Faye Kellerman_Decker & Lazarus 09

by Prayers for the Dead

  Oliver said, “Isn’t half of the old man’s assets automatically owned by wifey because of community property?”

  “There’s a lot of factors going on here,” Gaynor stated. “First, I think marital inheritance is exempted for estate taxes if the money was put inside a family trust…which it was. Which means there has to be a will somewhere. Because with trusts, there are always wills. And if there’s a will—”

  “There’s a way,” Oliver blurted out.

  Everyone laughed. Decker told Gaynor to go ahead.

  Farrell said, “Since Sparks probably had a will, he might have made specific provisions. You know, like giving money to people other than his wife. Now all of this has nothing to do with his pension’s three mil. Because that was outside the trust’s assets—”

  “I’m lost,” Webster said.

  “Unfortunately, I’m not,” Decker said. Again, he wiped his brow. Six months of doing wills and estates for his ex-father-in-law—Jack Cohen, Esq. So mind-numbing, even the substantial salary couldn’t keep him in the field of estate law. With unusual resolution, Decker had defied his ex-wife and returned to his former occupation of police work. It had created a scene. Back then, everything with Jan had created scenes.

  Decker said, “Sparks had two basic but separate financial holdings—the family trust and his pension plan, correct?”

  “Correct.”

  “Which means everything Sparks owned—outside of his pension plan—was in the trust.”

  “Not quite.”

  Decker paused. “He owned other things outright?”

  “Joint tenancy.”

  “His house.”

  “No, that’s in the trust.”

  “Farrell, this isn’t twenty questions,” Decker snapped. “What?”

  Gaynor smiled. “Sparks co-owned some of his children’s houses.”

  “Why didn’t I have a dad like this?” Oliver said. “Buy me a house, co-sign my loans.”

  Webster drawled, “Sounds great except nothin’s for free. You want Daddy holding a string tied to your balls?”

  “Maybe it wasn’t like that,” Marge suggested. “The guy worked all the time. Maybe he bought off the kids with money.”

  “Except he didn’t give them anything, Dunn. He co-signed. Kept the knot nice and tight.”

  Decker said, “How many houses did Sparks co-own?”

  “Paul’s house—a three-fifty mortgage on that. He also co-owned several retail shops along with his daughter Eva and her husband, David, as well as their Palm Springs condo—”

  “Now there’s a real moneymaker,” Decker said.

  Gaynor smiled. “I never claimed he invested wisely. Just that he owned property in joint tenancy. And since those properties are not in the trust, he probably made specific provisions about them in his will.”

  Decker said, “How about Luke? Did he buy him anything?”

  “Nothing outright. But that doesn’t mean Doc never gave them anything. Four years ago, they’d been on a monthly payback plan with a medical collection agency. They had racked up huge outpatient bills.”

  “Drug rehab?” Decker asked.

  Gaynor looked surprised. “No. A fertility clinic.”

  Decker paused. “Luke has kids. Twins.”

  “How old.”

  “Around three.”

  “Then I guess the treatments were successful.”

  Marge said, “Did Doc pay off the clinic?”

  “Halfway through the payments, the clinic canceled the balance, citing professional courtesy. Since then, no financial entanglements between Luke and Doc. Luke lives in a rented apartment.”

  “How much money does he have?”

  “He and his wife have about two hundred bucks in their checking account.”

  “Savings?”

  “Nothing I could find.”

  “That’s Generation X for you,” Oliver said. “Can’t save a penny without spending a dime.”

  “Luke wasn’t kidding when he said he was broke,” Decker said. “How about Bram, the priest?”

  “Now he has money. Sixty-seven grand to be exact.”

  Oliver whistled. “Sounds like he’s got a bad case of sticky fingers with the Eucharist plate.”

  Martinez said, “My uncle’s a priest. Priests don’t make that kind of money. All they get are small stipends.”

  “Maybe Daddy gave him money to even things out,” Marge suggested.

  Oliver said, “Sixty-seven grand worth?”

  Gaynor said, “If Doc gave him the maximum allowed tax-free gift of ten grand per year, he could easily accumulate eighty grand. And I do think that’s part of it. But he also reports income from book royalties.”

  Decker said, “Bram wrote a book?”

  “Messianic Teachings from the Old Testament.”

  “Oh, now that’s a real best-seller,” Oliver joked.

  “He wrote that?” Martinez said.

  Oliver’s eyes grew. “You’ve heard of it?”

  “My kids go to Catholic school,” Martinez said. “Next to the Catechism, it’s their most used standard text.”

  “Theirs and about twenty-five hundred other Catholic schools around the country,” Gaynor said. “I called up the publisher. Some small Christian religious house. I got the feeling the book keeps them in business.”

  Decker said, “How long has the book been in print?”

  “Seven years,” Gaynor said.

  “Bram’s only thirty-five.”

  “Then he wrote it when he was young. Because he’s been collecting royalties for a while.”

  “And he keeps the money?” Martinez asked.

  “According to the last five years’ worth of tax returns, he’s donated seventy-five percent of his royalties to the church. Another ten percent, he gives away to other charities. The remaining fifteen, he pockets.”

  “Don’t priests take vows of poverty?” Marge asked.

  “Banking fifteen percent of your royalties isn’t exactly chasing the buck,” Decker said.

  “Especially when you consider he’s built sixty-seven grand by pocketing only fifteen percent of his earnings,” Marge added. “That means he’s given away a hell of a lot of money.”

  Webster said, “Wonder why he gave it to the church when his biological brothers were in need?”

  Marge said, “Yeah, doesn’t the Bible say something about being your brother’s keeper?”

  “As a priest, it’s his obligation to give his worldly possessions to the church,” Martinez said. “Keeps the clergy honest.”

  Oliver said, “Besides, he probably knows his brothers’ll just piss it away.”

  Decker said, “Farrell, does Bram spend money on anything interesting?”

  “Only thing unusual is he rents a one-bedroom apartment even though his official residence is listed at St. Thomas’s. He has itemized it as an outside office, been leasing it for the last nine years—”

  “Office my ass,” Oliver scoffed. “Betcha the goat brings women up there.” He grinned. “What a priest can’t do with rosary beads.”

  “That’s truly disgusting,” Martinez said.

  Oliver laughed. “Yeah, I’m a goner, going to hell on a bullet train.”

  Nine years. Right around the time Yitzchak died. Decker quelled the thought.

  “Maybe he brings men up instead of women,” Marge said. “Didn’t Decameron say he was gay?”

  “This is all beside the point,” Decker said. “All we’re interested in is whether he’s a suspect or not. For the time being, he looks pretty clean.”

  “Yeah, if you’re going to choose a family member, I vote for Paul,” Gaynor said. “He’s the one deepest in debt.”

  “So why should he pop his father when the old man was supporting him?” Oliver said.

  “Maybe Doc threatened to withdraw support,” Marge said.

  Gaynor said, “More likely, it’s the insurance policy.”

  Oliver said, “I love how you drop these little tid
bits on us, Farrell. What insurance policy?”

  “Sparks has a whole life policy on himself with death benefits totaling six million.”

  Collective gasps.

  Oliver said, “You know, I think I’ll pay a condolence call on the widow Sparks.”

  Gaynor said, “The beneficiaries are the children. Don’t ask me how I found that out, either.”

  Decker said, “A million per kid?”

  “Right on the nailhead.”

  Marge said, “So now we have six suspects. Christ, maybe they were all in it together.”

  Decker said, “How long has Sparks carried the policy, Farrell?”

  “He took it out five years ago.”

  “So if the kids popped him, why did they wait so long?”

  “Biding their time,” Oliver said. “Looks more natural that way.”

  Martinez said, “We should rank them in order of who’s most suspicious. Lowest would be the priest. Not because he’s a priest, just because he has money in the bank.”

  “Agreed,” Gaynor said. “Next on the list would be the two kids at home. Neither have any debt or expenses. Then the older sister, Eva. Her clothes shopping alone accounts for five grand a month—”

  Marge said, “I thought she owns clothing stores.”

  “Yeah, but according to her credit cards, she buys the good stuff—Chanel, Armani, Christian Lacroix, Cesucci, Yves St.-Laurent, Hermès, Gucci—”

  “Criminy,” Marge said. “And to think I feel guilty every time I go to Mervyn’s.”

  “Are they in deep debt?” Decker asked.

  “No. But with the second co-owned with Daddy, they have no room for flexibility.”

  “Finally, we conclude with Paul,” Decker said. “Okay, that takes care of the family.”

  “Except Mom,” Marge pointed out.

  “Very good,” Decker said.

  Gaynor said, “Yes, the widow is now a wealthy woman.”

  “Did you meet her, Pete…er, Loo?” Marge asked.

  “Miss Dolly.” Decker smiled. “No, I didn’t meet her. She was fatigued, whisked away before I had a chance to talk to her. I’ll try to arrange something tomorrow morning. Let’s move away from the family for a moment.”

  Gaynor said, “Even though the financial aspect of this case does focus attention on the kids.”

  “Yes, it does,” Decker admitted. “But let’s not get tunnel vision. Farrell, did you find out any information about Sparks’s financial arrangement with Fisher/Tyne?”

  Gaynor shook his head. “Nothing. It’s one thing to dig up bank accounts, pension beneficiary papers, credit card slips, and tax statements. It’s another to unveil personal business contracts.”

  Decker looked at Marge. “Speaking of which, Decameron said for you to call him. He’s willing to meet with you and Scotty tomorrow for lunch. He’s going to bring you the Fisher/Tyne-FDA data.”

  “He has the numbers?” Oliver asked.

  “He thinks he knows where Azor kept them and he’s willing to share.” Decker wiped his brow with the back of his hand. “He thinks Gordon Shockley is a toad.”

  Oliver dabbed sweat from his brow. “You know, the more I know Reggie, the better I like him.”

  To Webster and Martinez, Decker said, “I got a fun assignment for you two.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Tomorrow morning, I want you to visit some motorcyclists.” He told the group about Sanchez and Polinski. “Apparently, they’re living in a trailer in Canyon Country. I’d like you two to find Sanchez…he calls himself Grease Pit…and try to talk to him alone—without Polinski. Now, I don’t know where this trailer is located. But Sanchez works here.” Decker gave them the address of the dealership. “See if you can pump out information from one of the other guys at his work location.”

  “What does Polinski call himself?” Marge asked.

  “Sidewinder.”

  Marge grinned. “Oh those cute little boys with their cute little superhero names.”

  Decker said, “Grease Pit mentioned something about a biker’s cause. I couldn’t get it out of him because Sidewinder kept steering him away from it.”

  “The cause,” Gaynor said. “I wonder if it has anything to do with the three tax-deductible environmental checks that Sparks wrote out.”

  Decker said, “Farrell, you do have a way of springing things. What environmental checks?”

  “Sparks wrote three ten-thousand-dollar checks to something called the Peoples for Environment Freedoms Act.”

  “What act is that?” Martinez asked.

  “I don’t know,” Gaynor said. “I just saw the checks itemized along with all his other charity deductions. Most of them were to the church or to medical causes. These Freedoms Act ones stood out, not because they were so large—”

  “Excuse my small southern-town perspective, but I think ten grand is a very large sum of money,” Webster remarked.

  “To me too, Tom,” Gaynor said. “But Sparks wrote a lot of five-figure charity checks. Last year, he gave a hundred thousand to his church alone.”

  “No wonder the kids had the run of the place for the memorial service,” Decker said.

  “I remember these three ten-thousand-dollar checks because the charity was so different from his other donations.”

  Decker looked at Webster and Martinez. “So now you have a name for the cause. Find Sanchez and ask him about the cause.”

  Martinez grinned. “Do you want us to go as cops or as parties interested in investing?”

  “I’ve got nothing against you two acting real friendly. But don’t do anything that strains the limit of credibility.” Decker sat back. “We’re all okay, then?”

  Nods all around.

  “Okay,” Decker said. “It’s about half-past six. Finish up your case notes, leave them on my desk, and we’ll meet again tomorrow.”

  “One more thing, Lieutenant,” Gaynor said.

  Oliver said, “That’s TV dialogue, Farrell.”

  Gaynor smiled. “Too bad I can’t name the murderer. But I do have the name of the executor of the estate. William Waterson. He’s also Sparks’s lawyer.”

  Decker wrote it down, nodded. “Yeah, his son Michael mentioned him.”

  “Did you meet him, Loo?” Marge asked.

  “No, I—” Decker paused. “No…not yet.”

  Indeed, Decker hadn’t met him. But most likely, he had seen him. Because it just dawned on him that Waterson was probably the man with white hair and veiny nose, the one who had been deep in conversation with Paul Sparks.

  17

  To his amazement, Decker made it home during dinnertime. The boys looked up, greeting him with a couple of tepid “Hi, Dads.” But the dog barked excitedly, and the baby squealed with delight, jumping into his arms. Wordlessly, Rina heaped pot roast, mashed potatoes, and peas onto his plate. After washing, he sat down with Hannah in his lap, and threw Ginger a piece of fat. He picked up a forkful of food and shoved it into his mouth.

  “Delicious,” he said, after swallowing. “Ginger, stop begging.”

  “I’m glad you like it.”

  “Reminds me of my mother’s cooking.”

  “Yes, it is a rather goyishe meal.” Rina turned red. “Oh my goodness, I didn’t mean it like that.”

  Decker grinned, threw Ginger another piece of fat. “You meant it. You just didn’t mean to say it.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “No need to apologize. You must be in a goyishe mood.”

  Rina didn’t answer. Hannah started throwing peas. Decker said, “Young lady, we eat peas. We don’t use them for target practice.” He offered her a legume. “Eat.”

  Hannah took it and threw it.

  “She’s totally spoiled,” Jake said. “No discipline.”

  “You threw peas, too,” Rina said. “Once, you put one up your nose…or maybe that was Sammy.”

  Sam made a face. “Do we really have to talk about this?”

  Hannah threw another pea.
It landed on Jake’s shirt. “Eema, c’mon. Do something.”

  Decker pushed the plate beyond his daughter’s reach. Hannah started squawking. “Are you going to behave?”

  “I behave.”

  “No throwing peas?”

  “I no throw peas.”

  “All right then.” Decker kissed her forehead and pulled his plate within her grasp. She reached for one, but stopped herself. “I no throw peas.”

  “Very good, Hannah Rosie. You’re a very good girl.”

  Within minutes, Decker’s plate was empty. Rina gave him seconds. “It’s nice that you’re home with us. Right, boys?”

  Sammy smiled. “Thrilling.”

  “That was very disrespectful,” Rina chided.

  “It was a joke, Eema.”

  Decker said, “It’s okay, Rina—”

  “No, it’s not okay. Apologize, Shmuel. Right now.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Decker said, “It’s fine.”

  Sammy said, “What got into you?”

  “Nothing got into me,” Rina snapped. “Look how you talk to me. You’re makbid on everything except the fifth commandment.”

  The baby scooped a handful of peas and tossed them at Jacob. He jerked his chair back. “She is so disgusting.”

  “Can you just have a little patience?” Rina yelled. “What is wrong with you two today? I spend thousands of dollars giving you both yeshiva educations and you both have the derech eretz of animals.”

  Jacob sat back in his chair, opening his arms in protest. “What am I doing? I’m sitting here and she’s throwing food at me. Talk about derech eretz of animals.”

  “She’s two and a half, Yaakov. You’re fourteen—”

  “I don’t like food thrown in my face, do you mind?”

  “Yes, I mind when you say she’s disgusting. I mind that a lot. She’s a baby, for goodness’ sake.”

  Jacob sighed. “She’s not disgusting. She’s very cute.” He leaned over and gave his sister a kiss on the forehead. “You’re very cute.”

  “I’m a good girl,” Hannah said proudly.

  Jacob smiled. “Yes, you are a good girl. But you still shouldn’t throw peas.” He pushed his chair back and stood. “I’ve got homework. Thank you, Eema. Thank you, Dad. Excuse me.”