Prayers for the Dead (14 page)

“Always?”

Again, Sparks stared at Decker. “What do you want to ask me, Lieutenant?”

“Your father once had a colleague of his and her husband over for dinner.”

“A colleague of his and
her
husband.” Bram brushed long hair out of his eyes. “Dr. Fulton. Her husband’s name was Drew. Drew McFadden. Funny. I couldn’t remember her name earlier this evening. But her husband’s, a man I met maybe two times… I remembered his name in a snap. What would Freud say about that?”

Decker said nothing.

Sparks said, “Maybe he left a bigger impression on me than she did. Anyway, what about the evening?”

Decker looked the priest in the eyes. “He said you got into a big argument with your father. Something about evil thoughts.”

Sparks maintained eye contact. “I don’t argue with my father, Lieutenant.”

Decker said. “Maybe I should say your father was arguing with you.”

Again, Sparks pushed hair from his face. “I don’t know a thing about Mr. McFadden or his wife, Dr. Fulton, or their relationship with each other. Not a thing, all right?”

“Fine.”

“So this digression is theoretical, okay?”

“Go on.”

“Suppose Mr. McFadden is a passive type of person. A guy who might be happy to stand back and let his wife support him, take care of him. So he can do his own thing. A person like that, who lets others run his life, might choose to avoid confrontation. In that person’s misguided perception, it is possible for him to misinterpret a theological discussion as an argument.”

“A
heated
theological discussion?”

“Not heated. Nothing much more than what you witnessed earlier this evening with my sister, Eva. Would you call that heated?”

“She was aggravated.”

“She was stunned over her father’s untimely death.”

“So Mr. McFadden was wrong? There was no argument?”

“No argument. There was a discussion.”

“Funny, because he told us that it was very much an argument. As a matter of fact, he told me it wasn’t just your father. He said everyone was dumping on you. And you just took it.”

“Why is this important? Are you trying to establish a year-old animated discussion between my father and me as a motive for murder?”

Decker raised his brow.
Maybe
. Because at the moment, he was grasping at straws. He said, “I’m merely asking a question, Father.”

Sparks exhaled, rubbed his eyes. “I remember the discussion. We were talking about the different religious perceptions of evil thought versus evil action. Were the two equivalent? Not in a judicial sense. No one was debating the difference between evil thought and action in American jurisprudence. We were talking theology. Before the eyes of God, are evil thoughts indeed evil actions?”

Bram looked at Decker, gauging him. “Yes, it’s weird. But it beats ‘how ’bout them Dodgers.’”

Decker said, “I understand what it’s like to live in a religiously driven home.”

“Thank you.”

“Go on.”

Sparks said, “Evil thought as a moral trespass is a Christian concept — a very
Catholic
concept as well. Evil thoughts require confession, penance, and absolution just like evil action. Why? Because if evil thoughts aren’t dealt with… atoned for and expunged from the idiore-pertoire of our mental workings, they will lead to evil action.”

“Okay.”

“Two schools of thought. Evil ruminations grow into monsters unto themselves until the individual is forced to act upon them. Or my philosophy, which certainly isn’t original, that with ninety-nine percent of us, evil thoughts are pressure valves. A way to release our frustrations or lusts or anger. Ergo, are penance and atonement
really
necessary for evil thoughts or immoral fantasies? Furthermore, are religious representatives — such as myself — doing a disservice to their flocks by convincing them to drive away these thoughts? Cutting off an avenue of escape from tension. I suggested this kind of narrow-minded repression might even be potentially harmful. My family — especially my father — took exception. Said a clean mind was tantamount to a clean soul. Words that my mother agreed with wholeheartedly.”

“How’d you respond?”

“I didn’t. I backed down. And that, my friend, is it.”

Decker rolled his tongue in his cheek. “Why’d you back down?”

“My, you’re inquisitive.”

“I’m a detective. It’s my job to find things out. Not unlike yours, Father.”

“Hardly, but why go into that now.” Sparks looked down, then up. “I don’t argue with my father because we don’t have
parity
. As religious and learned as he is, he is at a distinct disadvantage simply because I’ve had more theological education. I can pull rabbits out of my hat. He can’t. As far as my sibs go… Lord, I’m tired.”

Decker waited.

“I backed down with my sibs because I didn’t want to come on too strong in front of our parents. Religion is my field, my calling, my
life
. If I make a brilliant analysis using theological exegesis, in their eyes, I’m not Bram, the learned priest. On the contrary I’m Bram, the golden boy, scoring brownie points with my parents. Uh-uh, I’m not going to play that game.”

“You’re all adults.”

“You’re right. It’s absurd to have to think about these things at thirty-five. But old habits are hard to break.” Bram grew pensive. “And there’s a history behind it. They grew up with a brother to whom being right was the eleventh commandment.”

His eyes grew far away.

“I used to love to debate… argue. I could always use words to drive someone into the ground. A big power lust for me.”

His eyes refocused, zeroed in on Decker’s.

“I had a cherished friend once. A man who could use words better than I. We used to spend hours together, arguing about God. I loved him like a brother. Then one day he started seeing double. He took sick. Ten months later, he was dead.”

He swallowed hard.

“All of a sudden being right wasn’t important anymore.”

His eyes were wet and hot. Decker kept his gaze steady, his face impassive. Then abruptly, Sparks’s face went slack, a candle sculpture melting into exhaustion. “So let them dump on me. I can take it.”

He checked his watch.

“It’s late. Don’t you have a wife and kids at home?”

Decker was quiet.

“That was rude. I apologize. What else do you need?”

“Nothing at the moment.” Decker stood. “Thank you for your time.”

“Something else pops into your head, feel free to call, drop in.” The priest plugged the phone back in. “Because it’s a certain fact that I’m
not
going anywhere.”

Turning on the lamp. More of a symbolic gesture than anything else. Because Rina had given up on sleep a long time ago. Her eyes took a minute to adjust to the harsh light. She checked the clock.

Half past two.

Peter said it was going to be a long night.

A very long night.

Her fingers brushed over the phone. The name of the place escaped her. A vague recollection, but nothing clear came into view.

With determination, she hoisted herself out of bed and retrieved the Yellow Pages. Plopped back into bed and began looking under C for churches. It took her just a moment to find The Holy Order of St. Thomas’s.

That was it.

Was a church even open twenty-four hours a day? Synagogues weren’t. But pulpit rabbis often had emergency beeper numbers. In case there was a crisis with one of their members.

She dialed. Two rings, three rings. The machine kicked in. An anonymous female voice…

She had reached the Holy Order of Saint Thomas Church. “Please leave a message at the sound of the beep. For emergency counseling and immediate consultation with Father Abram Sparks, please dial…”

Rina waited patiently while a series of numbers and instructions were recited. Finally, she heard the beep.

It took a moment for Rina to find her voice. Then she said, “Yes, this is Rina…” A beat. “This is Rina Lazarus… Decker placing a call to Father Abram Sparks. I just wanted to—”

“Hello?”

Bram’s voice cut through the line. And with a single sound a thousand memories flooded her mind. She couldn’t talk. Dead silence between them.

Bram said, “Phone’s been ringing off the hook. I put the machine on because I haven’t had the stomach to talk to anyone. But you…” His voice cracked. “I can’t tell you what this means to me.”

“Bram, I’m so sorry, I’m…”

“I know.”

Nobody spoke.

Rina said, “Is there anything I can do for you?”

“Your calling is enough.” He paused. “Your husband just left my office. Actually, he came to the house about three, four hours ago.”

Rina didn’t respond.

“Asked us some questions,” Bram said. “He treated everyone with sensitivity. He’s a good man, Rina. I’m sure Yitzy would have liked him.”

Rina felt her throat constrict as ghosts talked to her from the grave. “Your father was a very important man. I’m sure Peter has every available man… oh dear, that sounds so…”

Bram didn’t answer.

“Can’t I do
anything
for you?” Rina pleaded.

Bram said, “We’re holding a service tomorrow for my dad at his church. Not a funeral… body is still in autopsy… but it’s a remembrance more than anything. Three
P.M.
Be nice if you came.”

“Of course, I’ll be there. Where is it?”

“It’s going to be mobbed, Rina. My father was a respected man with many admirers. I won’t see you if you come on your own. Let me pick you up—”

“Bram—”

“I’ll meet you in front of the Yeshivat Ohavei Torah at two tomorrow. I’m going to see Rav Schulman in the morning anyway.”

“He called you?” Rina paused. “Of course, he’d call you.”

“Five minutes after the news broke. He wanted to come to the service, too. But he told me he’s not feeling too well lately. What does that mean?”

“He had a minor stroke about a year ago. He’s as alert as always. But it’s hard for him to walk.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. It’s been a while since I’ve visited him. Anyway, I’m going out there. I’m giving the eulogy tomorrow. I’ve found a couple of verses of
Tehillim
that I think are particularly appropriate for my father.”

Rina noticed that Bram said
Tehillim
instead of Psalms.

“I want to go over them with Rav Schulman,” Bram continued. “I’m sure he’ll give me a fresh insight. The man is a wellspring of knowledge.”

Rina mumbled a “yes” as the word
Tehillim
bounced around her brain.
Tehillim
. Prayers that spoke of God’s many praises. How many times had she uttered them as her first husband, Yitzy, lay dying. They were prayers for the dying. Prayers for the dead.

Rina said, “Two o’clock in front of the yeshiva. I’ll be there.”

Bram hesitated. “Have you told your husband? That you know me… through Yitzy?”

“I haven’t spoken to him since he got the initial phone call. He’s been gone all night. Besides, it’s not really relevant, is it?”

“It’s not relevant. But it is a good idea. To tell him we’re… well acquainted. He is investigating my father’s murder. It’s best to keep everything in the open. If he finds out we know each other through a third party, like Rav Schulman for instance, he might get upset.”

Rina said, “I’ll tell him tomorrow after the service.”

“Rina, he’ll probably
be
at the service.”

“If he is, I’ll handle him, Bram. I can handle my own husband.”

“I won’t say another word.”

Rina bit her lip. “I’m an idiot, jumping on you—”

“It doesn’t matter—”

“Bram, every time I mention Yitzy, it unnerves him.”

“I can understand his feelings.”

“I do understand them. That’s why I want to tread lightly. But you’re right. I’ll tell him first thing tomorrow morning. He should know we’re friends. Certainly from a professional standpoint. I don’t want anything hidden that might interfere with your father’s investigation.” She sighed. “Even if it means opening past wounds.”

“Rina, if it’s too painful for you, I can pretend this phone call never happened.”

“Absolutely not, Abram. I wouldn’t hear of it.” She cleared her throat. “I’ll meet you… tomorrow at two.”

“Thanks for calling, Rina. It means the world to me.”

She hesitated, then said, “You knew I’d call, Abram.”

“Yes, Rina,” he answered. “
This
time I knew you’d call.”

Sadness washed over Rina. She said nothing.

Bram said, “Good grief, that was stupid!”

“It was a well-deserved rebuke, Abram. I was wrong.”

“So was I.”

Rina said, soothingly, “Just goes to show you. Sometimes two wrongs do make a right.”

The third floor
of New Chris was taken up by the Cardiac Care Unit — six divisions, each with its own central nursing station surrounded by a dozen private suites. The rooms, radiating from the center like spokes on a wheel, reminded Decker of biblical leper caves — isolated, dark, quiet, ominous. No human noises, just the occasional electronic whine of high-tech equipment at work.

Decker leaned against the wall, watching it all, fascinated by the sci-fi medicine. Someone tapped his shoulder. He straightened and turned around.

A heavyset nurse with muscular forearms. Young and well scrubbed. In another life, she might have been a milkmaid. She whispered, “Dr. Berger will be with you in a moment. Would you like more coffee?”

“No thank you,” Decker said softly. The nurse’s ID tag told him her name was Tara. “I’m pretty much coffeed-out. What exactly is Dr. Berger doing?”

“Pardon?”

Decker cleared his throat. “It’s almost three in the morning. Aren’t most of the patients asleep?”

Tara said, “He’s just finishing off two o’clock vitals check. Normally, we nurses record the numbers, dispense the necessary medicines according to the doctor’s orders. But Dr. Berger wanted to familiarize himself with Dr. Sparks’s patients. It will help ease the transition … as much as that’s possible.” She swallowed hard. “Dreadful!”

“Horrible.”

“Who would do such a terrible thing?”