Prayers for the Dead

11

At first, he thought the noise was his brain bouncing against his cranium. Then he realized that someone was at the door. Bram lifted his head from his folded arms, blinked back nausea. He had fallen asleep at his desk.

His mouth felt like sandpaper, his limbs ached, his body a plexus of raw synapses. Fingers crawling like spider legs, he felt around the desktop for his glasses. Found them and slipped them on. Immediately, everything came too clearly into focus. He stood on unstable legs, went to open the door.

Luke. Still had on the same sloppy sweater and jeans. By now, he smelled pretty rank. They both did.

“Sorry, did I wake you?”

Bram looked at his watch. “I had to get up for six o’clock Mass anyway. I need a shower something awful. I can’t believe I fell asleep. You want some tea, bro?”

“Sure, bro.” Luke skipped around a floor covered with books and papers as Bram trudged over to the water machine. The priest took out a couple of tea bags, dropped them into plastic cups and doused them with hot water. “Sit. What’s going on at home?”

Luke parked himself on a folding chair. “Eva left around two, Mag and Mike went to sleep about a half hour later. Me? I’ve just been driving around and around and around and around…”

After handing his brother his tea, Bram sat at his desk. “You might try going home.”

“I’ve got a great idea, Abram. Why don’t I put on your collar and conduct Mass. And you go home to Dana-”

“Lucas-”

“What did she say when you called her?”

“What do you think? She’s worried sick about you-”

“Betcha she invited you over-”

“Don’t start-”

“She didn’t ask you to come over?”

Bram said nothing. Luke clapped his hands, pointed to his brother. “Gotcha. Did you go?”

“No, I didn’t go! It wasn’t my place, and I certainly wasn’t in the mood to wax pastoral.” Bram’s face hardened. “You should have called her. You. Not me. You should go home and be with her right now.”

“You be with her. After all, she was your girlfriend.”

Bram closed his eyes, dropped his head in his hands. Then he looked up. “That was almost two decades ago. Things change in twenty years. For instance, I wasn’t a priest in high school-”

“Just calm her down for me, bro.”

“I’m tired of calming her down, Luke. Truth be told, I’ve had it up to here with Dana.” Bram brushed his forehead with his hand. “I’m sick to death of being your go-between. You married her. Not me. Deal with it.”

“All right, all right, I’ll go home.” Luke squirmed in his seat, but gave no indication of rising. He sipped tea, eyed his brother through swollen eyes. “Who the hell would murder Dad?”

Bram shook his head. “I don’t know.”

“I mean I’m so dumbfounded, I don’t even know how to ask the right questions.”

“Don’t ask questions,” Bram said. “As a matter of fact, don’t think. It’ll drive you crazy. Let the police think. Let the police ask the questions.”

“I just wished the lieutenant would have talked more. Told us more. Not the gory details. But some details. Some theories. And I sat there like a turnip or worse, being a wiseass.” His eyes became wet. “He should have told us more.”

“He came to my office a little while ago.”

“What did he want?”

“He asked about Dad and his weekend warriors.”

“How’d he find out about that?”

“Dad had cards printed up. A Harley logo with the name ACE SPARKS printed on it, can you believe that?”

“You’re kidding.” Luke settled back in his chair. “Old Azor had a fantasy life?”

“Looks that way.”

“That’s wild.” Luke smiled. “Maybe he had some busty biker mama on the side.”

“You’re obscene.”

“Don’t they say that the biggest sinners always pray the loudest?”

Bram started to rebuke his brother, but instead laughed softly. Then he grew serious. “What a crazy world we live in…where some animal could wipe out such a great man.”

“You think it was a random act of violence, then.”

“Yes, of course.” Bram paused. “Don’t you?”

“I don’t know what to think.”

The room went quiet.

Luke said, “Paul got hold of William Waterson, by the way. He stopped by to express his deepest sympathies.”

“That was nice of him.”

“Waterson said he’d take care of the funeral…pay the expenses out of Dad’s estate…which of course all goes to Mom.”

“That makes sense.”

“It’s a real big estate, bro. We couldn’t get the exact figures out of him, but it was clear that Dad was worth a lot of money. More than we…”

Bram said, “Mom’s going to need lots of help and support now. It’s good she won’t have to worry about money.”

“I’m just wondering if Mom’s up to it?”

The priest waited for his twin to continue.

“Mom isn’t Dad,” Luke stated. “A fortune suddenly drops in her lap, she isn’t used to dealing with that kind of balance sheet…I don’t want people to rip her off, that’s all.”

“She’s not helpless without Dad-”

“I didn’t say she was.”

“She handled all the household finances-”

“That’s not the same thing as investing and maintaining a seven-figure bank account. Dad’s always taken care of her, Golden. I’m suggesting we keep a watch over her.”

“Fine. We’ll keep a watch over her.”

Luke scratched his head. “Waterson mentioned something about an insurance policy also.”

“Good.”

“Six million bucks, to be exact.”

“Whoa!” Slowly, Bram sat back in his chair. “Man, that is a lot of money.”

“A proverbial shitload.”

“I don’t recall the word shitload in the Book of Proverbs, but yes, that’s a tremendous haul.” Bram paused. “That is a large insurance policy. The premiums must have been enormous. I wonder why Dad did that when he had so much in the bank. I love Mom, but she doesn’t spend on anything except food. What in the world is she going to do with six million dollars?”

“Mom’s not the beneficiary.”

Bram stared at his brother.

“Six million…six kids.” Luke shrugged carelessly. “Dad was always an even-handed guy.”

Bram opened, then closed his mouth. “You’re kidding!”

“You should have been there when Waterson told us. Paul’s eyelids were beating so fast, he just about flew away.”

Again, the office went quiet.

Luke said, “A rather fortunate windfall for him-”

“Luke-”

“The man is in deep debt.”

“David and Eva aren’t doing so hot, either.”

“Nothing like Paul. He’s drowning in red ink.”

“Your insinuations are ugly.”

“So you’re better than me. We already know that.”

Bram stared at his brother, then rubbed his eyes. “You want some advice?”

“Can I stop you?”

“Truth be told, Lucas, even I, the saint of St. Thomas’s, entertained the same thought as you about Paul. But I’m smart enough not to verbalize it. Because once you talk, you can’t take it back. Do you ever think before you speak?”

“Nah, you do enough of that for the both of us.”

“You say things, Luke. I know what you mean. But no one else does-”

“Mind you, I really don’t think Paul killed Dad for money. But hey, a lot stranger things have happened.”

Bram looked at the crucifix on his wall. “Why do I bother?”

Again, the room went silent.

Luke looked at his hands. “So what are you going to do with the money?”

“What?”

“The money, Bram. What are you going to do with it?”

“I don’t want to talk about money.”

“Well, it’s better than talking about death!” Suddenly, Luke sprang up and leaned against the back wall, burying his face in his hands.

Sluggishly, Bram sighed, checked his watch. Half hour until Mass. He rose from his desk, went over to his brother, and placed his hand on his shoulder.

“Lucas, I know you’re hurting. I know that wisecracks are your way of dealing with pain.”

Luke turned around, wiped his eyes. “How much do I owe you, Herr Doktor?”

The priest looked his twin in the eye, seeing his own tired reflection. “Bro, listen to me. Lieutenant Decker is nobody’s fool. He is a very, very…very, very smart man. You keep talking about money, throwing stuff around about Paul, trying to joke your way out of your pain, you’re going to tweak his antenna.”

“What do I care? I didn’t do anything.”

“Of course, you didn’t do anything. But look at it from his perspective. A weird homicide like Dad’s. First thing police will do is scrutinize the family. You add to that an…an outrageous insurance policy that makes us all rich-”

“Millionaires to be exact.”

Bram hit his forehead. “Am I getting through at all?”

“Not much.”

“Lucas, the police can get very nasty. I don’t need the hassle. And you certainly don’t need it.”

Bram paused, organized his thoughts.

“I realize you’re stressed. And I know what stress does to you. But we’re all in this together. So instead of pulling away from each other, let’s deal with it as a unit. Deal with it constructively-”

“Does that mean heroin is out?”

Bram kept his voice calm, tried again. “Luke, you’ve come so far. Nothing’s worth the setback. Not even a million dollars.”

“I don’t know about that, Golden Boy. For a million bucks, I think I could well afford a couple of setbacks.”

Bram pulled away, knocked his head against the wall. Useless arguing with Luke when he was in one of these moods. Completely irrational. For a moment, he wondered if his twin hadn’t already had a major setback. His eyes were glazed…unfocused. But that could easily be from confusion, grief, and lack of sleep.

“So, bro…” Luke ambled over to the water machine and made himself another cup of tea. “What are you going to do with your share of the money? Start a food bank? Open a mission? Buy a new church? Just what the fuck does a priest do with a million dollars?”

Bram gave up, started making preparations for the six A.M. Mass. “I’ve got to shower.”

Luke drank tea, squashed the cup and two-pointed it into the waste can. “I’m going to buy a house. That should keep Dana happy for a while, don’t you think?”

“Whatever.”

“Think Dad would approve of me using the money for a house?”

Bram was silent.

Luke shrugged. “I think he would. Much better than shooting it in my veins.”

Softly, Bram said, “Are you high, Lucas?”

“No, Abram, I am not. But sincerely, I wish I was.”

The priest walked over to his brother, embraced him tightly. To his surprise, Luke fell into his arms and wept bitterly. And also to his surprise, Bram felt his own eyes overflow. For several moments, he couldn’t tell who was actually crying. Holding his twin. It was as if he was holding himself.

Berger wasn’t happy, but he was resigned to the inevitable. He motioned Decker to follow. Together, without speaking, they took the elevator down to the second floor. Berger moved swiftly, cornering the series of corridors like a four-wheel drive on a mountain. He stopped short, unlocked a door, and let Decker inside his office.

Small and neat. A tiny anteroom, the open door showing about a hundred and twenty square feet of dawn-lit space. Berger flipped on the lights. He had a desk, a matching credenza, a couple of worn patient chairs and bookshelves. Not much else. Not much else would fit. The doctor hung up his white coat on a brass rack and sat down in front of his desk. Decker pulled up a chair, positioning it directly across from Berger. He took out a notepad.

Berger checked his watch. “I don’t know what I could possibly tell you. But go ahead.”

“You’ve worked with Dr. Sparks for a long time.”

“Yes.”

“You went through medical school with him?”

“Harvard. Although I’m sure you know that already.”

“Yes, I do. Have you always worked with Dr. Sparks?”

“You mean are we joined at the hip? The answer is no.”

“So you’ve had positions other than your current one with Sparks?”

“I don’t see the point of this line of questioning.”

“All right, I’ll be direct. You’ve got a great reputation as being a surgeon in your own right. But with Sparks, you were always the number two man. Did that ever lead to resentment?”

Berger looked Decker in the eye. “Yes.”

Decker was quiet.

“Surprised?” Berger asked.

“Surprised that you admitted it.”

“Yes, at times, I was resentful…very resentful. We’d walk in a room together, Azor would get the accolades, I’d be standing there, nodding my head like some carnival kewpie doll. Of course, I was resentful. But I didn’t murder the man.” Berger’s voice went harsh. “If that was your reason for questioning me, you’re going about this investigation all wrong. I think you’d better reevaluate.”

Decker was silent, wondering why the man was so hostile. Berger was finally in the medical spotlight. Maybe he had a bad case of stage fright and was covering it with bravado.

Again, Berger checked his watch. “I’ve got rounds-”

“What positions did you hold before you hooked up with Dr. Sparks?”

“I don’t see where that’s any of your business.”

“Dr. Berger, I can look up your professional background in a snap-”

“So do it.”

“You’re not going to make this easy on me?”

“I didn’t kill the man, period. That’s all you have to know.”

Decker smoothed his mustache, trying to figure out how to work around the man’s anger. Attempt a different approach. Suddenly, something dawned on him. He said, “Do you have a past, sir?”

Berger seemed poised for another attack. Abruptly, he wilted. Silence thickened between them.

“Why don’t you just go away?” Berger whispered.

Mildly, Decker said, “I’m ready whenever you are.”

Berger looked at the ceiling, said nothing.

“I’m going to find it all out. Might be better if it came from you.”

Berger kneaded his hands, slowly began his recitation. “My father was a good man. Worked hard…was very proud of me.”

“I’m sure.”

“A good man,” Berger repeated, “but a gambler. At the age of fifty-one, he dropped dead from a heart attack and left my mother helpless and penniless. I was a senior resident at the time…away from home. Of course, when I heard the news I rushed back to my mother’s side, took over the many responsibilities that she couldn’t handle. Squared her away.”

“Big burden,” Decker said.

“It was because my father had left big debts. But we took care of them. I stayed long enough to get her on the right footing, then I left home once again to continue on with my studies…with my life. I came back just in time to take my specialty boards. Needless to say, I was a wreck. Flustered and disoriented. Still reeling from grief, overrun with worry. I hadn’t had a moment to study. I was caught cheating.”

No one spoke.

Decker said, “Obviously, you’ve overcome the mishaps.”

“After pleading and begging, yes, I was allowed to retake my exams. And I passed. But no hospital would permit me to attend because of my black eye. They didn’t come right out and say that my cheating was the reason for denying attendance privileges. But after applying to fifty-plus institutions, you see the writing on the wall. If you’re a surgeon, Lieutenant, you need hospitals.”

“What did you do?”

“I worked as a general practitioner for a while. Lebanon, Indiana. Did quite well.”

“But you were frustrated.”

“That is an understatement, sir. I was miserable. In my eyes, not only was I a failure, but a dishonest one at that.”

“So along comes your old friend Azor Sparks, a man with a renowned international reputation, who took a chance.”

“And we all lived happily ever after.”

Again, no one spoke.

Decker said, “You must have been very grateful.”

“I just about wept at his feet, I was so thankful.” Berger blew air into his hands, rubbed them together. “My first assignment was assisting him. Like any other resident surgeon. I’d been out of practice for a while…”

He tapped his hands on the desk.

“The next time out, he handed me the scalpel. A routine bypass that evolved into a complex situation. I was sweating buckets. I kept waiting for Azor to step in. But he didn’t. Yes, he watched, but never said a word. The upshot? I handled it masterfully.”

“Congratulations.”

Berger smiled. “Thank you. And that was it. We’ve been working together ever since. As colleagues, side by side. Having said that…I always knew his position. And I always knew mine. Yes, occasionally, I suffered a bruised ego. But better a bruised ego than none at all.”

Decker wrote as he spoke. “Let me ask you this, Dr. Berger. If you applied to other programs and institutions now, how do you think you’d be received?”

“After working with Azor for twenty-five years, I could write my own ticket.”

“So your past wouldn’t follow you?”

“Perhaps…if the position was a very big one like the head of NIH or the dean of Harvard Medical School…it might come out that I took my boards twice. But I strongly doubt the reason would be exposed. Unless someone was determined to unbury this oddity in order to ruin me.”

“Who would that be?”

“No one,” Berger snapped. “Even Reggie Decameron doesn’t hold that kind of animosity toward me. It would only come up if someone purposely launched an extensive probe.” He looked pointedly at Decker. “Someone like the police.”

Decker kept his expression neutral, wondering why the doctor spilled so easily if his past had truly been that well interred. Maybe Berger confessed to cheating in order to hide something more nefarious. Decker said, “Well, not much point in my looking into your past now.”

“Which is the reason why I told you. Better to head you off at the pass, so to speak.”

“So few people know about your ordeal.”

“The generation that knew my plight way back when has practically died out.”

“A theoretical question,” Decker said. “What would happen to you if your past was suddenly made public?”

Berger’s eyes turned stony. “I can’t answer that because it wouldn’t happen. The only one of my current colleagues who was aware of it was Azor. And he never said anything to anyone.”

“As far as you know.”

“I do know.” Berger glanced at the clock on his wall and stood. “I really must tend to my business. We have very sick people here who have just lost their doctor…a person they view as saving their lives. They’re distressed. They need care. They need comfort. Please?”

“Of course.” Decker got up. “Some other time, maybe we can talk about Curedon.”

“I’d be happy to except…” He tapped his watch. “I’m swamped at the moment.”

“Thank you for your time, Dr. Berger.”

“I can’t say that I enjoyed it. But I have been completely honest with you. I shouldn’t have to say this, but I’ll say it anyway. I expect complete confidentiality with my thirty-year-old secret. It’s nobody’s business but mine.”

Decker nodded. His secret wasn’t anyone’s business.

Unless it became a reason for murder.