“So is buggery,” Oliver stated. “And didn’t you just tell me you thought it was a lover’s triangle?”
Martinez said, “You know, for either sin, Bram as a priest was going to have to do major penance. As long as he had to atone, maybe he figured why not go all the way.”
Webster said, “Well, I reckon I could see Decameron jumping at the occasion to bugger a priest.”
“I liked Reggie,” Oliver said.
“I have nothing against the man,” Webster stated. “But he was unconventional. Taking risks with his job, knowing his boss is a major Fundamentalist, just to pick up a couple of hookers.”
Decker checked his watch. “Has Bram met bail?”
“Nope,” Gaynor said. “Bail’s two hundred thou. Lot of bread. Still, given his bank account, posting a ten-percent wouldn’t have been a problem for the priest.”
“But he hasn’t posted,” Decker said. “He’s doing penance of some kind.”
Martinez said, “You bet he’s doing penance. Betcha he’s been doing it for a long time…asking Jesus to forgive him for being gay, figuring if he prayed hard enough, Jesus would make him normal.”
“No, I don’t agree with that,” Decker said. “He once mentioned to me that being gay wasn’t a choice, but an inborn preference. So if he’s gay, maybe he doesn’t feel guilty about it.”
“No way, Jose,” Martinez countered. “We Catholics feel guilty when the weather turns bad. Intellectually, Bram may know being gay isn’t his fault. But emotionally, he’s doing penance for it.”
Too many questions. Decker said, “Since you like Berger as a baddie, Scott, go over to New Chris tomorrow and feel him out.”
“Great.”
“Tom, you like Waterson and the bikers. Go see what they’re up to.”
“Mah pleasure.”
“Farrell, you’re doing the FDA connection.”
“I’ll give it my best shot.”
“Good.” Decker turned to Martinez. “You give Bram a try tomorrow. You’re Catholic. Maybe he’ll relate to you.”
“Why don’t you do it, Loo?”
“I can’t. Conflict of interest. My wife knows Abram Sparks from the past.”
Five pairs of eyes were suddenly upon him.
He shrugged. “No big deal. Just don’t want to give grist to the mill should this case turn nasty, say I have a personal involvement. Which I don’t. But…” He shrugged again. “You know how it works.”
Marge said, “How well did she know him?”
“Pretty well at one time.”
Again, the room went dead. Martinez broke the silence. “He isn’t going to talk. He’s a priest.”
Webster said, “Not that I’m defending the guy, but if he did kill Decameron and Leonard, what’s the reason?”
“You have to go with the gay angle,” Martinez said. “The porno in the safe, the key in Decameron’s pocket…it’s the only thing that makes sense.”
“It was Shockley,” Oliver announced. “He’s the only one that makes sense.”
“So why does the priest have bloody clothing?” Marge asked.
“We’re repeating ourselves,” Decker said. “Let’s finish up the paperwork and sleep on it.” He stood up and opened his office door. “Tomorrow’s another day.”
The house was dark and quiet. Decker tiptoed into the kitchen to make himself a cup of tea. A moment later, Rina came in.
“You have the ears of a bat,” Decker said.
“It’s called Husband Echolocation.” Rina kissed his cheek. “Sit. I’ll make you tea. You look tired.”
“I’m beat!” Decker took off his jacket and pulled up a chair at the kitchen table. “How’re my children?”
“Hannah’s asleep, but the boys are still up.”
“Dare I see them?”
“Depends on how intact your ego is.”
“Not too great right now. Think I’ll wait a bit.” He smiled at Rina. “How are you?”
Rina leaned against the counter and looked upward. “Not too great.”
“So you’ve heard the news.”
“Yes.”
“I can’t talk about it.”
“I know. I had no intention of pressing you for details.”
“Thank you.” Decker loosened his collar, removed his tie. “His parishioners are keeping a nice little vigil.”
“Bram wouldn’t want that. He doesn’t like attention.”
“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.
24
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.”
“Right. Can you truck with that?”
“Fine with me. Just that you’re gonna look like an asshole and I thought you might want a little privacy.”
Decker said, “Mind if I turn on the tape recorder?”
“Go ahead.”
“Would you like something to drink?”
“No…no, thank you.”
Decker turned on the tape. “So tell me how I’m going to look like an asshole.”
Luke rubbed his face, stared at the one-way mirror, then looked back at Decker. “Yesterday, I got a phone call from Reggie Decameron. About seven-thirty…maybe eight in the morning. He sounded…strange. Calm but serious. Which is very strange for Decameron. He said he needed to talk to me about my family. When I asked him to be more specific, he said it was a private matter, too personal to talk about over the phone. We set a meeting time at ten. His house.”
Luke scratched his head.
“He was already dead when I got there. He and some other man. They were both…covered with blood…and glass.” His voice dropped to a whisper. He blinked hard. “Lots of broken glass.”
There was a long pause.
“It was all I could do to keep my stomach down. I would have left immediately except something caught my eye. There were about a dozen magazines…in plain brown wrappers.” He waited a beat. “They had my brother’s name on them.”
Again, he stopped talking.
“I picked one up, took off the cover. It was homosexual pornography. Explicit…revolting shit!”
The room was silent.
“I totally freaked. I ran outside, got in my car, and peeled rubber. A block later, I pulled over and threw up. I was shaking so badly, I couldn’t drive.”
Sweat had formed on Luke’s face, had deepened the color of his shirt under his armpits. Decker poured him a glass of water. Luke downed the contents in a few gulps.
“I must have sat there for…I don’t know…ten minutes. Maybe longer, maybe shorter. I knew I had to go back.”
“Why?”
“Obviously, I couldn’t leave crap like that with my brother’s name on top of two dead bodies. I thought it might…incriminate…I went back and this time I took all the magazines with me. I don’t know why I didn’t just throw them away. I think I wanted to confront my brother. Have him deny they were his.”
“Why would Decameron have your brother’s pornography?”
“I don’t know.” Luke shrugged. “I can only imagine it was because they were…involved.” He winced. “God, the thought is so disgusting!”
“If Decameron was your brother’s lover, why would he be calling you to talk about Bram?”
“I don’t really know. Maybe blackmail. Because everyone thinks we’ve come into money with our father’s death.”
“Have you?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact, I have. We have. Me and all my siblings. Dad left us insurance money. Maybe Decameron wanted a piece of the action. For all I know, I was the first one and he was going to hit on all my sibs. He knew my family, my parents’ beliefs. He’d know we’d do anything to prevent this from coming out. For my mother’s sake. Everyone knows Bram is her golden boy.”
“You’d do anything to prevent it from coming out?”
“Not anything. Certainly not murder. But I, for one, would ha
ve certainly paid the sleazeball off to keep quiet about my brother.”
“You would have paid him off?”
“Absolutely. His calling me up like that. I smelled something rotten.”
“Yet you came when Decameron called.”
“Yes, I did.” Luke poured himself another glass of water and drank it. “And that is…the end of my story.”
Decker said, “When you saw the bodies, why didn’t you call the police?”
“And admit I was there? Are you crazy?”
“You’re admitting you were there now…with a lot more dire consequences.”
“You arrested Bram. I couldn’t let him take the rap for me.”
“The rap?”
“I met with him after I left Decameron’s house. Called him up and told him to get his ass over to his apartment because we had things to talk about. I showed him a magazine, shoved it in his face actually. I wanted him to tell me it was a mistake, for God’s sake!”
“Did he?”
“No.” Luke shook his head. “No, he didn’t. He just took my bloody clothes, my shoes, and the magazines. Told me not to worry, that he’d take care of it. At that point, I was so glad to rid myself of that shit, I just let him do it.”
Decker sat back in his chair. “But you’ve suddenly come to your senses. Now you’re being a man and bailing out your brother.”
Luke glared at Decker. “I realize it’s hard to believe a slime like me could be noble, but yes, it’s true.”
Decker said, “You know, if I were to believe any part of your story, I’d believe the part about your brother and Decameron. Which would mean that Bram, more than anyone, would have a reason to shut Decameron up.”
“Except Bram wasn’t there. The evidence you have against him is mine! Sure, the bloody clothes fit him. Because we wear the same size. And yeah, the shoes fit him too. Because we have the same shoe size. Maybe you even have blood evidence, because picking up the magazines, I sliced myself several times. You don’t have his blood, pal. You’ve got my blood. We’re identical twins.”
Decker hoped his face was registering neutral. Inside, he could feel his heart taking flight in his chest. He waited a beat, then said, “We have other things.”
“You found my cross, then.”
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