Faye Kellerman - Prayers for the Dead

“He called you?” Rina paused. “Of course, he’d call you.”

“Five minutes after the news broke. He wanted to come to the service, too. But he told me he’s not feeling too well lately. What does that mean?”

“He had a minor stroke about a year ago. He’s as alert as always. But it’s hard for him to walk.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. It’s been a while since I’ve visited him. Anyway, I’m going out there. I’m giving the eulogy tomorrow. I’ve found a couple of verses of Tehillim that I think are particularly appropriate for my father.”

Rina noticed that Bram said Tehillim instead of Psalms.

“I want to go over them with Rav Schulman,” Bram continued. “I’m sure he’ll give me a fresh insight. The man is a wellspring of knowledge.”

Rina mumbled a “yes” as the word Tehillim bounced around her brain. Tehillim. Prayers that spoke of God’s many praises. How many times had she uttered them as her first husband, Yitzy, lay dying. They were prayers for the dying. Prayers for the dead.

Rina said, “Two o’clock in front of the yeshiva. I’ll be there.”

Bram hesitated. “Have you told your husband? That you know me…through Yitzy?”

“I haven’t spoken to him since he got the initial phone call. He’s been gone all night. Besides, it’s not really relevant, is it?”

“It’s not relevant. But it is a good idea. To tell him we’re…well acquainted. He is investigating my father’s murder. It’s best to keep everything in the open. If he finds out we know each other through a third party, like Rav Schulman for instance, he might get upset.”

Rina said, “I’ll tell him tomorrow after the service.”

“Rina, he’ll probably be at the service.”

“If he is, I’ll handle him, Bram. I can handle my own husband.”

“I won’t say another word.”

Rina bit her lip. “I’m an idiot, jumping on you-”

“It doesn’t matter-”

“Bram, every time I mention Yitzy, it unnerves him.”

“I can understand his feelings.”

“I do understand them. That’s why I want to tread lightly. But you’re right. I’ll tell him first thing tomorrow morning. He should know we’re friends. Certainly from a professional standpoint. I don’t want anything hidden that might interfere with your father’s investigation.” She sighed. “Even if it means opening past wounds.”

“Rina, if it’s too painful for you, I can pretend this phone call never happened.”

“Absolutely not, Abram. I wouldn’t hear of it.” She cleared her throat. “I’ll meet you…tomorrow at two.”

“Thanks for calling, Rina. It means the world to me.”

She hesitated, then said, “You knew I’d call, Abram.”

“Yes, Rina,” he answered. “This time I knew you’d call.”

Sadness washed over Rina. She said nothing.

Bram said, “Good grief, that was stupid!”

“It was a well-deserved rebuke, Abram. I was wrong.”

“So was I.”

Rina said, soothingly, “Just goes to show you. Sometimes two wrongs do make a right.”

The third floor of New Chris was taken up by the Cardiac Care Unit-six divisions, each with its own central nursing station surrounded by a dozen private suites. The rooms, radiating from the center like spokes on a wheel, reminded Decker of biblical leper caves-isolated, dark, quiet, ominous. No human noises, just the occasional electronic whine of high-tech equipment at work.

Decker leaned against the wall, watching it all, fascinated by the sci-fi medicine. Someone tapped his shoulder. He straightened and turned around.

A heavyset nurse with muscular forearms. Young and well scrubbed. In another life, she might have been a milkmaid. She whispered, “Dr. Berger will be with you in a moment. Would you like more coffee?”

“No thank you,” Decker said softly. The nurse’s ID tag told him her name was Tara. “I’m pretty much coffeed-out. What exactly is Dr. Berger doing?”

“Pardon?”

Decker cleared his throat. “It’s almost three in the morning. Aren’t most of the patients asleep?”

Tara said, “He’s just finishing off two o’clock vitals check. Normally, we nurses record the numbers, dispense the necessary medicines according to the doctor’s orders. But Dr. Berger wanted to familiarize himself with Dr. Sparks’s patients. It will help ease the transition…as much as that’s possible.” She swallowed hard. “Dreadful!”

“Horrible.”

“Who would do such a terrible thing?”

“I don’t know, ma’am.” Decker leaned in close. “You wouldn’t have any thoughts about it, would you?”

“Why no!” Tara looked down. “Well, I have thoughts. But they don’t mean anything.”

“Tell them to me anyway.”

She started to talk, stopped, then bunched her facial muscles in concentration. “Well…to me, it sounds like…maybe he picked up the wrong person.”

Decker looked around the room. “What do you mean by ‘picked up’?”

“Like a motorist who he thought needed help. But the motorist was really a robber. Isn’t that a possibility?”

Decker slipped out his notebook. “Have you ever known Dr. Sparks to pick up people?”

“Not hitchhikers. But he was a take-charge kind of man. And he was a doctor.”

“Meaning?”

Tara dropped her voice even further. “Let’s say he thought he saw an accident. I’m sure he would have pulled the car over to help, no?”

The woman was making sense. Decker said, “Go on.”

“But suppose it wasn’t a real accident. Suppose it was a dodge…to entrap some poor unsuspecting motorist. And of course, Dr. Sparks would pull over. And when he did, he was carjacked. Robbed. Taken to a dark place…” She shivered. “It’s awful to think about it.”

“Do you know if Dr. Sparks ever did that before? Stopped at the scene of auto accidents?”

“Once. The driver had had a heart attack and had crashed into the sidewalk.” She paused. “Everyone was talking about it the next day…it became a joke.”

“A joke?”

“Yeah, the bad news is you had a heart attack at the wheel of your car. The good news is Dr. Sparks was in the neighborhood. And it’s true. The accident victim was lucky. She wouldn’t have made it if Dr. Sparks hadn’t stopped.” Tara thought a moment. “You know that wasn’t the only joke going around.”

“Tell me.”

“Everyone used to josh that Dr. Sparks secretly carried a paramedics scanner.”

Decker wrote sloppily, his tired brain trying to decipher what she was saying. “Why?”

“I’m not sure why. Maybe to hear if there were any auto accidents near to where he was. So he could help out. One of his many famous lectures dealt with the importance of the first few minutes when treating the victim of a cardiac infarct. Or it could be the joke came about because of Dr. Sparks’s incredible dedication to saving people’s lives. If someone needed help, he was there-Oh, there’s Dr. Berger. Excuse me.”

Tara scuttled away.

Round but compact, Berger moved quickly toward Decker. But his carriage belied his energy level. Of medium height, he appeared to be in his sixties with fleshy features-a bulbous nose and thick lips. His lids drooped, puffy pillows under his eyes, cheeks sagging with wan flesh. A face that had been dragged under the wheels of exhaustion. The dome of his head was pink, shiny skin dotted with sweat. A small gray ring of hair clothed the bottom and sides of his cranium. His clothes were stylish but in need of a pressing. In fact, his whole body seemed wrinkled with fatigue.

“I really am very busy, Lieutenant.”

“I know you are, Dr. Berger. All I need is just a few minutes of your time.”