Prayers for the Dead

“Eva, enough.”

“It doesn’t say that in the Bible?”

“You’re quoting Bible to me?”

Eva stood up from the couch, fire in her eyes. “I’m telling you what it says right in the holy book.” She picked up the Bible from the coffee table. “Would you like me to find the passage?”

“Exodus thirty-two, nine,” he said wearily. “You’re being literal—”

“And you’re being condescending.”

“Eva, can we save the biblical exegesis—”

“You know, Bram, maybe I don’t know Hebrew like you do. But I do know Jews—”

“Fine, Eva, you’re a mavin on contemporary Jewish Zeitgeist. Can we move on?”

“What in the world is a Zeitgeist?” Paul asked. “Sounds like something from a fifties horror flick.”

“Honestly, Bram, I think you pull these words out of a hat!” Eva exclaimed.

“Isn’t it a sociology term?” Maggie said.

Bram said, “It’s the intellectual, moral, and cultural state of a people in a given era.”

“Sure, I knew that,” Luke said.

“What’s a mavin?” Paul asked.

“Expert,” Bram said. “Comes from the Hebrew word lehaveen—to understand.”

“So why didn’t you just say ‘so you’re an expert on Jews.’” Eva crossed her arms and tapped her foot. “You’re just infuriating sometimes. Always complicating everything. Just like David. He couldn’t make things easy on me and the family and just convert. No, he had to be spiteful—”

“Maybe the poor guy was just trying to assert himself,” Paul said. “Dad can be very intimidating.”

“The word is bossy,” Luke said.

“How can you talk about him like that after what happened to him!” Eva yelled out.

“You know, Eva, you don’t have a monopoly on grief,” Luke said. “I’m just as devastated as you are.”

Eva went on. “If David really cared about his family, he could have converted. Of course, now it’s too late!”

“Cold nights ahead for David,” Luke muttered.

Paul stifled a smile. A beeper went off. The priest looked at his belt, checked the number, then stood up. “Excuse me for a moment.”

After Bram left the room, Eva turned her ire to Paul. “You know when Spencer was sick, David sure didn’t mind Dad handling all the surgeries and the medical expenses. Suddenly, Dad’s take-charge attitude didn’t bother him a bit!”

“What was wrong with Spencer?” Decker asked.

“He was born with a cleft palate,” Eva said. “It was a very difficult labor. Afterward, I ran a high fever and started hemorrhaging. David was completely useless. Couldn’t deal with it. He just went off and buried himself in his work. Left me to fend for myself—”

“He was very upset, Eva,” Paul said. “He just didn’t know what to do.”

“Well, he might have stuck around instead of bolting.” Eva looked at Decker. “My father had to step in—not only for me but for Spencer. My mom took over the care of my other children while David composed himself. And you know what, Lieutenant. My father never lorded it over my husband—”

Luke interrupted, “Well, that’s not quite true—”

“Excuse me, Lieutenant,” Eva said forcefully. “I’d like to check on my mother now. Any other questions I can answer?”

Decker kept his face flat, shook his head.

Eva turned on her heels and trotted upstairs.

The woman had her opinions. Then Decker remembered her position in the family. The little girl after three boys. No doubt Eva had been indulged.

Luke said, “I loved my father dearly, Lieutenant. But it wasn’t that simple.”

Maggie said, “It’s Eva’s business.”

“I just don’t want the lieutenant here thinking that David’s a total jerk.”

Maggie said, “He was a total jerk—”

“Dad emasculated him—”

“He did not!” Maggie broke in. “So he berated David. David deserved it. Deserting Eva like he did.”

Paul said, “No offense, Mag, but you don’t understand how wives can be.”

“Amen,” Luke said.

“I don’t believe this,” Maggie said. “Another stupid boys against the girls argument.”

Michael came back down. “Where’s Bram?”

“He had to use the phone.” Paul turned to Decker. “Do you really need to hear all this?”

Decker stood, folded his notepad. “No, I think I have all the information I need right now. I’ll leave as soon as Bram gets off the phone.”

Luke said, “We’re bickering like when we were children. It’s all the stress.”

Michael said, “We all loved Dad very much. I think I speak for everyone when I say, anything you need from us to find whoever …”

“Absolutely,” Maggie said.

“Anything,” Paul said. “Just find the bastard and bring him to me. I’ll handle the son of a bitch!”

Decker said, “Let the police handle it, please.”

“Fucking asshole—”

“Paul, please!” Maggie said.

“Probably some bastard carjacker.” Luke began to pace. “Crime’s unbelievable in this city.”

Paul looked pointedly at Decker. “That’s what happens when the police handle it.”

Decker said, “Sir, I know—”

“Dad didn’t drive an expensive car,” Michael butted in. “Why would anyone carjack a Buick?”

“They use the car for crime,” Paul said. “They see an old guy, they think easy target. Knowing Dad, he probably resisted.” To Decker, he said, “My father was tough. He wouldn’t give up without a fight, I could tell you that much.”

Bram came back in.

“Emergency?” Michael asked.

“No, somebody from my church just using my emergency line. I have a feeling I’m going to get a lot of that tonight. Where’s Eva?”

Paul pointed up.

Bram sighed, looked at Decker. “Can I go make peace with my sister? We are all kind of fragile right now.”

Decker nodded. Bram left the room. Luke said, “Eva’s marriage is …” He splayed his hand and rocked his wrist back and forth.

“It’s not any of his business,” Michael said.

“But it does explain her behavior,” Luke said.

Bram came down a moment later, hugging Eva, who was sobbing in his arms. The priest said, “Maggie, can you take Eva into the kitchen and make her a cup of tea?”

Maggie swooped her sister into her arms. As they headed for the kitchen, Maggie began to cry.

Luke said, “I think the reality of what happened is finally dawning on us.”

Bram closed and opened his eyes. “Who’s staying with Mom?”

“Nobody has to stay,” Michael said. “I can take care of Mom.”

“You’re going home, Paul?” Luke asked.

“No, I don’t want to go home tonight. I just can’t face …” Paul stopped talking, sighed. “Maybe I’ll take a drive.”

“Be careful, bro,” Bram said.

“Yeah.”

“I mean that.”

“I know you do, Golden Boy.”

A moment passed. Then Paul and Bram embraced.

“Get some sleep,” Bram told his brother.

“A nice thought, but not likely.” Paul left, gently closing the front door behind him.

To Luke, Bram said, “What about you?”

“Think I’ll stick around.” Luke averted his eyes. “Can you do me a favor, Golden Boy?”

“What?”

“Call Dana for me.”

“Lucas—”

“Abram, I can’t deal …” Water seeped from Luke’s eyes. He squeezed them shut, tears rolling down his cheeks. He made a quick swipe at them, then headed for the kitchen.

“Everybody’s falling apart!” Michael threw up his hands and paced. “Of course, everyone’s falling apart. What did I expect!”

Bram said, “Why don’t you go into the kitchen, Mike? Go drink some tea.”

Michael opened his mouth to speak, but instead just shook his head and left the room.

Decker placed his hand on the priest’s shoulder. “Ready?”

Bram nodded. On the way out, he said, “Thank you for helping me through that terrible ordeal earlier in the evening.”

“Are you all right?”

Bram shook his head. “I don’t know. I had to see him … to make sure. But heavens, it was … painful …”

“I hope I can give you all some resolution quickly.” Decker opened the passenger door to the Volare. “I’ll get you a traffic cop for tomorrow’s service.”

“Thanks.”

Decker got in and started the car.

Bram said, “You handled my family well. Low-key works well with us.”

“They depend on you a lot, don’t they?”

Bram looked out the window. “I wouldn’t say that.”

Decker waited for more. Nothing came. The priest had shut down.

“Do me a favor, will you, Father?”

“How can I help you?”

“Watch your brother Paul. I don’t need a vigilante for homespun justice.”

“He’s just talking.”

“He’s agitated.”

“We’re all agitated. Right now, I think we’re all too dazed to do anything.”

“Sometimes that’s when people lash out.”

Bram sat back in his seat. “Violent city we live in. No regard for human life. It’s terrible.”

“Often these things do get solved if you’re persistent and patient,” Decker said. “I try to be optimistic. But I don’t want to get anyone’s hopes up too high.”

Bram laughed, a sad sound. “I fervently believe in God, Lieutenant. But I’ve given up believing in miracles.”

7

Cradling the phone in the crook of his neck, Scott Oliver flipped through his notes. The machine must have had a hands-off feature, but Oliver couldn’t figure out how to use it. To Decker, he said, “The secretary claims she left the hospital around eight. Decameron says he left with Sparks about a quarter to. They walked out to the doctors’ lot together. Decameron had pissed Sparks off and was trying to smooth things over.”

“Which means Decameron was probably the last person at the hospital to see Sparks alive,” Marge spoke from the extension in Heather Manley’s office.

“How’d Decameron anger Sparks?” Decker asked.

“Apparently, Decameron read some of Dr. Sparks’s data without his permission. A big no-no.”

“I can see that,” Decker said. “I hate snoops.”

Marge said, “He wasn’t snooping really, just excited about some positive data concerning Sparks’s pet research project.”

Oliver said, “Decameron said he apologized and Sparks accepted it. End of story.”

“Up front with it,” Marge said. “Told us about it right away.”

Decker said, “When Sparks left the hospital, did Decameron notice if his boss seemed in a hurry?”

“We asked him that.” Oliver transferred the phone to his other ear. “Decameron didn’t notice anything special. But he added that it wasn’t Sparks’s style to rush. Even when he was under pressure, he appeared calm, completely in control.”

Decker said, “Any idea if he was meeting someone?”

Marge said, “We asked that, too. Sparks didn’t say. But if he was meeting anyone, both Decameron and Manley thought it was probably his son Paul.”

“Because Sparks cut the meeting short after he received Paul’s call,” Oliver added. “Did you meet Paul, Loo?”

“I met all of Sparks’s children. These aren’t TAC lines, so I’ll talk about it later. Where are Decameron and Manley now?”

Oliver said, “The night staff has called an emergency meeting. Decameron is briefing them on how to proceed with Sparks’s cases. It’s a mess here—a very nervous hospital filled with panicky patients.”

Marge said, “Sparks did all sorts of cardiac procedures, not only transplants. The great majority of the hospital are his heart patients. Everyone is anxious.”

Decker asked, “Is Decameron a practitioner as well as a researcher?”

Marge said, “He’s trained as a cardiac surgeon, but he doesn’t have many clinical patients anymore. His energies are directed to transplant research. He did say—albeit grudgingly—that Myron Berger, one of their colleagues, is a very good surgeon, capable of filling in for Sparks.”

“Grudgingly with a capital G,” Oliver added. “Decameron works with Berger, but he hates him. Course, Reggie boy doesn’t seem to like anyone. He’s also a flounce.”

“Flamingly gay,” Marge said. “Proud of it.”

“You gotta kind of admire him for that,” Oliver said. “And he’s real smart. Clever as well as academic.”

Decker paused. “I wonder if Decameron’s gayness created tension between him and a Fundamentalist like Sparks?”

“Not according to Decameron,” Marge said. “He said Sparks could work with anyone on a professional level.”

“He also mentioned that Sparks had a gay son who was a priest,” Oliver said. “Maybe that made Sparks more tolerant.”

Decker thought for a moment. Bram didn’t seem overtly gay. But that didn’t mean anything. “What about Dr. Berger? Anyone talk to him yet?”

“Can’t get hold of him,” Marge said. “We’ve left a half-dozen messages—”

“I don’t like that at all.”

Oliver said, “We didn’t either, Loo. Sent a cruiser by there a half hour ago. House is dark, but nothing appears out of order. Just looks like no one’s home.”

“So where is he?” Decker asked. “If Berger’s a surgeon with clinical patients, he must have a pager.”

“Yeah, we tried his beeper,” Oliver said. “His answering service said he wasn’t on-call tonight. A resident named Kenner is covering for him. I guess Berger shuts down when he’s off.”

Unlike Sparks who basically lived at the hospital. Decker said, “Sparks also worked with a woman named Elizabeth Fulton. What do you know about her?”

Marge said, “Now, we did reach Fulton. She can’t come to the hospital at the moment, because she can’t swing a baby-sitter.” She was silent for a moment. “Isn’t that weird. A doctor of her stature not having twenty-four-hour help?”

“But she’s not a practitioner,” Oliver said. “Strictly research.”

Marge said, “Still, she’s a busy woman. You’d think she’d have a live-in.”

Oliver said, “Anyway, she’s more than willing to talk to us if we want to come to her place.”

Decker checked his watch. Almost midnight. “Call her up. Tell her you’ll be down there tonight. Did you check out the rest of the hospital staff?”

“Not yet,” Oliver said.

“We’re going to do that now,” Marge said. “Unless you want us to see Fulton first.”

Decker said, “Webster and Martinez are just about done over here at the crime scene. I’ll send them over to the hospital. You go interview this Dr. Fulton. What happened to the secretary, Heather Manley? She still around or did she go home?”

“Went home,” Marge said.

“No reason to keep her.” Oliver felt his lips arc upward into a grin. “Well, I’ve got a reason to keep her, but it doesn’t have anything to do with the case.”

“Good-looking?”

“Very nice, Loo.”

“Affair material?”

“Definitely,” Marge said. “But Heather claims no. Sparks was way too close to Jesus to do something like that.”

“What do you think, Scott?”

Oliver brushed the lapel of his Armani blazer. Got this baby used from a secondhand shop, but it was in perfect condition. Wonderful fabric, the wool was lightweight but warm. “What do I think? Sure I think it’s a possibility despite what Manley says.”

“He doesn’t sound like the kind to me, Pete.” To Oliver, Marge said, “You know, there are some men who don’t do it, Scotty.”

“Two classes of men, Marge,” Oliver said. “Those who cheat and those who’re going to cheat. Only thing that separates them is timing.”

Decker said, “Who’s taking over Sparks’s patients right now?”

“Residents,” Oliver said. “As soon as Dr. Berger is reached, Decameron is sure that he’ll fill in. There have also been lots of surgeons from other places volunteering to help out. Everyone speaks highly of Sparks.”

Decker said, “Okay. Go interview Dr. Fulton. By the way, did Decameron mention a drug called Curedon to you?”

“Did he mention Curedon?” Oliver laughed. “Marge and I have doctorates in immunosuppressants.” He brought Decker up to date on Sparks’s research.

“See, that’s why Decameron swiped the data from Sparks’s fax machine,” Marge said. “It was good news. Lately, Curedon had undergone some problems in its death rate. This particular batch of data was positive. Decameron said he just didn’t want to wait until Sparks handed him the sheets.”

“And that was the only thing that pissed off Sparks?” Decker asked. “Sure there wasn’t more to the argument?”

“Not according to him,” Oliver said. “Of course, one of the other doctors might offer a different version.”

Decker said, “Why should Decameron care so much if it’s Sparks’s drug? He doesn’t make money off of it, does he?”

“Decameron says no,” Oliver said. “But …”

Marge said, “He told us that as of right now, he is the liaison between Fisher/Tyne, the FDA, and Sparks’s lab.” She paused. “I know this may sound corny. But I get the feeling that Decameron takes his job seriously, has a great deal of pride in his work. He had a personal stake in Curedon’s success if not a financial one.”

“Hmmmm,” Decker said.

“You know differently?” Oliver asked.

“Nah, just my normal suspicious nature,” Decker said. “Someone should go talk to people at Fisher/Tyne ASAP. Find out if the company did pay Sparks a hefty sum for the right to manufacture the drug. Because where there’s money, there’s motive for murder.”

Oliver said, “We don’t even know where Fisher/Tyne is located, Loo.”

“Ask Decameron,” Decker said.

Marge said, “What if they’re out of state?”

“If necessary, we’ll send you there.”

Oliver smiled. “Let’s hope for Florida.”

“There’re gators in Florida,” Marge said.

Oliver said, “There’re gators everywhere, Margie. Most of them are just two-legged.”

Decker took a final sip of coffee, hung up the mike, then heaved his body out of the Volare. He lurched forward into the cold mist, checked his watch again.

Midnight.

Most normal people were retiring for bed.

Bed was a very nice thought.

Bert Martinez walked over to him. Decker offered the detective some coffee from his thermos.

“No thanks,” Martinez answered. “Wife packed me a jug full of Mexican coffee. Strong stuff. Spicy. Want a cup?”

“Where were you ten minutes ago … before I tanked up on this swill?”

Martinez smiled.

Decker stuck his hands in his pockets. Rocked on his feet to give them circulation. Man, it was cold out here, fog attacking the skin with tiny, icy needles. Standing in a back alley perfumed by rotting food, cold asphalt seeping into the soles of his shoes.

He said, “Take it there’s nothing to report. Otherwise we wouldn’t be talking about coffee.”

Martinez closed the zipper on his windbreaker, streaks of silvered-black hair plastered to his sweaty brow. He blew on his hands, then stuck them in his pockets. He was more squat than tall, but his muscles could pack a wallop.

“The problem is that the restaurant’s dishwashing area faces the back alley.”

Even with the kitchen door closed, Decker could hear the hum of machinery combined with the rhythmic blare of trumpets. Someone had the radio on.

“You think the noise is bad out here,” Martinez said, “nothing like it is inside. Dishwashers running full tilt, the help have cranked up the music to earsplitting level. Besides, there’s lots of noise coming from the front portion of the kitchen. Appliances running, pots and pans clattering, and the chef screaming at everyone.”

“No one heard anything?” Decker asked.

“That’s the consistent story,” Martinez said. “Believe me, I interviewed everyone in the back en español so no one can say they didn’t understand my questions. Between the whoops of the salsa music and the whir of the dishwashers, you can’t hear yourself think. Besides, you know Latinos. Especially the green-card holders. Close mouthed when it comes to the police. Half of them think we’re in cahoots with INS. Hard to get their confidence, hard to get them to talk. Especially the men. It’s a macho thing, a way they can play one up on us.”

Decker smoothed his mustache. “So Sparks was shot and carved and, supposedly, no one heard a thing.”

“It could be the truth. Maybe the guy used a silencer. Maybe he worked fast.”

“The more likely explanation is we’re working with more than one person.”

“Because of the dual MO.”

“Exactly,” Decker said. “Was there any cash in his wallet?”

“Few bucks in cash and his credit cards were still there. Either it was an incomplete mugging, maybe someone spooked the muggers. Or robbery wasn’t the motive.”

“Shit,” Decker muttered. “Be nice if we could have traced credit cards or something!” He cursed again. “What about the valets, Bert? Did they hear anything?”

“They park the cars in front of the restaurant, not in back.”

“Sound travels at night,” Decker said.

“The street’s a main thoroughfare at eight-thirty. Lots of cars with loud radios, backfires, and revved-up motors.”

Webster sauntered over to them, wearing a set of earphones. He removed them, stowed them in his pocket.

“What are you listening to?” Martinez asked.

“Selections from Saint-Saëns. Specifically, Danse Macabre. Eerily apropos.” He kicked a clod of broken asphalt with his shoe. “Not much in the way of trash, Loo-tenant. Y’all want me to search again, I reckon I have the time. Still got a Samson and Delilah CD to listen to.”

“Got another assignment for you two,” Decker said. “I’m sending you both out to New Chris to interview the staff there.”

Martinez said, “You want us to talk to everyone or just the people who Sparks worked with on a regular basis?”

Decker said, “Talk to everyone.”

“I see you don’t b’lieve in sleep,” Webster said.

“I’m not sleeping, buddy, you’re not sleeping.” Decker’s brain was buzzing. Too much coffee. “We have a gruesome murder and so far the only remote motive we’ve pulled out was an academic tiff between Sparks and one of his colleagues. That’s not much.”

Webster said, “It’s a start.”

“It ain’t enough,” Decker said emphatically. “I’m not saying we’ve got to solve this within the twenty-four-hour cutoff. But we got to do better than this. Sparks was known as a rich man. Could be some hospital worker intended to tail him and rob him. Find out who called in absent today.”

“Anybody know what he was doing here?” Martinez asked. “In back of Tracadero’s specifically.”

“No,” Decker said. “Call me in an hour to brief me on your progress.”

Tom nodded. “You want to drive, Bert?”

“No problem. You want some coffee?”

“You got coffee?”

“A whole jug of Mexican stuff—strong and spicy. I also got some pasteles and fried tortillas with powdered sugar. Wife’s a good cook.” Martinez patted his gut. “Too good.”

“Y’all don’t have to eat it.”

“If it’s in front of me, I eat it.”

Decker watched them disappear in a swirling snowstorm of street-lit mist. Decker folded his arms over his chest, let out a fog-visible sigh. Farrell Gaynor was still poking around the scene. Decker walked over to the Buick.

“Impound should be here momentarily, Loo.” Gaynor was half in, half out of the car, legs dangling from the interior. Finally, he began to push his body out. It looked like the Buick was giving birth to a breech baby. He straightened his spine, handed some paper to Decker. “Couple of gas credit slips. He kept his car real neat. Not surprising considering what he does.”

“Yeah, think you would want your heart surgeon to be the compulsive type.”

“Now, this is more interesting, Loo.” Gaynor offered Decker a white business card.

“Wait, let me put my gloves on.” He slipped on latex, then took the piece of paper.

The background was imprinted with the Harley-Davidson logo—wings attached to a big H. Bold Gothic letters were overlaid across the center of the card.

Everyone needs an Ace In The Hole.

Because Sparks fly hard and hot.