“I can tell you that silicone rubber is used in electrical insulation, hydraulic fluids, and for water repellency. None of which makes sense, unless there was something in the bathroom, maybe in the tub. Something pink—I don’t know what.”

“Do we know if Sparkes had a bathmat—anything rubbery and pink in that bathroom?” I asked.

“We’ve only begun going through his house with him,” she said. “But he claims that the decor of the master bath was mostly black and white. The marble floor and walls were black. The sink, cabinets, and tub, white. The shower door was European and wasn’t tempered glass, meaning it didn’t disintegrate into a billion little glass balls when the temperature exceeded four hundred degrees Fahrenheit.”

“Explaining why it basically melted over the body,” I said.

“Yeah, almost shrink-wrapped it.”

“Not quite,” I said.

“The door had brass hinges and no frame. What we recovered was consistent with that. So your friendly media tycoon’s memory holds true at least on that score.”

“And on others?”

“God only knows, Kay.”

She unbuttoned her suit jacket as if it suddenly occurred to her to relax, while she paradoxically glanced up at the clock.

“We’re dealing with a very smart man,” she said. “That much all of us know.”

“And the helicopter? What do you make of that, Teun? I’m assuming you’ve gotten word about the little white Schweizer, or Robinson, or whatever it was that the farrier saw the day before the fire? Perhaps the same one you and I saw two days later?”

“This is just a theory,” she said. “A groping one at that, okay?”

Her look was penetrating.

“Maybe he sets the fire and needs to get to the airport fast,” she went on. “So the day before, the helicopter does a recon over the farm because the pilot knows he’ll have to land and take off after dark. Following so far?”

I nodded.

“Friday rolls around. Sparkes murders the girl and torches his place. He runs out to the pasture and gets on the helicopter, which transports him somewhere near Dulles, where his Cherokee is stashed. He gets to the airport and does his thing with receipts and maybe baggage. Then he makes himself scarce until it’s time to show up at Hootowl Farm.”

“And the reason the helicopter showed up on Monday, when we were working the scene?” I then asked. “How does that fit?”

“Pyros like to watch the fun,” she stated. “Hell, for all we know, Sparkes was up there himself watching us work our asses off. Paranoid, if nothing else. Figured we’d think it was a news bird, which we did.”

“This is all speculation at this point,” I said, and I had heard enough.

I began rearranging the infinite flow of paperwork that began where it stopped and stopped where it began. McGovern was studying me again. She got up and shut the doors.