Faye Kellerman - Prayers for the Dead

“You have lots of family, then.”

“Yes, sometimes it’s too much of a good thing. But I’ve no complaints…” Sparks shook his head. “Until tonight…”

“How are you doing, Father?”

“Call me Bram. I’m doing lousy. But thanks for asking.”

“I hope I didn’t wake you.”

“Not at all. I was up…trying to make sense…driving myself crazy actually. Asking myself why him?”

“I have no answer for you.”

Bram sighed. “I’m a purveyor of faith. I’m used to ambiguities, believing without seeing. I try to see God’s will in everything. But this…” He threw up his hands. “Maybe it’s a test of some sort. If it is, I think I’m flunking.”

“You’re allowed to grieve, Father.”

“I suppose. Hard being on the other end. Receiving comfort instead of giving it.”

Bram grew quiet…pensive. Decker studied the priest. Calm, but not because he lacked emotions. Just not overtly effusive. Well suited for the clergy. “I meant to ask you this at the house. Does your father have living parents?”

“No. My paternal grandparents are dead. Dad has a brother. He lives in Indiana. He’s coming out for the memorial service tomorrow.”

“Uncle Caleb.”

“Ah, you have a memory.”

“No, but I take good notes,” Decker said. “Is he a doctor also?”

“A pastor.”

“Runs in the family.”

“According to my dad, that’s the way it was in the Midwest back then. Oldest son goes into the profession to support the younger son who goes into the ministry.”

“You did it backward in your family.”

“Pardon?”

“You’re the priest and your brother Mike is the doctor.”

Sparks rubbed his eyes under his glasses. “Becoming a priest wasn’t part of the play. What can I do for you, Lieutenant, at…” He checked his watch. “At two-fifteen in the morning. You keep going this long, we can say morning prayers together.”

I don’t think so. Decker asked, “Do you have patience for a few quick questions?”

“Certainly. We’re both after the same thing.”

Suddenly, the priest let out a small laugh.

“What?” Decker asked.

“Nothing. Inside joke. How can I help you?”

Decker pulled Azor Sparks’s Harley card from his pocket and handed it to Bram. “Any idea what this is about?”

A smile rose to the priest’s lips-genuine. “Son of a gun.” He shook his head. “Can I keep this?”

“Not at the moment. I found it in the car, so it’s evidence. What is it?”

“My father…” Sparks chuckled. “Believe it or not, my father rode with a club.”

“A motorcycle club?”

“Your basic weekend warrior.” Bram sat back in his chair, stared at the card. “My brother Luke and I went with him to buy his first bike. We begged him to take us along. Because some people see an older man…they take advantage. I don’t know about you, Lieutenant, but when I go out to buy something specialized, my knowledge of the acquisition is usually pretty bad. I remember when I had to buy some computers for the church. The salesperson started talking about megabytes and RAMs and ROMs and CD-ROM for virtual reality. I didn’t have a clue.

“My father goes to buy a motorcycle. The salesman takes him over to a bike.”

Bram laughed softly, his eyes watching a distant memory.

“Dad starts launching into this lecture of what’s wrong with the motorcycle. The cam chain tensioner isn’t calibrated to exact zero. The front hydraulic fork isn’t welded properly to the brake caliper. The rear drive sprocket…” He smiled. “All these years of education and I still don’t know what a sprocket is.”

“It’s the teeth in a gear that fit into a wheel,” Decker said.

“Good for you. I can see why-” He stopped midsentence. “Anyway, Dad blew the salesman away. They became instant friends. He’s been riding with this hard-case leather pack for a couple of years now. They call him Granddaddy Sparks.”

Bram looked at the card, handed it back to Decker.

“Apparently he enjoyed it a lot more than he let on. Which was typical of my father. He kept it close to the heart. It’s nice to know my father indulged in fantasies.”

“Did you call them to come to the service tomorrow?”

“You mean his motorcycle friends?”

“Yes.”

“No, tonight I only called the relatives and Dad’s church friends. I wouldn’t even know how to get hold of these guys.”

He thought a moment.

“I suppose I could call the dealership tomorrow.” Again, the priest smiled. “Now that would be something to see. Dad’s biker buddies sitting next to the church ladies.” His eyes suddenly moistened. “So needless. What a horrible, horrible… tragedy. As much as I try to fight it, say it was in God’s hands…because we’re all in God’s hands…I keep asking myself why my father? Why Azor Moses Sparks? Who did so much good. Just a colossal…waste!”

“I’m sorry.” Decker waited a beat, then said, “If you’re up to it, I’ve one more question.”

“Sure.”

“I was comparing notes with a few of my detectives. Did you often eat Sunday dinner with your family?”

Bram looked at Decker. “Why do you ask?”

“Please, Father. Just bear with me.”

“If I had no church obligations, I would eat Sunday dinner with my family. Why?”

“Ever any tension at the dinner table?”

Sparks gave Decker a quizzical look. “Lots of opinionated people under one roof. Sure, there was occasional friction. In general, the dinners were remarkably polite. You can’t judge us by the way we were this evening.”

“I realize that.”

“No, it goes even further than the fact that we were all in terrible shock. My siblings and I have an enormous respect for our parents. We keep the conflict to a minimum when they’re around.”

“Always?”

Again, Sparks stared at Decker. “What do you want to ask me, Lieutenant?”

“Your father once had a colleague of his and her husband over for dinner.”

“A colleague of his and her husband.” Bram brushed long hair out of his eyes. “Dr. Fulton. Her husband’s name was Drew. Drew McFadden. Funny. I couldn’t remember her name earlier this evening. But her husband’s, a man I met maybe two times…I remembered his name in a snap. What would Freud say about that?”

Decker said nothing.

Sparks said, “Maybe he left a bigger impression on me than she did. Anyway, what about the evening?”

Decker looked the priest in the eyes. “He said you got into a big argument with your father. Something about evil thoughts.”

Sparks maintained eye contact. “I don’t argue with my father, Lieutenant.”

Decker said. “Maybe I should say your father was arguing with you.”

Again, Sparks pushed hair from his face. “I don’t know a thing about Mr. McFadden or his wife, Dr. Fulton, or their relationship with each other. Not a thing, all right?”

“Fine.”

“So this digression is theoretical, okay?”

“Go on.”

“Suppose Mr. McFadden is a passive type of person. A guy who might be happy to stand back and let his wife support him, take care of him. So he can do his own thing. A person like that, who lets others run his life, might choose to avoid confrontation. In that person’s misguided perception, it is possible for him to misinterpret a theological discussion as an argument.”

“A heated theological discussion?”

“Not heated. Nothing much more than what you witnessed earlier this evening with my sister, Eva. Would you call that heated?”

“She was aggravated.”

“She was stunned over her father’s untimely death.”

“So Mr. McFadden was wrong? There was no argument?”