Faye Kellerman - Prayers for the Dead

“No, darling, you are not stupid.”

Rina smiled. “You’re a good sport.”

“I’m a lousy sport,” Decker said. “I’m pissed as hell. You know, Decameron may have also found Bram’s apartment key in Azor’s files. Maybe he thought his boss had a secret hideaway for his activities.”

“What would Azor be doing with Bram’s apartment key?” Marge asked.

“I’ve got a key to my daughter’s apartment in New York. In case of emergencies.”

Marge said, “I still don’t understand why Bram would have kept his dead father’s porno magazines in his safe.”

Decker frowned. “Because he was on his way out to visit a sick kid and didn’t know what to do with them. Because you don’t toss magazines like that in your apartment Dumpster. You hold them until you figure out how to get rid of them.”

“You know what I don’t understand,” Oliver said. “I don’t understand why Dr. Azor Moses Sparks-Mr. Austere, By the Book, Elder, Pillar of the Christian Community-would have subscribed to those kinds of magazines using his real name.”

“Arrogance,” Decker said.

“Or he wanted to get caught,” Rina said. “Maybe he was planning to come out.”

They all looked at Rina. Oliver said. “You know, Loo, she’s real bright-”

“Yes, I know that, Scott.” Decker sat up. “So…if Azor Sparks were suddenly to come out of the closet…who would that impact on the most?”

“His wife, of course,” Rina answered.

“His wife,” Decker echoed. “Say she found out about her husband’s preferences. Say she confronted him. Maybe he denied it. But maybe he admitted it, even told her he was going to leave her. Think about it, guys.”

“Here’s a woman who put in forty years with a man. Bore him six children, lived her life around him, developed her identity on the basis of being his wife. His parties were her parties. His dinners were her dinners. Through him, she had a role-as a wife, as a mother, as a leader in the church, as hostess of dinners and parties. She thought he was her soulmate, her heavenly match from God.”

“Hell hath no fury,” Oliver said.

“You’d better believe it,” Decker said. “What if he decided to leave her-sort out his feelings, wrestle with his inclinations, make his own peace with God. Maybe he took it one step further. Maybe he had someone waiting in the wings-”

“Decameron,” Marge said.

Oliver said, “No way.”

“What difference does it make?” Rina asked. “We’ll never know so let’s move on.”

Oliver was taken aback. “She’s tough.”

“Tell me about it,” Decker said. “The point is that we’re assuming Sparks was going to leave his wife for a lifestyle she considered odious and sinful. He was making a fool out of her, making a mockery out of her Fundamentalist religion, out of God. Most important, without Azor, Dolores had no role in life. If that was the case, if she had lived her life around this sinner of a man, what do you think she might have done?”

The room fell quiet.

Marge broke the silence. “It’s a big leap, Pete.”

“It’s logical,” Oliver said. “She ices the old man, then maybe ices Decameron because she thinks he’s having an affair with her husband.”

“Throwing the magazines around the bodies,” Rina said. “Like you always said, Peter. It looked like a calling card.”

“That was me,” Marge said.

“Oh, sorry,” Rina replied. “Anyway, someone was angry and wanted the world to know who Azor Sparks really was. I could see a spurned, unbalanced wife doing that.”

“Why do you say unbalanced?” Decker asked. “Bram mention something to that effect to you?”

Rina looked down. “Just that she had been a bit nervous when they-the triplets-were growing up. She couldn’t seek professional help because it would have been an embarrassment to her husband. So she turned to barbiturates. Dr. Sparks prescribed the medication himself, but left Bram in charge of dispensing them to her. She was addicted to them for a while.”

Decker tried to keep his voice soft. “Might have helped if you would have told me all this in the beginning-”

“Peter, are you saying I should have implicated Dolly in her own husband’s murder based on her past drug use?”

“I’m just saying-”

“Besides, I couldn’t mention Bram without you having a fit-”

“That’s nonsense!”

“Is this really important now?” Marge asked.

“No, it isn’t!” Rina stated. “What is important is Dolores Sparks hated Decameron. She probably felt he had stolen her husband. Either directly-as in they were having an affair-or indirectly-as in Decameron being a bad influence on Azor.”

Marge gloated. “And like I always said, Kenneth Leonard was just an innocent bystander. He came to Decameron’s to clear his conscience about the fraud. Instead, he wound up with a bullet in his head.”

Oliver said, “I think it still could be Fisher/Tyne.”

“It could be,” Decker said. “I haven’t ruled out anyone…including Bram.”

Rina folded her arms across her chest. “He would never, ever hurt anyone. He probably knew what was going on. He was protecting his father’s name, Peter.”

Marge said, “Sounds to me like he’s protecting his mother from a murder rap.”

Oliver said, “She couldn’t do it by herself.”

“So she had help,” Marge said.

“Who?”

“Someone who’s been spending lots of time with the family.” Decker stood up from the table. “It’s time we pay Dolores Sparks a visit.”

“She’s unavailable.” Michael was hostile. “Next time call before you harass us.”

“Sorry, but it’s important.” Decker sidestepped around him, entered the house, Marge and Oliver keeping pace behind him.

Stunned, Michael hesitated before shutting the door. “You just can’t barge in here like that.”

“Fine,” Decker said. “Kick me out. Make it obvious to everyone that you have something to hide.”

Michael’s mouth dropped open. “I’ve got nothing-”

“Where’s your mom? Upstairs?”

“You pester my family, you arrest my brothers, you throw around ridiculous charges, you-”

“Save it for the judge,” Oliver said.

“Sorry about the intrusion,” Marge said.

“I don’t believe this!” Michael raised his voice. “I’m calling my lawyer.”

“You mean Waterson?” Oliver asked. “I wouldn’t call him if I were you.”

Decker started up the stairs, Michael at his heels. “Detective Oliver is right, son. You don’t want to do that.”

Michael said, “And why’s that?”

“Ask your brother Bram. Bet he knows.”

As Decker opened the door to the master bedroom, he was instantly attacked by a pair of burning green eyes. Bram was kneeling in front of his seated mother, his hands clasped around hers, a hunk of shiny metal between their interlaced fingers.

A Beretta semiautomatic.

Decker stopped at the threshold. With a hand signal, he told everyone behind him to halt. But Michael paid no attention, storming past Decker.

“He just barged his way in, Bram. I-”

Abruptly, Michael stopped talking when he noticed the gun. Eyes darting back and forth. Quietly, he asked, “What’s going on, Bram?”

The room fell quiet. A cavernous place in beige and white, eerily lit by a couple of reading lamps posted on either side of the king-sized bed. In the corner was a desk piled high with papers. The drapes had been drawn-old, ecru things-worn and frayed.

Dressed in a flowing caftan, Dolly Sparks looked at her youngest son, then returned her eyes to her lap. She was seated in a cream-colored wing chair, her shoulders hunched, her hair bedraggled. Bram was in his usual black garb. His voice was soft…controlled. He directed his words to Decker.