Prayers for the Dead. Faye Kellerman

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СКАЧАТЬ eyes stopped at his dinner plate. “Chinese doesn’t appear to keep well. Let me make you something fresh.”

      “Nah, don’t bother.”

      “How about salami and eggs?” Rina proposed. “Easy to make and guaranteed to drive your cholesterol off the scale.”

      Decker pushed the dish away. “Actually, that sounds great. How’s my baby daughter? Does she still remember me?”

      “With much fondness. You look very tired, Peter.”

      “As always.”

      Rina began to rub his neck. “You’re very tense, Atlas. Why don’t you pass the world onto someone else’s shoulders?”

      “I tried. No one would take it.”

      Rina said nothing, continued the massage.

      “Feels good,” Decker said.

      “Maybe you can juggle some paperwork, put me on the department payroll as your masseuse. Isn’t that how the politicians work it?”

      “Too bad I’m not a good politician.” Decker blew out air. “I’m not a good bureaucrat, either. I’m also lousy at delegating tasks. As a result, I’m swamped with paperwork. My own doing, of course.”

      “Would you like a rope for self-flagellation, or perhaps a cat-o’-nine-tails?”

      Decker smiled. “Where do you know from a cat-o’-nine-tails?”

      Rina hit his shoulder, went over to the refrigerator and took out eggs and a roll of salami. Decker looked at his wife as she sliced and diced. As tired as he was, damn, if she didn’t look good enough to devour. He still marveled at how the gods had smiled on him. Seven years ago since they had met …

      “It’s not that I don’t have my virtues,” Decker said. “In fact, I have many.”

      Rina pushed sizzling salami around the pan. “That’s the spirit.”

      “I sometimes miss working in the field, that’s all. I miss working with Marge as a partner. I’ve teamed her with Oliver. They work well together. But I think there’s friction.”

      “Big surprise. Marge is a straight shooter, Scott’s a slick old goat.”

      “He’s in his forties. That’s not old.”

      “But he is slick and he is a goat.”

      “True.”

      “Is Marge complaining?”

      “No, she’s too much the professional to do that. I should talk to her, find out if she’s happy. Tell the truth, I don’t want to open up a can of worms. I figure if there are real problems, I’ll learn about them sooner or later.”

      “In other words, you’re playing ostrich, burying your head in the sand.”

      “More like … selective ostrich.” Decker smoothed his mustache. “Sometimes, I have to look the other way. Otherwise, you spread yourself too thin.”

      The phone rang.

      Both of them looked at the wall, at the malevolent blinking business line. Rina poured the eggs into the pan and scrambled fiercely. “How about doing some fancy head-interring right now, Mr. Cassowary?”

      “Lieutenant Cassowary.”

      Wordlessly, Rina picked up the receiver, handed it to her husband. He took it, shrugged helplessly.

      “Decker.”

      “It’s Marge. We need you.”

      “Can I finish my dinner?”

      “You may not want to. Just found sixty-plus white male slumped inside an ’86 Buick. Gunshot wounds to the forehead, as well as multiple stab wounds to the chest. The man had ID on him. Pete, it’s Azor Sparks!”

      It took a few moments for Decker to put flesh and bone on the name. “The heart doctor?” He felt a sudden pounding in his head. “Jesus! What happened?”

      “What?” Rina asked.

      Decker waved her off. Marge said, “The car was found parked in the back alley behind Tracadero’s. A busboy was taking out the garbage when he saw that the Buick had the driver’s seat door wide open. He went over to investigate … Oh Christ! … Pete, a stray was on top of him, snout buried in his chest—”

      “I’ll be right over.” Decker hung up the phone.

      Rina handed him his plate of salami and eggs. “You don’t have time to bolt it down?”

      Decker’s stomach lurched. Not the time or the inclination. “It’s bad, Rina. You don’t want to know.”

      “Will I hear about it on the news?”

      “Probably.” Decker grimaced. “Dr. Azor Sparks, the famous heart transplant surgeon. He was found dead in his car … in a back alley behind a restaurant.”

      Abruptly, Rina paled, brought her hand to her throat. Decker regarded his wife. As gray as ash. “Sit down, honey.”

      “I think I will.” She melted into a chair.

      “You want something to drink?”

      “No, I’m …”

      The kitchen went silent. Decker studied Rina’s expression. “Rina, did you know this man?”

      Slowly, she shook her head no. “Not personally. By reputation.”

      “I’m sorry you have to witness such ugliness through me.”

      A baby’s cry shot through the room. Rina stood on shaky legs. “Hannah’s up. It’s like she has a sixth sense … I’d better see …” She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Smiled at her husband, but left without a good-bye.

      Decker waited a beat, then slipped on his jacket, puzzled by Rina’s strong reaction.

      Odd.

      But maybe not.

      Homicides weren’t a daily occurrence in her life.

       2

      Tracadero’s was one of the few hoo-hah, nouvelle, chic, posh, pick-your-own-effete-adjective restaurants in the West Valley. Translation to Decker: Pay a lot for tiny portions. He had been there once. The inside had been done up to look like scaffolding. For that kind of money and atmosphere, he could have just as easily bag-lunched it at a construction site. The place was located midblock in a commercial strip of street.

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