Faye Kellerman - Prayers for the Dead

“Maybe he appreciates the support.”

Rina was silent.

“I’m sorry.” Decker waited a beat. “If you want to talk to me, I’ll listen.”

“What’s the point?” Rina bit her nail. “There’s no point.”

“Are you mad at me?”

“Oh, Peter, of course not!” She sat next to him. “You’re one of the most honest people I’ve ever met.”

“One of the most?”

“There are a few others.”

“Who?”

“My parents, Rav Schulman, my late husband…Bram.”

Decker paused. “O-kay.”

Rina bit her nail again. “So I won’t bother telling you that you’re wrong-”

“No, don’t bother-”

“Or that you made a terrible mistake-”

“No, don’t bother with that at all.”

Rina’s eyes misted. She tried to cover it with a smile. Decker took her hand. “I know you’re hurting. And I feel lousy that I’m a part of it. It’s my own damn fault. I should have removed myself as soon as you told me you knew him.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“Ego and curiosity. It was stupid of me to go this far…to execute the warrant. Ah well.”

The water began to boil. Rina got up. “So you’ve washed your hands of the case?”

“No, I’m still supervising. But I’m not doing any interviewing…no direct contact with any of the parties involved.”

“So who’s questioning him? Marge?”

“Does it matter?”

“No.” Rina set a steaming mug on the table. “Is he even talking?”

“No, actually, he isn’t.” Decker stared at floating tea and mint leaves. “Has he always been closemouthed?”

Rina thought a moment. The tears came back. She wiped them away. “Bram’s always been circumspect.”

“He talk to you at all while he was caring for Yitzchak?”

“Of course.”

“About what?”

Rina shrugged. “Sometimes, we talked about religion. About how Hashem gives true believers trials to test their faith. It’s a tenet of both religions. For us Jews, it’s Abraham and the Akeda.”

“The sacrifice of Isaac.”

“Right. Apparently to Catholics, Mary is the ultimate figure of emmunah.” She frowned. “That’s weird. I just used a Hebrew word for a figure in Catholicism. Anyway, she’s their symbol of faith. Mostly, Bram offered me lots of nondenominational words of comfort.”

Decker said, “Did he ever talk about his family?”

“Sometimes.” Rina nodded.

“Anything illuminating?”

“Meaning?”

“Did he ever tell you anything about his personal relationships with his parents, brothers, and sisters…friends, male or female?”

“Occasionally.” Rina got up. “You want some more tea?”

“I’d love some more tea.”

Nervously, Rina refilled the mug with steaming water. “News made mention of some gay angle. Because Dr. Decameron was gay.”

Decker nodded.

Rina sighed. “Did you find evidence of that?”

“We’re still assessing information and evidence. I’m not evading your question, honey, I’m answering it truthfully.”

Rina looked upward. “What a mess!”

Decker tried to think of a nifty response, drawing blanks instead. He stood up and said, “It’s late and I still have a couple of business calls to make. Think I can chance a couple of good nights to the boys without having my head blown off?”

“How brave do you feel?”

He kissed his wife’s cheek. “Not too brave. But a man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do.”

Wiping the counter, Rina thought about possible excuses for running out at ten-thirty in the evening: a friend needed help…Rebbetzin Schulman wanted her opinion on some papers she had written…she suddenly wanted to visit her parents.

She discarded them one by one, all of them downright lame. Peter would laugh in her face.

Despite what Peter would do, she knew she was going to see Bram. That was given. But it would simply have to wait until tomorrow.

She heard Peter saying good night to the boys, heard his feet against the wooden floor of the hallway. A door was shut with a click.

Silence.

Rina glanced at the kitchen phone. The business line came alive.

He was dialing out from the bedroom.

Walking over to the wall, Rina ran a finger over the receiver.

Now or never. While the phone was still ringing. Because once someone picked up, Peter would be accutely aware of the extension kicking in.

She shouldn’t.

It was unethical.

It was wrong.

But she couldn’t look past the scene in her head. The pain in Bram’s eyes as he eulogized his father…so reminiscent of her own heartbreak almost a decade ago.

He had been there for her in endless ways.

And now he was in trouble.

He would have done it for her without a second thought.

Quietly, she removed the phone from the cradle. As luck would have it, Marge picked up at the same time.

Rina held her breath as her husband started talking.

She was ashamed of herself.

So be it. The feeling would have to keep.

Sitting at his desk, Decker sorted through the morning messages-four from Paul Sparks, three from Eva Shapiro, five from William Waterson on behalf of Dolores Sparks, and two from Michael. None from Maggie. More significant, none from Luke. Marge knocked on Decker’s doorjamb. He told her to come in.

“An advantage of my being off the Sparks case.” Decker stood and handed her the stack of phone slips. “I don’t have to return calls. Have fun.”

“Lucas Sparks is outside. He barged into your office this morning, demanding to talk to you. We almost threw him out.”

“You should have.”

“I would have except that I think he has something important to say.”

“I can’t talk to him.”

“He’s insistent, Pete-”

“I can’t do it, Marge. End of discussion.”

Marge pushed hair from her face. “Look, why don’t you explain to him personally why you can’t talk-”

“Marge-”

“Pete, if you let him go, we may miss something big.” Marge clenched her jaw. “How about if you talk to him while we all listen behind the one-way mirror?”

Decker considered the offer, feeling it was a mistake. But she was right. If Luke had something to say, stalling could give him cold feet. He took out a portable tape recorder from his desk drawer. “Bring him in the interview room. Give me about ten minutes.”

“All right!”

Marge left. Decker poured himself another cup of hard black coffee and downed an Advil, hoping to stave off a thrashing headache. Carefully, he reviewed his notes, then walked across the hall into the interview room.

In just a few days, Luke had lost weight. He was almost as thin as his brother. His clothes sagged, but he was washed and shaved, his hair clean and neatly combed. He wore a plaid flannel shirt and a pair of denims. His feet were housed in knock-off Doc Martens. He stood when Decker came in.

“Mr. Sparks. Please sit.”

Luke sat. So did Decker.

“I’ve got a bit of a problem,” Decker started. “I’m not on your father’s case anymore.”

“Why’s that?”

“Personal reasons.”

“You arrest my brother, then you chickenshit out when the heat’s poured on.” Luke nodded. “Typical of L.A.’s finest.”

Decker said, “Sir, there are five other-”

“You arrested him. You listen to me.”

“Okay, you can talk to me. But I want other people to hear what you have to say. Because I’m not doing solo interviewing.”

“Why were you pulled off? Incompetence?”

Decker ignored him. “You see that over there?” He pointed to a reflective wall.

“It’s a one-way mirror.”

“Right.”

“You’ve got other people listening in.”