They drove without speaking the rest of the way, Decker slowing as they neared the spot. “Over to the right.”

Bram glared out the window. “There are television cameras! How did they find out before I did?”

“Networks have people listening to local police scanners. A famous name like your father’s pops up—”

“Oh for goodness…” Bram was taut and angry. “Is there no privacy even in grief?”

Decker was quiet.

“What a crazy town,” the priest said. “Bare your soul to the world for your ten minutes of fame.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll get you through. You might want to duck just in case someone gets pushy.”

Bram slid down into his seat. Quickly, Decker drove up to the barricades, flashed ID to the uniforms who kept watch over the scene. Before Decker could roll up the window, a microphone was jammed into his face. Holding it was a woman crowned with an oversprayed hive of blond hair. Decker pressed the accelerator to the floor, almost taking the mike with him as the Volare thrust forward. In the distance, he could hear the blonde swearing.

Bram sat back up, his complexion wan. “It’s not that I haven’t seen bodies…or haven’t seen people die as a matter of fact.”

“It’s different when it’s your own.”

The priest said nothing. As they closed in on the Buick, a gasp escaped from his lips. In stark view was the meat wagon. Bold letters holding nothing back—LOS ANGELES COUNTY MORGUE.

Bram looked at his lap. Decker felt for him. Welcome to hell, buddy. How long will you be staying?

Two white-coated lab assistants gleamed like headlights under the back alley illumination. They were hunched over, peering inside the Buick, one of them holding the body bag. Next to them was the police photographer who was making lightning with her Nikon. Jay Craine’s car was parked a few stores down. Decker couldn’t see the Medical Examiner. Probably kneeling, examining the body.

Decker shut the motor. Bram started to open the door, but Decker held his arm. “Wait here.”

The priest had turned gray.

Decker said, “Do you feel sick?”

“Just the stench,” Bram said. “It’s okay. I’ll get used to it.”

“Give me a moment, Father, to clear things. You’re sure you’re not sick?”

“I’ll survive.”

Decker got out of the car. Farrell Gaynor met him in front of the Buick’s grille.

“Sparks is still in the car?” Decker asked.

“Yep. Craine’s just about done. Ready to load him on the wagon.” Gaynor scratched his nose. “Who you got in the car?”

“Sparks’s son. One of his sons. He’s a priest.”

“So the son is actually the father.”