“And there we have it, ladies and gentlemen. World famous expert Dr. Kay Scarpetta doesn’t know.” She was getting irritable. “Nineteen horses,” she went on. “So who took care of them? Sparkes doesn’t have a stable hand? And why did one of the horses get away? The little black stallion?”

“How do you know it’s a boy?” I said as someone knocked on our door. “Who is it?” I asked through wood.

“Yo. It’s me,” Marino gruffly announced.

I let him in and could tell by the expression on his face that he had news.

“Kenneth Sparks is alive and well,” he announced.

“Where is he?” I was very confused again.

“Apparently, he’s been out of the country and flew back when he heard the news. He’s staying in Beaverdam and don’t seem to have a clue about anything, including who the victim is,” Marino told us.

“Why Beaverdam?” I asked, calculating how long the trip would take to that remote part of Hanover County.

“His trainer lives there.”

“His?”

“Horse trainer. Not his trainer, like in weight lifting or nothing.”

“I see.”

“I’m heading out in the morning, around nine A.M.,” he said to me. “You can go on to Richmond or go with me.”

“I have a body to identify, so I need to talk to him whether he claims to know anything or not. I guess I’m going with you,” I said as Lucy met my eyes. “Are you planning on our fearless pilot dropping us off, or have you managed to get a car?”

“I’m skipping the whirlybird,” Marino retorted. “And do I need to remind you that the last time you had a chat with Sparkes, you pissed him off?”

“I don’t remember,” I said, and I really did not, for I had irritated Sparkes on more than one occasion, when we disagreed about case details he thought should be released to the media.

“I can guarantee he does, Doc. You gonna share the beer or what?”

“I can’t believe you don’t have your own stash,” Lucy said as she resumed working on her laptop, keys clicking.

He went to the refrigerator and helped himself to one.

“You want my opinion at the end of the day?” he said. “It’s the same as it was.”

“Which is?” Lucy asked without looking up.

“Sparkes is behind this.”

He set the bottle opener on the coffee table and stopped at the door, resting his hand on the knob.

“For one thing, it’s just too friggin’ convenient that he was suddenly out of the country when it happened,” he talked on as he yawned. “So he gets someone to do his dirty work. Money.” He slid a cigarette out of the pack in his shirt pocket and shoved it between his lips. “That’s all the bastard’s ever cared about, anyway. Money and his dick.”