Prayers for the Dead

19

“No way you two are doing a solo tail back into boony canyon-”

“Loo, it’s paved-”

“Martinez, listen to me,” Decker interrupted. “After what you told me about Sanchez, he’s going to be looking. He spots the ’Cuda, you’re roadkill. All he has to do is get a couple of friends to box you in-one car in front, one behind-and bump you on a hairpin turn, down a five-hundred-foot drop. I don’t turn women into widows, Detective.”

“If we wait for backup, we could miss him,” Martinez countered.

“Bert, Waterson’s a respected member of the community. He isn’t going anywhere.”

“What about Sanchez?” Webster piped in.

Decker barely heard the question through the ambient freeway noises. “What about Sanchez?”

Martinez said, “Don’t you want to find out what he’s up to, Loo?”

“Bert, we know what he’s up to. He’s running a chop shop. First, even if we wanted him, he’s out of our jurisdiction. Second, even if it was our jurisdiction, we’re not going to find him. He’s picked a perfect area for cover. Miles of isolated canyon roadway with outlets leading to God knows where. He’s gone. Forget about him.”

“Semi’d be easy to spot, Loo.”

“The hills are heavily wooded. You could easily hide the truck, yea, even an eighteen-wheeler, off-road. Only possible way to find it would be with a low-flying chopper. Not a good use of time or money right now because we don’t know who we’re dealing with. For all we know, Sanchez might be armed with Uzis. Send in a copter, Grease Pit might do some target practice with the pilot. Turn around and come home.”

Martinez swore silently. Webster took the phone. He said, “How ’bout this, Loo? We wait at the mouth of the canyon for Waterson. If he should hop on the freeway, we follow. Plain and simple and very, very visible.”

“Let me reiterate, Tom. Waterson isn’t going anywhere. What purpose would it serve to follow him into the city?”

“Bert and I are just a mite curious to see where he winds up after his clandestine meeting with Sanchez.”

There was a long pause over the line. Decker said, “Pinpoint where you want to wait.”

“The Placerita on-ramp to the 14 West,” Webster said. “It’s a stone’s throw from the Sierra Highway. Very well trafficked. Give us an hour, Loo. What could it hurt?”

Decker paused again. “The cell phone you’re on. Will it maintain contact up there?”

“Probably not,” Webster admitted.

Decker waited a beat, then said, “All right. Wait at the Placerita entrance. But I’m telling you right now. If Waterson doesn’t come down through Placerita, you have direct orders not to go looking for him in the canyon. Stay away from anything that even hints of ambush, you hear me?”

“I hear you.”

Decker said, “If I don’t hear from you after one hour, I send a posse out. If I send a posse out, you’re both in deep shit. Get it?”

“Got it. Over and out.” Webster smiled. “Now that wasn’t so hard.” He gunned the engine, edging the speedometer to ninety.

“Why don’t you just put wings on the sucker and get a pilot’s license.” Martinez crossed himself. “Next time, I drive.”

“I’m just hurrying things ’cause I don’t want to miss Waterson.”

“Be nice if we got there in one piece.”

“You worry too much.” Webster raced onto the 14.

“You got binoculars?” Martinez asked.

“In the trunk.”

Within minutes, the ’Cuda neared the Placerita exit. Just as Webster edged the car onto the eastbound off-ramp, Martinez spotted a midnight blue Lincoln entering the westbound on-ramp in the opposite direction.

“Shit!” he said. “The Lincoln just got on the freeway going back toward L.A.”

“Fuck!” Webster depressed the accelerator and the ’Cuda thrusted forward. The off-ramp led to a near-empty intersection. Webster shot a red light with a left turn, narrowly missing an oncoming Toyota. The shaken driver let go with a long honk and a series of lost curses. Webster floored the ’Cuda, catapulting it back onto the freeway. “See the Lincoln?”

“No.”

“Fuck!”

A Cutlass cut in front him. Webster braked hard, throwing them both backward. He rolled down the window and screamed. “You fuckin’ asshole! I’m gonna kill you!”

The Cutlass quickly moved out of the lane and dropped back into traffic. Martinez was ashen.

“That son of a bitch!” Webster muttered.

Patiently, Martinez said, “Slow down, Tom. Now!”

Finally, Webster braked. Breathing hard, he said, “Spot the Lincoln?”

“No.” Martinez’s heart was pounding at his breastbone. His eyes moved like radar, scanning through the traffic in front of him. Then he looked out at the side mirror. “Wait a minute, wait a minute.” He jerked his head around. “It’s behind us.”

“Where?” Webster said.

“Right-hand lane, about…six, seven car lengths behind.”

Webster’s eyes went to his rearview mirror, then slowed the ’Cuda to a speed less than the flow of traffic. “I don’t see it.”

“It’s there, take my word for it.”

Webster braked again. Within moments, the Lincoln came into view. He grinned. “Gotcha, baby!”

Martinez sat back, let out a deep breath. “You almost got us killed.”

Webster said nothing. Then he started to laugh. A moment later, so did Martinez. He hit his partner’s shoulder. “Son of a bitch! Drive like that again, you’ll never father another child.”

The ’Cuda cruised at a safe speed, allowing the Lincoln to gain distance until they were neck-and-neck. Martinez gave Waterson a quick once-over through the luxury sedan’s rolled-up window. Dark jacket, tie, and sunglasses. Stubby fingers gripped onto the wheel. Full cheeks, white hair, liver lips.

Martinez said, “Drop back about a hundred feet. Not too quickly. Move nice and easy. We don’t want him to suspect anything.”

Webster did as told. “Why would Waterson suspect anything, let alone a tail?”

“Because guilty people always suspect something. Mark my word, Tommy. Hanging around Sanchez, Waterson’s hiding something. I believe in guilt by association.”

“Hang around scum, you become scum.” Webster thought about the statement. “Sort of a social Lamarckian concept, don’t you think?”

“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

“Maybe he’s only doing his duty as executor of Sparks’s estate.”

“What duty?”

Webster said, “Maybe Sparks left Sanchez money for the cause. Waterson could just be the delivery boy.”

“Waterson as Sanchez’s delivery boy?” Martinez smiled. “Remind me never to hire you as a chauffeur or a casting director.”

“You put it that way, it don’t make much sense.” Webster paused. “Did the family read the will yet?”

“I don’t know.”

From the 5 South, Webster hooked back on the 405 South. As he tailed the Lincoln, he suddenly noticed the flash of Waterson’s right-hand blinker.

Martinez said, “He’s getting off at Devonshire.”

“I see it.”

“Not so close.”

“I know, I know. Take it easy.”

“Sorry. I just don’t want to mess up at this point.”

Webster laughed. “We’re proceeding ’bout as fast as the infamous white Bronco.”

“Son of a bitch should have shot himself,” Martinez groused. “Saved us all a shitload of money. Millions of dollars flushed down the crapper and for what? He’s turning right, Tom.”

“I see him. He’s heading west.”

The Lincoln moved swiftly down the broad, pine-lined boulevard, past small, worn ranch houses resting on an area rug’s worth of land. The neighborhood had hosted thousands of citrus trees with their sweet blossoms and succulent fruit. Not many had survived the transition from agriculture to suburbia. Only a couple hundred stalwarts favored the land with their aromatic perfume, sweet edibles, and delectable shade during the sweltering West Valley summers.

As the road stretched westward, the homes gave way to apartment buildings, factory showrooms, and lots of corner gas stations and strip malls. Farther west, the area once again became open space as the boulevard neared the foothills.

Martinez said, “He’s going toward the Santa Susanas.”

“From one mountain range to another.” Webster pulled out a stick of gum and popped it in his mouth. “Maybe Waterson and Sanchez are partners in a chain of chop shops. Sanchez does the dirty work, Waterson does the finances. An interesting albeit farfetched concept. But whoda thought Sparks would involve himself with a bunch of bikers.”

Waterson entered the West Hills area, slowed, then turned on his left-hand blinker, heading straight into a tree-lined residential area.

Martinez said, “Pass him up.”

“Why?”

“Because the ’Cuda doesn’t have enough cover in such a quiet neighborhood. Pass him up.”

Webster kept the ’Cuda going straight, watching the Lincoln turn in his rearview mirror. “Now what?”

“Turn left at the next opportunity.”

Webster did as told. “Backtrack?”

“You know what? I think I know where he’s headed.” Martinez punched open the glove compartment, pulled out a street map. “We’re about a mile away from Sparks’s house. Go straight about…half a mile, then turn right on Orchard, left on Vine, then left on Alta Vista. Betcha we’ll find the car there.”

Webster raised his brow. “You sure you want to lose him at this point?”

“We’re too visible to follow him, Tom. After what happened to Sparks, he may even think that someone’s out to get him. Just trust me on this.”

They rode the next few minutes in tense silence. As Webster neared the Sparks house, he slowed the ’Cuda, took in the neighborhood. Large two-story homes on what seemed like big parcels of land. But the construction was only serviceable at best. Composite wood-sided housing or thin, textured stucco jobs. All of the homes were roofed in adobe-colored Spanish tile, giving the blocks uniformity. Giant carob trees shaded the streets. Dirt sidewalks.

Fancy area for a guy like Webster. But he couldn’t help wondering why a guy as rich as Sparks would have chosen this over Beverly Hills or Malibu, or at the very least, one of the million-dollar developments in Granada Hills.

Sparks’s home sat by itself at the mouth of a cul-de-sac. Parked in the driveway was Waterson’s Lincoln.

“Bert one, Tom zero.” Webster did a three-pointer and turned around. “Now what?”

Martinez picked up the cell phone and called Decker.

“That was fast,” Decker said. “Where are you?”

“In front of Sparks’s house. Waterson’s Lincoln is parked in the driveway. You want us to pay a visit?”

“No. Right now, I want you to go over to impound and start taking the Sparkses’ Buick apart. Good job, guys.”

“What about Waterson?”

“I’m scheduled to see the widow today at three. So I’ll drop by a little early.”

Martinez glanced at the ’Cuda’s clock. “A little early? It’s straight-up noon, Loo.”

“My oh my,” Decker said. “My watch is running fast.”

Michael answered the door, seemed surprised by Decker’s appearance. The young man wore a crewneck sweater over a vanilla shirt, khaki pants, and loafers. He fiddled with his collar, looked over his shoulder as if waiting for someone to come to his rescue. “I thought you were coming later.”

“Sorry for the inconvenience. May I come in?”

The med student was hesitant. “My mother is kind of indisposed right now.”

Decker stood firm. “I’m really sorry for coming at an awful time.”

Michael ran his hand through a thick nest of black curls. Uncertainty seemed to be his hallmark. “Could you hold on a second?”

“Of course.”

The door closed, reopened a minute later. Mike had brought reinforcements in the form of older brother Paul, both of them staring at Decker with the same deep blue eyes. Strong fraternal resemblance. But the med student was slimmer, younger, and sans tic.

Paul said, “Mom’s resting. If it’s important, I’ll fetch her.”

“The sooner I talk to her, the better.”

Paul’s eyes moved at shutter speed. “So it’s important?”

“You have a breakthrough?” Michael asked excitedly.

“Not yet, I’m afraid. May I come in?”

The door opened completely, and Decker walked inside. Sitting on the family-room couch was the man with the veiny nose. He stood when he saw Decker, regarded Paul with questioning eyes.

“This is Lieutenant Decker, principal investigator of my father’s case,” Paul said. “Lieutenant, William Waterson, my father’s lawyer.”

Decker shook the attorney’s hand-firm grip, but not bone-crushing. The lawyer was about four inches shorter than Decker, around six even. His face held a drinker’s complexion, but his eyes were strong and lucid.

Waterson said, “Any news, Lieutenant?”

“Nothing worth reporting.” Decker remained standing and so did Waterson. “Are you also in charge of administering Dr. Sparks’s estate, sir?”

Waterson’s eyes narrowed. “Yes, as a matter of fact I am.”

Decker said, “Then you’ll be disclosing the will’s contents. See, there must be a will. Because Sparks had a family trust. When you have a trust, you have a will.”

Waterson eyed the two brothers. Michael shrugged ignorance, Paul revealed nothing. The lawyer said, “May I ask where you obtained such confidential information?”

“Just did a little poking around. No big deal.”

Paul broke in, eyes fluttering. “Yes, Dad and Mom have a family trust and Dad had a will. Hopefully, we’ll be reading it soon. The sooner the better, as far as I’m concerned. Easier for my mom. This way she’ll have access to her funds.”

And you’ll have access to a million bucks. As soon as insurance pays up. Which may take a long time. Decker kept his thoughts to himself. To Waterson, he said, “Nice of you to make house calls. Just out in the area or is this truly personalized service?”

“Azor Sparks was a dear friend. I feel I owe it to him to keep an eye on Dolly.”

“She has children. Why does she need watching from you?”

Michael nodded enthusiastically. Waterson glared at him, then at Decker. He said, “After losing my beloved wife four years ago, I can assure you it’s a trying time for her. Anything I can do to help ease her pain.”

“That’s very decent of you, sir.”

“That’s why we were put on this earth, Lieutenant,” Waterson stated. “To love God and be decent with each other.”

Decker nodded solemnly. He lied, “I called your office about an hour ago. You weren’t in.”

“No, I wasn’t.”

“Can I ask where you were?”

“Why are you curious about me?”

“Please bear with me, sir.”

“I was consulting with a client,” Waterson said stiffly. “And no, I won’t tell you who. That’s privileged information.”

“So you do make house calls.”

“I don’t see where this should be any of your concern. Do I detect a note of antagonism from you?”

Decker looked him in the eye. “Don’t mean to be confrontational. I was just taken aback by good, old-fashioned service, Mr. Waterson.” Charging portal-to-portal at two hundred an hour. “Commendable in this day and age.”

Waterson didn’t know how to read the compliment. He played it straight. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. You’re in solo practice, Mr. Waterson?”

“I have partners.”

“But it’s your firm.”

“Yes.”

“Estate law?”

“Primarily, but we do everything.”

“Do you know Jack Cohen?”

Waterson’s jaw tightened. “Yes, I do. Good attorney. Where do you know him from?”

“Used to work for him way back when.”

The lawyer was puzzled. “Doing what?”

“Estates and wills.”

Waterson absorbed Decker’s words. “You’re an attorney?”

“Was many moons ago. I’m hopelessly out of practice, but I can still recall a thing or two. Things like trusts avoid probate. That’s most fortunate for Mrs. Sparks. She doesn’t need financial constrictions on top of all her other woes.”

“You’re absolutely right. I assure you Dolly is being well cared for.”

“Certainly appears that way.”

“It is that way.” Waterson stuck out his hand. “I must be going. Nice to have met you.”

Decker took the lawyer’s hand. “Thank you, Mr. Waterson. I might have other questions. Do you have a card on you?”

“Of course.” The lawyer handed him a standard 2 × 3 rectangle, then shook hands with both sons. “Take care of your mother. I’ll call upon her later.”

“Thanks for coming down,” Paul said.

“For your family, I’d do anything, Paul.”

“I appreciate it.”

After Waterson left, Michael frowned. “Guy’s a jerk. Love thy neighbor at two hundred and fifty an hour-”

“Mike-”

“Out of all the lawyers, why did Dad pick him?” To Decker, Michael said, “Dad had an affinity for oddballs-”

“Mike-”

“It’s true, Paul. Not only Waterson. Just look at his staff-Decameron, Berger-”

Decker said, “What’s wrong with Dr. Decameron?”

Paul snapped, “Nothing is wrong with Dr. Decameron.”

“Aside from the fact he’s gay?” Decker asked casually.

“I’m not falling into that bullshit trap,” Paul said. “You have your beliefs, I have mine. No, I don’t approve of his lifestyle. But if Dr. Decameron is good enough for Dad, I’m sure he’s an excellent doctor.”

“What about Dr. Berger?” Decker asked.

Michael said, “He’s mealy-mouthed and a wimp.”

“And Jewish?” Decker said.

Paul stared at him. “Half the doctors in America are Jewish. What are you trying to do? Paint us as a bunch of prejudiced asses just because we believe in God? Jesus loves all His creatures, sir. You, me, everyone. And that, sir, is my belief.”

“I didn’t mean to offend you, Paul,” Decker said. “I’m sorry.”

The room fell silent.

Paul closed his fluttering eyelids. “I’m testy.”

“You’re holding up very well.” To Michael, Decker asked, “Why do you think Berger is a wimp?”

“Because you can’t get a straight answer out of him,” Michael said. “And he’s pompous. You know if anyone had a reason to be full of himself it was my dad. But he wasn’t like that at all. Yes, he demanded respect. But he wasn’t a blow hole. Even Dr. Fulton’s weird…married to that loser-”

“Enough, Michael!” Paul blew up. “It’s none of the lieutenant’s business!”

“He’s investigating Dad’s murder, Paul. Everything about us is his business!”

Decker said, “Waterson seems to care about your mother.”

Michael said, “Cares a little too much if you ask me. He’s practically been living here.”

Paul snapped, “What is wrong with you? Waterson’s been a godsend, giving Mom and us…financial direction. We’ve all been so confused. At least, someone knows what he’s doing.”

Michael began to pace. “Well, Paul, I guess at this point I don’t trust anyone.”

“Go get Mom,” Paul said quietly.

Michael was about to speak. Instead, he said nothing, then disappeared upstairs. Paul said, “Can I get you something to drink, Lieutenant.”

“Nothing, thank you. How are you doing, Mr. Sparks?”

“Not great.” His eyelids shivered as his eyes watered. “Please take Michael’s words with a grain of salt. He’s upset, taking it out on Waterson. Yes, the guy’s a little puffed up. But that’s not why Michael’s angry.”

“I realize that. Did Waterson speak with your mom while he was here?”

“Yeah, for about a half hour. Truthfully, he has been here a lot. But then again, he’s conducting our financial business. He has questions to ask.”

“What do you know about your father and his motorcycle buddies?”

Paul’s expression turned puzzled. “Now there’s a non sequitur.”

“You know your dad rode with bikers, don’t you?”

“What about them?”

“He gave money to one of their causes. Some environment freedom act. Do you know anything about that?”

“Not a clue.” The eyelids fluttered. “What kind of environment freedom act?”

“I’m not sure,” Decker said. “It’s hard to understand these guys. From what I’ve gleaned, it deals with repealing restrictive legislation-things like mandatory mufflers on motorcycles, throwing back the age limit for operating All-Terrain Vehicles, getting rid of the helmet law, giving motorcycles more leeway on smog emissions. Any idea why your father would contribute to something like that?”

“No.” Paul sighed. “I hate to say it, but Mike was right. Dad did surround himself with some real strange characters. Anyway, Dad didn’t confide in me.”

“Who did he confide in?”

“Maybe Bram. But you won’t get anything out of him. Being a priest, Bram’s pretty tight-lipped about everything.”

“What about Waterson? Did your father confide in him?”

“I doubt it. Waterson’s been helpful.” Paul paused. “I’m not looking a gift horse in the mouth. But the man is painting himself like he was some old family friend. He and Dad were church friends. I know Dad helped him out when Waterson’s wife was sick. But as far as I know, they weren’t bosom buddies.”

“Interesting,” Decker said. “Why do you think he’s doing that?”

“I don’t know. Maybe there’s money in it for him as executor of Dad’s estate.”

Paul thought a moment.

“Or maybe Waterson does have some empathy at our tragedy…my mother’s plight. He was broken up after his wife died. It was a long illness. I remember my wife occasionally cooking for him. So did Mom, my sister-in-law, and the other women at the church. Rotating days to bring him casseroles, stuff like that. Couple of times my parents had him over for Sunday dinner. His wife was too sick to come.”

“How’d that go?”

“Nice and polite. Waterson didn’t talk much. Dad kind of led the discussions. He seemed grateful, thanked my parents profusely for all they had done for him and Ellen…his wife. I also remember my parents talking about her death…how young she’d been…” Paul smiled. “Young meaning close to their ages.”

It was time to drop the bomb. Decker said, “Waterson paid a visit to the bikers this morning. Any idea why?”

“Waterson?”

“Yep.”

“Then he was lying about being with a client.”

“Unless the client was the bikers.”

Paul opened and closed his mouth. “How’d you find that out?”

Decker sidestepped the question. “Why would Mr. Waterson go visit your father’s biker buddies?”

“I haven’t the foggiest notion. This is very weird.”

“Did your father leave them money in his will?”

“I don’t know. Waterson hasn’t read us the will. Maybe my father did leave them something. I was under the impression that Waterson couldn’t distribute any funds until the will has been formally read. Isn’t that how it works?”

“Usually. Unless your father wrote a secret codicil requesting something else.”

Paul was quiet.

“How about your mother?” Decker said. “What would she know about your father’s finances?”

“From what she’s told me, not much. Dad was from the old school. Hide the problems, keep the wife and family free from worry. Which meant that Mom was pretty much kept in the dark. But knowing my mother, she’s more aware than she’s letting on. She’s a sharp woman. Perceptive in that behind-the-scenes way.”

Paul’s eyes looked upward. Suddenly, his eyelids started fluttering.

“Oh Lord.”

“What?”

“Nothing.” Paul made a face. “I didn’t realize my sister-in-law was up there with her.”

Decker looked at the woman descending the staircase. The anorexic woman with short, short platinum hair who had glommed on to Bram at the memorial reception yesterday.

“Luke’s wife?”

“Certainly she’s not Bram’s.”

Decker smiled. “Ask a stupid question…”

Paul turned around. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…”

“It’s fine. Her name is Dana?”

Paul nodded. When she came to the bottom of the stairs, Dana appraised her brother-in-law with a cool eye. “Hello, Paul.”

“Dana. Didn’t know you were here.”

“Mother and I were just reading Bible together.” Nearly colorless eyes looked at Decker. “Who’s this?”

Paul made the introductions. She offered Decker a slender hand. “Nice to meet you.”

“Thank you. Is your husband around?”

Dana’s eyes clouded. “He’s at work.”

Decker said nothing.

“Actually, that’s a good thing,” Dana said. “Don’t you think that’s a good thing, Paul?”

“It’s an excellent thing, Dana.”

“You’re being snide.”

“Not at all, Dana.” His eyes darted back and forth. “It’s a very good thing that Luke’s at work…occupied. Where’s Mom?”

“Michael is helping her freshen up.” To Decker, Dana said, “She hasn’t gotten out of bed all day. She’s very depressed.”

Decker nodded.

Dana wrung her hands nervously, “Do you know when Bram’s supposed to show up? He seems to have a calming effect on her. Maybe I should call him.”

Paul blinked hard. “I think he’s pretty tied up right now, Dana.”

“Too busy to see his mother?”

“Maggie told me he was here this morning. He does have a parish to run.”

“I’m sure his parishioners would understand-”

“I’m sure, but-”

“I think I should call him.”

From above, a strong, low female voice said, “Dana, leave him alone. He’s busy.”

Dana became flushed. Through clenched teeth, she called out, “Of course, Mother.” She checked her watch. To Decker, she said, “I must be going.”

“Nice to have met you.”

“Same.” She turned around and scurried out the door before her mother-in-law made it down the stairs.

Dolores “Dolly” Sparks. An imperfect name for her. Because she was anything but a plaything. Tall, large-boned, stately, stern. A coif of gray hair framed a sturdy face. Her eyes, though red-rimmed, were hard and threatening. Decker saw none of the vulnerability and shock he had witnessed when Michael had first broken the news to her. She wore a black caftan, her feet were housed in mules.

She gave Decker a once-over. “That girl is something else. First, she tries to seduce Bram into marrying her. By the skin of his teeth, he finally manages to get rid of her. So what does Luke do? He goes ahead and marries her himself. He did it for spite. Well, good for Luke. He got his spite. He also got her, still mooning over his twin-”

“Why don’t you sit down, Mom,” Paul said.

“Why don’t you stop trying to shut me up.”

No one spoke.

Dolly’s lip began to tremble. “Where is Bram?”

Michael said, “Would you like me to call him for you, Mom?”

“Please.” She hid her face in the palm of her hand.

Paul took her arm. “Mom, sit down.”

This time, Dolly didn’t protest. Allowed herself to be led to the couch. Paul said, “Mom, this is Lieutenant Decker. He’s leading Dad’s investigation.”

Dolly wiped her eyes and nodded.

Decker nodded back. “I apologize for interrupting your rest.”

“What rest? With Dana keeping me awake, reading me Psalms…trying to be spiritual. She should try making it to church on time. A good start in spiritual development.”

Paul said, “She means well, Mom.”

“I suppose.” Dolly looked at Decker. “How can I help you, Mr. Decker?”

“It’s lieutenant, Mom.”

“Whatever,” Decker said. “You can help me by answering a few questions.”

“I don’t know who’d want to harm Azor,” Dolly stated. “Far as I know, he didn’t have an enemy in the world.”

“If I could start with something even more basic. What do you think your husband was doing at Tracadero’s?”

“I’m sure I don’t know.”

Decker looked at Paul, then back at the widow. “I hate to ask you this. But is it possible he could have been meeting a woman?”

Paul’s eyes twitched. But Dolly’s face remained placid. “You mean Dr. Fulton?”

Decker said, “No, I mean a paramour.”

Dolly remained unperturbed. “No, it’s not possible. I didn’t know much about Azor’s life outside the home. But I do know that much.”

“Okay. Then who might your husband have been meeting?”

“I don’t know.”

Decker nodded. “What do you know about your husband’s weekend friends?”

Paul said, “He means the bikers.”

“Them?” She grimaced. “They’re lowlifes, of course. Azor brought them here once. Came roaring down the street, looking like a bunch of hoods. I refused to let them step foot in my house. I almost kicked them out yesterday. But I didn’t…for Azor’s sake. If they wanted to honor him, so be it.”

Michael came back. “Bram said he’ll be here in an hour. Unless you need him right away.”

Dolly thought a moment. “An hour is fine. I’ll just take a nap.” She stood. “Anything else?”

“A few more questions, Mrs. Sparks. I’ll try not to tire you.”

She sat back down and waited.

Decker said, “Were you aware of the fact that your husband gave money to his riding buddies for a cause of theirs?”

Her mouth tightened. “Yes. Some freedom act. Everyone should be free. You know what, Mr. Decker? Some people shouldn’t be free. Some people should be locked up in jail the rest of their lives, instead of taking money from naive do-gooders.”

Inwardly, Decker agreed. He said, “You felt the cause was a scam.”

“Of course it was a scam,” Dolly pronounced. “But it was Azor’s money. He never left me wanting for anything. Provided well for me and the children. Gave to the church and to the hospital. I suppose if he wanted to squander a little excess…well, there are worse vices, believe you me.”

Decker smiled.

Dolly stood again, this time teetering on her feet. “I really am tired, Mr. Decker.” Her eyes suddenly watered. “Perhaps another time.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Sparks.”

“You’re welcome.” She leaned over to Paul, and he kissed her cheek. “When’s the first installment of the tuition due, Paul?”

Paul turned red. “Three weeks, Mom.”

“We should have this will thing straightened out by then. Send me the papers. Dad made you a promise, I’ll honor it.”

“Thank you very much, Mom.”

She patted his cheek. To Michael, she said, “Walk me up to my room, pumpkin.”

“Of course.” Michael shook hands with Decker. “Anything you need, we’re here to help. Right, Mom?”

“Right.” She started walking, then her knees folded. Michael grabbed her arm. “Lean on me, Mom.”

Decker followed them up the stairs until they disappeared. A moment later, he heard a door close.

Paul said, “She’s exhausted.”

“Can’t say I blame her.” Decker smoothed his mustache. “She seems to have an inner strength. Guess you’d have to have energy to raise six children, especially triplet boys.”

Paul nodded.

“You get along well with your brothers?”

Paul shrugged. “Not too bad. Being as Luke and Bram are identical, it was hard to compete with that genetic bond.”

“They were close growing up?”

“Yes.”

“Competitive?”

“Not really. Luke figured out pretty early on he couldn’t compete.”

“You were the outsider.”

Paul stared at Decker, his eyes still and calm. “Why are you interested in us?”

“Like Michael said, I’m interested in all facets of your family. I find it fascinating that Luke and Bram dated the same women.”

“You mean woman. As far as I know, Dana was the only girl Bram ever dated.”

“What happened between them?”

Paul’s eyes twitched. “A long story…it’s all past. They were kids…not even seventeen.”

“Your mother mentioned something about Dana seducing Bram. What happened? Did he get her pregnant?”

Paul didn’t answer right away. Then he said, “Not exactly. Luke got her pregnant. While she was Bram’s girl.”

“Ouch.”

“Yeah, it was…” Paul scratched his head. “Bram took the fall, told our parents it was his. He covered, not for Dana’s sake and certainly not for Luke’s, but for his own ego. He didn’t want to look like a dupe.”

“How’d he find out it wasn’t his kid?”

Paul laughed, but it held sadness. “Only one way for a guy to know proof positive that the kid isn’t his.”

“He never had sex with her.”

Paul said, “After Dana got knocked up by Luke, she tried to seduce Bram…to nail the kid as his. You’ve met my brother. Things that work on normal guys don’t work on him. Anyway, he figured it out pretty quickly. Dana had suddenly turned from a shy, religious thing to this raving maniac who just had to do it. The more she pushed, the more he knew something was off. He pressed her and she broke down. Since she absolutely refused to admit who the father was, Bram figured it was one of us. Meaning, he thought it was me.”

“He confronted you?”

“No. Bram took it like a martyr. He really does belong on the cross.”

“Did he display anger toward you?”

“Not openly.”

“So how did he find out it was Luke?”

“Must have been my guiltless attitude. Both Luke and I treated him gently during that time. Because my parents absolutely…battered him. Mostly Dad. Bram had been his golden boy until then. The son that could do no wrong. But man, did Dad change. One mistake and Doctor came that close to kicking him out of the house.” Paul pinched off a millimeter of space between his extended thumb and forefinger. “If Bram would have given him an ounce of lip, I’m sure he would have.”

“Bram suffered in silence?”

“Yes. Then one evening at dinner…God, Dad was really slamming him. How he ruined his life and dishonored himself, and his family, and had spit at God. And he was going to go to hell and all this…this shit, frankly. I couldn’t take it. I told Bram, ‘How can you let him talk to you like that? Say something!’ Of course, I was ordered to leave the table at once.”

“Did you?”

“No. Instead, I got into a screaming match with my father who proceeded to ground me for three months. Actually, it was six months, later reduced to three. I had no car privileges, no allowance, wasn’t allowed to go on any dates or to any parties…even church activities. Except chapel of course. I was ordered to go to chapel every evening and ask God’s forgiveness for disobeying my father.”

“Pretty severe.”

“Extremely. In all fairness to my parents, they were very upset. Normally, they weren’t that rough on us.”

“Pretty nice of you to risk your freedom for your brother.”

“If I had known the consequences, I would have kept my mouth shut.” He shook his head. “I finally stalked off to our room, Bram came in a minute later, thanked me for coming to his defense. Must have been something sincere in my voice, something that told him I hadn’t been the one. Because as soon as Luke walked in the room, Bram hauled off and decked him.”

Paul laughed.

“I was stunned! I’d never seen Bram so enraged, much less physical. Then it all came out, though my parents never knew. I couldn’t believe it. Luke had always been a wiseass, spent half of high school stoned on weed. But deflowering your twin brother’s girlfriend…that went beyond the pale.”

“Indeed.”

“Anyway, the whole thing became moot. Three weeks before Dana and Bram were due to marry, Dana went into premature labor, gave birth to a stillborn boy. It was very sad actually. Bram was decent, visited Dana in the hospital. But man, was he relieved! We all were. After Dana recovered, Bram stayed away from her, from girls in general.” Paul grinned. “Big surprise that Bram became a priest.”

Decker said, “And Dana married Luke.”

“Irony of ironies. They remet at our fifth high school reunion. Bram didn’t show, but Luke and I did. Luke and Dana started talking. I guess they hit it off. They were married a few years later.”

“It didn’t bother Bram?”

“You mean did he still feel something for Dana?” Paul laughed. “The poor guy has been trying to get her off his ass for years.”

“How’d he feel toward Luke?”

“He was icy to him for a long, long time. He didn’t stand up at Luke’s wedding.”

Casually, Decker asked, “What about Bram’s relationship with your father?”

“From what I could see, Bram remained respectful…obedient…up to a point.”

“Meaning?”

“Bram wears a cross around his neck, not a stethoscope.”

“You father wanted Bram to be a doctor?”

“Not wanted-expected.”

“Did it create tension between the two?”

“That Bram became a priest instead of a physician?”

“Yes.”

Paul thought about the question. “I think Dad knew he’d lost Bram after the Dana affair. Certainly he knew Bram was a goner after he became Catholic.”

“How’d that happen?”

“The summer after the Dana thing, Dad sent him to Africa to cleanse his soul with missionary work. Talk about poetic justice…” Paul laughed. “The nuns got hold of him. He came back, it was all over. Nothing could dissuade him. His rebellion at the shit my dad shoveled at him.”

He thought a moment.

“Actually, that’s probably oversimplification. Bram took to Catholicism…the rituals…customs. The formality and beauty that’s absent from my church. And the intellectuality. He loves poring over dusty tomes. Archaic stuff that would bore most people to death.”

“How’d your mother react to Bram’s conversion?”

“She wasn’t happy. Personally, I think she was real pissed at my dad, though she never expressed it out loud. But you could tell by her coldness. She used to mention to him that one teaches not by harshness but by love, just as Jesus did. You notice that Michael is in medical school. Nothing to rebel against. Because after the whole Dana mess, Dad pretty much butted out of our lives. He was still…Dad. But he kept a lower profile…left family things up to Mom.”

“Did Bram ever forgive Luke?”

“About a year after Bram became ordained, a real peace came over him. He not only forgave Luke, he’s been looking after him for the last six years. It took Luke a long time to get his act in gear. His kids helped. Luke’s a great father, I’ll say that much for him.”

He paused.

“I think I’m a great father, too. Funny, because neither one of us got any role modeling. Dad was never home when we grew up. Bram took over Dad’s role with my younger siblings. But Luke and I were left to our own devices.”

He laughed bitterly.

“We’re also the most screwed-up of the bunch.”

Paul blinked hard.

“I’ve tried very hard to be an involved father. Maybe I’m overinvolved. Because not a day goes by that I don’t think about Angela and the kids. Everything I do, I do for them. Sometimes I think I’d be better off if I were more like my old man-distant, imposing, the boss. ’Cause my kids sure give me crap. But then there are moments. Like when my eight-year-old hit a game-winning three-run homer at Little League. He came running up to me afterward, hugged me in front of his friends, told me he loved me. I guess I did something right.”

Decker nodded, observing a man who had just unloaded a truckload of personal baggage. The outsider in his trio, the son of a brilliant but domineering man. Paul must have been dying to prove himself. Since he couldn’t be brilliant like Dad, nor the golden boy like brother Bram, maybe he could gain his self-respect and position through money.

Hence all the bad investments.

Luke, on the other hand, never even tried. Just drowned his troubles in a a sea of drugs until his kids made him grow up. Yet, Lord only knew how much residual resentment the triplet sons felt toward their father.

Paul checked his watch. “I talk too much. I do that when I’m nervous.”

“You’re nervous around me?”

“My father was murdered and I don’t know why. Right now, I’m nervous around everyone.”