Faye Kellerman - Prayers for the Dead

Decker sighed. “I was waiting for some news first.”

Rina was quiet, regarded her husband. “Nothing?”

Decker shook his head.

Rina kneaded her hands, remained silent.

“You tell the boys?” Decker asked.

“Nothing specific. I told them I had an emergency and to listen for Hannah on the rare chance that she might wake up.”

“What’d they say?”

“They were half-asleep. I told them to go back to bed. I left their door open.”

Abruptly, Rina embraced her husband.

“Oh, Peter, I can’t take this anymore! Learn in a kol-lel all day. Start your own dog kennel or riding stable. Do anything except what you’re doing. Find another job! I need to sleep at night.”

“This is very unusual-”

“Once burned, twice shy. Twice burned, you pick up your cards and go home.”

“Rina-”

“I’m serious! I can’t take it! I can’t take…” Rina sighed, whispered, “Is he going pull through?”

“I don’t know, Rina.”

“What do you think?”

“Honey, I wouldn’t even attempt a guess.” He kissed his wife’s head, looked intently into her puffy blue eyes. “He appreciated the faith you had in him. He also asked if you could say Tehillim for him.”

“He actually said that?”

“Yes.”

“Oh my, my…” Rina gazed upon her husband with faraway eyes. Her hands reached into her purse, pulled out a thin Hebrew book. She held it up. “I don’t know why I bothered bringing it.” Her eyes spilled tears. “I practically know all of Psalms by heart.”

Decker’s eyes watered. “I’m sorry, Rina. I did the best I could, but it wasn’t enough. The sad part was I felt it coming. As soon as I saw Dolores Sparks’s hand disappear into her robe, I jumped her. But it wasn’t soon enough. If I had only gotten to her a second earlier-”

“If you had gotten to her a second earlier, it might have been you instead of him.”

Decker paused, realizing the gravity of her statement.

Without a word, she opened her book, wondering whether or not gentiles said Tehillim for one another like the Jews did. And if they did, how did they choose which psalms to say? Tradition had it that Jews recited the psalms that corresponded to the letters of the Torah-given name of the person in need. Obviously, Bram didn’t have a Torah name. But since Abram Matthew had a Hebrew equivalent-Avram Matisyahu-she plowed ahead.

She hadn’t gotten very far when Myron Berger walked into the waiting room. From the look on his face, it was clear she needn’t have bothered to start.

She closed the book and recited, “Baruch atah adonai elohenu melech haolam dayan haemet.”

“Blessed are you, Hashem, our God, King of the universe, the true judge.”

The Jewish blessing upon hearing distressing news.

Decker closed his eyes and opened them, dread in his stomach. Berger’s blue gown was soaked with blood, his mask dangling over his scrubs like a pinafore. His eyes skittered across the sea of beaten faces as he tried to find the right words.

“I’m sorry…” The surgeon averted his eyes. “I did what I could…but he was too far gone…”

The silence was crashing.

Berger said, “Maybe, if I had been your father…with his skills, I could have…I’m terribly sorry.”

Paul got up, walked over to Berger, and placed his hand on the surgeon’s shoulder. He retreated a few steps, then erupted into silent tears. Michael reached out to him, the two brothers fell upon each other’s necks, choking back sobs. The sisters embraced and cried out loud.

Luke remained by himself. Bram’s twin, covering his face with his hands, wails emanating from the heart, deep moans of despair. His wife held him in her arms, rocking him while he wept. But Dana was ill-equipped to console his bitter misery.

And so it was that Decker saw the sorrow-the unbridled grief he had expected to find when he had originally come to them announcing Azor’s death. For all their professed love and respect of their parents, their honest love and true despair came out in Bram’s death.

Because, in fact, with Azor being a punitive, unapproachable figure in their lives, and Dolores, a fragile, imbalanced mother, they had turned to Bram for nurturance and guidance.

Abram Sparks-the golden boy.

Decker looked at Rina.

Stoically, she took his hand. “We need to take care of your arm, Peter.”

Decker nodded, leaving the family alone to grieve. Out of deference to their needs for privacy and more than a little of his own fear. Because witnessing such abject pain was a very hard thing to do.

“Are you sure you want to be here?” Marge asked.

Decker flexed his elbow, wriggled his fingers, and winced. “I’m not saying I feel great. But since I can write, I might as well work.” He shook his head. “Better here than being at home. It’s been hell this past week.”

“How’s Rina?”

Decker thought about the question. “She’s…functioning.”

“Should I send her a condolence card or something?”

“I think she’d appreciate a call. You go to Polinski’s arraignment yesterday?”

“No, I didn’t go. Tom and Bert went. Scott and I spent the day going over Waterson’s confession tape.”

“Everything okay?”

“Seems to be pretty clean,” Marge said. “I think he’ll be a very credible witness for the state. I think the DA’s going for the death penalty for Polinski.”

“Fine.”

“My opinion? Waterson and Dolores deserve it as much as Polinski does. Maybe even more.”

“Maybe.”

“They might not have pulled the trigger physically, but they arranged the murder…murders. At least, Waterson did. Calling up Polinski, telling him to meet Azor in the back alley of Tracadero’s. Asshole set the whole thing up.”

“True.”

“And Dolores…” Marge shook her head. “What a cold-blooded bitch. Sets up her husband and his colleague, then literally shoots her own son. Two guns on her, mind you. An extra in case the first one jams, the psycho. The kids have hired some hotshot psychiatrist to the tune of God knows how much money…” She paused. “I guess they can afford it. Anyway, the court sends her to a hospital. I say, in lieu of electroshock, how about the electric chair.”

Decker ran his left hand through his hair. “She might agree with you.”

“Bullshit. They all start off remorseful. Within a very short period of time, it’s ‘I don’t want to die. Save my fucking ass!’ I wouldn’t lose any sleep if they fried her.”

Decker nodded.

“Fried her big time.”

“Whatever.”

Marge paused. “You’re being rather mysterious.”

“I’m in pain.”

No one spoke for a moment.

“Why don’t you call it a day?” Marge said.

“No, I’ll slug it out. I’m a man. I can’t admit weakness.”

Marge smiled.

Decker said, “When’s Berger going before the grand jury?”

“Originally, they had him down for next week. But the FBI keeps finding stuff. Apparently, Fisher/Tyne has not only been monkeying around with data-which is federal offense because they’ve been hacking into computer data banks cross-country-but the company’s also been covering up dubious results and negative side effects of their test drugs.”

“How?”

“They discount side effects as anomalies or just plain disregard the data. Ignore it. If a doctor says anything about the outrageous practice, the company hits the MD with a slander suit. Keeps the doc tied up with expensive litigation that encourages others to keep their mouths shut.”

“That’s not illegal?”

“Nope. But bribing is. FBI’s uncovered incentive bribes for looking the other way. Shockley is up to his ears. Scott has had the last laugh.”