Faye Kellerman - Prayers for the Dead

Decker said, “How long has Sparks carried the policy, Farrell?”

“He took it out five years ago.”

“So if the kids popped him, why did they wait so long?”

“Biding their time,” Oliver said. “Looks more natural that way.”

Martinez said, “We should rank them in order of who’s most suspicious. Lowest would be the priest. Not because he’s a priest, just because he has money in the bank.”

“Agreed,” Gaynor said. “Next on the list would be the two kids at home. Neither have any debt or expenses. Then the older sister, Eva. Her clothes shopping alone accounts for five grand a month-”

Marge said, “I thought she owns clothing stores.”

“Yeah, but according to her credit cards, she buys the good stuff-Chanel, Armani, Christian Lacroix, Cesucci, Yves St.-Laurent, Hermès, Gucci-”

“Criminy,” Marge said. “And to think I feel guilty every time I go to Mervyn’s.”

“Are they in deep debt?” Decker asked.

“No. But with the second co-owned with Daddy, they have no room for flexibility.”

“Finally, we conclude with Paul,” Decker said. “Okay, that takes care of the family.”

“Except Mom,” Marge pointed out.

“Very good,” Decker said.

Gaynor said, “Yes, the widow is now a wealthy woman.”

“Did you meet her, Pete…er, Loo?” Marge asked.

“Miss Dolly.” Decker smiled. “No, I didn’t meet her. She was fatigued, whisked away before I had a chance to talk to her. I’ll try to arrange something tomorrow morning. Let’s move away from the family for a moment.”

Gaynor said, “Even though the financial aspect of this case does focus attention on the kids.”

“Yes, it does,” Decker admitted. “But let’s not get tunnel vision. Farrell, did you find out any information about Sparks’s financial arrangement with Fisher/Tyne?”

Gaynor shook his head. “Nothing. It’s one thing to dig up bank accounts, pension beneficiary papers, credit card slips, and tax statements. It’s another to unveil personal business contracts.”

Decker looked at Marge. “Speaking of which, Decameron said for you to call him. He’s willing to meet with you and Scotty tomorrow for lunch. He’s going to bring you the Fisher/Tyne-FDA data.”

“He has the numbers?” Oliver asked.

“He thinks he knows where Azor kept them and he’s willing to share.” Decker wiped his brow with the back of his hand. “He thinks Gordon Shockley is a toad.”

Oliver dabbed sweat from his brow. “You know, the more I know Reggie, the better I like him.”

To Webster and Martinez, Decker said, “I got a fun assignment for you two.”

“What’s that?”

“Tomorrow morning, I want you to visit some motorcyclists.” He told the group about Sanchez and Polinski. “Apparently, they’re living in a trailer in Canyon Country. I’d like you two to find Sanchez…he calls himself Grease Pit…and try to talk to him alone-without Polinski. Now, I don’t know where this trailer is located. But Sanchez works here.” Decker gave them the address of the dealership. “See if you can pump out information from one of the other guys at his work location.”

“What does Polinski call himself?” Marge asked.

“Sidewinder.”

Marge grinned. “Oh those cute little boys with their cute little superhero names.”

Decker said, “Grease Pit mentioned something about a biker’s cause. I couldn’t get it out of him because Sidewinder kept steering him away from it.”

“The cause,” Gaynor said. “I wonder if it has anything to do with the three tax-deductible environmental checks that Sparks wrote out.”

Decker said, “Farrell, you do have a way of springing things. What environmental checks?”

“Sparks wrote three ten-thousand-dollar checks to something called the Peoples for Environment Freedoms Act.”

“What act is that?” Martinez asked.

“I don’t know,” Gaynor said. “I just saw the checks itemized along with all his other charity deductions. Most of them were to the church or to medical causes. These Freedoms Act ones stood out, not because they were so large-”

“Excuse my small southern-town perspective, but I think ten grand is a very large sum of money,” Webster remarked.

“To me too, Tom,” Gaynor said. “But Sparks wrote a lot of five-figure charity checks. Last year, he gave a hundred thousand to his church alone.”

“No wonder the kids had the run of the place for the memorial service,” Decker said.

“I remember these three ten-thousand-dollar checks because the charity was so different from his other donations.”

Decker looked at Webster and Martinez. “So now you have a name for the cause. Find Sanchez and ask him about the cause.”

Martinez grinned. “Do you want us to go as cops or as parties interested in investing?”

“I’ve got nothing against you two acting real friendly. But don’t do anything that strains the limit of credibility.” Decker sat back. “We’re all okay, then?”

Nods all around.

“Okay,” Decker said. “It’s about half-past six. Finish up your case notes, leave them on my desk, and we’ll meet again tomorrow.”

“One more thing, Lieutenant,” Gaynor said.

Oliver said, “That’s TV dialogue, Farrell.”

Gaynor smiled. “Too bad I can’t name the murderer. But I do have the name of the executor of the estate. William Waterson. He’s also Sparks’s lawyer.”

Decker wrote it down, nodded. “Yeah, his son Michael mentioned him.”

“Did you meet him, Loo?” Marge asked.

“No, I-” Decker paused. “No…not yet.”

Indeed, Decker hadn’t met him. But most likely, he had seen him. Because it just dawned on him that Waterson was probably the man with white hair and veiny nose, the one who had been deep in conversation with Paul Sparks.

To his amazement, Decker made it home during dinnertime. The boys looked up, greeting him with a couple of tepid “Hi, Dads.” But the dog barked excitedly, and the baby squealed with delight, jumping into his arms. Wordlessly, Rina heaped pot roast, mashed potatoes, and peas onto his plate. After washing, he sat down with Hannah in his lap, and threw Ginger a piece of fat. He picked up a forkful of food and shoved it into his mouth.

“Delicious,” he said, after swallowing. “Ginger, stop begging.”

“I’m glad you like it.”

“Reminds me of my mother’s cooking.”

“Yes, it is a rather goyishe meal.” Rina turned red. “Oh my goodness, I didn’t mean it like that.”

Decker grinned, threw Ginger another piece of fat. “You meant it. You just didn’t mean to say it.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No need to apologize. You must be in a goyishe mood.”

Rina didn’t answer. Hannah started throwing peas. Decker said, “Young lady, we eat peas. We don’t use them for target practice.” He offered her a legume. “Eat.”

Hannah took it and threw it.

“She’s totally spoiled,” Jake said. “No discipline.”

“You threw peas, too,” Rina said. “Once, you put one up your nose…or maybe that was Sammy.”

Sam made a face. “Do we really have to talk about this?”

Hannah threw another pea. It landed on Jake’s shirt. “Eema, c’mon. Do something.”

Decker pushed the plate beyond his daughter’s reach. Hannah started squawking. “Are you going to behave?”

“I behave.”

“No throwing peas?”

“I no throw peas.”

“All right then.” Decker kissed her forehead and pulled his plate within her grasp. She reached for one, but stopped herself. “I no throw peas.”

“Very good, Hannah Rosie. You’re a very good girl.”

Within minutes, Decker’s plate was empty. Rina gave him seconds. “It’s nice that you’re home with us. Right, boys?”