Marge said, “Good about what?”
“The twin. A few minutes after they started arguin’, the twin got up and started playing with the kids, just like me. Must be another one who hates conflict.”
“You hate conflict.”
“Boy, yeah, I hate it. Bad Karma. When Liz starts to yell, man, I’m outta here. If I don’t leave, I blow.”
“I hear you,” Oliver stated.
“Maybe the twin was like that. ’Cause he just got up from the table and started making a building with Legos. He’s got two cute ones-boy and a girl. Twins just like he is. He’s actually a triplet, can you believe that? I wouldn’t have minded Liz having twins. But I think three would have been too much for me.”
Marge asked, “So the priest wasn’t angry at his father?”
“Not to my eye. Just ate his dessert and played magic tricks with his nieces and nephews.”
“How about Dr. Sparks? Was he angry with his son?”
“He didn’t appear pissed. He ate his dessert, too. It was pie. She’d baked like a hunnerd pies. I had two pieces-blueberry and peach. Man, that woman could cook. I told my wife afterward that I’d put on a tie any old day of the week, if they want to have us again.”
“What did your wife say about that?”
“She patted my head, said not to count on another invite for a while. Not because I blew it or anything. Just that Dr. Sparks doesn’t invite people to his house a lot.”
“Especially if there was tension in the family,” Marge added.
“I wouldn’t say tension. But they did have an argument.”
“Drew, maybe it was just an intellectual discussion instead of an argument,” Marge said.
“Ma’am, I don’t know too much about intellectual discussions,” Drew said. “But I do know a whole lot about arguments. Take my word for it. It was an argument.”
9
“Berger’s here, Loo. At New Chris.” Webster checked his watch. “Arrived ’bout ten minutes ago. He said that he and his wife went to a dinner theater in Tustin -”
“Tustin?” Decker interrupted.
“Yeah, a little off the beaten path.”
“I’ll say.” Decker spoke into the Volare’s mike, turned down the fan to the heater so he could hear Webster over the radio receiver. “It’s about a two-hour drive from New Chris.”
“Anyway, Berger said he and the wife saw My Fair Lady, had no idea what was roaring until he heard it on the radio. If he’s to be b’lieved.”
“You have reason to doubt him, Tom?”
“Nope. He came straight to New Chris from the theater. Wife dropped him off directly, didn’t even change. And he did come in wearing a suit and tie. Croc Ballys on the feet. The kind y’all wear only when you’re goin’ out.”
“Where is he now?”
“In a private meeting.”
“So you haven’t really interviewed him.”
“Not yet. He’s holed up with a bunch of ’em, consulting with one n’other-Dr. Berger, Dr. Fulton, Dr. Decameron. Now there’s a piece of work.”
“In what way?”
“Ya haven’t met him yet?”
“I haven’t. I heard he’s opinioned and open about his gayness.”
“Yes, sir, he is very decisive and very gay. I think the word is flamboyant. But I’ll tell y’all something. He’s real good with the staff. Nurses come up to him, he isn’t afraid to hug ’em or kiss ’em or let ’ em cry. And ya know he isn’t doin’ it to make time. What do you want Bert and me to do with Dr. Berger? I think it would be bad form right now to pull him out of an important meeting.”
“Agreed,” Decker said. “How is the staff interviewing going?”
“Bert and I talked to most of the night staff. Nothing that I think will impact heavily on the case, but a few interesting personal tidbits.”
“Like what?”
“Oh, things like how the doctor used a thermometer to make sure his coffee was the right temperature. He was so particular ’bout things, he once got mad because they changed the brand of surgical sponges. Claimed he could tell the difference.”
“Maybe he could.”
“I could tell you more, but I’d have to go over my notes carefully. And right now, they’re not in real good shape…my handwriting at this hour isn’t swift. I gotta go back and type everything neat-like.”
“It can wait until morning.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Decker said, “We’ll talk in the morning. Both of you, go to the station house and finish the paperwork. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“What about Dr. Berger? You don’t want me to wait to interview him more completely?”
“I’ll do him. I’ve got a brief stop to make. Probably by the time I’m done, he’ll be out of his meeting.”
“You sure you don’t want us to wait for him?”
“No, it’s all right. I’ll do it.”
“Thanks, Loo. I was hoping you’d be insistent.”
“See you later.”
Decker hung up the mike, sat back in the driver’s seat, and turned up the fan to the heat. It was almost two in the morning. Most homicides were solved within twenty-four to forty-eight hours. At this moment, he had nothing. No motives and no suspects with the scarlet K for Killer branded on their forehead. He hoped this wasn’t random. If so, he was going to have a hard time.
He looked at the evidence bags on the passenger seat. A single business card.
Ace Sparks…born to be wild.
A glimpse at another side of Sparks. Out of context with the religious, stern, exacting physician, the common portrait drawn by people who knew him.
Ace Sparks.
Born to be wild.
What the hell. One more stop wouldn’t kill him.
He turned on the motor to the Volare.
After five years of being a practicing Jew, Decker felt strange entering a church. As he walked up the steps to St. Thomas’s, he wondered if he’d feel any emotional tug when he passed the chapel. Probably not. Much to Ida Decker’s consternation, he hadn’t ever been much of a churchgoer as a youngster.
He walked up the stairs, gave the double wooden doors a tug, and found them locked. He knocked, though he suspected it was a useless gesture. The doors were so thick and the building was so big, in order to be heard someone would have to be near by happenstance.
No response, of course.
He thought about trying the side doors when he saw the white button by the side of the entry. Now there’s a novel thought, Deck. A doorbell. He depressed the button and a harsh buzz screamed out. Waited a minute, pushed the bell again. Several minutes later, he finally heard footsteps. The door unlocked, a pair of eyes peeking through a crack.
“Yes?”
Decker took out ID. “Lieutenant Peter Decker. I’m here to see Father Abram Sparks. Is he in?”
The eyes moved frantically. “Can you come around to the rectory?”
“Where?”
“The side area. You’ll see a door there. Okay?”
“Okay.”
The door closed. Decker climbed down the stairs and walked around to the side. He followed a well-lit, stepping-stone pathway that hugged a wall; behind it looked to be a courtyard. About five hundred yards down was a two-story stucco building. The door was open when he got there.
The eyes belonged to a kid…twenty if that. His chin and forehead were still dotted with acne. He wore jeans and T-shirt and blocked the doorway. “Father Sparks is…his door is closed.”
“Why don’t you knock on it?”
A voice in the background asked who it was.
“Police,” Decker shouted out.
Sparks came out, draped his arm around his young charge. “Thank you, Jim, you can go back upstairs now.”
“I didn’t want to disturb-”
“It’s fine, Jim.”
“Are you sure, Father?”
“Positive.” Bram smiled. Weary. Edgy. “Bye.”
Jim stared at Decker, then turned and walked up a staircase.
“Come in,” Sparks said.
The place was halfway between an office suite and a residence. A living room at one side, a receptionist’s office on the other. Once it might have been a dining room.