Prayers for the Dead

“Look in the mirror, Scott,” Marge said.

Oliver said, “I don’t know where you fit in, Webster. Man, they don’t make ’em any WASPier.”

“Enough, Scott,” Marge said. But he did have a point. Tom was Mr. Perma-Prest with his perfect chip of blond hair falling in front of sleepy, bluebell eyes. Most detectives exuded an excitement when starting a case. Webster seemed injected with ennui, as if forced to put up with another hot and humid August day in Biloxi, Mississippi.

Oliver went on. “Actually, you’re more than WASP, Tommy Boy. You are down-home DWM.”

“Beg your pardon?” Webster drawled.

“Dead White Male,” Marge said.

“Don’t hate me ’cause ahm beautiful,” Webster said dryly.

Oliver smiled, started whistling “Here Comes Santa Claus” as Gaynor arrived, sweaty and winded.

“Hey, gentlemen.” Farrell looked at Marge. “And ladies.”

Oliver said, “We were all wondering why the department hasn’t put you to pasture since you don’t help them with affirmative action.”

Gaynor said, “I’m elderly. Gray power.” He held his fist in the air. “God, it smells awful.”

“It is awful,” Marge said.

“Take a look for yourself, Farrell,” Oliver stated. “If your heart can take it.”

“Old ticker’s stronger than you’d think.” Gaynor walked over to the car, looked inside, and winced. He slipped on gloves. “Gruesome. It’s definitely the primary crime scene.”

“I can see why they keep you on,” Oliver said. “Astute powers of observation.”

Decker said, “Sparks worked exclusively with New Christian Hospital, didn’t he?”

Gaynor said, “I know he was there a lot. Friend of mine used Sparks a couple of years ago for bypass surgery. It was done at New Chris.” He smiled benignly at Oliver. “One day you’ll know from these things.”

Oliver gave him a sick smile.

Decker said, “He must have had his office there, right?”

Blank stares. Gaynor said, “When I had my angiogram done, it was a hospital procedure. But my doctor had a regular office.” He thought a moment. “But he was a cardiologist not a surgeon.”

Decker said, “Dunn, find out where Sparks saw his patients when he wasn’t operating. In any event, I want you and Oliver to go over to New Chris, see if Sparks was coming from the hospital. While you’re on your way, make calls and find out who Sparks’s secretary is. If he kept his office at the hospital, tell the secretary to meet you there. I want to get hold of Sparks’s daily planner. Hopefully, nobody lifted it.”

“Got it,” Oliver said. “I’ll interview all the nurses personally. One by one. In private.”

Decker stared into space. “Parked in a back alley like this … Sparks wasn’t sightseeing. So what was he doing here?”

“Parking the car for the restaurant,” Martinez suggested.

“Then why wouldn’t he have used the valet up in front?”

“He was cheap,” Oliver said. “Lots of rich people are.”

“Or it was a carjacking,” Webster added.

Decker didn’t buy it. A carjacker wouldn’t make his drop in back of a populated restaurant. His eyes traveled back to the car, scanned the corpse. The scene hadn’t gotten any less horrifying. “Could be someone lured Sparks here. Let’s get a time frame for him. Try to reconstruct his day. Go back to New Chris and talk to anyone who saw him. Call me in a half hour for an update. Go.”

Marge and Oliver looked at each other. Oliver said, “You drive?”

“I’ll drive.”

Oliver flipped her the keys, and they left.

Decker said, “Anyone talk to the valet yet?”

Martinez said no. “Guy’s Hispanic. Want me to do it?”

“Yes. Find out if he heard or saw anything. Also the kitchen faces the back alley. Maybe the help heard something.”

“Si, si, Señor Wences.”

Decker turned to Webster. “You canvass the block?”

“It’s all stores, Loo,” Martinez said. “Everything’s shut down at this hour.”

“How about someone working late in one of the back rooms?” Webster said. “Some soul mighta heard something going down.”

Decker agreed. “Canvass the block. On your way back, Tom, check all the alley Dumpsters. We’ve got a gunshot wound, maybe we’ll find a gun. We’ve got multiple stab wounds, maybe someone chucked a bloody knife.”

Webster said, “Odd, Loo. We got gunshot and stab wounds.”

“Very.”

“Suggestive of more than one person?”

“Indeed.” Decker looked around. “This much blood spatter … maybe we’ll find more than one shoe print.”

Martinez said, “Or a bloody glove.”

“Man, you jest but somewhere there is a pile of bloody clothing begging to be tagged and filed. Be careful. And before you pick up anything to bag it, snap a picture. Anyone have a camera?”

“I got a thirty-five millimeter in my car,” Martinez said.

“Good,” Decker said. “If you got enough film, Bert, take a few pictures of the body for me.”

“Will do.”

“Y’always carry a camera, Bert?” Webster asked.

“The missus keeps one in the cars for spontaneous family shots,” Martinez answered. “I think I’ve got half a roll left over from our Labor Day picnic.”