Fancy area for a guy like Webster. But he couldn’t help wondering why a guy as rich as Sparks would have chosen this over Beverly Hills or Malibu, or at the very least, one of the million-dollar developments in Granada Hills.

Sparks’s home sat by itself at the mouth of a cul-de-sac. Parked in the driveway was Waterson’s Lincoln.

“Bert one, Tom zero.” Webster did a three-pointer and turned around. “Now what?”

Martinez picked up the cell phone and called Decker.

“That was fast,” Decker said. “Where are you?”

“In front of Sparks’s house. Waterson’s Lincoln is parked in the driveway. You want us to pay a visit?”

“No. Right now, I want you to go over to impound and start taking the Sparkses’ Buick apart. Good job, guys.”

“What about Waterson?”

“I’m scheduled to see the widow today at three. So I’ll drop by a little early.”

Martinez glanced at the ’Cuda’s clock. “A little early? It’s straight-up noon, Loo.”

“My oh my,” Decker said. “My watch is running fast.”

Michael answered the door, seemed surprised by Decker’s appearance. The young man wore a crewneck sweater over a vanilla shirt, khaki pants, and loafers. He fiddled with his collar, looked over his shoulder as if waiting for someone to come to his rescue. “I thought you were coming later.”

“Sorry for the inconvenience. May I come in?”

The med student was hesitant. “My mother is kind of indisposed right now.”

Decker stood firm. “I’m really sorry for coming at an awful time.”

Michael ran his hand through a thick nest of black curls. Uncertainty seemed to be his hallmark. “Could you hold on a second?”

“Of course.”

The door closed, reopened a minute later. Mike had brought reinforcements in the form of older brother Paul, both of them staring at Decker with the same deep blue eyes. Strong fraternal resemblance. But the med student was slimmer, younger, and sans tic.

Paul said, “Mom’s resting. If it’s important, I’ll fetch her.”

“The sooner I talk to her, the better.”

Paul’s eyes moved at shutter speed. “So it’s important?”

“You have a breakthrough?” Michael asked excitedly.

“Not yet, I’m afraid. May I come in?”

The door opened completely, and Decker walked inside. Sitting on the family-room couch was the man with the veiny nose. He stood when he saw Decker, regarded Paul with questioning eyes.

“This is Lieutenant Decker, principal investigator of my father’s case,” Paul said. “Lieutenant, William Waterson, my father’s lawyer.”

Decker shook the attorney’s hand—firm grip, but not bone-crushing. The lawyer was about four inches shorter than Decker, around six even. His face held a drinker’s complexion, but his eyes were strong and lucid.

Waterson said, “Any news, Lieutenant?”

“Nothing worth reporting.” Decker remained standing and so did Waterson. “Are you also in charge of administering Dr. Sparks’s estate, sir?”