are just a few of myriad available websites and organizations that can help educate us all about the challenges autism presents for the world’s autistic children. We can no longer look the other way. We all need to do our part!
www.autism.com (Autism Research Institute)
Prologue
August 21, 1995
University of California School of Art
Los Angeles, California
Completely mesmerized by a sketch unceremoniously placed on her desk only a moment earlier, Dr. Deborah McCoy could feel her heartbeat increasing by the second and she knew why. Today marked the eighty-fourth anniversary that every newspaper around the globe spread the shocking news that thieves had taken the world’s most famous painting. Two years later, authorities recovered Leonardo da Vinci’s Mona Lisa hidden in an apartment a few blocks away from its rightful home at the Louvre Museum in Paris, France. Despite the passing years, rumors persisted that a few of the master’s less significant works had been missing since the heist. While such speculations were never confirmed nor denied by the museum, McCoy was certain she may have just been handed a piece of history that could possibly validate the suspicions still held by many of the world’s art historians and scholars.
McCoy sat motionless, still staring at the sketch, but the drawing on her desk wasn’t her only distraction. Paying attention to business was never easy when Dr. James Lymburner was around. She looked up at her friend. Spending any amount of time with him was always a pleasant break from her professional life. They both shared the same passion for Leonardo da Vinci for over thirty years and, schedules permitting, they spent much of their leisure time together exploring a mutual fascination with the artist but this time it was different. What Lymburner just unceremoniously dropped on her desk had no precedent. The sketch looked eerily familiar. Her rational mind was telling her not to believe, but her heart was offering an opposing opinion. She had to be sure. She turned away from the sketch, finally breaking her prolonged silence. “Where did you get this?” she demanded.
Lymburner stopped his annoying pacing from one side of her office to the other and sat on a chair directly in front of her desk. McCoy felt her question was sufficiently straightforward but the look on Lymburner’s face told her there would be no simple answer. Lymburner took a deep breath and exhaled without answering. Patience having never been one her virtues, McCoy pounced, her voice even more emphatic. “James?”
“Let’s just say you wouldn’t believe me if I told you and leave it at that,” he acquiesced.
Temporarily resisting any response, McCoy shook of the comment. She pulled a magnifying glass from her desk and focused on the sketch. She didn’t have to look up to know Lymburner’s eyes were watching, admiring. Barely a month shy of fifty-two years old, her friends often reminded her that her classic beauty and carriage was the envy of every female half her age. Even though she was fifteen years Lymburner’s senior, she often entertained the thought of rekindling their brief affair but knew it was over long ago. She saw no harm in dreaming but her today’s temporary lust would have wait as her mind once again gave way to a far stronger passion. “I have to know. Tell me where you got this!” she demanded.
Lymburner offered no response, his pause testing McCoy’s patience even more. She pleaded again, but more politely this time. “You can’t just drop this in my lap with no explanation. I won’t be able to sleep!”
“I’m sorry. A few hours ago it seemed like a good idea but I get the feeling that I may have just overstepped my boundaries.”
“So why did you bring it to me?”
“I just wanted your opinion of the work, not the third degree about where it came from.”
“But you have to tell me where you got this!”
“Why is the origin important?”
Ignoring his question, McCoy turned her eyes back to the sketch but her mind failed to cooperate and quickly strayed. She thought how little Lymburner had changed since first enrolling in her undergraduate art history class twenty years earlier. A psychology major fulfilling an elective requirement, she had always found him polite but presumptuous. During one of their mid-semester student conferences, he once had the audacity to inform her that while he was personally fascinated with her sophistication and intellect, he wanted nothing more from their relationship than to enhance his understanding of fine art. Months later, mutual hormonal needs and a few glasses of wine overcame their casual cerebral friendship when an innocent excursion to an art gala near the Westwood campus turned into a very long and exciting night of sexual exploration. Many more romantic getaways soon followed but they eventually concluded that keeping their student-teacher relationship was more important than sex and put an end to their intimacies. Today, their pact remained intact, their bond growing stronger with each passing year.
Lymburner lost his patience, interrupting her digressions. “Deborah?”
McCoy quickly got back on point. Attempting a charade of indifference was not one of her strengths. “OK that’s it! I have to know!”
“I can’t tell you. Cut me a little slack, at least for now.”
“If I give you my opinion of the work, will you tell me where you got this sketch?”
“Not today.”
Offering her most seductive smile, McCoy softened slightly. “Not today. Is that the best you can do?”
“Yes.”
“But you will eventually tell me?”
“It isn’t my decision.”
“Do you have the original?”
Lymburner nodded. He looked confused. “Why do you ask?”
“We’ll need the original so we can have the paper analyzed to help pinpoint the date it was drawn.”
“What the hell for?”
“Then I’ll know.”
“Know what?”
McCoy took a moment, her mind still racing at breakneck speed. She took a deep breath and exhaled. “That, if my initial analysis is correct, this could be a huge discovery.”
“I already know it’s a discovery, just not the same kind you appear to be visualizing.”
McCoy ignored the comment, pulling a magnifying glass from her desk drawer to scan the sketch more closely. “This is very rough, unfinished, and certainly not his best work. My guess is that it’s probably something he did in his teens but…”
McCoy stopped mid-sentence and stepped away from her desk to view the sketch from another angle. She trusted her trained eyes but knew her mind was forging suppositions
