Prayers for the Dead by Faye Kellerman Page B

cashmere blazer. Pocket handkerchief in the blazer, silk hand-painted jacquard tie around his neck. She took the proffered hand. “Thank you for coming down.”
    “How could I
not
come down.” He turned to Heather. “Where are Dr. Berger and Dr. Fulton?”
    “They can’t make it—”
    “
What?
” Decameron was outraged. “Azor is…
murdered
, and they can’t see fit to talk to the police?”
    “Dr. Fulton couldn’t get a baby-sitter, Dr. Decameron. Her husband wasn’t home when I called.”
    “And what was Myron’s excuse?” Decameron raised his brow. “Bad hair day?”
    Heather glared at him. “How can you be so awful at a time like this?”
    “What better time,” Decameron snapped back. He hugged himself, looked Oliver up and down. “This is truly horrid. What in the world happened?”
    Oliver squirmed under Decameron’s intense but rapid scrutiny. Overt, sexual overtones. The man was gay. “That’s what we’re trying to figure out, Dr. Decameron.”
    Marge stepped in. “As we understand it, Dr. Decameron, you, Dr. Berger and Dr. Fulton last saw Dr. Sparks at a dinner meeting.”
    “Yes, one of our weekly staff get-togethers. Started around six, ended around eight.”
    “Anything unusual happen at the meeting?”
    It was Decameron’s turn to squirm. “Well, I might as well fess up. Myron’s going to jump at the opportunity to tell you this. It might as well come from me.”
    The room fell silent.
    “Azor was miffed at me,” Decameron admitted.
    “What happened?” Oliver asked.
    “Well, our research meetings are ostensibly an open forum to exchange ideas. Sometimes I get a little aggressive in my opinions offending our great Grand Imperial Wizard.”
    “That’s not what
I
heard,” Heather piped in.
    “I’m getting to that, child. Hold your hair, for goodness sakes.” Decameron turned to Marge. “Azor became miffed at me. I peeked at some of the great doctor’s data on his fax machine before he had a chance to see it. Not a terrible thing. But not courteous, either.” He paused. “Azor was angry. After the meeting… after Myron and Liz had left… I smoothed things over with him. Of course, they weren’t around to witness it. But I am telling you the truth.”
    “What time was this, Dr. Decameron?”
    “A little before eight. I remember it distinctly because we ended earlier than usual. Azor had received a call from one of his sons and cut the meeting short.”
    “Okay.” Marge wrote furiously. “Does this son have a name?”
    “Paul.”
    “Was Dr. Sparks planning to meet Paul somewhere?”
    “I haven’t the faintest idea. His sons call often. They’re always hitting him up for money.”
    “That’s ridiculous,” Heather interjected.
    Decameron paused. “Okay. Paul and Luke are always hitting him up for money. True or false?”
    Heather snapped her lips together, folded her arms across her chest.
    “How many sons does Dr. Sparks have?” Oliver asked.
    “Four,” Decameron said. “The youngest one, Michael, he’s what we call a legacy med student. Someone who gets in because of… connections. I call them capons.”
    “Michael’s not bright?” Oliver asked.
    “Neon, he’s not,” Decameron replied. “But he is young. He could season if he’d cut the strings. He still lives at home, so the little snot gets whatever he wants—”
    “You don’t like his kids, do you?” Oliver said.
    “I don’t like anyone, so don’t go by me.” Decameron sighed. “No, I don’t like his children. They’re all suck-ups. Except the priest. He’s independent so far as I can tell. And a good man.”
    “Who’s he?” Oliver asked.
    Heather said, “Father Bram.”
    Decameron said, “Azor was livid when Bram took his orders. First, Bram had the nerve to convert from Azor’s strict Fundamentalist Church to Catholicism without asking Daddy’s permission. And then when he became a priest… well, what can I say? The truth hurts.”
    “What truth?” Heather