Prayers for the Dead. Faye Kellerman

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      “David, I hate to cut you off, but I’m talking on an open mike and the lieutenant can hear everything we’re saying. Let’s wait until we can talk in private.”

      “Well, when are you going to the house?”

      “As soon as I identify the body as my father’s.”

      Silence. Then the voice said, “I’m sorry, Bram, I’m …”

      “It’s all right, David. I’ve got to hang up now. We’ll talk later.” Bram handed the line to Decker who hung up the mike. The priest slumped in his seat.

      Decker waited a beat. “They depend on you, don’t they?”

      Looking out the window, Bram said, “How far are we from the spot?”

      “About ten minutes away.”

      “Where was he found?”

      “In his car. It was parked in a back alley behind Tracadero’s.”

      Bram faced Decker. “Tracadero’s?”

      “Any idea why he would be there?”

      “No.” He shook his head. “None.”

      “Have you ever been there with him?”

      Bram exhaled aloud. “Dad rented out the back room a couple of years ago for Mom’s birthday. There are about thirty of us with all the kids and in-laws. But there was nothing going on with the family tonight.”

      “He never goes there without the family?”

      “I wouldn’t think so. Dad rarely goes out because he’s always on-call.”

      “Your brother said he practically lives at the hospital.”

      Again, Bram brushed hair from his eyes. “Only thing I can think of is maybe Dad was meeting someone from the drug company for dinner.”

      “Drug company?”

      “My dad had developed an important surgery drug in his lab in conjunction with Fisher/Tyne Pharmaceuticals. It’s currently being tested by the FDA.”

      Decker took in his words. “Your father developed a drug for Fisher/Tyne?”

      “Yes. Curedon. Some kind of postsurgical, antirejection drug. A medical breakthrough according to my dad’s colleagues. My father’s a heart transplant surgeon. I guess you know that.”

      “Yes, I do.” Decker paused. “I hate to ask you this, Father. This drug, Curedon, that your father developed. I take it there’s money involved?”

      Bram thought a moment. “No doubt. Why?”

      “We’re at the beginning stages of this investigation. I don’t have a smoking gun. I’m looking for suspects. I’m scratching for motives. Money’s always a good one. How much money are we talking about? Big amounts?”

      “Honestly, I don’t know. You might ask Michael about it. He’d know more than I would.”

      “So he often has dinner with someone from Fisher/Tyne at Tracadero’s.”

      “Actually, I don’t know anything, Lieutenant. I’m just guessing.”

      Decker smoothed his pumpkin mustache. “So your father is a chemist on top of his many other talents.”

      “By default. About fifteen years ago, he decided he didn’t like what was commercially available. So he went back to UCLA and got a Ph.D. in biochemistry. The hospital—New Christian Hospital—built him a lab.” Bram clasped his hands tightly. “Could be he went out to dinner with one of his colleagues. But that doesn’t sound like my father, either.”

      “Who are your father’s colleagues?”

      “You mean names?”

      “If you don’t mind.”

      Bram nodded. “Dr. Reginald Decameron, Dr. Myron Berger and … goodness, I’m blanking … the woman … not Heather. That’s his secretary.”

      “Who’s his secretary?”

      “Heather … Heather …” Bram looked up. “At thirty-five, I’m going senile. Heather Something. The other doctor is also a woman.”

      “They all work in your dad’s lab?”

      “Yes.”

      “So they’re your father’s employees?”

      “I think there’s a bit more parity than a typical boss-underling relationship. They’re all doctors. But yes, my father did hire them.” He paused, his eyes darting behind his spectacles. “Fulton. Elizabeth Fulton. Doctor Liz, he called her. That’s the other doctor.”

      “And you think your father might have gone out for dinner with one of them?”

      “Maybe it was one of their birthdays. I don’t know.” Bram adjusted his glasses. “From the questions you’re asking, you don’t think it was a random murder, do you?”

      “At this point, I’m still assessing information, Father. I’m sorry I can’t be more helpful to you.”

      Bram looked out the window, rubbed his eyes under his glasses. “What a nightmare!”

      “I appreciate you coming down to make a positive identification. Better you than your mother.”

      “That’s for certain.”

      “Is she a well woman?”

      “Why? What happened at the house?”

      “Nothing at all. It’s just that … well, she takes sedatives.”

      “And …”

      “Uh, no. Nothing else. I was just curious why she took medication to help her sleep.”

      “Lots of people do. It means nothing.”

      “True.”

      Bram said, “You’re sure it’s him? The body, I mean.”

      “Certain enough to call you.”

      The priest looked upward. “Are you going to perform an autopsy?”

      “With a homicide, it’s the law.”

      “So burial will be delayed.”

      “Hopefully it shouldn’t take too long. Several days. Maybe a week.”

      “Perhaps that’s better,” Bram said. “Maybe we’ll do some kind of … memorial service … for the public tomorrow. For Dad’s friends СКАЧАТЬ