Prayers for the Dead

16

The captain was in. Phone in hand, he pointed to a seat and continued talking into the receiver. Decker sat and waited. Strapp’s office wasn’t much bigger than his lieutenant’s cubicle, wasn’t any better decorated, either. Standard-issue desk and chairs, file cabinets, a separate work station with the computer. He had a phone, a fax machine, and a slotted paper holder overflowing with multicolored police forms. The desk held the pictures of the wife and kids, the walls were hung with photographs of the professional man. A smiling Strapp showing lots of teeth standing next to the mayor, Strapp with the Guv, Strapp in uniform between the president and first lady. Other snapshots, among them a photo of the Captain standing next to a little girl holding a teddy bear. The man who stood at her other side wore a white coat.

Dr. Sparks.

Decker remembered the four-year-old headline. The girl had been given a new heart and life from the tragedy of another child’s untimely death.

Strapp hung up the phone, folded his hands on his desk. He was about to speak, then noticed where Decker had focused his attention.

“Patty Harrison. Cute little thing, isn’t she?”

“Adorable. Do you know how she’s doing?”

“No, I don’t.” Strapp grew tense. “I hope they’re coping with the news of Sparks’s death. This could be devastating. How’s the investigation going?”

“Still gathering information. Dr. Craine should be getting back with an initial autopsy report, Farrell Gaynor’s been doing paper trail for the last eight hours, the others are asking questions, sorting through physical evidence. The investigation’s proceeding nicely, sir. But I’ve got a problem.”

“What?”

“My wife knows one of Dr. Sparks’s sons. The priest, Abram Sparks.”

Strapp pondered the words. Slowly, he asked, “Does she know him well?”

“Well enough to be at Azor Sparks’s memorial service.”

“She went at the priest’s behest?”

“Yes, although they haven’t been in contact for years. At one time, they were good friends.”

“Romantically involved?”

Decker started to smile because the thought struck him as ludicrous. An Orthodox woman like Rina with anyone, let alone a priest. Instead, he thought a moment and decided to frown instead. There had been an intimacy between them-that swift glance. Decker knew a strong bond had been forged because Bram had moved into her life at a very crucial time. But how strong?

A good-looking man selflessly nursing his dying friend through the terminal stages of his illness, comforting the friend’s beautiful wife with perfect words: about how there were reasons for everything and having faith in God…

An adulterous relationship was out of the question. Rina would never have permitted it no matter what the circumstances might have been. But what had happened between them after Yitzchak had died…well, Decker wasn’t as certain as he should have been. Because gentile or no gentile, passionate feelings often superseded convention. His memory tape did an instant rewind as he thought about how willingly Rina had accepted the raised eyebrows in her own community when she had dated and married him.

Which was probably why Decker had reacted so strongly to Rina at the Sparkses’ reception. Yes, his wife’s involvement could mess up his case. But equally as upsetting to Decker was his lack of knowledge about Rina’s relationship with the priest. The whole thing made him feel squeamish.

He said, “I don’t think so. But I don’t know.”

“Did you ask her?”

“No.”

“Are you going to ask her?”

“No.” Decker glanced at a smiling Azor Sparks, then returned his eyes to Strapp. “As much as I want to continue on this case, I do have my priorities. I’m not about to create tension in my marriage. There are rumors that the priest might be gay. I don’t know if that’s true, either. That’s all irrelevant right now. What is important is simply…there was a personal connection between my wife and Sparks ’s son. What do you want me to do?”

Strapp sighed heavily. “Is he a suspect?”

“Not yet.”

“Any indication that he’d make a good suspect?”

“None so far.”

Strapp rested his elbows on the desk, made a teepee with his hands. “You’re a lieutenant one temporarily acting as a two. So your role in this homicide, as with all your Dees cases, is supervisory, right?”

“Yes. But occasionally I do get involved. Usually in the beginning when cases aren’t cut-and-dried.”

“Like this one.”

“Yes.”

“But once the case starts gathering its own momentum, you back off.”

“I leave the nuts and bolts to my detectives unless they have a specific problem, yes.”

Strapp considered the problem in silence. Then he said, “At the moment, I see no reason to yank you off. Tell you what. You make sure to run everything by me. And I’ll back you up if this should become an issue.”

“Sounds fair.”

“Also, we should set up regular meetings so something will be on the books. Let’s try to talk on a daily basis sometime in the afternoon.”

“Fine.”

“It’s good you told me.”

“Absolutely.”

“Anything else?”

“No.”

“Call me with updates then.” Strapp picked up the phone. “We’ll talk later.”

The exit line. Decker stood up and left.

“Paul was in debt,” Gaynor said. “I’m not talking a home mortgage or car payments. I’m referring to debt from personal bank loans.”

Decker ran his hand through perspiration-soaked red hair. Man, he was tired, his iron will demanding that his eyes stay open and his mind stay alert. But he knew he only had a few hours left before the brain shut down. Though it was only six in the evening, it felt two in the morning. “How deep was he in?”

“Three hundred fifty-thou give or take a few bucks.”

Oliver shot back in his seat and whistled. “My oh my!” He wiped his forehead with a handkerchief. “Is it my imagination or is it suddenly hot in here?”

“No, it’s hot.” Decker leaned back in his desk chair. “We’re a little cramped. Tom, you want to turn down the thermostat?”

Closest to the dials, Webster adjusted the temperature. A blast of cold air shot through Decker’s office. He leaned against the wall, slapped his notebook against his palm. “I wouldn’t even know how to start spending that kind of money.”

“Oh, I would,” Oliver said. “Spending is never the problem. It’s getting it. How’d Paul weasel a heavy bank loan like that?”

Gaynor shuffled through his stack of computer printouts. “One guess.”

Marge shifted her rear on a hard seat of plastic. “Dad co-signed.”

“Right.”

“How long has Paul had the loan?”

“Two years. At this point, it’s more like a revolving line of credit.”

“Secured loan?” Decker asked.

“Unsecured,” Gaynor said. “Higher interest but neither had to put up any collateral. Sparks’s credit and word were good enough.”

Martinez fanned himself with his notepad. “What’s the doctor worth?”

Gaynor consulted his papers. “He has over six accounts-three money markets with three different brokerage houses, one savings account, two checking accounts. By the rises and falls in the balances, the savings account is probably for household expenses. Balance around ten grand. Checking accounts…uh, first one looks like household expenses again. A balance of about two grand. Then he has one for business with a balance of around twenty grand.”

“That’s an awfully high balance for a checking account,” Marge commented.

“Yeah, I asked about that,” Gaynor stated. “Apparently, it’s not unusual. Doctors have high expenses.”

Martinez said, “Except New Chris was paying for everything. It’s not like Doc had equipment to buy or a payroll to meet.”

“Or even malpractice insurance.” Webster stood in front of the air-conditioning vent. “I b’lieve New Chris even paid for that.”

Gaynor shrugged. “I’m just giving you the facts.”

“What about the money markets?” Decker asked.

“With Levy, Critchen, and Goldberg…uh…” Gaynor shifted through reams of paper while all of them waited wordlessly. “Uh…here we go. He had around a half-mil in stocks, bonds, mutual funds, and cash.”

Decker said, “Levy et al. is Paul Sparks’s firm.”

“So he did banking with his son,” Marge said. “There must have been some kind of trust.”

“Up to a point,” Gaynor said. “Because with Kenner, Carson, Thomas, he kept more. About two and a half mil in assets, not counting his pension, which has another three million.”

Oliver said, “Shit, that man was rich!”

Marge said, “Emphasis on the was, Scotty.”

Oliver made a face. “Yeah, won’t do him much good now. Tom, stop hogging the vent. We’re dying here.”

Webster stepped away from the grille. “Sorry.”

“Doesn’t the money automatically go to the wife?” Martinez asked.

Gaynor stated, “I know his pension money does because I got hold of the beneficiary papers-don’t ask me how.”

Oliver said, “Isn’t half of the old man’s assets automatically owned by wifey because of community property?”

“There’s a lot of factors going on here,” Gaynor stated. “First, I think marital inheritance is exempted for estate taxes if the money was put inside a family trust…which it was. Which means there has to be a will somewhere. Because with trusts, there are always wills. And if there’s a will-”

“There’s a way,” Oliver blurted out.

Everyone laughed. Decker told Gaynor to go ahead.

Farrell said, “Since Sparks probably had a will, he might have made specific provisions. You know, like giving money to people other than his wife. Now all of this has nothing to do with his pension’s three mil. Because that was outside the trust’s assets-”

“I’m lost,” Webster said.

“Unfortunately, I’m not,” Decker said. Again, he wiped his brow. Six months of doing wills and estates for his ex-father-in-law-Jack Cohen, Esq. So mind-numbing, even the substantial salary couldn’t keep him in the field of estate law. With unusual resolution, Decker had defied his ex-wife and returned to his former occupation of police work. It had created a scene. Back then, everything with Jan had created scenes.

Decker said, “Sparks had two basic but separate financial holdings-the family trust and his pension plan, correct?”

“Correct.”

“Which means everything Sparks owned-outside of his pension plan-was in the trust.”

“Not quite.”

Decker paused. “He owned other things outright?”

“Joint tenancy.”

“His house.”

“No, that’s in the trust.”

“Farrell, this isn’t twenty questions,” Decker snapped. “What?”

Gaynor smiled. “Sparks co-owned some of his children’s houses.”

“Why didn’t I have a dad like this?” Oliver said. “Buy me a house, co-sign my loans.”

Webster drawled, “Sounds great except nothin’s for free. You want Daddy holding a string tied to your balls?”

“Maybe it wasn’t like that,” Marge suggested. “The guy worked all the time. Maybe he bought off the kids with money.”

“Except he didn’t give them anything, Dunn. He co-signed. Kept the knot nice and tight.”

Decker said, “How many houses did Sparks co-own?”

“Paul’s house-a three-fifty mortgage on that. He also co-owned several retail shops along with his daughter Eva and her husband, David, as well as their Palm Springs condo-”

“Now there’s a real moneymaker,” Decker said.

Gaynor smiled. “I never claimed he invested wisely. Just that he owned property in joint tenancy. And since those properties are not in the trust, he probably made specific provisions about them in his will.”

Decker said, “How about Luke? Did he buy him anything?”

“Nothing outright. But that doesn’t mean Doc never gave them anything. Four years ago, they’d been on a monthly payback plan with a medical collection agency. They had racked up huge outpatient bills.”

“Drug rehab?” Decker asked.

Gaynor looked surprised. “No. A fertility clinic.”

Decker paused. “Luke has kids. Twins.”

“How old.”

“Around three.”

“Then I guess the treatments were successful.”

Marge said, “Did Doc pay off the clinic?”

“Halfway through the payments, the clinic canceled the balance, citing professional courtesy. Since then, no financial entanglements between Luke and Doc. Luke lives in a rented apartment.”

“How much money does he have?”

“He and his wife have about two hundred bucks in their checking account.”

“Savings?”

“Nothing I could find.”

“That’s Generation X for you,” Oliver said. “Can’t save a penny without spending a dime.”

“Luke wasn’t kidding when he said he was broke,” Decker said. “How about Bram, the priest?”

“Now he has money. Sixty-seven grand to be exact.”

Oliver whistled. “Sounds like he’s got a bad case of sticky fingers with the Eucharist plate.”

Martinez said, “My uncle’s a priest. Priests don’t make that kind of money. All they get are small stipends.”

“Maybe Daddy gave him money to even things out,” Marge suggested.

Oliver said, “Sixty-seven grand worth?”

Gaynor said, “If Doc gave him the maximum allowed tax-free gift of ten grand per year, he could easily accumulate eighty grand. And I do think that’s part of it. But he also reports income from book royalties.”

Decker said, “Bram wrote a book?”

“Messianic Teachings from the Old Testament.”

“Oh, now that’s a real best-seller,” Oliver joked.

“He wrote that?” Martinez said.

Oliver’s eyes grew. “You’ve heard of it?”

“My kids go to Catholic school,” Martinez said. “Next to the Catechism, it’s their most used standard text.”

“Theirs and about twenty-five hundred other Catholic schools around the country,” Gaynor said. “I called up the publisher. Some small Christian religious house. I got the feeling the book keeps them in business.”

Decker said, “How long has the book been in print?”

“Seven years,” Gaynor said.

“Bram’s only thirty-five.”

“Then he wrote it when he was young. Because he’s been collecting royalties for a while.”

“And he keeps the money?” Martinez asked.

“According to the last five years’ worth of tax returns, he’s donated seventy-five percent of his royalties to the church. Another ten percent, he gives away to other charities. The remaining fifteen, he pockets.”

“Don’t priests take vows of poverty?” Marge asked.

“Banking fifteen percent of your royalties isn’t exactly chasing the buck,” Decker said.

“Especially when you consider he’s built sixty-seven grand by pocketing only fifteen percent of his earnings,” Marge added. “That means he’s given away a hell of a lot of money.”

Webster said, “Wonder why he gave it to the church when his biological brothers were in need?”

Marge said, “Yeah, doesn’t the Bible say something about being your brother’s keeper?”

“As a priest, it’s his obligation to give his worldly possessions to the church,” Martinez said. “Keeps the clergy honest.”

Oliver said, “Besides, he probably knows his brothers’ll just piss it away.”

Decker said, “Farrell, does Bram spend money on anything interesting?”

“Only thing unusual is he rents a one-bedroom apartment even though his official residence is listed at St. Thomas’s. He has itemized it as an outside office, been leasing it for the last nine years-”

“Office my ass,” Oliver scoffed. “Betcha the goat brings women up there.” He grinned. “What a priest can’t do with rosary beads.”

“That’s truly disgusting,” Martinez said.

Oliver laughed. “Yeah, I’m a goner, going to hell on a bullet train.”

Nine years. Right around the time Yitzchak died. Decker quelled the thought.

“Maybe he brings men up instead of women,” Marge said. “Didn’t Decameron say he was gay?”

“This is all beside the point,” Decker said. “All we’re interested in is whether he’s a suspect or not. For the time being, he looks pretty clean.”

“Yeah, if you’re going to choose a family member, I vote for Paul,” Gaynor said. “He’s the one deepest in debt.”

“So why should he pop his father when the old man was supporting him?” Oliver said.

“Maybe Doc threatened to withdraw support,” Marge said.

Gaynor said, “More likely, it’s the insurance policy.”

Oliver said, “I love how you drop these little tidbits on us, Farrell. What insurance policy?”

“Sparks has a whole life policy on himself with death benefits totaling six million.”

Collective gasps.

Oliver said, “You know, I think I’ll pay a condolence call on the widow Sparks.”

Gaynor said, “The beneficiaries are the children. Don’t ask me how I found that out, either.”

Decker said, “A million per kid?”

“Right on the nailhead.”

Marge said, “So now we have six suspects. Christ, maybe they were all in it together.”

Decker said, “How long has Sparks carried the policy, Farrell?”

“He took it out five years ago.”

“So if the kids popped him, why did they wait so long?”

“Biding their time,” Oliver said. “Looks more natural that way.”

Martinez said, “We should rank them in order of who’s most suspicious. Lowest would be the priest. Not because he’s a priest, just because he has money in the bank.”

“Agreed,” Gaynor said. “Next on the list would be the two kids at home. Neither have any debt or expenses. Then the older sister, Eva. Her clothes shopping alone accounts for five grand a month-”

Marge said, “I thought she owns clothing stores.”

“Yeah, but according to her credit cards, she buys the good stuff-Chanel, Armani, Christian Lacroix, Cesucci, Yves St.-Laurent, Hermès, Gucci-”

“Criminy,” Marge said. “And to think I feel guilty every time I go to Mervyn’s.”

“Are they in deep debt?” Decker asked.

“No. But with the second co-owned with Daddy, they have no room for flexibility.”

“Finally, we conclude with Paul,” Decker said. “Okay, that takes care of the family.”

“Except Mom,” Marge pointed out.

“Very good,” Decker said.

Gaynor said, “Yes, the widow is now a wealthy woman.”

“Did you meet her, Pete…er, Loo?” Marge asked.

“Miss Dolly.” Decker smiled. “No, I didn’t meet her. She was fatigued, whisked away before I had a chance to talk to her. I’ll try to arrange something tomorrow morning. Let’s move away from the family for a moment.”

Gaynor said, “Even though the financial aspect of this case does focus attention on the kids.”

“Yes, it does,” Decker admitted. “But let’s not get tunnel vision. Farrell, did you find out any information about Sparks’s financial arrangement with Fisher/Tyne?”

Gaynor shook his head. “Nothing. It’s one thing to dig up bank accounts, pension beneficiary papers, credit card slips, and tax statements. It’s another to unveil personal business contracts.”

Decker looked at Marge. “Speaking of which, Decameron said for you to call him. He’s willing to meet with you and Scotty tomorrow for lunch. He’s going to bring you the Fisher/Tyne-FDA data.”

“He has the numbers?” Oliver asked.

“He thinks he knows where Azor kept them and he’s willing to share.” Decker wiped his brow with the back of his hand. “He thinks Gordon Shockley is a toad.”

Oliver dabbed sweat from his brow. “You know, the more I know Reggie, the better I like him.”

To Webster and Martinez, Decker said, “I got a fun assignment for you two.”

“What’s that?”

“Tomorrow morning, I want you to visit some motorcyclists.” He told the group about Sanchez and Polinski. “Apparently, they’re living in a trailer in Canyon Country. I’d like you two to find Sanchez…he calls himself Grease Pit…and try to talk to him alone-without Polinski. Now, I don’t know where this trailer is located. But Sanchez works here.” Decker gave them the address of the dealership. “See if you can pump out information from one of the other guys at his work location.”

“What does Polinski call himself?” Marge asked.

“Sidewinder.”

Marge grinned. “Oh those cute little boys with their cute little superhero names.”

Decker said, “Grease Pit mentioned something about a biker’s cause. I couldn’t get it out of him because Sidewinder kept steering him away from it.”

“The cause,” Gaynor said. “I wonder if it has anything to do with the three tax-deductible environmental checks that Sparks wrote out.”

Decker said, “Farrell, you do have a way of springing things. What environmental checks?”

“Sparks wrote three ten-thousand-dollar checks to something called the Peoples for Environment Freedoms Act.”

“What act is that?” Martinez asked.

“I don’t know,” Gaynor said. “I just saw the checks itemized along with all his other charity deductions. Most of them were to the church or to medical causes. These Freedoms Act ones stood out, not because they were so large-”

“Excuse my small southern-town perspective, but I think ten grand is a very large sum of money,” Webster remarked.

“To me too, Tom,” Gaynor said. “But Sparks wrote a lot of five-figure charity checks. Last year, he gave a hundred thousand to his church alone.”

“No wonder the kids had the run of the place for the memorial service,” Decker said.

“I remember these three ten-thousand-dollar checks because the charity was so different from his other donations.”

Decker looked at Webster and Martinez. “So now you have a name for the cause. Find Sanchez and ask him about the cause.”

Martinez grinned. “Do you want us to go as cops or as parties interested in investing?”

“I’ve got nothing against you two acting real friendly. But don’t do anything that strains the limit of credibility.” Decker sat back. “We’re all okay, then?”

Nods all around.

“Okay,” Decker said. “It’s about half-past six. Finish up your case notes, leave them on my desk, and we’ll meet again tomorrow.”

“One more thing, Lieutenant,” Gaynor said.

Oliver said, “That’s TV dialogue, Farrell.”

Gaynor smiled. “Too bad I can’t name the murderer. But I do have the name of the executor of the estate. William Waterson. He’s also Sparks’s lawyer.”

Decker wrote it down, nodded. “Yeah, his son Michael mentioned him.”

“Did you meet him, Loo?” Marge asked.

“No, I-” Decker paused. “No…not yet.”

Indeed, Decker hadn’t met him. But most likely, he had seen him. Because it just dawned on him that Waterson was probably the man with white hair and veiny nose, the one who had been deep in conversation with Paul Sparks.