“I work at a used-bike dealership Thursday through Saturday. You can call me anytime.” Sanchez moved in and smiled. “Give you a great deal on the bike of your choice. Specially if you got trade-in.”

“I’ll bet,” Decker said. “What’s the address of the dealership?”

Sanchez gave it to him. “Good meetin’ you.” Sanchez grabbed Decker’s hand with a leathery palm, shook it hard. “You’re gonna find this asshole, right?”

“I’m going to do my best.”

“Come on.” Polinski gave Sanchez a slight nudge. To Decker, he said, “Ciao.”

“Ciao.” Decker watched them go, swaggering and jingling, with Sanchez tugging his pants upward to hide his butt crack. Grease Pit talked a good case of avenging Granddaddy, but he was probably more smoke than fire. Still, one never knew. They both merited further investigation.

Decker made some final scratches in his pad, notes reminding him to check out certain things. He finished his scribblings, tucked the pad into his jacket. Then he looked up and scanned the crowd. Paul was conversing with a bunch of white-haired church ladies. And the man with the thick lips and veiny nose had disappeared from sight.

16

The captain was in. Phone in hand, he pointed to a seat and continued talking into the receiver. Decker sat and waited. Strapp’s office wasn’t much bigger than his lieutenant’s cubicle, wasn’t any better decorated, either. Standard-issue desk and chairs, file cabinets, a separate work station with the computer. He had a phone, a fax machine, and a slotted paper holder overflowing with multicolored police forms. The desk held the pictures of the wife and kids, the walls were hung with photographs of the professional man. A smiling Strapp showing lots of teeth standing next to the mayor, Strapp with the Guv, Strapp in uniform between the president and first lady. Other snapshots, among them a photo of the Captain standing next to a little girl holding a teddy bear. The man who stood at her other side wore a white coat.

Dr. Sparks.

Decker remembered the four-year-old headline. The girl had been given a new heart and life from the tragedy of another child’s untimely death.

Strapp hung up the phone, folded his hands on his desk. He was about to speak, then noticed where Decker had focused his attention.

“Patty Harrison. Cute little thing, isn’t she?”

“Adorable. Do you know how she’s doing?”

“No, I don’t.” Strapp grew tense. “I hope they’re coping with the news of Sparks’s death. This could be devastating. How’s the investigation going?”

“Still gathering information. Dr. Craine should be getting back with an initial autopsy report, Farrell Gaynor’s been doing paper trail for the last eight hours, the others are asking questions, sorting through physical evidence. The investigation’s proceeding nicely, sir. But I’ve got a problem.”

“What?”

“My wife knows one of Dr. Sparks’s sons. The priest, Abram Sparks.”