Prayers for the Dead

Webster said, “Might be a good idea if you took that one in for developing, Bert. Separate the postmortems of Sparks from the family snapshots.”

“A very good idea,” Decker concurred. “Everyone be sure to cover your butt. It plays well on prime time.”

Martinez said, “Speaking of prime time, Loo, look who’s coming our way.”

Decker’s eyes strained in the darkness. Strapp with camera crews in tow.

“I’ll handle it.”

“Then we’re dismissed?” Webster said.

“Unless you want to talk to Strapp.”

Martinez waved good-bye. He and Webster headed down the alley, jogging away from Strapp.

Decker turned to Gaynor. “You stay here at the scene, wait for the ME and Forensics. Make sure no one … and I mean no one … screws up evidence. You watch them, Farrell, stand over their shoulders and direct if necessary. No screwups. Not while I’m in charge.”

“Where are you going, Loo?”

“I’m going to satisfy Strapp, and hopefully deflect the media. Get the field clear so my detectives can do their jobs. Then, I’m going to notify next of kin.”

Gaynor patted his back. “Brave man.”

Decker felt sick inside. “Someone has to take out the garbage.”

3 (#uac7d1b8e-cb1e-53e8-8ecb-45a71110effc)

As the captain advanced with the television army, Decker held up his index finger indicating a minute. Strapp held out an open palm, telling the media troops to halt, and said something to a coiffed brunette in a teal-blue silk pants suit. She placed her hands on her hips, and shook her head defiantly. Strapp was not impressed and shot back a response, his face hard, his shoulders stiff. The brunette looked upward, threw up her hands, then went back to her underlings. Strapp approached Decker by himself. Gaynor stood back to guard the body, happy to be out of the picture.

Because the Captain was a formidable man. He was of average height—a lean man with lean features. But his eyes were knowing, intense. Strapp was a clear thinker and a good problem solver. Deliberate, almost cagy at times. Decker had trouble reading him. So far, the Cap seemed to be a man of his word.

Strapp said, “Fill me in.”

“I just arrived around fifteen minutes ago.” Decker smoothed his mustache. “I’ve sent Martinez in to interview the restaurant personnel, Webster’s canvassing the block. We’ve got at least three additional patrol cars making passes through the area. Gaynor’s waiting for the ME and Forensics. I’ve assigned Oliver and Dunn over to New Chris where Sparks operated and attended.”

Strapp nodded. “So you know who Azor Sparks is … was.”

“Yes, sir. That’s why I’m here.”

“Any murder is a blow for our community. Shit like this is an effing big, black eye. Whatever you need for this one. Just get it done and get it done quickly.”

“Absolutely.”

“If that means double shifts, then you work double shifts.”

“No problem.” Decker stuck his hands in his pockets, thought of Rina, made a mental note to send her flowers. Better make them roses … long stems.

Strapp said, “You looked at the body?”

“Yes, sir. It’s really bad.”

“Jesus, Decker, who’d want to murder someone like Sparks? He was New Christian Hospital. Without him, the place is going to fold. Because without him, they aren’t going to get the big donors.”

Decker didn’t answer. Though Strapp was thinking like the politician, his assessment was right on. Sparks had put New Chris on the map. A tiny hospital, it had become renowned, mostly because Sparks had turned it into his personal place of business. And the hospital had been a tremendous source of revenue for the West Valley, drawing in lots of philanthropists. There had been quite a bit of dollar overflow into the area, the hospital paying for extracurricular school programs, park programs, health programs, as well as extra community-based fire and police programs. Just six months ago, New Chris donated a dozen of its old computers to the detectives’ squad room.

Strapp said, “Anything you need to solve this sucker quickly, Decker. Whatever manpower it takes just as long as it’s done textbook clean. Has anyone on your team ever had a race or sex problem?”

“Not that I know of,” Decker said. “Scott Oliver does have a mouth. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s said things.”

“Pull him off.”

“No, I don’t want to do that.”

Strapp’s eyes shot up to Decker’s face. “Why not?”

“Because he’s a good detective. I’ve got him teamed with Dunn. She should keep him clean. Besides, there’s nothing controversial here. Sparks was white.”

“What if his killer was black?”

“Why don’t we take it one step at a time—”

“I’m just saying, I don’t want some A-hole liberal legal eagle making my men out to be monsters. You tell everyone to tread carefully, like we’re handling toxic waste.”

“Agreed.”

“You want to take the media, Decker?”

“Not much to tell them yet. Next of kin hasn’t been notified yet, so we can’t give out any names—”

“Too late. Networks already know who the stiff is.”

Decker was appalled. “How’d that happen?”

“Obviously some jerk slipped over the scanner.”

“Christ!” Decker felt his teeth grind together. “The family doesn’t even know.”

“So get over there and tell them. I’ll hold the media off as long as I can. But you know these guys. They eat a strict no-ethics diet.”

Decker checked his watch. Nine fifty-two. “I’m out of here.”

He sprinted back to his Volare, turned on the engine, and peeled rubber. Sparks had lived about ten minutes away from where someone had made his grave. If speed and luck were with him, he’d make it to the house before the ten o’clock news.

Decker identified himself behind a closed door. As soon as it swung open, he breathed a sigh of relief. Because the expression on the young woman’s face suggested apprehension mixed with ignorance.

She didn’t know.

She was pretty—regular features, peaches-and-cream complexion, grass-green eyes, clean, straight, shoulder-length pecan-colored hair. Appeared to be around twenty, looked like a coed with her body buried in baggy jeans and an oversized sweatshirt. Very wholesome face, wore no makeup or jewelry except for a simple cross around her neck. A disembodied voice came from behind her. “Who’s there, Maggie?”