“This way.”
Sparks led Decker past a small kitchen into a den area. A few beat-up sofas populated the room. He unlocked a pair of french doors and took Decker outside into a courtyard illuminated by low-voltage spots. It was thickly planted with flowers and foliage. A three-tiered fountain sat in the center of the landscape, spilling out glittery drops in the white light. Cool out here. Peaceful, too. They walked down a colonnade into a separate one-story bungalow marked CHANCELLERY.
Sparks opened the door.
“Welcome to my mess.” He quickly crossed himself. “Watch your step. I’ve got material on the floor, too.”
Mess was an understatement. Sparks ’s entire office was crammed with junk. Enough papers and books to replenish a tropical rain forest. Piles upon piles of notes on his desk-his desks. There were three of them. Walls of bookshelves, all of them overflowing with reading matter. As Decker looked around, there was some loose logic to the categories. Books inscribed in Greek were all placed together in one case, matter written in Russian or some other obscure Cyrillic language occupied another case. The Latin and English tomes comprised the biggest portion of his collection, taking up the entire back wall.
But Decker’s eyes were transfixed by other things. The texts written in Hebrew and Aramaic. Specifically, a Hebrew Bible, a Chumash, along with a complete set of Talmud that took up two shelves.
The holy books of his newfound faith.
There were other Hebrew books as well, but Decker couldn’t understand the titles. For just a moment, he wished Rina were here. Then he scratched that thought. Because he could only imagine how uncomfortable she would feel in this library. Because Orthodox Jews feel antsy about anyone outside the faith dissecting their sepharim-their holy books. Yet here was a slew of holy books that Rina kissed because God’s name was written inside of them-sitting in bookshelves, handled by a priest in an office that also held an enormous wall crucifix of Jesus.
Fighting fatigue and a pinch of uneasiness, he forced himself into his professional mode. A man had been brutally murdered. He had a job to do.
Next to the wall crucifix were several framed photographs. The first was a candid-Bram in a cassock, sitting at a table, his head resting on his open palm, reading a tome in Latin. The other two were posed shots. Bram with old men dressed in ornate religious vestments. In the last photo, Decker recognized all the parties. Bram with the Pope.
Sparks said, “ Rome and I get along.”
“I can see.”
The priest took a pile of papers off a chair and placed it on the floor. “Please. Have a seat.”
Decker sat. “I came around through the front. Pity that churches have to lock their doors.”
Sparks took a seat behind one of his three desks, unplugging the phone and answering machine. “When someone controls the vandalism, I’ll keep the door unlocked.”
“Fair enough.” Decker took out a notepad. “The rectory. You have residential quarters there?”
“Yes.”
“So you live at the church.”
“Basically, yes. I’ve been the resident priest here for seven years. But I’ve always maintained a one-bedroom apartment off grounds. Growing up in a large family, once in a blue moon, I have a fierce need for privacy.”
“Who’s Jim?”
“The young man who answered the door?”
“Yes.”
“He’s one of my many pass-through seminarians. Currently, I’ve got two. They’re doing field training here. They send them down from St. John’s in Camarillo. That’s where the Los Angeles diocese runs its seminary.”
“You’re the church’s sole priest?”
“Sole resident priest. If I’m out of town, Loyola/ Marymount will send over some guys to do Mass for my congregants.”
“Do you teach?”
“Currently, I’m conducting six different classes here-basic Bible, faith in the face of adversity, the true meaning of Christmas, current events and religion…things like that.” Sparks looked at Decker. “I have brochures. But I suspect that’s not why you’re here.”
Decker smiled. “Maybe another time.”
“Of course.”
“Do you teach at the University as well?”
“Occasionally. But academic teaching is time consuming. I’ve got a parish to run.”
Decker’s eyes swept over the room which was more of a library. “You seem like the…academic type.”
Bram smiled. “Should I take that as a compliment?”
“A simple statement. The chancellery’s full of books.”
“I do some independent work for Rome, mostly translating ancient papers and documents. I was a Classics language major in college. I’ve got a natural feel for words. But it’s the church that owns my heart. It’s my family.”
“You have lots of family, then.”
“Yes, sometimes it’s too much of a good thing. But I’ve no complaints…” Sparks shook his head. “Until tonight…”
“How are you doing, Father?”
“Call me Bram. I’m doing lousy. But thanks for asking.”
“I hope I didn’t wake you.”
“Not at all. I was up…trying to make sense…driving myself crazy actually. Asking myself why him?”
“I have no answer for you.”
Bram sighed. “I’m a purveyor of faith. I’m used to ambiguities, believing without seeing. I try to see God’s will in everything. But this…” He threw up his hands. “Maybe it’s a test of some sort. If it is, I think I’m flunking.”
“You’re allowed to grieve, Father.”
“I suppose. Hard being on the other end. Receiving comfort instead of giving it.”
Bram grew quiet…pensive. Decker studied the priest. Calm, but not because he lacked emotions. Just not overtly effusive. Well suited for the clergy. “I meant to ask you this at the house. Does your father have living parents?”
“No. My paternal grandparents are dead. Dad has a brother. He lives in Indiana. He’s coming out for the memorial service tomorrow.”
“Uncle Caleb.”
“Ah, you have a memory.”
“No, but I take good notes,” Decker said. “Is he a doctor also?”
“A pastor.”
“Runs in the family.”
“According to my dad, that’s the way it was in the Midwest back then. Oldest son goes into the profession to support the younger son who goes into the ministry.”
“You did it backward in your family.”
“Pardon?”
“You’re the priest and your brother Mike is the doctor.”
Sparks rubbed his eyes under his glasses. “Becoming a priest wasn’t part of the play. What can I do for you, Lieutenant, at…” He checked his watch. “At two-fifteen in the morning. You keep going this long, we can say morning prayers together.”
I don’t think so. Decker asked, “Do you have patience for a few quick questions?”
“Certainly. We’re both after the same thing.”
Suddenly, the priest let out a small laugh.
“What?” Decker asked.
“Nothing. Inside joke. How can I help you?”
Decker pulled Azor Sparks’s Harley card from his pocket and handed it to Bram. “Any idea what this is about?”
A smile rose to the priest’s lips-genuine. “Son of a gun.” He shook his head. “Can I keep this?”
“Not at the moment. I found it in the car, so it’s evidence. What is it?”
“My father…” Sparks chuckled. “Believe it or not, my father rode with a club.”
“A motorcycle club?”
“Your basic weekend warrior.” Bram sat back in his chair, stared at the card. “My brother Luke and I went with him to buy his first bike. We begged him to take us along. Because some people see an older man…they take advantage. I don’t know about you, Lieutenant, but when I go out to buy something specialized, my knowledge of the acquisition is usually pretty bad. I remember when I had to buy some computers for the church. The salesperson started talking about megabytes and RAMs and ROMs and CD-ROM for virtual reality. I didn’t have a clue.