“Honestly, I don’t know. You might ask Michael about it. He’d know more than I would.”

“So he often has dinner with someone from Fisher/Tyne at Tracadero’s.”

“Actually, I don’t know anything, Lieutenant. I’m just guessing.”

Decker smoothed his pumpkin mustache. “So your father is a chemist on top of his many other talents.”

“By default. About fifteen years ago, he decided he didn’t like what was commercially available. So he went back to UCLA and got a Ph.D. in biochemistry. The hospital—New Christian Hospital—built him a lab.” Bram clasped his hands tightly. “Could be he went out to dinner with one of his colleagues. But that doesn’t sound like my father, either.”

“Who are your father’s colleagues?”

“You mean names?”

“If you don’t mind.”

Bram nodded. “Dr. Reginald Decameron, Dr. Myron Berger and…goodness, I’m blanking…the woman…not Heather. That’s his secretary.”

“Who’s his secretary?”

“Heather…Heather…” Bram looked up. “At thirty-five, I’m going senile. Heather Something. The other doctor is also a woman.”

“They all work in your dad’s lab?”

“Yes.”

“So they’re your father’s employees?”

“I think there’s a bit more parity than a typical boss-underling relationship. They’re all doctors. But yes, my father did hire them.” He paused, his eyes darting behind his spectacles. “Fulton. Elizabeth Fulton. Doctor Liz, he called her. That’s the other doctor.”

“And you think your father might have gone out for dinner with one of them?”

“Maybe it was one of their birthdays. I don’t know.” Bram adjusted his glasses. “From the questions you’re asking, you don’t think it was a random murder, do you?”

“At this point, I’m still assessing information, Father. I’m sorry I can’t be more helpful to you.”

Bram looked out the window, rubbed his eyes under his glasses. “What a nightmare!”

“I appreciate you coming down to make a positive identification. Better you than your mother.”

“That’s for certain.”

“Is she a well woman?”

“Why? What happened at the house?”

“Nothing at all. It’s just that…well, she takes sedatives.”

“And…”

“Uh, no. Nothing else. I was just curious why she took medication to help her sleep.”

“Lots of people do. It means nothing.”

“True.”

Bram said, “You’re sure it’s him? The body, I mean.”

“Certain enough to call you.”

The priest looked upward. “Are you going to perform an autopsy?”

“With a homicide, it’s the law.”

“So burial will be delayed.”

“Hopefully it shouldn’t take too long. Several days. Maybe a week.”