“Don’t let Decker hear you say that.” Oliver paused. “Why do you say that?”

“Because he’s got three bookshelves filled with religious material—Christian newspapers and magazines, lots of prayerbooks and numerous Bibles.” Marge shrugged. “Maybe Sparks and Heather read Bible together.”

Oliver laughed. “Well, I have no trouble believing that sweet Heather was on her knees.”

The door pushed open. A female voice screaming, “Just what do you think you’re doing!”

Marge brought her index finger to her right ear and rubbed it against the skinflap. Oliver held out ID.

The young woman was in her late twenties with big, big hair. Lots of it spilling down her shoulders and back. She was slim, wore a red knit dress that showed off curves. She whacked Oliver’s shield away. “I don’t care who you are. You have no right to invade my boss’s privacy!”

The news came on the TV. Sure enough, Sparks’s death had made the headlines. The young woman burst into a crescendo of wails. “I can’t believe it. I can’t believe it!”

“Ms. Manley,” Oliver said tentatively, “why don’t you sit down.”

She pulled on her overteased tresses, her saucer eyes spilling tears as she yanked. “Who would hurt the doctor? He was the gentlest person on the face of the earth! Why would anyone hurt him?”

“Ms. Manley, why don’t you sit down.” Marge mouthed to Oliver, “Turn the damn thing off!”

Oliver cut off the newscaster midsentence. Heather was still moaning. He said, “Why don’t you sit, Ms. Manley?”

She continued to pace.

Oliver said, “Sit down, ma’am…as in sit down in a chair.”

The secretary stopped treading, stared at Oliver. He pulled out the chair. “Please?”

She sat, the hem of her dress resting mid-thigh over smooth, white legs. Oliver did a rapid once-over, then said, “We need your help, ma’am. Did you get hold of any of the doctors that were at Sparks’s six o’clock meeting?”

Heather sniffed loudly. “Dr. Decameron said he’s on his way over here. Dr. Fulton…she can’t come down because she can’t get a baby-sitter. And her husband isn’t home yet. The dirty rat is never home. He’s a real jerk, suffers from a Peter Pan complex.”

Marge took out her notepad. “Now this Dr. Fulton is one of Dr. Sparks’s co-workers?”

“Yes.” Heather pulled a Kleenex out of her purse, blew her nose, and dried her eyes. “She works with Dr. Sparks on Curedon. They all do.”

“Who’s all?” Oliver was having trouble following Heather’s train of thought.

“Dr. Decameron, Dr. Fulton, and Dr. Berger. They work with Dr. Sparks, testing his drug, Curedon.”

Oliver perked up. “Dr. Sparks discovered a new drug?”

“He didn’t discover a drug,” Heather corrected. “He developed one. After years of research in his laboratory. Curedon is an antirejection drug. Fisher/Tyne bought it.”