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Prayers for the Dead
Faye Kellerman
The ninth book in the hugely popular Peter Decker and Rina Lazarus series from New York Times bestselling author Faye KellermanYou never know who is hiding the darkest of secrets…Dr Azor Sparks is a model citizen – a devoted family man, a talented heart surgeon and a pillar of the local church. So when he is brutally murdered in a deserted alley, there is a public outcry.Detective Peter Decker immediately realises though that all is not as it seems in Azor’s life. He has made enemies among his colleagues, a gang of bikers counts him as an associate, and his six children seem intent on tearing each other apart.Most unsettling of all, though, is that Decker uncovers a dark secret shared between one of Azor’s children, now a Catholic priest, and his own wife, Rina. Will he be able to ensure justice is served without hurting those he loves most?
Prayers for the Dead
Faye Kellerman
Copyright (#uac7d1b8e-cb1e-53e8-8ecb-45a71110effc)
Published by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)
First published in the United States by William Morrow, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers, 1996
This ebook edition published by HarperCollinsPublishers 2019
Copyright © Faye Kellerman 1996
Cover design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2018
Cover photography © Shutterstock.com (http://Shutterstock.com)
Faye Kellerman asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
Ebook Edition © March 2019 ISBN: 9780008293550
Version: 2018-12-08
Dedication (#uac7d1b8e-cb1e-53e8-8ecb-45a71110effc)
To Jonathan for a quarter century
of love, laughter, and just plain fun
To Jesse, Rachel, Ilana, and Aliza,
the keys to my heart—
thanks for putting it all in perspective
To Mom, my lifelong friend—love ya, kid
And to Rita—for all the inappropriate giggles
Special thanks to
Dr. Isaac Weiner
Dr. Hillel Laks
Contents
Cover (#u2cb35ec2-8681-5759-84dc-9a2340063df9)
Title Page (#ud7db840e-2677-5492-a967-534585d96276)
Copyright
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Keep Reading
About the Author
Faye Kellerman booklist
About the Publisher
Prologue (#uac7d1b8e-cb1e-53e8-8ecb-45a71110effc)
“This is ateam effort, Grace. You know that.”
Even through morphine-laden stupor, Grace knew that. From her hospital bed, she looked up at her doctor’s face—a study in strength. Good, solid features. A well-boned forehead, Roman nose and a pronounced chin, midnight blue eyes that burned fire, tar-black hair streaked with silver. His expression, though grave, was completely self-assured. Someone who knew what he wanted and expected to get it. Truth be told, the man looked downright arrogant.
Which was exactly the kind of doctor Grace had wanted. What she hadn’t wanted was some young stud like Ben Casey or an old fart like Marcus Welby with the crinkly eyes and the patient, understanding smile. She had wanted someone bursting with ego. Someone whose superiority was touted, worn with pride like Tiffany jewelry. A self-possession that spoke: Of course the operation is going to be successful. Because I always succeed.
Because getting a new heart was serious business.
Grace Armstrong had to have the best and the brightest. Had the luxury to afford the best and the brightest. And in Dr. Azor Moses Sparks, she had gotten numero uno.
Dope was winning the battle of wits with Grace’s brain. Sparks’s face had lost clarity, sat behind a curtain of haze, his features becoming blurry except for the eyes. They peered through the muck like high-beam headlights. She wanted to go to sleep. But Sparks’s presence told her she wasn’t permitted to do that … not just yet.
He spoke in authoritative, stentorian tones. The sounds bounced around Grace’s brain, words reverberating as if uttered through a malfunctioning PA system. Doctor’s voice …
“… what we have here, Grace. A team comprised of me: the primary surgeon; you: the patient; and my staff—the other fine surgeons and nurses who’ll assist me in this procedure.”
Grace liked how Dr. Sparks had emphasized his fine staff. As if he owned New Christian Hospital.
Maybe he did.
She closed her eyes, anxiety now replaced by the overwhelming need to go comatose. But Sparks wouldn’t let up.
“Grace, open your eyes. We still have uncompleted business to finish.”
Grace opened her eyes.
“We mustn’t forget someone very important,” Sparks reminded her. “The most important member of our team.”
The surgeon paused.
“Do you know who that is, Grace? Do you know whose Hands really control this entire effort?”
Grace was silent. Though groggy and heavy, she felt her ailing heart fluttering too fast. He was testing her and she was flunking. She regarded Sparks through panicky eyes. The doctor smiled, gently patted her hand. The gesture reassured her immensely.
Sparks pointed upward. Grace’s eyes followed the narcotic-induced flickering path of the surgeon’s index finger.
Respectfully, Sparks said, “We mustn’t forget Him.”
“God?” Grace was breathless.
“Yes, Grace.” Sparks nodded. “We mustn’t forget our holy, heavenly Father.”
Grace spoke, her words barely recognizable. “Believe me, Dr. Sparks, I’ve been praying nonstop.”
Sparks smiled. It lit up his face, gave warmth to his stern demeanor. “I’m very glad to hear that. So let us pray together, Grace. Let us both ask God for His help and for His guidance.”
The surgeon went down on his knees. At that moment, Grace thought him very odd, but didn’t comment. Sparks’s manner suggested that the ritual wasn’t subject to debate. She closed her eyes, managed to put her hands together.
“Dear heavenly Father,” Sparks began, “be our guiding light through this time of darkness. Be a strong beacon to direct us through this upcoming storm. Show us Your mercy and Your love in its abundancy. Let Your wisdom be our wisdom. Your perfection be our perfection. Let Grace Armstrong be upmost in her fortitude. Give her strength and faith. In Your abundant love, allow me and my staff to be swift and sure-footed as we embark on another journey to heal the sick and mend the feeble.”
