Oliver smiled. “A world-famous surgeon, a renowned researcher and chemist, a deeply religious man, and a meth pusher. Which one doesn’t belong?”

“We all like bikers as bad guys because they fit our notions of villains,” Decker said. “But that takes our concentration away from other possibilities.”

“So who do you see as the bad guy, Pete?” Marge asked.

“Like I said before, a couple of the kids have money problems. As a matter of fact, son Paul called Daddy up during the research meeting, specifically asking to borrow money. According to Paul, his dad agreed to help. But what if he was lying. What if this time, Sparks refused to come through with the money.”

“In-surance!” Oliver stated, sounding like a blackjack dealer.

“You got it!” Decker said.

“What about his will?” Marge added.

“Good,” Decker said. “We’re back to basics now. Who has the most to gain from Sparks’s death?”

“More paperwork for me to do tomorrow,” Gaynor said. “Bank accounts, insurance policies, wills and codicils. I’m in heaven.”

“Sparks’s estate lawyer is a man named William Waterson. He belongs to Sparks’s church.” Decker felt his stomach grumble. Hungry but too queasy to eat. “Farrell, give him a call. Not that he’ll tell you anything. But sound him out anyway.” To Marge, he said, “You tell me Sparks had a lot to gain with the production of this drug he developed.”

“Curedon,” Oliver said.

“I’m wondering what happens to Curedon now that Sparks is gone.” Decker rubbed his eyes. “Ever find out where Fisher/Tyne is located?”

“The corporate office is in Delaware, some of the labs are in Virginia. But there’s a regional office with labs here, too…in an industrial park in Irvine.” Marge turned to Oliver. “It ain’t Florida, Scotty. But then again, there’re no gators in the waters.”

“There’s nothing in their waters,” Oliver groused. “I hate those spanking new corporate developments with their pseudo-Hawaiian palm tree landscaping and their oh-so-clean manmade waterfalls. Everything’s so theme-park plastic. Makes me want to puke.”

“I’d rather work there than a dump in the inner city,” Gaynor said.

“Ah God, bury me if I ever feel that way—”

“Scotty,” Marge chided.

“No, it’s okay,” Gaynor said. “I understand what Scott’s saying. And once, I even felt like that, too. But then you age and your perspective changes—”

“No, no!” Oliver made a cross with his two index fingers, held it up to Gaynor. “Shoo! I ate garlic! Go away!”

Decker said, “Be on the road by ten.”

“Will do,” Marge said.

Decker said, “Bert and Tom, tomorrow you do alibi check. I want a timetable for all the major players. Where they were before, during, and after Sparks’s murder.”

“Got it.”

“And I get the paperwork, right?” Gaynor said.

“It’s all yours, Farrell.”

“Can I use the computer in your office?”