Prayers for the Dead

29

If the way to a man’s heart was through his stomach, Rina had a monopoly on cardiac tissue. By five o’clock Sunday evening, the entire house had become aromatic with the scents of savory herbs, onions, and garlic. Evocative smells. Of Decker’s bimonthly childhood Sunday dinners. A rotating affair with the relatives. His mother toiling in the kitchen, wet with heat, a starched apron covering her best black dress, a small strand of pearls around her upright neck. The men in her life-Decker’s father, his brother Randy, and him, sitting at the table, stiff in ill-fitting suits. Grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins. As soon as the food was served, things began to loosen up. The adults conversing, kids acting like kids, good times…

He entered the kitchen. Rina’s face was damp, her hair falling down her back in a neat, compact braid. She wore a free-flowing cotton maroon dress that ended midcalf, with midelbow sleeves. Her feet were housed in flats. Though simply dressed, she was still a stunner.

He said, “Looks like you only made enough for the U.S. Army. What do I tell the Navy when it shows up?”

“Funny.” Rina stirred a pot of soup. “I know I cooked too much for five adults. But it’ll freeze.”

“You need a taste tester?”

“You’re volunteering for the assignment? What a jewel you are, Peter.”

“It’s a nasty job, but someone’s got to do it.”

Rina gave him a spoonful of soup. Split pea with beef marrow bones. Decker’s taste buds were in heaven. “Good.”

“Thank you.”

“This looks like enough for me. What are the others going to eat?”

Rina hit him, returned her attention to the rack of lamb in the oven, basted the riblets with a mustard seed-honey sauce. She stood, wiped her hands on a towel. “Why did you invite Marge over?”

“Just to be friendly. Why?”

“You weren’t planning to discuss your cases?”

Decker paused. “Maybe something’ll come up in passing. But that wasn’t the purpose of the invitation. Are you worried we’ll say things in front of the boys?”

“No, of course not.” She checked on the pilaf and turned down the fire.

Decker approached her from behind, wrapped his arms around her waist, kissed her neck. “No talk about work tonight, okay?”

She turned to him. “I’ve got a confession to make.”

He loosened his grip on her. “This sounds ominous.”

“I saw Bram last Friday,” she said. “Actually, I saw him on Thursday, too. But that was a very short visit. First time, I came to see him. Second time, he came here.”

Decker looked at her. “Here.”

Rina nodded.

“Here meaning the house?” he said.

“Yes.”

“Entertaining a murder suspect on the chief investigator’s premises.” He dropped his arms to his side. “That’ll sit well with my boss.”

“He’s not a suspect. You released him.”

“I did nothing of the sort,” Decker snapped. “He posted bail.”

“Well, you’re the one who lowered his bail.”

“Rina, he’s still a suspect! You had no right-”

“Please don’t be mad.”

“You promised no interference!” he said.

“Yes, I did.”

“You broke your promise, Rina! How could you do that?”

“You know, according to Jewish law, a husband can nullify his wife’s promises.”

“What?”

“A husband can nullify vows and/or oaths made by his wife. Which means you can absolve me of my promise.” She frowned. “I don’t really know if you can do it ex post facto.” She smiled. “But I’m willing if you’re willing.”

“Stop it. I’m not in the mood for games.”

“You can be mad. Just say you nullify my oaths. At least, I won’t have the sin of breaking my vow-my shevuah. Or is it a neder?”

“Oh, for chrissakes!” Decker stomped out the back door. Rina followed him to the stables. Decker picked up a pitchfork.

“Peter, you’re in good slacks and a white shirt.”

“The animals won’t mind if I go formal,” he said angrily.

“Peter, c’mon!”

Decker ripped open a bale. “Uh, excuse me. Could you kindly move unless you want a face full of hay.”

“Can I just talk to you?”

“First move.”

Rina moved. “Can you put down the pitchfork?”

“No.”

“I’m really sorry.”

“Fine.” He jabbed the fork into the packed bundle and loosened the yellow reeds. “You’re absolved of your promise. Now, can I get a little solitude, please.”

“Don’t you even want to know why I went to see him?”

“Not particularly.”

“Don’t you want to know what we talked about?”

Decker began tossing a fresh layer of hay over the stalls’ floor, trying to feign apathy. But he was curious. In a bored tone, he said, “If you talk, maybe I’ll listen.”

“I can’t talk to you while you’re working.”

“Then you’ll wait.”

“Oh, you’re impossible!” She turned on her heel and marched back into the house.

Decker threw down the fork and trailed her footsteps. “I’m impossible? I’m impossible? Last I heard, I didn’t break any promises. I didn’t compromise anyone’s job-”

“I didn’t compromise your job-”

“Yes, you did, Rina. The long and the short of it is yes, you did.”

“This is what I get for being honest.”

“No, this is what you get for being dishonest and breaking a promise.”

She turned to him, eyes blazing with passion. “I couldn’t let him…sink, Peter! You don’t do that to a friend!”

“Your loyalty is to me-”

“Loyalty to your job versus the life of a human being? Thank you very much, I’ll pick a human being.”

Decker lashed out. “Why are you putting yourself and my job on the line for this guy? Traditionally, you only do things like that for people you love.”

She crossed her arms over her chest, her eyes boring into his. “Just what are you really asking me, Peter. Why don’t you just spit it out?”

Decker took a deep breath, held it, let it out slowly. “I’m not asking you anything, all right?” He looked at his shirt, soaked with sweat. “I’d better go change.”

Rina licked her lips. “Wait a second. I’m not done. I’ve got another confession.”

He stared at her, mouth agape. “There’s more?”

“Unfortunately yes. I’ve eavesdropped on one of your phone conversations…the one where you conferenced with Marge and Scott Oliver. I know about Bram’s safe…and the magazines.”

Decker continued to stare. “Anything else?”

“No…that’s about it.” She smiled weakly. “Looks like I’ll have a busy Yom Kippur.”

Decker closed his mouth, ran his tongue along his cheek. “Whatever your reasons were, your behavior was inexcusable, Rina.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It doesn’t cut it, babe.” He walked away.

Rina turned to her cooking, her eyes wet with tears. She shoved open the oven door and painted the meat with more sauce. Everything looked wonderful, smelled delicious. She had no appetite.

The doorbell rang.

Great.

She took off her apron, but left her hair uncovered. It was only Marge. She opened the door and tried to keep the smile on her face. At Marge’s side was Scott Oliver.

“He followed me home,” Marge said. “Think you can throw him a bone?”

“I think we can actually feed him,” Rina answered. “Come on in. Both of you. Delighted to see you, Detective.”

“Hello, Mrs. Decker.” Oliver held out a bouquet of spring flowers. “Thank you for your gracious hospitality.”

Rina took the flowers. “Well, thank you.”

Marge handed her a bottle of wine. “I hope this kind is okay. It’s got that Circle O-U on it.”

Rina looked at the bottle. “This is fine.” A two-year-old Cabernet Savignon. “I’m going to age this one. I’ve got an older bottle in storage that Peter’ll pop open. Come sit down. Peter’s just changing his shirt. I’ll go get him.”

She disappeared into the other room.

Oliver took a deep whiff, smiled, then rubbed his hands together. “Laissez les bonstemps rouler. You know how long it’s been since I’ve eaten home cooking?”

“She’s a great cook.”

“Man, she’s a great everything. I’d cut off a nut for a chance to do her.”

Marge glared at him. “You are so…”

“Rude? Crude? Tasteless? Disgusting? Horny? Pick a card, any card.” He sat down on one of the buckskin chairs. “I know you did it out of pity. But thanks for asking me to come.”

“No problem.”

“I must have sounded really pathetic over the phone.”

Marge sat on the leather couch opposite the chair. “Just a little lonely.”

Oliver said, “It’s these Sundays. Used to be family day. Sometimes, I miss the noise.” He exhaled. “Anyway, it was nice of you to ask me along. Nice of the missus to be so welcoming.” He looked up, saw Decker. “Ah, the host with the most.”

Decker shook hands with Oliver, kissed Marge’s cheek. “What’s up, Scotty?”

“She felt sorry for me.” Oliver jerked a thumb in Marge’s direction. “Hope it’s not a problem.”

“Not at all,” Decker said. “Sit down. Get either of you something to drink?”

“Beer’s fine,” Marge said.

“Ditto.”

“I heard it,” Rina called out. “I’ll get it.”

Decker sat on the couch, smiled. But it lacked warmth. “So…”

“So how ’bout them Dodgers?” Marge said.

Oliver leaned forward. “You know, I’ve been running this whole thing over in my mind and-”

“What thing?” Marge asked.

“What thing?” Oliver threw up his hands. “Decameron’s murder scene! I’ve got a real good fix-”

“Scott, this is a social visit,” Marge chided.

Oliver drew his head back. “You can’t be serious.”

“She’s right,” Decker said. “This is a social dinner. No shop talk. I promised Rina.” He flashed a smile of ice. “And I keep my promises.”

Marge looked at Decker. What was wrong with him? They sat in silence. A moment later, Rina came back into the room, balancing a tray of drinks. She had covered her hair. “Did I interrupt anything?”

“Not a thing,” Oliver said. “Thank you, Mrs. Decker.”

“It’s Rina.” She handed him a drink. “How’s life, Detective?”

“It’s Scott.” Oliver took a swig of his beer. “Life is fine…well, passable. Thank you for having me.”

“It’s really no problem. Like Peter said, I cooked enough for an army.” She handed a glass of beer to Marge, then to Peter.

Decker took it, nodded. He knew he was exuding tension. Rina, on the other hand, was acting perfect hostess. Galled the heck out of him.

“Sit down, Rina,” Marge said.

“Yeah, sit down,” Oliver echoed.

Rina looked at Peter’s stony face. “In a minute. I have some goodies in the oven. I’ll be right back.”

She scurried out of the room.

To Decker, Marge said, “Is this a bad time, Pete?”

Decker glared at Marge. “No, it is not a bad time.”

Oliver said, “You’re pissed at her. You might try hiding it a little better. You’re embarrassing her.”

Decker said, “Who invited you?”

Oliver sat back. “Sorry.”

“What’s going on, Pete?” Marge said.

Oliver said, “They got into a tiff-”

“She eavesdropped on me!” Decker said, “Worse than that, she invited him over to the house, for chrissakes!”

“Who?” Marge said.

Decker lowered his voice. “Bram Sparks, can you believe that? She invited Bram Sparks-a murder suspect in one of the city’s biggest cases-over to my house.” He downed his beer. “I swear I don’t know what goes through that woman’s mind.”

“Did you ask her?” Marge said. “I’m sure she had her reasons.”

“I don’t care about her reasons-”

Oliver said, “What did she and Bram talk about?”

“How do I know?” Decker was annoyed.

“You didn’t ask her?”

“No, I didn’t ask her.”

“Loo, if she’s good enough friends with this guy to invite him into the house, she may have learned something germane. You gotta pump her-”

“Scott-” Marge interrupted.

Oliver said, “Don’t Scott me, Marge. Rina could be sitting on the entrance to a gold mine. We’ve got a murder to solve here.”

“Rina should be locked up with a zipper on her mouth,” Decker said.

Marge regarded him, said nothing.

Rina returned with a salver of hors d’oeuvres. She started with Marge. “I had mini-hot dogs. Before I turned around, they had been consumed by marauding teenaged boys.”

Marge said, “Where are the boys?”

Rina served Oliver. “In their room, I think.” She raised her eyebrows. “I don’t go in when the door’s closed. Don’t want to get my head bitten off.”

“And the baby?” Marge asked.

“The baby, Baruch Hashem, is sleeping.”

“How’s she doing?” Oliver asked.

“She’s a great kid. Very, very active. I’m always running after her. I’m too old for her.”

“You’re too old?” Decker said.

Rina brought the tray over to Decker. She kissed the top of his ginger head. “You’re only as old as you feel.”

“Then I must be rivaling Methuselah.”

“Have a cracker, Peter.”

He took a smoked salmon with an olive on top and glared at her. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” She put the tray down on the coffee table. The phone rang. Decker stood, but Rina motioned him down. “It’s probably my mother. I’ll get it in the kitchen.”

Decker watched the sway of her rear as she disappeared behind the kitchen door. He remained standing, ate his smoked salmon. “Will you excuse me for a moment?”

He followed her into the kitchen.

Marge blew out air. “I didn’t know I was walking into Virginia Woolf. He’s overreacting to this Bram thing.”

“Nah, he’s being a guy,” Oliver said. “See, he tells us his wife spoke to Bram because he’s a friend, we get excited. Maybe she knows something that’ll help out the case. But all Deck’s thinking about is whether or not she ever fucked the guy.”

Marge didn’t answer.

Oliver lowered his voice. “I don’t know too much about women. But I know enough to never, ever ask a woman about her past. You force it out of her, she tells you, you go crazy. What does it matter anyway?”

Marge nodded.

Oliver twiddled his thumbs. “At some point, we need to know if Bram said anything important.”

“Maybe Pete doesn’t want to pry.”

“Oh believe me, Deck wants to pry. But into the personal stuff. That’s a dead end.” Oliver leaned over. “Suppose Bram had a past with her. And suppose he came to her, looking for help? Couldn’t you picture it, Margie? He’s in the shits and a looker like Rina is there, giving him all her tea and sympathy. Hell, it’s enough to make even a priest slip up. Tell her things. Deck’s gotta pump her.”

“Scott, even if Bram did tell Rina things, I’m sure they were said to her in confidence.”

“So what?” Oliver said, sipping beer. “He’s a priest. He talks, he violates his vows. But she isn’t under any oath. She shoots off her mouth, she’s just acting like a woman.”

They must have made up. Because when Rina called everyone to the table, she and Pete were all lovey-dovey. Cute, Marge thought, but nauseating. Smiling at each other, little love pats on the rears when they thought no one was looking. Marge almost wished they were still fighting.

As expected, the food was excellent. First course was a thick pea soup with diced carrots and thick marrow bones. It was followed by a butter lettuce, mandarin orange, slivered almond, and green onion salad. The entrée was rack of lamb served with a timbale of rice pilaf and a crookneck squash puree.

Copious amounts of comestibles. Marge had seconds, Decker and Oliver had thirds. Rina’s sons didn’t just eat, they devoured. Nice kids, Marge thought. Polite and attentive. Still, it was clear they were anxious to leave. As soon as they finished clearing the plates, they excused themselves, saying they had errands to run.

Rina poured coffee. Oliver eyed the cup and saucer with suspicion. “Can you die by eating too much?”

Rina said, “You know, I once read about a knight who died of a burst bladder.”

“Lovely,” Decker said.

“I’ll pass on the coffee,” Oliver said.

“Nonsense.” Rina placed the cup in front of him. “A little decaf never hurt anyone.”

“Tell that to the knight.”

Rina said, “I think the story went like this. The knight had been at a king’s banquet, had been drinking gallons and gallons of wine. Apparently, back then, one wasn’t permitted to excuse oneself from the table for any reason until the festivities were over.”

Oliver said, “Too bad trains hadn’t been invented. Otherwise, he could have gotten himself a brakeman’s companion.”

“I’ve got dessert coming,” Rina said.

“No more,” Oliver pleaded. “No more. No more.”

“Everyone can use a little sweetness in his or her life.” Rina stood at the kitchen door. “I’ll be back.”

After she left, Marge said, “She’s awfully chipper.”

“She’s a pain in the neck.” Decker smiled. “But a good kid down deep.”

“She don’t look like a kid to me,” Oliver said.

“Watch your tongue,” Decker said.

Oliver gave Decker a forced smile. “Now that you two are in good graces, think you might want to ask-”

“No.”

“Deck, she might know something.”

“It’s Loo to you and she doesn’t know anything.”

“So you asked her.”

“No, I didn’t ask her,” Decker replied. “But she doesn’t know anything. If she did, she would have told me.”

“Deck, how does she know what’s relevant?”

Marge said, “He’s got a point, Pete.”

Oliver said, “I’ll bring it up-”

“No, you won’t.”

“Just let me ask her-”

“Ask me what?” Rina said, carrying in a layer cake.

“Ask you nothing,” Decker said.

“Ask what you and Bram talked about,” Oliver said.

Decker turned red with anger, held his tongue. Rina set down the cake.

To Oliver, she said, “I was willing to tell him. He wasn’t interested.”

“Rina, that’s enough!”

“She isn’t talking to you,” Oliver said. “She’s talking to me-”

“You’re in my house, Scott!”

Rina said, “Let’s not ruin a nice dinner. I’m sure Peter has his reasons for wanting to change the subject.” She kissed her husband’s head. “Would you like some cake, dear?”

Decker glared at her, eyes sweeping over his colleagues’ faces. He groused, “Tell us what you talked about.”

“Unfortunately, there’s nothing much to say.” She cut Peter a slice of cake. “Just some personal talk. About my late husband…Bram’s feelings toward his siblings.”

Oliver said, “He didn’t talk about the murder charges against him?”

“He didn’t murder anyone,” Rina said. “He’s not capable of murder.”

“Yeah, he’s a saint,” Decker said. “That’s why he had bloody clothes in his safe.”

Marge looked at Decker, put her finger to her lips.

Decker grumped, “She knows about the safe, Marge. I told you she eavesdropped on our phone conversation.”

Marge’s eyes widened. “Rina, that’s low.”

“Yeah, sounds like something I’d do,” Oliver said.

“Sorry, but I’m not remorseful. My friend’s life was at stake, so too bad!”

“Think you might fake some humility for my sake?” Decker snapped.

“Peter, I’m-”

“How about some cake, Mrs. Decker?” Oliver piped in.

Rina served Oliver a wedge of cake.

“Too big,” Oliver said.

“Just eat what you’d like.”

“I’m gonna eat the whole thing, that’s the problem.”

“You only pass through once in your life, Scott.”

“You’re right. Leave it.”

Rina said. “Marge?”

“Half that size, Rina.”

Rina cut a piece for Marge, filled up the coffee cups. “Bram didn’t do anything. He’s clearly protecting someone.”

“He said that to you?” Oliver asked.

“No,” Rina admitted. “Bram’s a priest. He’d never reveal anything confidential. But I did find out why he has a safe in his apartment.”

“Why?” Oliver asked, taking out a notepad.

“He got held up at gunpoint several years ago in the rectory. Since then, on weekends, when the chapel’s empty, he keeps the church’s cash and valuables in his safe.”

“Valuables?” Marge asked.

“The gilt chalices used in Mass,” Rina answered. “Silver candlesticks, incense holders, and trays…things like that.”

Oliver smiled. “Yeah, I didn’t think he was referring to the porno magazines.”

“They’re not his,” Rina stated.

Decker said, “He told you that?”

Rina paused, then shook her head no.

Decker took a forkful of cake and appraised her. “What are you hiding, dear?”

Rina sighed. “He told me the magazines were his. But I don’t believe him. He’s protecting someone, Peter. You know it and I know it.”

“I don’t know anything,” Decker said.

“I know I’ve said this before.” Marge swallowed a mouthful of devil’s food. “But why would Bram leave explicit magazines with his name on the wrappers at the scene of a murder? It doesn’t make sense.”

“I don’t know why,” Decker said. “But Luke said his name was on the wrappers.”

“My opinion?” Oliver said. “I think Luke’s name was on the wrappers.”

“What are you talking about, Scott?” Decker said. “Bram just told Rina that the magazines were his.”

“I don’t believe it,” Rina said.

Decker said, “Fine, Rina. Don’t believe it. Can we change the discussion?”

Marge thought a moment, then said, “So let’s assume Bram’s name was on the wrappers-”

“Marge,” Decker said. “Please.”

Rina cried out, “Peter, this is important to me! How can I make you understand that?”

Decker rolled his tongue in his mouth. “What’s important to you, Rina? Proving Bram innocent or hearing the truth?”

Rina paused. “I’ll accept the truth. As soon as you can prove him guilty.”

“I don’t prove guilt or innocence, Rina. I just collect evidence. And right now, the evidence collected from your friend’s safe is incriminating.”

“He’s protecting someone.”

“And you’re repeating yourself.”

“Peter, how do you know the wrappers had Bram’s name on them? Did you see them?”

“No.”

“We’re taking Luke’s word for it,” Oliver said. “A big mistake.”

“Except that Bram admitted they were his,” Marge said.

“He’s lying,” Rina stated formally.

“Rina-”

“So Luke claims he saw wrappers with Bram’s name on them,” Rina said. “So what? That’s not conclusive. Someone could have made those wrappers, put Bram’s name on them, stuffed them with the magazines, and left them at the murder scene.”

Marge said softly, “Rina, if that was the case, why would Bram tell you they were his?”

Decker said, “Darling, what difference does it make whether the magazines were Bram’s or not. It’s the clothes that are incriminating. They tell us he was there.”

“Either he or Luke,” Marge added.

Rina said, “It’s just that Bram owning those kinds of magazines-”

“Especially that kind of magazine,” Oliver said.

“You mean the gay stuff?” Rina said.

“No, it’s not the gay stuff that makes me wince,” Oliver said. “It’s the sadomasochism and body piercing.”

“What?” Rina shrieked.

“Thank you, Scott,” Decker said.

Oliver turned red. “I figured she knew-”

“No, she didn’t know.”

“Body piercing?”

Oliver said, “Needles through everything imaginable.” He held his crotch. “Ouch!”

Rina threw up her hands. “Bram would never have anything to do with that kind of stuff!”

Decker said, “People have secret lives, Rina.”

“No way!” She shook her head vehemently. “No, I don’t believe it. He would never be into something so…”

“Kinky?” Oliver said with glowing eyes.

Decker said, “Rina, why are you obsessing on the magazines? They’re not the important issue here.”

“Because I know Bram. He’d never own things that glorify hurting people-gay or straight! He’s protecting someone. Either that or he’s being framed.”

“You’re turning this discussion into a screed for his innocence.”

“I’m trying to make sense out of the illogical!”

The room was quiet. Rina poured more coffee. “Okay. So I’m biased. What’s the harm in that?”

“Nothing,” Decker said. “But because you’re biased, you can’t help us. Doesn’t Jewish law state that judges may not be biased.”

“I’m not his judge, I’m his advocate.” She sat down. “I’m his friend. Friends need advocates.”

Decker said, “Can we drop the discussion?”

Rina was quiet. But a moment later, she started up. “Luke told you he saw Bram’s name on the magazine wrappers?”

Decker stared at her. “Yes, dear.”

“He said he saw Bram’s name.”

“Yes, dear. Luke said all the wrappers had Bram’s name on them.”

Rina said, “Luke told you, ‘I saw the magazine wrappers and they had the name BRAM SPARKS on them.’”

“Rina, for goodness sakes,” Decker said. “He said he saw magazine wrappers with his brother’s name on them.”

“Luke said the wrappers had his brother’s name on them, right?”

Marge said. “Do you have a point, Rina?”

“Luke didn’t say they had the words BRAM SPARKS on them.”

“Rina, you are beating a dead horse!”

“Can you just hear me out?”

“Go on,” Marge said.

Rina said, “Luke told you that in the back of his mind, he thought Bram was gay, right?”

Decker nodded.

“So what if the magazine labels just had SPARKS on them. Luke assumed they belonged to Bram. But maybe they belonged to another brother.”

Decker said, “Rina, you’re stretching-”

“Bram would protect his brothers.”

“Rina-”

Rina’s eyes got big. “Maybe, Peter, the labels said ‘A. M. Sparks.’ Or even ‘A. M. Sparks.’ You know there are more than one A. M. Sparks in Bram’s family.”

As soon as she said it, Decker knew she had hit pay dirt. “What’s Bram’s middle name?”

“Matthew.”

“Oh my God!” Marge slapped her forehead. “The father!”

“Azor Moses!” Oliver said. “They’re his magazines?”

Decker buried his head in his hands.

The father’s magazines.

And that was why a Fundamentalist like Azor Sparks hadn’t fired Decameron even after he had been convicted of picking up male hookers. Excusing Decameron because the old man had been wrestling with his own similar demons. Azor Sparks had either been latent or led a very secret life.

Had Bram known? Good chance of that. Because Azor had confided things to Bram. Perhaps he’d confessed his desires to his son. Especially after that fateful Sunday night dinner when Bram refused to equate evil thoughts with evil action.

Giving Sparks a license to fantasize.

Perhaps Sparks took it one step further and began with fantasy magazines. After all, Bram had relieved him of the guilt.

At Sparks’s memorial service, Bram had spoken to Decker about his father’s distinctions between the homosexual and the homosexual act. Decker thought about that brief interchange in the Sparkses’ kitchen. His discussion about Decameron’s moral charges, about Azor’s loyalty to his colleague despite church rumblings. And about the religious way one copes with homosexuality.

Either celibacy or sublimation in a legitimate heterosexual union.

The fifth commandment spoke of honoring one’s father and mother. By enlarging upon the precept-what honoring one’s parents might mean to a man of the cloth-Decker began to put the pieces together. Abram Matthew Sparks, the priest who put God before American law, took the magazines as his own to protect his father’s name. Just as important, he was protecting his mother from postmortem embarrassment.

Marge said, “Luke told us that Decameron had called him up, early in the morning, wanting to talk about the family. But not over the phone. Right?”

“Right,” Decker muttered.

“Maybe that’s what he wanted to tell Luke. That it may come out that his father was gay.”

“He’d bother calling Luke up just to tell him that?” Oliver said.

Marge said, “Maybe he wanted to spare the family some embarrassment and/or ridicule.”

“Then why would he call Luke?” Oliver said. “Why not Bram?”

Rina said, “Maybe Dr. Decameron felt Luke was more worldly about human foibles…being as Luke had been a user.”

“Or the answer could have been much more pedestrian,” Decker said. “Bram had been occupied that morning. Very busy. First with Mass, then with his mother. Decameron knew Dolly Sparks hated him. He wouldn’t have called up the house.”

“Aha,” Marge said. “Maybe that’s why she hated him. She found out that her husband and Decameron were having an affair.”

“Nah, I don’t buy that,” Oliver said.

“Why not?”

Oliver said, “Margie, why would Decameron call up Luke to tell him about their affair?”

“Blackmail,” Marge suggested.

“Nah, Reggie was a good guy,” Oliver said.

“You keep saying that,” Marge answered. “That don’t make it so.”

Rina said, “So how did Dr. Decameron come to have Dr. Sparks’s magazines?”

“Could be that after Azor died, Decameron went through Sparks’s office…to clean things up.” Oliver shrugged. “Maybe he found the magazines.”

“Christ!” Decker was disgusted with himself. “The Fisher/Tyne data you two had requested. At Sparks’s memorial service, Decameron told me he was going to look through Azor’s files to find the most updated numbers. Could be he came across the magazines by accident.”

Marge said, “Then Decameron took them home with him, intending to give them to Luke…to dispose of them as he saw fit.”

“The magazines which had A. M. Sparks on the wrappers,” Rina said pointedly. “Having found them in his boss’s file cabinets, Decameron knew that A. M. stood for Azor Moses. But Luke didn’t know. He just assumed they belonged to his unmarried priest brother Bram. So I’m not so stupid.”

“No, darling, you are not stupid.”

Rina smiled. “You’re a good sport.”

“I’m a lousy sport,” Decker said. “I’m pissed as hell. You know, Decameron may have also found Bram’s apartment key in Azor’s files. Maybe he thought his boss had a secret hideaway for his activities.”

“What would Azor be doing with Bram’s apartment key?” Marge asked.

“I’ve got a key to my daughter’s apartment in New York. In case of emergencies.”

Marge said, “I still don’t understand why Bram would have kept his dead father’s porno magazines in his safe.”

Decker frowned. “Because he was on his way out to visit a sick kid and didn’t know what to do with them. Because you don’t toss magazines like that in your apartment Dumpster. You hold them until you figure out how to get rid of them.”

“You know what I don’t understand,” Oliver said. “I don’t understand why Dr. Azor Moses Sparks-Mr. Austere, By the Book, Elder, Pillar of the Christian Community-would have subscribed to those kinds of magazines using his real name.”

“Arrogance,” Decker said.

“Or he wanted to get caught,” Rina said. “Maybe he was planning to come out.”

They all looked at Rina. Oliver said. “You know, Loo, she’s real bright-”

“Yes, I know that, Scott.” Decker sat up. “So…if Azor Sparks were suddenly to come out of the closet…who would that impact on the most?”

“His wife, of course,” Rina answered.

“His wife,” Decker echoed. “Say she found out about her husband’s preferences. Say she confronted him. Maybe he denied it. But maybe he admitted it, even told her he was going to leave her. Think about it, guys.”

“Here’s a woman who put in forty years with a man. Bore him six children, lived her life around him, developed her identity on the basis of being his wife. His parties were her parties. His dinners were her dinners. Through him, she had a role-as a wife, as a mother, as a leader in the church, as hostess of dinners and parties. She thought he was her soulmate, her heavenly match from God.”

“Hell hath no fury,” Oliver said.

“You’d better believe it,” Decker said. “What if he decided to leave her-sort out his feelings, wrestle with his inclinations, make his own peace with God. Maybe he took it one step further. Maybe he had someone waiting in the wings-”

“Decameron,” Marge said.

Oliver said, “No way.”

“What difference does it make?” Rina asked. “We’ll never know so let’s move on.”

Oliver was taken aback. “She’s tough.”

“Tell me about it,” Decker said. “The point is that we’re assuming Sparks was going to leave his wife for a lifestyle she considered odious and sinful. He was making a fool out of her, making a mockery out of her Fundamentalist religion, out of God. Most important, without Azor, Dolores had no role in life. If that was the case, if she had lived her life around this sinner of a man, what do you think she might have done?”

The room fell quiet.

Marge broke the silence. “It’s a big leap, Pete.”

“It’s logical,” Oliver said. “She ices the old man, then maybe ices Decameron because she thinks he’s having an affair with her husband.”

“Throwing the magazines around the bodies,” Rina said. “Like you always said, Peter. It looked like a calling card.”

“That was me,” Marge said.

“Oh, sorry,” Rina replied. “Anyway, someone was angry and wanted the world to know who Azor Sparks really was. I could see a spurned, unbalanced wife doing that.”

“Why do you say unbalanced?” Decker asked. “Bram mention something to that effect to you?”

Rina looked down. “Just that she had been a bit nervous when they-the triplets-were growing up. She couldn’t seek professional help because it would have been an embarrassment to her husband. So she turned to barbiturates. Dr. Sparks prescribed the medication himself, but left Bram in charge of dispensing them to her. She was addicted to them for a while.”

Decker tried to keep his voice soft. “Might have helped if you would have told me all this in the beginning-”

“Peter, are you saying I should have implicated Dolly in her own husband’s murder based on her past drug use?”

“I’m just saying-”

“Besides, I couldn’t mention Bram without you having a fit-”

“That’s nonsense!”

“Is this really important now?” Marge asked.

“No, it isn’t!” Rina stated. “What is important is Dolores Sparks hated Decameron. She probably felt he had stolen her husband. Either directly-as in they were having an affair-or indirectly-as in Decameron being a bad influence on Azor.”

Marge gloated. “And like I always said, Kenneth Leonard was just an innocent bystander. He came to Decameron’s to clear his conscience about the fraud. Instead, he wound up with a bullet in his head.”

Oliver said, “I think it still could be Fisher/Tyne.”

“It could be,” Decker said. “I haven’t ruled out anyone…including Bram.”

Rina folded her arms across her chest. “He would never, ever hurt anyone. He probably knew what was going on. He was protecting his father’s name, Peter.”

Marge said, “Sounds to me like he’s protecting his mother from a murder rap.”

Oliver said, “She couldn’t do it by herself.”

“So she had help,” Marge said.

“Who?”

“Someone who’s been spending lots of time with the family.” Decker stood up from the table. “It’s time we pay Dolores Sparks a visit.”