Luke remained by himself. Bram’s twin, covering his face with his hands, wails emanating from the heart, deep moans of despair. His wife held him in her arms, rocking him while he wept. But Dana was ill-equipped to console his bitter misery.

And so it was that Decker saw the sorrow—the unbridled grief he had expected to find when he had originally come to them announcing Azor’s death. For all their professed love and respect of their parents, their honest love and true despair came out in Bram’s death.

Because, in fact, with Azor being a punitive, unapproachable figure in their lives, and Dolores, a fragile, imbalanced mother, they had turned to Bram for nurturance and guidance.

Abram Sparks—the golden boy.

Decker looked at Rina.

Stoically, she took his hand. “We need to take care of your arm, Peter.”

Decker nodded, leaving the family alone to grieve. Out of deference to their needs for privacy and more than a little of his own fear. Because witnessing such abject pain was a very hard thing to do.

33

“Are you sure you want to be here?” Marge asked.

Decker flexed his elbow, wriggled his fingers, and winced. “I’m not saying I feel great. But since I can write, I might as well work.” He shook his head. “Better here than being at home. It’s been hell this past week.”

“How’s Rina?”

Decker thought about the question. “She’s…functioning.”

“Should I send her a condolence card or something?”

“I think she’d appreciate a call. You go to Polinski’s arraignment yesterday?”

“No, I didn’t go. Tom and Bert went. Scott and I spent the day going over Waterson’s confession tape.”

“Everything okay?”

“Seems to be pretty clean,” Marge said. “I think he’ll be a very credible witness for the state. I think the DA’s going for the death penalty for Polinski.”

“Fine.”

“My opinion? Waterson and Dolores deserve it as much as Polinski does. Maybe even more.”

“Maybe.”

“They might not have pulled the trigger physically, but they arranged the murder…murders. At least, Waterson did. Calling up Polinski, telling him to meet Azor in the back alley of Tracadero’s. Asshole set the whole thing up.”

“True.”

“And Dolores…” Marge shook her head. “What a cold-blooded bitch. Sets up her husband and his colleague, then literally shoots her own son. Two guns on her, mind you. An extra in case the first one jams, the psycho. The kids have hired some hotshot psychiatrist to the tune of God knows how much money…” She paused. “I guess they can afford it. Anyway, the court sends her to a hospital. I say, in lieu of electroshock, how about the electric chair.”

Decker ran his left hand through his hair. “She might agree with you.”