“I think he knows it’s his father. I think he just wants to see it for himself.”

“Good gracious why?”

“He’s a priest,” Gaynor said. “Maybe he wants to perform last rites on him.”

“Can you do last rites on someone who’s deceased?” Decker asked. “Besides Azor Sparks wasn’t Catholic.”

“He was very religious,” Craine said. “Everyone knew about Azor Sparks, his Fundamentalist beliefs, and his commitment to God.” The ME paused. “Perhaps he did have a hot line to the Supreme Being. He certainly saved a lot of lives.”

Decker said, “I’ll bring the priest over as soon as your men put him in the bag and on the stretcher. I don’t want him to see the crime scene.”

“Very considerate of you, Lieutenant,” Craine muttered. “Very considerate. Copious amounts of spatter. The image is haunting even for the most professional of us. Good night.”

Gaynor watched as Craine got into his car and drove away. “He seemed upset. Well, maybe not upset. More like…affected.”

“Aren’t we all.” Decker shook his head. “Where’re Webster and Martinez?”

“On Dumpster patrol.” Gaynor pointed into the darkness. “See those blips of light?”

“I don’t see anything.”

“Good thing about getting old,” Gaynor said. “You become very farsighted. I see the flashlights. Maybe they’re about a block and a half, two blocks down. Want me to get them on the walkie-talkie?”

Decker peered down the empty space, trying to make out light. “No, I’ll talk to them later. Let me get the identification over with.” He turned his eyes back to the scene. They had loaded Sparks onto a stretcher. “Clear the decks for me, Farrell. Give the son some breathing room.”

Decker walked back to the Volare, opened the passenger door. Bram got out, balancing his weight on the car before he stood up.

“You need help?”

“No.”

“Over here.” Decker led the priest to the stretcher, the body encased in a vinyl bag. He nodded to an attendant who unzipped a portion of the plastic sheath.

The priest glanced downward, quickly averted his eyes, then stepped backward. “Dear God!”

Decker peeked. Dead eyes stared upward at the foggy moon. He took the priest’s arm, but Bram shook him off.

“I’m all right.” He covered his mouth, then let his hands drop. “I’m all right. I want to see him again.”

Decker stared at him.

“Please,” Bram said quietly. “Please, I need to see him again. Have them unzip the bag.”

Decker nodded to the attendants. Again, they opened the vinyl casket. The priest came forward, forced his eyes downward. Without warning, he dropped to his knees and crossed himself. Closed his eyes and clasped his hands. He brought his fists to his forehead and prayed, his mouth incanting a slurry of what sounded like Latin. Decker crooked his finger, beckoning the lab men away from the stretcher.

Give the man his illusion of privacy.

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