?”

“My house. Uninvited. He had photographs of Claire Rawley.”

Marino was silent so long this time I wondered if we had been disconnected.

“No offense,” he finally said. “You sure you’re not getting sucked in because of who . . .”

“No,” I cut him off.

“Well, could you tell anything from what you looked at?” He backed down.

“Only that his alleged former girlfriend was extraordinarily beautiful. The hair is consistent with the victim’s, and the height and weight estimates. She wore a watch that sounds similar to the one I found and hasn’t been seen by her roommates since the day before the fire. A start, but certainly not enough to go on.”

“And the only thing Wilmington P.D.’s been able to get from the university is that there is a Claire Rawley. She’s been a student off and on but not since last fall.”

“Which would have been close to the time Sparkes broke up with her.”

“If what he said was true,” Marino pointed out.

“What about her parents?”

“The university’s not telling us anything else about her. Typical. We got to get a court order. And you know how that goes. I’m thinking you could try to talk to the dean or someone, soften them up a little. People would rather deal with doctors than cops.”