Prayers for the Dead. Faye Kellerman
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bones wearing a leather vest, torn jeans, and scarred black leather boots. His facial features were hidden behind several days of beard growth, unruly blond curls of hair hovering around his shoulder blades. He was sweating Scotch … could smell it as soon as he came flying past the doorpost. He looked at his wife, looked at the company with bleary eyes.
“What’s goin’ on?”
Fulton’s face had become red, a portrait of anger. “I’m going back to the hospital, Drew. An emergency.” Her eyes filled with tears.
Drew looked confused. “Huh? What time is it?”
“A quarter past one.”
“Why’re you goin’ to the hospital?”
“Because Dr. Sparks has been murdered—”
“What?”
“The hospital needs help, Drew. I have to go. Excuse me.” Covering her face, Fulton flew out of the room.
“Mur …” Drew was dazed, slumped in the pine rocker and looked at Oliver. “No shit?”
“No shit.”
“God … that’s …” Drew scratched his cheek, rubbed watery blue eyes floating in seas of pink. “Think she’ll lose her job?”
Marge stared at him. “I don’t know.”
“What happened?”
Oliver walked over to the door and opened it. Anything to air the place out. Maybe the jerk would take the hint and leave. He didn’t. “That’s what we’re trying to figure out.”
“You’re the police?”
“Yes.”
“God, this is serious stuff, huh.”
Marge asked, “What’s your full name, sir?”
“My name?”
“Yes, your name.”
“Drew McFadden. I’m not under suspicion or anything.”
Marge and Oliver traded looks. Oliver walked over to him, leaned against the bay, looked down on Drew. “Why do you think you’re under suspicion?”
Drew looked up, puzzled, had no answer. “Is Liz under suspicion?”
“Should she be?” Marge asked.
“I don’t think so.” Drew laughed. “But I don’t know much.”
A good insight, Marge thought. “She and her boss were close?”
“Real close. I often—” He stopped talking. His wife had returned. She had changed into a white shirt, black pants, and a white lab coat, ID tag with her name and picture resting on its lapel. To the police, she said, “If you need any further information, I’ll be at the hospital.” She glanced at her husband. “Henry’s bottle is in the fridge. In case I don’t get back, Marta is due in at seven.”
“I’ll take care of it, Liz.”
“Right.”
“That’s too bad about Dr. Sparks, Liz. I’m sorry.”
Fulton’s face softened. “Thank you, Drew. Go get some sleep.” To Oliver and Marge, she said, “Can I walk you out?”
“Like to use the phone first, if I could,” Oliver said.
“Help yourself,” Fulton said. “Good night.”
The door closed softly. Drew stared at the cops. “You can use the phone in the kitchen.”
Marge said, “You were saying that your wife and Dr. Sparks were very close.”
“Yeah. Yeah, they were.”
“In what way?” Oliver said.
“What way?” He wrinkled his nose. “Are you asking me if they were fooling around? I don’t think so. Liz isn’t the type. She’s like …” He sliced air. “Straight arrow. At least, I think she is. But hell, I don’t read women too well. She could be messin’ with my head and I wouldn’t know it.”
“Are you a straight arrow, sir?” Marge asked.
“Huh?”
Oliver’s smile was oily. “She means do you get around?”
Drew smiled back, but said nothing.
Oliver placed his hand on Drew’s bony shoulder. “I mean she is gone all the time.” He winked. “I know how it is.”
Drew started rocking, gave Oliver a conspiracy grin. “Liz gets pissed at me. But hell, it wasn’t my idea to get married.”
“No, I imagine it wasn’t,” Marge mumbled. Oliver shot her a dirty look. He said, “How’d she talk you into it?”
Drew smiled enigmatically.
“You knocked her up. She gave you an ultimatum.”
“Hey, I didn’t mind. I like Liz. Love the kid. Man, he’s a cute little sucker. You know, I think that’s what gets to her. I’m home a lot with the kid. We’re like real tight. Then she waltzes in on the weekends and the kid doesn’t want to go to her. ’Cause he’s used to me, unnerstan’?”
“I understand,” Oliver said.
“Pisses her off. I keep telling her it’s only because I’m home so much. She shouldn’t worry. Once Henry figures out what a jerk his old man is, he won’t want nothing to do with me. So … I’m enjoying him while I’m still something in his eyes.”
Drew shook his head, smelled his armpits. “I really stink. I’m sorry.”
Oliver smiled. It was sincere. “You weren’t expecting company.”
“No, that’s for sure.”
“Are you a musician?” Marge asked.
“Yeah. Bass player. I’m part of the house band at Smokey’s. Regular gig. Steady income. Not much income, but it’s steady. I mean, what does Liz expect? You know, you start out in this business, thinking you’re gonna be the next Eddie Vedder or Axl Rose. Hell, I’m thirty-four, man. Not too many people break it big at thirty-four. I’m real grateful to Liz. I mean real grateful. Rest of the band’s living in shit, and I got this nice house, a decent car. It’s not a Porsche but it’s no broken-down Honda, either.”
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