Ablaze

Chapter 29

Harris squints at the picture of the dark-haired boy with cheeks marked by acne.

The shape of his eyes, the distance between them, the cheekbones—there is a passing resemblance to Olive Appleby. The police must have matched the facial structure already, or they wouldn't show the photo to Agatha. But scrubbed, handsome, glam Oliver and this scruffy guy? It seems like an impossible transformation.

"This man's real name is Robert Ward," Lonita says. "He comes from a peculiar family."

"How peculiar?" Harris asks.

"Rich, eccentric, dead-set on being left alone."

A stifled chuckle—or maybe it's a hiccup—escapes Agatha. "I've met people like that."

"I doubt it. The Wards were extreme." Lonita shakes her head. "When Robert was nine or ten, they moved to a yacht. Sailed year-round, mostly through the parts of the world where they'd stay under the radar."

"It must have been lonely for a child," Agatha says. "Not to mention risky."

Harris squirms in the police station's firm chair. If this guy is Oliver, he's interested in info that'll get him arrested, rather than a sob story about his tough childhood on a luxurious yacht.

"When he was seventeen, the yacht sank in the Caribbean," Lonita continues, and Harris suppresses a pang of guilt.

"Robert's parents, along with most of the crew, drowned. Young Robert somehow made it to shore," he partner adds, like on a cue.

"That's suspicious, isn't it?" Harris swivels his head between the two cops.

Lonita shrugs Harris' eagerness for the arrest-leaning tidbits. "The sea buried many mysteries. What applies to us, is that Robert was a minor, so he had to wait to take over his parent's estate. He moved to Milwaukee, something that made his case worker remember him. Why not New York or San Francisco?

"Other than that oddness, he lived like an ordinary rich kid. Enrolled into a private school. Amazed teachers with his abilities. Could have gone to a college of his choosing with his money and grades. Instead, he did exactly what his parents did. He sailed into the sunset as soon as the formalities were over upon reaching the age of majority."

So far the yarn looks rather hopeless to Harris, but... "And the fingerprints? Why were they on file?"

"A lab in his school was set on fire, resulting in serious damage to the building. No classes for two months."

Agatha's hand convulses under Harris' hand. Her fingers are icy-cold. He threads his through, trying to warm them up. "And?"

"He made an impression on the investigating officer, but the charges had to be dropped. Not enough evidence."

Agatha squeezes his hand in a vise-like grip. It's amazing how much strength hides in her delicate frame. "And... Oliver?"

"Adopted by a childless British family from somewhere in Eastern Europe. As it often happens, they had two more children right afterward," Lonita says.

Harris frowns, waiting for a connection to come up.

"When he was a teen, he found out, and that created a rift. It only grew wider thanks to his penchant for 'get rich quick' schemes, involving the family's money. By the time he was twenty, he was estranged from everyone he knew. Then, he found a sap who'd go into sourcing coffee with him..."

And the rest is history, people would usually say at this point... only, it's not so simple.

Lonita pulls up another photograph—this one is a mugshot from a place whose name Harris doesn't recognize. He also doesn't recognize the guy in the picture. He is blond, slim, and blue-eyed. Handsome, if you like insolent smirks. "That's Oliver Appleby, six years ago."