Faye Kellerman_Decker & Lazarus 09

by Prayers for the Dead

  Strapp nodded. “So you know who Azor Sparks is…was.”

  “Yes, sir. That’s why I’m here.”

  “Any murder is a blow for our community. Shit like this is an effing big, black eye. Whatever you need for this one. Just get it done and get it done quickly.”

  “Absolutely.”

  “If that means double shifts, then you work double shifts.”

  “No problem.” Decker stuck his hands in his pockets, thought of Rina, made a mental note to send her flowers. Better make them roses…long stems.

  Strapp said, “You looked at the body?”

  “Yes, sir. It’s really bad.”

  “Jesus, Decker, who’d want to murder someone like Sparks? He was New Christian Hospital. Without him, the place is going to fold. Because without him, they aren’t going to get the big donors.”

  Decker didn’t answer. Though Strapp was thinking like the politician, his assessment was right on. Sparks had put New Chris on the map. A tiny hospital, it had become renowned, mostly because Sparks had turned it into his personal place of business. And the hospital had been a tremendous source of revenue for the West Valley, drawing in lots of philanthropists. There had been quite a bit of dollar overflow into the area, the hospital paying for extracurricular school programs, park programs, health programs, as well as extra community-based fire and police programs. Just six months ago, New Chris donated a dozen of its old computers to the detectives’ squad room.

  Strapp said, “Anything you need to solve this sucker quickly, Decker. Whatever manpower it takes just as long as it’s done textbook clean. Has anyone on your team ever had a race or sex problem?”

  “Not that I know of,” Decker said. “Scott Oliver does have a mouth. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s said things.”

  “Pull him off.”

  “No, I don’t want to do that.”

  Strapp’s eyes shot up to Decker’s face. “Why not?”

  “Because he’s a good detective. I’ve got him teamed with Dunn. She should keep him clean. Besides, there’s nothing controversial here. Sparks was white.”

  “What if his killer was black?”

  “Why don’t we take it one step at a time—”

  “I’m just saying, I don’t want some A-hole liberal legal eagle making my men out to be monsters. You tell everyone to tread carefully, like we’re handling toxic waste.”

  “Agreed.”

  “You want to take the media, Decker?”

  “Not much to tell them yet. Next of kin hasn’t been notified yet, so we can’t give out any names—”

  “Too late. Networks already know who the stiff is.”

  Decker was appalled. “How’d that happen?”

  “Obviously some jerk slipped over the scanner.”

  “Christ!” Decker felt his teeth grind together. “The family doesn’t even know.”

  “So get over there and tell them. I’ll hold the media off as long as I can. But you know these guys. They eat a strict no-ethics diet.”

  Decker checked his watch. Nine fifty-two. “I’m out of here.”

  He sprinted back to his Volare, turned on the engine, and peeled rubber. Sparks had lived about ten minutes away from where someone had made his grave. If speed and luck were with him, he’d make it to the house before the ten o’clock news.

  Decker identified himself behind a closed door. As soon as it swung open, he breathed a sigh of relief. Because the expression on the young woman’s face suggested apprehension mixed with ignorance.

  She didn’t know.

  She was pretty—regular features, peaches-and-cream complexion, grass-green eyes, clean, straight, shoulder-length pecan-colored hair. Appeared to be around twenty, looked like a coed with her body buried in baggy jeans and an oversized sweatshirt. Very wholesome face, wore no makeup or jewelry except for a simple cross around her neck. A disembodied voice came from behind her. “Who’s there, Maggie?”

  “It’s the police,” she answered.

  “Police?”

  Decker said, “Is your mother home, ma’am?”

  “She’s rest—”

  A young man suddenly appeared. Straggly dark curls falling over his forehead. Bright, nervous blue eyes peering beneath the curtain of tresses. Older than the girl, probably in his midtwenties. He was wrapped in an argyle sweater over a button-down Oxford shirt. His pants were beige chinos, his feet tucked into loafers without socks. “How can I help you?”

  Decker’s face remained flat. “I’m Lieutenant Decker from LAPD. Actually, I came to speak with Dolores Sparks.”

  The man said, “What do you want with my mother?”

  “Is she in, sir? It’s an emergency.”

  “Oh my God!” Maggie shrieked. “Is it Dad?”

  The young man paled. “My father? Is he okay?”

  “May I come in?”

  The door opened all the way, and Decker stepped inside a three-story entry, quickly scanned the place. Living room to left, dining room to right, family room straight ahead. It held a set of French doors that opened outward. There were also lots of floor-to-ceiling windows topped with thick valances and tiebacks. Couldn’t make out much of the backyard. At this time of night, it was all fog and shadows.

  Decker looked upward. A wrought-iron staircase snaked its way to the top. The house appeared enormous. But the interior, though neat and clean, had seen better days. Peeling wallpaper, scarred wood flooring, chips in the ceiling molding. And old furniture. Thirty years ago, it had been top-notch. But now the upholstery had faded, the pillows were lumpy and lopsided. A spacious house, even in this neighborhood of big homes, though it now sat in genteel neglect.

  Decker focused his attention back on the young man with the curly hair and blue eyes.

  “Are you Dr. Sparks’s son?”

  “One of them. Michael. What’s this about?”

  “I really need to speak to your mother.”

  Michael stood his ground. “First, tell me what’s going on.” His voice turned shaky. “It’s Dad, isn’t it?”

  “Sir, we found a homicide victim about an hour ago. I regret to say that we have reason to believe that it’s your fath—”

  “Oh my God!” Maggie put her hands over her mouth. “Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God—”

  “Maggie, call Bram.”

  “Oh my God! Oh my God—”

  Michael grabbed his sister’s shoulders. “Maggie, go to the phone and call Bram now!”

  The order shook her out of her mantra. She dashed to the phone. Decker said, “I’m very, very sorry, sir. But I really do need to speak to your mother.”

  Michael didn’t move. His skin had become as transparent as onion skin. In gross contrast to his ebony curls.

  A soft voice came from above. “Michael, what is it?”

  Again, Decker looked upward. A woman stood on the upstairs landing, her silver hair clipped short around a round, full face. She wore a multicolored caftan, her skin heavily flushed. Michael’s knees caved in, but he recovered before he fell.

  Decker put a hand on his shoulder. “I’ll handle it.” He started up the steps, but the young man dogged his heels. Before Decker could speak, Michael said, “Mom, I think you should go back to bed.”

  “Why?” The woman was tall and stolidly built. Beads of sweat covered her forehead and sprinkled the top of her upper lip. Green eyes like her daughter. Clear, focusing sharply on Decker. “Who are you?”

  “Mrs. Sparks, I’m Lieutenant Peter Decker of the Los Angeles Police—”

  Michael blurted out, “He’s here about Dad—”

  “Something’s wrong, then.” The woman looked squarely at Decker. But her eyes had already moistened. “Is it Azor? A car accident? He works late hours, doesn’t get enough sleep.”

  Decker trudged on. “Ma’am, we discovered a homicide victim about an hour ago, and have reason to believe it’s your husband. I’m very, very sorry.”

  The eyes continued to peer into his face. Tears went down her
cheeks. She shook her head vehemently. “No, no, you’re wrong, then. Very wrong—”

  “Ma’am.”

  “Go back and check. Because no one would want to hurt Azor. You have to be wrong!”

  Michael said, “Mom, maybe you should—”

  Tears flowed openly over her ruddy face. “Michael, tell this man he’s wrong. Tell him he made a big mistake.”

  “Mom—”

  “I’ll call Father right now. Prove he made a mistake.” She stepped forward, then faltered. Decker caught her, kept her upright as she leaned on his strong shoulders. No easy trick. The woman was around five ten and weighed about one seventy. “Where’s her bed?”

  “I’ll take her.” Michael gripped his mother soundly. He was slightly taller than her, but his hold was firm. “Let’s go back to bed.”

  “Oh, Michael, what happened?”

  “I don’t know—”

  “Did you call Bram?”

  “Right now—”

  “Maybe he knows. Bram always knows.”

  “Maybe, Mom—”

  “Tell him to come right away!”

  “I will,” Michael said. “Come on, Mom. You’ve been sick—”

  “Just let me phone Father. To tell this man he’s wrong.”

  “Mom, he isn’t wrong.”

  “But he has to be wrong! It can’t be.”

  She started to sob loudly as Michael pulled her into a room. Then the door closed in Decker’s face. Left him standing there, alone and useless. He could make out sounds behind the door—moans, sobs…no words. At these moments, he felt like a Peeping Tom, privy to private grief. Dirty and perverted. He could never understand why people watched talk shows. Why see people at their worst?

  He exhaled slowly, hoping Dolores Sparks would have enough emotional and physical strength to make it through the night. He would have liked to have questioned her, asked her what her husband had been doing, parked in the back alley behind Tracadero’s…asked her about Sparks’s daily habits. But nothing would have sunk in right now because the woman was still in denial. Perhaps when the shock wasn’t as overwhelming, they could talk. Tomorrow, he would try again.

  No sense standing around, so he went downstairs. Maggie was shaking, a phone receiver in her right hand. She turned to Decker, her cheeks soaked with tears. “He’s not in. What should I do?”

  “Why don’t you sit down, Maggie. Is there a doctor I can call? Maybe a close family friend of your mother’s?”

  Michael came running down the stairs. “She’s asking for Bram, Mag. Is that him?”

  “He’s not home! I called his apartment three times and just got the machine!”

  “You called his apartment?” Michael sighed. “Maggie, you should have called the church!”

  “Oh God, what’s the num—auto dial one, right?” She held the receiver to her ear.

  Michael began to pace. To Decker, he said, “I gave her a sedative…to calm her down.” He rubbed his face, continued to pace.

  Maggie shouted into the receiver. “Bram, if you’re there, pick up the phone! This is an emergen…Hello? It’s Maggie Sparks, can you please get my broth—”

  Michael grabbed the phone away from her. “Get my brother on the phone, now. This is an emergency!” To Maggie, he said, “Go upstairs and look after Mom. And try not to be so hysterical!”

  Maggie dashed up the steps.

  Michael yelled into the mouthpiece. “You’ve got to get over here quick! There’s been a terrible…” Tears exploded from Michael’s eyes. “Police are here, Bram. Dad’s been murdered.”

  Decker could hear a voice over the line saying, “Oh my God!”

  Michael said, “You’ll come over?”

  Another pause. Michael saying, “She’s in the bedroom with Maggie. I gave her a sedative…No…not yet. Can you call them? I can’t…no…no…no…he said he thought it was Dad, but I’m not sure…Look, why don’t you talk to him.” He shoved the phone in Decker’s face, and resumed pacing.

  Decker said, “This is Lieutenant Peter Decker. To whom am I talking, please?”

  A beat. Then a soft voice said, “I’m Dr. Sparks’s son Abram. What happened?”

  The voice was calm, especially when compared to the surrounding hysteria. Decker said, “It would be better if we talked in person.”

  “How’s my mother?”

  “Resting. Your brother gave her a sedative. Is that all right?”

  “Yes, that’s all right. My brother said my father was murdered. Is this true?”

  “Yes, sir, that appears to be the situation. I’m very sorry.”

  “Are you sure it’s him? Has someone identified him?”

  “His personal identification was on him—his license, his credit cards, his professional cards. Besides, your father is a recognizable person in this community.”

  “I want to see him.”

  “I’d be happy to escort you to make an identification.”

  “Tell me where to go.”

  “I’m sorry but I’ll have to escort you. Anything I can do to help you and your family through this terrible crisis.”

  Another beat. “I’m so stunned, I don’t…May I please talk to my brother again?”

  Decker noticed he said “may” instead of “can.” Shaken but in control. “Of course.” He handed the phone back to Michael.

  “When are you going to get here?” Michael barked into the phone.

  “I’m going down…to make sure it’s Dad,” Bram answered. “Someone has to call the others.”

  “Can you do it? Maggie’s useless and I’m…I can’t handle Paul right now.”

  “All right. I’ll do it.”

  “When are you going to get here? Mom’s asking for you.”

  “As soon as I can, Michael. Where’s Maggie?”

  “With Mom.”

  “Mike, watch Mom like a hawk. Keep her away from the medicine cabinet.”

  “Right.”

  “Also, get Maggie to take her Theo-Dur—”

  “She seems okay—”

  “As a precaution, Mike. Her attacks are usually delayed. I can’t deal with Maggie’s asthma right now. Tell Mag to lie down and rest until I can get there.”

  Michael nodded.

  “Are you there?”

  “Sorry, yes. I’ll keep watch over Mom.”

  “And Maggie, too. Take care of both of them. Are you getting this down, Michael?”

  “Yes, keep watch over Mom. And Maggie, too. Just get here.”

  “As soon as I can. Put Decker back on.”

  “Who?”

  “The lieutenant.”

  “Oh…” Again, Michael gave the phone to Decker.

  “Yes?”

  Bram said, “Do you know where the Church of St. Thomas is, Lieutenant?”

  “Of course.”

  “How far is it from where my father…”

  “I could meet you at St. Thomas’s if you’d like, Mr. Sparks.”

  “Thank you very much. I’d appreciate it. I need to call my other siblings. To tell them what’s going on. I’ll meet you outside the church in twenty minutes.”

  “That’s fine.”

  The phone disconnected.

  Michael said, “Is he coming over?”

  “No,” Decker said. “First he wants to identify your father. I’m picking him up in front of St. Thomas’s.”

  “God…” Michael paced furiously. “I hope he gets here quick. I don’t think I can handle the others by myself!”

  “Who are the others?” Decker asked. “Your siblings?”

  Maggie came running down the stairs. “Michael, she’s moaning. What should I do?”

  “I’m coming.” Michael bit his nail. To Decker, he said, “Excuse me a moment.” He started up the stairs with his sister. “Oh, Maggie. Take your Theo-Dur. As a precaution.”

  “I’m all right—”

  “Just do it, Mag. Don’t argue.”

  Maggie seemed angry but said nothing. As they climbed
up a serpentine twist of staircase, they disappeared from view, leaving Decker down below in the faded dowager of a house. He took the opportunity to nose around, went into the family room.

  The walls held no artwork. Instead, they were plastered with family photos. The Sparkses appeared to have lots of children, although some of the adults could have been daughters or sons-in-law.

  The most striking photos were two fourteen-by-twenties framed in gilt. The sittings appeared almost identical. Obviously, they had been taken on the same occasion, and it had been a formal one. Dad had been decked out in a tux; Mom, in a blue sequined gown. The men wore dark suits, the women expensive suits or cocktail dresses.

  The first photograph held many more people—the parents, their children with spouses, lots of grandchildren, ranging from teens to infants. Too many people for Decker to sort out.

  The second photograph was more manageable. Eight people. The parents—Azor and Dolores—with four young men and two young women, among them Michael and Maggie. Probably their children because all of them bore resemblance to the parents. Though the dress had been formal, the posing had been much more casual. All of the parties seemed relaxed—no frozen smiles, no stiff postures. Everyone seemed to be having a good time.

  The kids broke down into two groups: Dad’s side with black, curly hair and blue eyes, and Mom’s side with light brown hair and green eyes. Michael and another brother looked like Dad, Maggie, the other men, and a sister favored Mom.

  Decker took a closer look at the photo. One brother wore a clerical collar. St. Thomas’s was a Catholic church. Perhaps brother Bram was actually Father Bram. No wonder he had been so composed over the phone. The clergy was used to dealing with crises.

  A good-looking man in a pale, scholarly way. A face with regular features, and accented cheekbones. Sharp, sea-colored eyes behind the rimless glasses. Oak-brown hair and long. It fell past his shoulders.

  Decker continued to examine the picture, then did a double take. Another brother standing next to Dad. Bram’s face but without the academic pallor and glasses. Fleshier in the cheeks with shorter, styled hair.

  Michael came down the stairway. “She’s sleeping, but it’s restless.”

  “Do you have a family doctor you want to call, Michael?”