“Go back and check. Because no one would want to hurt Azor. You have to be wrong!”

Michael said, “Mom, maybe you should—”

Tears flowed openly over her ruddy face. “Michael, tell this man he’s wrong. Tell him he made a big mistake.”

“Mom—”

“I’ll call Father right now. Prove he made a mistake.” She stepped forward, then faltered. Decker caught her, kept her upright as she leaned on his strong shoulders. No easy trick. The woman was around five ten and weighed about one seventy. “Where’s her bed?”

“I’ll take her.” Michael gripped his mother soundly. He was slightly taller than her, but his hold was firm. “Let’s go back to bed.”

“Oh, Michael, what happened?”

“I don’t know—”

“Did you call Bram?”

“Right now—”

“Maybe he knows. Bram always knows.”

“Maybe, Mom—”

“Tell him to come right away!”

“I will,” Michael said. “Come on, Mom. You’ve been sick—”

“Just let me phone Father. To tell this man he’s wrong.”

“Mom, he isn’t wrong.”

“But he has to be wrong! It can’t be.”

She started to sob loudly as Michael pulled her into a room. Then the door closed in Decker’s face. Left him standing there, alone and useless. He could make out sounds behind the door—moans, sobs…no words. At these moments, he felt like a Peeping Tom, privy to private grief. Dirty and perverted. He could never understand why people watched talk shows. Why see people at their worst?

He exhaled slowly, hoping Dolores Sparks would have enough emotional and physical strength to make it through the night. He would have liked to have questioned her, asked her what her husband had been doing, parked in the back alley behind Tracadero’s…asked her about Sparks’s daily habits. But nothing would have sunk in right now because the woman was still in denial. Perhaps when the shock wasn’t as overwhelming, they could talk. Tomorrow, he would try again.

No sense standing around, so he went downstairs. Maggie was shaking, a phone receiver in her right hand. She turned to Decker, her cheeks soaked with tears. “He’s not in. What should I do?”

“Why don’t you sit down, Maggie. Is there a doctor I can call? Maybe a close family friend of your mother’s?”

Michael came running down the stairs. “She’s asking for Bram, Mag. Is that him?”

“He’s not home! I called his apartment three times and just got the machine!”

“You called his apartment?” Michael sighed. “Maggie, you should have called the church!”

“Oh God, what’s the num—auto dial one, right?” She held the receiver to her ear.

Michael began to pace. To Decker, he said, “I gave her a sedative…to calm her down.” He rubbed his face, continued to pace.