Prayers for the Dead (23 page)

Liz glared at Decameron. “Thank God you’re back to normal. For a moment, I almost liked you.”

“Where is the little puppy?”

“Reggie, knock it off.”

“What about Myron Berger, Lieutenant?” Decameron asked. “Have you met the last of Azor’s three stooges?”

“This morning.”

“I suppose he brought up my tiff with Azor.”

“I brought it up, Reg,” Liz said.

Decameron’s eyes widened. “
Et tu
, Judas?”

“You’re mixing your metaphors.” Liz paused. “As a matter of fact, the police brought it up to me. They said
you
told them about it.”

“I did indeed… to head Myron off.” To Decker, Decameron said, “And what did Dr. Berger tell you? I was spouting smoke through my nostrils, ready to kill Azor for dressing me down in public?”

Decker said, “Actually, he spoke temperately.”

“That’s not temperance, Lieutenant, that’s fear of an opinion. But don’t take my word for it about Myron. Just ask around. Ah, the word of God cometh… and in such a pretty package.” Decameron waited a beat, then stuck out his hand. “Hello, Father Bram. How’s your mother holding up? I’d ask her myself, but she doesn’t like me.”

Bram shook Decameron’s hand. “Coping. Thanks for asking. How’s the hospital?”

“Myron’s doing a superb job calming the patients,” Liz said. “But your father is… missed. I sure miss him.” She dabbed her eyes with a tissue, grabbed Bram’s hand. “You spoke wonderfully today.”

“Not a dry eye in the house, Padre,” Decameron commented. “You’re quite the orator. Maybe I’ll show up one Sunday Mass.”

“You’d always be welcome.”

“Isn’t he
wonderful
!” Decameron said. “How’s the rest of the family doing?”

“Managing.”

“What can we do for you, Bram?” Liz said.

“Nothing at the moment.” Skillfully, the priest liberated his hand from Liz’s grip. “But if I need anything, I won’t hesitate. You’ve all been introduced?”

“More or less.” Decameron looked at his watch. “As interesting as it’s been, I should be getting back to the hospital. Do you need anything specific from me, Lieutenant?”

“Yes, I do need something if you don’t mind.”

“What?”

Decker looked around, dropped his voice. “I believe you met Detectives Dunn and Oliver last night.”

“That I did.”

“They went out to Fisher/Tyne this morning, interviewed a Dr. Gordon Shockley—”

“Oh
God
!” Decameron clucked his tongue. “Forgive me, Father. Sin number three of the Decalogue. Am I absolved?”

“Absolutely, as long as you refrain from doing it again.” Bram smiled. “At least in my presence.”

To Decker, Decameron said, “Gordon’s a toad. Did he give them a hard time?”

“Well, let’s say he played it pretty close to the bone.”

“What do you need?”

“They were wondering if you have the data from the Fisher/Tyne-FDA trials of Curedon?”

“Yes, of course. Why do they want it?”

“Because Shockley refused to divulge it.”

“Some people are very anal retentive.” Decameron thought a moment. “Tell them to call my secretary. We’ll do lunch tomorrow. I think I know where Azor kept the Curedon data. I’m assuming you just want the latest printouts. Otherwise, I’d need a truck to carry all the computer paper.”

“The latest figures would be fine.”

“I’ll go through Azor’s files, look for the data. Which won’t mean
drek
to them. But if they’re willing to slosh through the statistical muck, I’d be happy to explain what I can to them.”

“Thank you, Doctor. I appreciate that.”

“Unless you want to do it, Liz.”

“It’s more your baby, Reg.” To Decker, she said, “Dr. Decameron is our liaison between Dr. Sparks’s lab, Fisher/Tyne, and the FDA. Mostly, I do all the internal lab work.”

“Dr. Fulton worked extensively with Dr. Sparks in formulating Curedon’s animal trials,” Decameron said. “She was in charge of research design.”

“Don’t I sound impressive.”

“It was impressive.”

Liz was quiet.

Decameron said, “You’re supposed to say thank you.”

Liz smiled. “Thank you.”

Decameron looked at his watch again. His eyes went to the priest. He embraced him. “From the heart, I’m very sorry, Abram. Honestly, I am.”

“I know you are, Reggie.”

“Your father will be sorely missed. I’m not sure we can go on without him. But for now, we have no choice.”

“That’s what he’d want you to do.”

“You take care of yourself.” Decameron pulled away. To Liz, he said, “Do you need a ride back to New Chris?”

“No, Drew will drive me back.” Liz looked around the room. “Where is Drew?”

Decameron said, “Last I saw, he was playing jacks with the children. He was up to threesies.”

“Reg, stop it!”

“I believe he’s in the dining room, Liz.”

“Thank you, Bram.” She clasped him tightly to her breast. “Call if you need anything.”

“I will.”

Decker saw Bram stiffen as she hugged him. Second time today he noticed how uncomfortable the priest became when touched by a woman.

Liz touched his cheek. “Take care of your family. They need you now more than ever.”

“Elizabeth, that is a cursed thing to say!” Decameron chided. “Take care of
yourself
.”

“I’ll do both. How’s that for a compromise?”

The two doctors waved, then walked off. Bram laughed softly when they were out of earshot. “What a pair.”

“You seem to get along with them.”

“In a very limited scope.”

“Both of them seem quite fond of you.”

Bram eyed Decker. “Everyone loves a priest. Rina took a cab back home. Would you like to meet Grease Pit?”

“Yes, I would.” Decker paused. “He wasn’t at all what I expected.”

“What do you mean?”

“When you said your father was a weekend warrior, I thought you meant a doctor/lawyer dress-up club.”

“No, these guys are the real thing.” Bram pushed hair out of his eyes. “I don’t know why my father hooked up with such a motley crew. Unless he was trying to reform them.”

“Did your father try to reform people?”

“My family is Fundamentalist, Lieutenant. Saving souls is an integral part of the doctrine. All we kids have done missionary work as teenagers. My mother chose to act out her life’s mission through her church, and my father saved souls through his work. But even with all the medical miracles he performed, he was still vocal about being a personal missionary as well as a professional one. He used to pray with his patients before the surgeries.”

Decker paused. “It didn’t create a conflict with non-Fundamentalist patients?”

“He showed sensitivity if the patient wasn’t Christian. Spoke exclusively of God instead of Jesus. Sometimes, he’d even use the common parlance of a Higher Being.”

“What if the patient was an atheist?”

The priest shrugged. “I would imagine everyone recognizes his or her own mortality before major transplant surgery. I don’t think Dad’s invocation caused a problem. If it did, I never heard about it.”

Decker looked around. Again, he spoke softly. “Obviously, his Fundamentalist beliefs didn’t influence his choice of colleagues.”

“You mean Dr. Decameron? Reggie’s a brilliant man. My father wouldn’t have kept him on if he wasn’t.”

“He didn’t find his overt homosexuality a slap in the face of his religion?”

The priest’s eyes darted about. “You don’t turn your back on sinners.”

“But you don’t have to hire them on. Nor do you have to
keep
them on once they’ve been convicted of morals charges.”

Bram said, “Take a walk with me.”

Decker followed the priest back into the kitchen. To his surprise, it was empty, leaving Decker to wonder where Bram had stowed his twin, Luke. The priest leaned against the kitchen counter, eyes on Decker’s face. “Did Dr. Decameron tell you about the arrest or did you dig that up?”

“Decameron told me.”

“It made the local throwaway papers here in a big way. You can picture the byline:
RENOWNED HEART DOCTOR BUSTED CRUISING SANTA MONICA
. It caused a mini-scandal not only in the hospital, but in Father’s church. Dad got a lot of flak. Not to his face of course, but there were whisperings that were painful for my mother. Even so, Dad was a man of integrity. He stood behind Decameron and eventually everything died down. I called you in here because I’m asking you to
please
refrain from mentioning the incident around my mother.”

“She doesn’t like Dr. Decameron.”

“No, she doesn’t.”

“Because of the scandal or because he’s gay?”

“Because of the scandal and because he’s
overtly
gay.” The priest fingered his cross. “She’s old-fashioned. Thinks that if gays really wanted to change, they could. To her, homosexuality isn’t an innate, hardwired sexual preference. To her, it’s being stubborn.”

“And it’s being a sinner.”

“That, too.” Bram waited a beat. “Actually, it’s the homosexual act that’s the sin, not the homosexual. Though the distinction makes little difference to a woman like my mother or to a man like Reginald, it would make a great difference to someone like my father who took the Bible literally.”

“Meaning?”

“He’d have nothing against homosexuals as long as they abstained from engaging in homosexuality.”

Decker paused. “So your father wouldn’t discriminate against gays as long as they remained celibate.”

“Exactly.”

“Hard to do.”

“It can be done.”

Decker said nothing. The priest’s face was neutral.

Bram said, “Either celibate or sublimated in a legitimate heterosexual union.”

“But neither is the case with Decameron.”

“No.”

“And yet your father kept him on.”

“Yes.”

“Ever get an indication that your father was trying to save Decameron’s soul?”

A small smile played upon Bram’s lips. As if the thought was too absurd for words. “No, I never did see any indication of that. But perhaps it was an agenda of my father’s.” He looked around. “I’ve got to get back to the crowd.”

“Of course,” Decker said. “Out of curiosity, is punishing the act but not the desire how the Catholic Church views gays?”

“Our philosophy is to deal compassionately with everyone. Anybody — and I do mean anybody — is welcome in my church. Theologically speaking, confession and penance are required for all immoral thoughts regardless toward whom they’re directed.”

“Although personally you think immoral thoughts could be construed as healthy outlets for tension.”

Bram stared at him. “Ah, our discussion last night. I should be more temperate in my speech. I didn’t quite mean that, Lieutenant. As an agent of the Roman Catholic faith, I feel it’s not only commendable but very wise to keep the mind as spiritually focused as possible. I had just been musing for my father’s benefit. He expected theological interchange whenever I was around. I tried not to disappoint.”

Decker nodded, wondering what kind of fantasies had ever danced in the priest’s mind.

Bram said, “By the way, Lieutenant, I want to apologize for my sister’s comments yesterday. Eva isn’t anti-Semitic. But she is having a hard time with her Jewish husband. She’s another one who has trouble making distinctions.”

“How’d your parents feel about Eva marrying a Jew?”

The priest’s voice leaked exhaustion. “I’d appreciate if you didn’t bring that up with my mother either.”

“I’m not bringing it up with her. I’m bringing it up with you.”

“We’ve all made peace with our differences.” He looked up, engaged Decker’s eyes. “We’ve run far afield.”

“I’ll take that introduction to Grease Pit, Father. Sorry to have monopolized your time.”

“Actually, you did a mitzvah… distracted me from these unreal circumstances for a short time. Isn’t that what
shivah
is all about?”

Decker said, “You know Hebrew.”

“Yes, I do.”

Guy was probably more fluent than he was. Seems the world was more fluent than he
.

Decker pushed aside his jealousy and thought about what the priest was saying. There were some similarities between this gathering and
shivah
, the required seven days of Jewish mourning. The grieving family of course, the somber dress, visitors offering words of comfort to the bereaved, even the ample supply of finger food.

But there were also distinct differences. Namely the lack of
religious
rituals. Jewish law requires that the mourners wear torn clothing, sit on low stools or the floor instead of chairs, and refrain from greeting visitors. They were not permitted to leave the house — even to pray at synagogue. Which meant a
minyan
— ten adult men needed for public prayer — was usually brought to the mourners’ house. Bathing was prohibited during
shivah
. So was shaving. All mirrors were covered, usually with taped-to-the-wall sheets. And of course, the official mourning period was intense for seven days, followed by thirty lesser days, followed by eleven months of reciting the mourner’s
Kaddish
in a
minyan
.

Bram said, “Actually, the one thing I wished we would have incorporated into our memorial service was a recitation of
Kaddish
. It’s a very beautiful prayer.”

“I didn’t realize that priests studied Jewish liturgy.”

“In general, we don’t give it more than a superficial glance.”

Decker met the priest’s eyes. “Perhaps you learned it at the
shivah
of an old friend.”

“Perhaps.” Bram cleared his throat. “From the sublime to the ridiculous. Let’s go find Grease Pit.”

The man was pushing three hundred pounds with an enormous gut and a face as large and round as a globe. Tanned skin with noticeable pores and a sweeping black mustache that topped his lip like a boa. His hair was straight and black, and fell halfway down his back. Tall sucker, too. Almost Decker’s height. He had on a black shirt, too-tight black jeans that exposed a crescent of hairy belly, and scuffed riding boots. He held a spangled leather jacket. He pumped Decker’s hand.

“Manny Sanchez, Lieutenant. Call me Grease Pit. Or call me Manny. I don’ care. Good to meet you, good to meet you. I wanna tell you somethin’ right off the bat, right off the bat, know what I’m sayin’?”