Prayers for the Dead. Faye Kellerman

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СКАЧАТЬ has to make arrangements. Your family seems to depend on you.”

      Bram fell quiet.

      Decker said, “Michael told me you’re not only an identical twin, but actually a triplet. Three boys.”

      “Yes.”

      “Is your twin a priest?”

      “No.”

      “What does your brother do? Your twin.”

      Bram looked away, pretending not to hear. The priest was forthcoming when talking about Dad and his professional life. As soon as Decker brought up the family, Bram reverted to one-word answers.

      “Does your brother work?” Decker pressed.

      “What?” Bram’s eyes stared at nothing. “Pardon?”

      “What does your twin brother do?”

      “Luke’s a drug and alcohol rehabilitation counselor.”

      “Another one in the helping profession,” Decker said.

      Bram was quiet.

      “Where does he work?” Decker paused. “Are my questions getting on your nerves, Father? I don’t want to upset you.”

      “You can call me Bram. Everyone else does.” The priest rubbed his eyes. “I know you have to ask basic questions. I don’t resent them or you. Luke works at the Bomb Shelter.”

      Decker paused. The Bomb Shelter was a halfway house with a reputation for hiring former addicts and rehabilitated ex-cons as counselors. “Does he live there?”

      “No.”

      “He’s married? Single? Divorced?”

      “Luke’s married. Has a couple of kids.”

      “Is your brother an ex-user?” Decker asked.

      “Lieutenant, if you want personal information about Luke, ask Luke.”

      “Fair enough. How about your brother Paul? What kind of work does he do?”

      “He’s a stockbroker. Married. Four kids. My sister Eva’s married as well. She and her husband own a chain of clothing stores. They have four children under the age of seven. A fertile bunch. Making up for me. You’ve met Mike. He’s in his second year of medical school, lives at home, going with a very nice girl from the church. Dad’s church, not mine. I’m the only Catholic in the bunch. Magdeleine’s the baby of the family. She’s in her second year of college at UCLA. Psych major. She wants to be a social worker. That’s the family in a nutshell.”

      “I appreciate you talking to me.”

      Bram sank into silence.

      Decker glanced at the priest, but said nothing. Usually, people under these circumstances … all they needed was a prompt or two and they became fountains of verbal diarrhea. They spoke from raw-edged nerves, from gut-stinging anxiety, spitting out whatever came to mind. This one was quiet. Not uncooperative, but he spoke with measured words.

      And then it dawned on Decker. Bram was a priest. Secrecy was his stock-in-trade.

      They drove without speaking the rest of the way, Decker slowing as they neared the spot. “Over to the right.”

      Bram glared out the window. “There are television cameras! How did they find out before I did?”

      “Networks have people listening to local police scanners. A famous name like your father’s pops up—”

      “Oh for goodness …” Bram was taut and angry. “Is there no privacy even in grief?”

      Decker was quiet.

      “What a crazy town,” the priest said. “Bare your soul to the world for your ten minutes of fame.”

      “Don’t worry. I’ll get you through. You might want to duck just in case someone gets pushy.”

      Bram slid down into his seat. Quickly, Decker drove up to the barricades, flashed ID to the uniforms who kept watch over the scene. Before Decker could roll up the window, a microphone was jammed into his face. Holding it was a woman crowned with an oversprayed hive of blond hair. Decker pressed the accelerator to the floor, almost taking the mike with him as the Volare thrust forward. In the distance, he could hear the blonde swearing.

      Bram sat back up, his complexion wan. “It’s not that I haven’t seen bodies … or haven’t seen people die as a matter of fact.”

      “It’s different when it’s your own.”

      The priest said nothing. As they closed in on the Buick, a gasp escaped from his lips. In stark view was the meat wagon. Bold letters holding nothing back—LOS ANGELES COUNTY MORGUE.

      Bram looked at his lap. Decker felt for him. Welcome to hell, buddy. How long will you be staying?

      Two white-coated lab assistants gleamed like headlights under the back alley illumination. They were hunched over, peering inside the Buick, one of them holding the body bag. Next to them was the police photographer who was making lightning with her Nikon. Jay Craine’s car was parked a few stores down. Decker couldn’t see the Medical Examiner. Probably kneeling, examining the body.

      Decker shut the motor. Bram started to open the door, but Decker held his arm. “Wait here.”

      The priest had turned gray.

      Decker said, “Do you feel sick?”

      “Just the stench,” Bram said. “It’s okay. I’ll get used to it.”

      “Give me a moment, Father, to clear things. You’re sure you’re not sick?”

      “I’ll survive.”

      Decker got out of the car. Farrell Gaynor met him in front of the Buick’s grille.

      “Sparks is still in the car?” Decker asked.

      “Yep. Craine’s just about done. Ready to load him on the wagon.” Gaynor scratched his nose. “Who you got in the car?”

      “Sparks’s son. One of his sons. He’s a priest.”

      “So the son is actually the father.”

      Despite the grimness, Decker smiled. “I don’t want him to see his father sprawled out like that. We’ll bag him first, put him on a stretcher. Then I’ll bring the son over to make the ID.”

      “Will do.”

      Decker went over to the car. Craine stood up from his knees, took a step back when he saw Decker, and brought a hand to his chest. “Do you always sneak up on people, Lieutenant?”

      “Sorry, Jay. What do you have?”

      Craine appeared pensive. СКАЧАТЬ