Bram paused. His brother’s voice held an eerie calm trying to mask anxiety. The priest massaged his pounding forehead. “No problem. Come down to the church.”

“Not a good idea. Be at your apartment in ten minutes.”

A long moment of silence. “Why the urgen—”

“Not over the phone!”

The voice held full-fledged panic. Bram said, “I’ll be there.”

The line went dead. Bram stood, regarded the crucifix on his wall. He knelt for a moment, said the paternoster, then crossed himself and grabbed his jacket. Fishing through his pocket for his keys to lock the door to the chancellery, he was intercepted by Jim, the seminary student.

“Father, Mrs. McDougal just called. Her son Sean was just readmitted into the hospital,” Jim said. “Apparently, the leukemia came back—”

“Oh no!” Bram locked the door, then rubbed his eyes under his glasses. “Which hospital?”

“St. Jerome’s,” Jim said. “Here’s the room number, here’s the home phone number. You look busy. Do you want me to call her for you, Father?”

“No, no, I’ll do it.” Bram took the slip of paper. “If she calls again, tell her I should be there in…a half hour to forty-five minutes, all right?”

“Are you sure you don’t want me to call Father Danner? You’ve had so much on your mind…”

“Thank you, but no.”

“You look a little pale, Father.”

He did feel weak. Nothing that a little orange juice couldn’t cure. He hadn’t eaten today, was probably suffering from low blood sugar. “I’m fine, Jim. Thank you for your concern.” He patted the young man’s back, then turned and jogged away.

Farrell Gaynor sat across from Decker’s desk, shifting his rear in the hard plastic seat. “I guess what I’m really saying is I see Paul as a problem because of his debt.”

Decker said, “But the old man had already agreed to loan Paul the money. And Dolly Sparks agreed to honor Dad’s loan. I heard that with my own ears.”

“That doesn’t mean she knows the truth.”

“Dad turned Paul down this time?”

“I think Dad turned Paul down a long time ago.” Gaynor shuffled through some paper. “What if the purpose of Paul’s phone call the night of the murder was to lure Azor to the spot, then ice him—”

Decker interrupted. “He murdered over tuition payments?”

“Over an upcoming balloon payment coming due on his house.”

Decker looked up from his notes. “What’s this?”

“A balloon payment due in about three months. Three hundred thou.”

“Christ!” Decker started adding up the numbers in Paul’s debit column. “With that, Paul’s in the hole for close to three quarters of a million.”

“And the guy doesn’t have an alibi for the night of the murder, Loo.”

Decker nodding, knowing he was going to have to bring him in for questioning.