Decameron had laid Curedon out into neat, assessable packages. Anyone interested in pilfering scientific information would have had an easy time. Decameron, for all his sardonic wit and cynicism, had been a trusting soul.

He thought a moment. If someone had been after the data, why make a mess out there and leave the office pristine? To throw him off track?

Decker sighed, slipped on his glasses, and began sorting through the Curedon folders, this time looking specifically for the Fisher/Tyne-FDA trial data. Reading sentence upon sentence, paragraph after paragraph of scientific mumbo jumbo until after an hour, his eyes bugged and blurred. Medical jargon was worse than legalese.

“Loo?”

Decker spun around. Martinez looked grave. His hand held something small and shiny.

“Maybe you should take a look at this.”

Decker walked over, his head awhirl with columns of highly statistically significant numbers and the horrible medical sequelae of host-graft rejection. He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes with his bicep. He took Martinez’s offering.

Small and shiny and gold.

A chain with a cross.

Decker said, “Not Decameron’s type of jewelry.”

Martinez said, “You know, anyone could have been wearing this. A cross is pretty neutral.”

Decker studied the ornament, flipped it over from side to side, noticed some scratch marks only because he was wearing his reading glasses. As he brought it closer to his eyes, the etching took shape. “It’s engraved. I see a word. You tell me if I’m right.”

“Can I borrow your glasses?”

Decker gave Martinez his glasses and the cross. Bert studied the writing for a moment. “It says Sparks.”

“Yes, it does. See any first initial?”

“Nope.”

“Neither do I.” Decker chose his words carefully. “There are six Sparks children. But only one’s a priest.”

Webster walked into the room. He held up a lone key with an ID tag, both dangling from a ring. “I found this in Decameron’s pocket. Just an address, no name. I ran it through our backward directory. It matches an apartment rented out to Abram Sparks.”

And all Decker could think about was how this would affect Rina. He didn’t want her hurt, yet he knew it would be impossible to hide it from her.

It stank of a setup. But an investigation wasn’t run by its smell. He said, “Okay, we’ll do it this way. Tom, you stay here with the lab people and continue to direct the search. I’ll call up and get two warrants—one for the church, one for Bram’s apartment. I’ll do the apartment. Bert, you do St. Thomas’s. You being Catholic, it’ll play better if you search the church.”

“What are you putting on the search warrant?”

“The weapons, of course. Splinters and pieces of glass with brown stains on them. And clothing. We’re looking for bloody clothing…lots of bloody clothing.”