Prayers for the Dead. Faye KellermanЧитать онлайн книгу.
I do.” Decker paused. “I hate to ask you this, Father. This drug, Curedon, that your father developed. I take it there’s money involved?”
Bram thought a moment. “No doubt. Why?”
“We’re at the beginning stages of this investigation. I don’t have a smoking gun. I’m looking for suspects. I’m scratching for motives. Money’s always a good one. How much money are we talking about? Big amounts?”
“Honestly, I don’t know. You might ask Michael about it. He’d know more than I would.”
“So he often has dinner with someone from Fisher/Tyne at Tracadero’s.”
“Actually, I don’t know anything, Lieutenant. I’m just guessing.”
Decker smoothed his pumpkin mustache. “So your father is a chemist on top of his many other talents.”
“By default. About fifteen years ago, he decided he didn’t like what was commercially available. So he went back to UCLA and got a Ph.D. in biochemistry. The hospital—New Christian Hospital—built him a lab.” Bram clasped his hands tightly. “Could be he went out to dinner with one of his colleagues. But that doesn’t sound like my father, either.”
“Who are your father’s colleagues?”
“You mean names?”
“If you don’t mind.”
Bram nodded. “Dr. Reginald Decameron, Dr. Myron Berger and … goodness, I’m blanking … the woman … not Heather. That’s his secretary.”
“Who’s his secretary?”
“Heather … Heather …” Bram looked up. “At thirty-five, I’m going senile. Heather Something. The other doctor is also a woman.”
“They all work in your dad’s lab?”
“Yes.”
“So they’re your father’s employees?”
“I think there’s a bit more parity than a typical boss-underling relationship. They’re all doctors. But yes, my father did hire them.” He paused, his eyes darting behind his spectacles. “Fulton. Elizabeth Fulton. Doctor Liz, he called her. That’s the other doctor.”
“And you think your father might have gone out for dinner with one of them?”
“Maybe it was one of their birthdays. I don’t know.” Bram adjusted his glasses. “From the questions you’re asking, you don’t think it was a random murder, do you?”
“At this point, I’m still assessing information, Father. I’m sorry I can’t be more helpful to you.”
Bram looked out the window, rubbed his eyes under his glasses. “What a nightmare!”
“I appreciate you coming down to make a positive identification. Better you than your mother.”
“That’s for certain.”
“Is she a well woman?”
“Why? What happened at the house?”
“Nothing at all. It’s just that … well, she takes sedatives.”
“And …”
“Uh, no. Nothing else. I was just curious why she took medication to help her sleep.”
“Lots of people do. It means nothing.”
“True.”
Bram said, “You’re sure it’s him? The body, I mean.”
“Certain enough to call you.”
The priest looked upward. “Are you going to perform an autopsy?”
“With a homicide, it’s the law.”
“So burial will be delayed.”
“Hopefully it shouldn’t take too long. Several days. Maybe a week.”
“Perhaps that’s better,” Bram said. “Maybe we’ll do some kind of … memorial service … for the public tomorrow. For Dad’s friends and colleagues. Get the circus over with. Then, when you release the body, we can have a private burial service for just the family.” He sighed. “I’m thinking like a priest. Step one, do this. Step two, do that.”
“Someone 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