Faye Kellerman - Prayers for the Dead

“No argument. There was a discussion.”

“Funny, because he told us that it was very much an argument. As a matter of fact, he told me it wasn’t just your father. He said everyone was dumping on you. And you just took it.”

“Why is this important? Are you trying to establish a year-old animated discussion between my father and me as a motive for murder?”

Decker raised his brow. Maybe. Because at the moment, he was grasping at straws. He said, “I’m merely asking a question, Father.”

Sparks exhaled, rubbed his eyes. “I remember the discussion. We were talking about the different religious perceptions of evil thought versus evil action. Were the two equivalent? Not in a judicial sense. No one was debating the difference between evil thought and action in American jurisprudence. We were talking theology. Before the eyes of God, are evil thoughts indeed evil actions?”

Bram looked at Decker, gauging him. “Yes, it’s weird. But it beats ‘how ’bout them Dodgers.’”

Decker said, “I understand what it’s like to live in a religiously driven home.”

“Thank you.”

“Go on.”

Sparks said, “Evil thought as a moral trespass is a Christian concept-a very Catholic concept as well. Evil thoughts require confession, penance, and absolution just like evil action. Why? Because if evil thoughts aren’t dealt with…atoned for and expunged from the idiore-pertoire of our mental workings, they will lead to evil action.”

“Okay.”

“Two schools of thought. Evil ruminations grow into monsters unto themselves until the individual is forced to act upon them. Or my philosophy, which certainly isn’t original, that with ninety-nine percent of us, evil thoughts are pressure valves. A way to release our frustrations or lusts or anger. Ergo, are penance and atonement really necessary for evil thoughts or immoral fantasies? Furthermore, are religious representatives-such as myself-doing a disservice to their flocks by convincing them to drive away these thoughts? Cutting off an avenue of escape from tension. I suggested this kind of narrow-minded repression might even be potentially harmful. My family-especially my father-took exception. Said a clean mind was tantamount to a clean soul. Words that my mother agreed with wholeheartedly.”

“How’d you respond?”

“I didn’t. I backed down. And that, my friend, is it.”

Decker rolled his tongue in his cheek. “Why’d you back down?”

“My, you’re inquisitive.”

“I’m a detective. It’s my job to find things out. Not unlike yours, Father.”

“Hardly, but why go into that now.” Sparks looked down, then up. “I don’t argue with my father because we don’t have parity. As religious and learned as he is, he is at a distinct disadvantage simply because I’ve had more theological education. I can pull rabbits out of my hat. He can’t. As far as my sibs go…Lord, I’m tired.”

Decker waited.

“I backed down with my sibs because I didn’t want to come on too strong in front of our parents. Religion is my field, my calling, my life. If I make a brilliant analysis using theological exegesis, in their eyes, I’m not Bram, the learned priest. On the contrary I’m Bram, the golden boy, scoring brownie points with my parents. Uh-uh, I’m not going to play that game.”

“You’re all adults.”

“You’re right. It’s absurd to have to think about these things at thirty-five. But old habits are hard to break.” Bram grew pensive. “And there’s a history behind it. They grew up with a brother to whom being right was the eleventh commandment.”

His eyes grew far away.

“I used to love to debate…argue. I could always use words to drive someone into the ground. A big power lust for me.”

His eyes refocused, zeroed in on Decker’s.

“I had a cherished friend once. A man who could use words better than I. We used to spend hours together, arguing about God. I loved him like a brother. Then one day he started seeing double. He took sick. Ten months later, he was dead.”

He swallowed hard.

“All of a sudden being right wasn’t important anymore.”

His eyes were wet and hot. Decker kept his gaze steady, his face impassive. Then abruptly, Sparks’s face went slack, a candle sculpture melting into exhaustion. “So let them dump on me. I can take it.”

He checked his watch.

“It’s late. Don’t you have a wife and kids at home?”

Decker was quiet.

“That was rude. I apologize. What else do you need?”

“Nothing at the moment.” Decker stood. “Thank you for your time.”

“Something else pops into your head, feel free to call, drop in.” The priest plugged the phone back in. “Because it’s a certain fact that I’m not going anywhere.”

Turning on the lamp. More of a symbolic gesture than anything else. Because Rina had given up on sleep a long time ago. Her eyes took a minute to adjust to the harsh light. She checked the clock.

Half past two.

Peter said it was going to be a long night.

A very long night.

Her fingers brushed over the phone. The name of the place escaped her. A vague recollection, but nothing clear came into view.

With determination, she hoisted herself out of bed and retrieved the Yellow Pages. Plopped back into bed and began looking under C for churches. It took her just a moment to find The Holy Order of St. Thomas’s.

That was it.

Was a church even open twenty-four hours a day? Synagogues weren’t. But pulpit rabbis often had emergency beeper numbers. In case there was a crisis with one of their members.

She dialed. Two rings, three rings. The machine kicked in. An anonymous female voice…

She had reached the Holy Order of Saint Thomas Church. “Please leave a message at the sound of the beep. For emergency counseling and immediate consultation with Father Abram Sparks, please dial…”

Rina waited patiently while a series of numbers and instructions were recited. Finally, she heard the beep.

It took a moment for Rina to find her voice. Then she said, “Yes, this is Rina…” A beat. “This is Rina Lazarus…Decker placing a call to Father Abram Sparks. I just wanted to-”

“Hello?”

Bram’s voice cut through the line. And with a single sound a thousand memories flooded her mind. She couldn’t talk. Dead silence between them.

Bram said, “Phone’s been ringing off the hook. I put the machine on because I haven’t had the stomach to talk to anyone. But you…” His voice cracked. “I can’t tell you what this means to me.”

“Bram, I’m so sorry, I’m…”

“I know.”

Nobody spoke.

Rina said, “Is there anything I can do for you?”

“Your calling is enough.” He paused. “Your husband just left my office. Actually, he came to the house about three, four hours ago.”

Rina didn’t respond.

“Asked us some questions,” Bram said. “He treated everyone with sensitivity. He’s a good man, Rina. I’m sure Yitzy would have liked him.”

Rina felt her throat constrict as ghosts talked to her from the grave. “Your father was a very important man. I’m sure Peter has every available man…oh dear, that sounds so…”

Bram didn’t answer.

“Can’t I do anything for you?” Rina pleaded.

Bram said, “We’re holding a service tomorrow for my dad at his church. Not a funeral…body is still in autopsy…but it’s a remembrance more than anything. Three P.M. Be nice if you came.”

“Of course, I’ll be there. Where is it?”

“It’s going to be mobbed, Rina. My father was a respected man with many admirers. I won’t see you if you come on your own. Let me pick you up-”

“Bram-”

“I’ll meet you in front of the Yeshivat Ohavei Torah at two tomorrow. I’m going to see Rav Schulman in the morning anyway.”