Prayers for the Dead (42 page)

“I don’t see Berger taking out Sparks by himself,” Marge said. “Too much damage, too much blood.”

Decker said, “He’s a surgeon. He’s used to slicing and dicing.”

“Maybe Berger was the lure,” Oliver said. “Once Sparks reached Tracadero’s, Shockley pulled the plug on him… on all of them. Either Shockley or his boss, this Grammer guy.”

“But if the killings have to do with Fisher/Tyne and Curedon,” Marge asked, “what were Bram’s porno magazines doing at Decameron’s murder scene?”

Oliver said, “Maybe Decameron and Bram were lovers. Shockley found them, then left them around to put the blame on Bram.”

“Then why didn’t Bram defend himself when I arrested him?” Decker said. “Why was he willing to take a murder rap?”

Oliver blurted out, “Maybe they were
Luke’s
, Deck. Ever think that maybe Luke was having an affair with Decameron? He showed up at Decameron’s house for a little morning nookie. He walked in, found Reggie and Leonard dead.”

“Then what?” Marge asked.

Oliver scrunched his brow. “From that point on, everything happened like Luke said. He panicked, called his brother Bram. The priest, being a good guy, covered for Luke’s homosexuality and took Luke’s magazines. Then, in a double fake-out, Luke came back the next day and covered for Bram. Because, hell, let’s face it. It’s easier in life to be a gay priest than a gay married guy with two kids.”

“You’re using pretzel logic, Scott,” Decker said. “He covered for him, who covered for him—”

“Isn’t that what identical twins do?” Oliver retorted. “They play mind games with people. Take tests for each other, go out with each other’s dates. Decker, look at Luke marrying Bram’s girlfriend. Bram’s protecting his twin brother, keeping him in the closet for convention’s sake.”

“Protecting your married twin’s proclivities is one thing,” Decker said. “But taking a murder rap for him is quite another.”

No one spoke.

Decker said, “Luke told us that Reggie called him early in the morning. Decameron sounded serious, all business. Luke felt that Decameron might have been interested in blackmail.”

Oliver shook his head. “By everyone’s account, Decameron was a straight shooter.” He laughed. “Decameron was a straight gay shooter. Why would Decameron, a brilliant doctor and a man who got his kicks out of flaunting his unconventionality, suddenly turn to a sneaky profession like blackmail? Luke, on the other hand, is lying scum—”

“He passed a polygraph—”

“’Cause he’s lying scum. Lying scum can beat polygraphs.”

Decker said, “Maybe you’re right. But let’s go back to basics… the MO of all three murders.”

“Shooting
and
stabbing,” Marge said.

“Yes, shooting
and
stabbing,” Decker said. “More than one person. Sounds like a bunch of bikers. Ideas?”

Marge said, “The bikers were resentful because they found out that Sparks only wanted them for their hearts.” She made a face. “My, that sounds awful!”

“A revenge motive,” Decker said. “That’s biker mentality for sure. These guys have been known to kill over bar stools. Imagine how they’d feel if they knew Sparks was interested in cutting out their internal organs.”

He rubbed his neck.

“That’s one theory. Now, let’s talk about something else. If Sparks wasn’t really interested in his biker buddies except for their hearts, what was William Waterson doing with Emmanuel ‘Grease Pit’ Sanchez up in Canyon Country?”

“Giving money to the bikers to repeal the helmet law,” Marge said.

“While Sparks was alive, I could see him giving money to the cause. But do you think he would have left money for that in his will?”

“Why not?” Marge said. “For the benefit of future heart surgery.”

“You’re both missing the point,” Oliver said. “What do bikers have to do with Leonard and Decameron? And Myron’s whereabouts are now unverifiable. He’s a noted liar—”

“He passed the test twice—”

“Those tests are useless—”

“They’re hard to beat—”

“I think we’re all too tired to think straight,” Decker interrupted. “Maybe something’ll come in our sleep. We all got paperwork to finish up.” He stood and opened the door. “We’ll discuss this tomorrow.”

“Are we being dismissed?” Marge asked.

“Yes, you’re being dismissed. I’d like to make it home before daybreak.”

Marge said, “You’re acting very brass, Pete.”

Decker grinned. “It’s lonely at the top.”

Squinting from the hot glare of morning sunlight, precariously gripping five grocery bags, Rina managed to make it from her car to the front door. She felt the weight of the merchandise in her back and shoulders, her arms aching as she rooted in her purse for her keys. Finally, she gave up, lowered the bags onto the porch, and rummaged around her handbag. She had a crashing headache, the scarf around her head choking her scalp like a vise.

What a morning! Peter and the boys had overslept, so breakfast had been fast and furious. Then Hannah suddenly decided she didn’t want to go to nursery school. Her watch said half-past ten. It felt like midnight.

She unlocked the front door and picked up two grocery bags. As soon as she walked over the threshold, she threw off her head covering, shook out her hair, and headed for the kitchen.

Why did Hannah have to have a temper tantrum this morning?
Friday
morning. The busiest day of her week with the house to clean and the Shabbos cooking to do.

She laid the bags on the kitchen counter, turned around, and jumped back.

Bram laid the other three bags on the kitchen table. “Hi.”

“You
scared
me!”

“Sorry.”

She took a deep breath and let it out. Turned her back to him, began unpacking groceries. “You shouldn’t be here. I can’t be alone with you, you know that.”

“But it’s okay to be alone with me in a car?”

“I can’t believe you’re actually equating
then
to
now
! Also, a car’s a public place. My house isn’t. Besides, one
aveyrah
doesn’t make another one permissible.”

“Then let’s take a walk.”

She faced him, trying to control her hostility. “I don’t want to take a walk. I have work to do.”

Bram went over to the back door and opened it. “Okay?”

Rina bit back her waspish tongue, angry that he was snowing her with his knowledge of the Jewish laws. A man and a woman couldn’t be alone in a closed room for modesty reasons unless, of course, they were married. Opening an outside door, turning private quarters into a public domain, made it technically allowable for them to be together. She crossed her arms in front of her chest. “What?”

“Can I sit down?”

“Do whatever you want.” She returned her attention to her groceries. Then stopped, counted to five. “Would you like something to drink?”

“No, thank you.” Bram sat at the kitchen table, pulled out an envelope of photographs from his pocket. “Before I forget, I was going through my closets at the rectory. Thought you might like to have these.”

Rina took the pictures, scanned through them.

Old snapshots. Ancient history. Shmueli must have been around four. He was sitting on Yitzy’s lap. In front of them was a simple Hebrew storybook — a child’s version of
Lech Le’cha
, the third chapter of Genesis, the story of Abraham’s calling. Shmueli was pointing to a
passuk
, a line of text, his face bunched in concentration.

Yitzy’s narrow face appeared serene, a spiritual glow in his eyes, his complexion pale but not pasty. His generous mouth held a small approving smile, his hand wrapped tightly around his son’s waist. Amazing how sketchy he had become in her mind. How she had once been married to such a healthy, handsome man. There were three pictures of that same scene.

Then two more of another pose. A tiny Yaakov riding Yitzy’s shoulders, his little hands holding on to Yitzy’s sandy-colored beard. In the background was a young woman wearing a long skirt and a
tichel
.

Had she ever been that young? Had that ever been her life? She found her throat had tightened, couldn’t look at the remaining snapshots. She stuffed them all back into the envelope.

“Thank you, I’ll put them in the boys’ photo albums. They’ll appreciate them very much.”

“You’re welcome.”

Bram fixed his eyes upon her. Once upon a time, the sight of Rina with her hair cascading down her shoulders, would have made him sick with desire, would have sent a raging fire throughout his body. Now, as he gazed upon her, his passions calm and controlled, he was grateful that all he felt was the fear of God in his breast and the love of Jesus in his heart. He knew it wasn’t due to any physical change in Rina. If anything, she had become more beautiful. What a difference a wedding band made.

He said, “Your hair’s uncovered.”

Rina’s hand reached for her head. She dashed out of the room and retrieved her scarf. Though her head was pounding, she wrapped it tightly around her hair, hiding all of it from view. She found a bottle of Peter’s Advil and helped herself. Then she went back into the kitchen. Went back to unpacking groceries. “Why’d you come here?”

“To apologize. At least, can you look at me?”

Rina turned around. Though his face was drawn, his complexion looked healthier today than yesterday. She realized it was because he had shaved and his hair had been washed.

Softly, she said, “I could never stay mad at you. It never happened, okay?”

“But it did happen.” He locked eyes with her. “My behavior yesterday was wretched by anyone’s standards. For someone who dares to call himself a man of God, it was abhorrent. I took my frustrations out on you. I’m very sorry.”

Rina turned away. “No need to apologize. I know what it’s like to experience rotten times.”

“It’s no excuse.” Bram stood, walked over to the open door, stared into the backyard. “Rina, I have spent the entire night thinking about what you asked me—”

“Bram—”

“You asked me a question. It deserves an answer. Bear with me, all right?”

Rina was silent.

“I have tried to relive every moment I was with Yitzy… from the time I first met him until the last time I saw him. My own mental video of the times we spent together alone… which was very substantial.”

He ran his hand through his hair.

“I can honestly say to you that there was never,
ever
, even a wee hint of impropriety on my part. In all the time I knew him, Yitzchak was what he was. A righteous
Tzaddik
and a loving father and husband. And my behavior toward him had always been above reproach. But…”

He swallowed hard, his eyes fixed upon the corral.

“But there were… as you put it… feelings.”

Rina said nothing.

“There were feelings,” Bram faced her. “Vague sexual feelings.”

Rina leaned against the counter, studied her hands. “Toward Yitzchak.”

“At the time, I had assumed so, since they came on shortly after I met him and disappeared shortly after he died.”

He shrugged.

“I didn’t know quite what to make of them, since they were a new experience for me. Discounting that aberrant time in both of our lives, I’ve always been a man of large spiritual needs and small physical appetites. I don’t eat much, I’m rarely thirsty, don’t drink alcohol beyond an occasional beer. I’ve never taken drugs, never even smoked a cigarette.”

“Nothing wrong with that.”

“Not at all.” He paused. “And… also… I’ve never had much in the way of a sex drive. Something that’s apparently not genetic, judging from the way my brother chased girls in high school.”

Rina looked at him, said nothing.

“So when I got these feelings,” Bram said, “I really didn’t know what to make of them. I just… attributed them to Yitzchak… then went ahead and ignored them. They certainly didn’t get in the way of our friendship.”

“Did he…” Rina took a breath. “Did Yitzchak ever display…” She turned away. “Never mind.”

“The answer to your unasked question is an emphatic no.”

Rina covered her mouth. “Good gracious, how could I even think…” She started ripping through her grocery bags, placing items on the counter.

“Can you stop?”

“I don’t want to.”

“You’re making me nervous.”

She spun around. “What!”

“Why are you killing the messenger? I’m not even giving you bad news. There was never anything between us except fraternal love. Yitzchak was not gay. So calm down.”

She flopped into a kitchen chair. “I’m not handling this right.” She looked at him. “You know, Bram. I don’t think I ever really thanked you—”

“You thanked me.”

“No, I didn’t—”

“We’re getting sidetracked. I spent an entire night in tortured self-reflection on this. Can you please let me finish?”

“I’m sorry. Go on.”

“
Mazel tov
. Where was I?”

“Your vague feelings didn’t get in the way of your friendship with my late husband.”

“Right.” He continued his narrative. “It wasn’t until later… after Yitzy died… during that too brief time we saw each other… that I was able to interpret my sexual feelings for what they were.”

He sat back down at the table, avoided her eyes. “With all my heart, I believe in Jesus’ words as holy. I wouldn’t be much of a priest if I didn’t. Both of our religions forbid adultery. It is the sixth commandment of my law, the seventh of yours. The Savior, Jesus Christ…”

He hesitated.

“My savior, Jesus Christ, has also amended the commandment to condemn
desire
. He teaches us that lusting for another man’s wife is equivalent to adultery of the heart. And back then, as a newly graduated seminarian, His words were something I took very
seriously
.”

He paused to collect his thoughts.

“I know that in this day and age, it’s fashionable to minimalize… even romanticize adultery. Follow your heart and damned be the consequences. In truth, betrayal is a horrible, destructive beast… damaging everything in its path… those who betray… and those betrayed.”

He glanced at her, looked away.

“It absolutely destroys self-esteem… crushes and flattens it like asphalt under a steamroller. In my case, it was particularly hurtful… because I was two-timed by my identical twin. I don’t know what Dana’s motivation was. But I did know her problem with me couldn’t have been lack of a physical attraction. Because she traded me for my mirror image. So I was left to think that there had been something terribly wrong with me personally.”