Jupiter’s Bones. Faye Kellerman

claims the Order is now under her control.”

      “There you go,” Oliver said. “Jupiter isn’t even dead for twenty-four hours and already they’re at each other’s throats. Who knows? Maybe they’re in it together.”

      “Who? Venus and Pluto?” Marge shook her head. “I don’t think so.” She flipped through her scribblings. “Point of fact. Venus claims not to have noticed any medication on Jupiter’s nightstand. She said she was taken away and didn’t have time to absorb her surroundings …”

      “And that would jibe perfectly with my theory,” Oliver said. “Pluto pushes her away before she can call the paramedics. Then he places the empty Valium vial in the room to make it look like a suicide.”

      Decker said, “If someone wanted to fake a suicide, don’t you think the vial would have been placed in the room before Venus arrived?”

      “Maybe Pluto was about to do it, but was interrupted by Venus’s sudden appearance.” Oliver rocked on his feet. “Loo, what makes the whole thing suspicious is that the body was fresh. Coronor places the time of death within two hours of the discovery. Rigor mortis hadn’t set in.”

      “Most common time of death is in the early morning,” Marge said.

      “But we’re not thinking death by natural cause, Margie.”

      Decker said, “Maybe it took Jupiter all night to summon up the nerve to do himself in. First, he drank the vodka to lower his inhibitions. Next he finished himself off with the pills.” He ran his hand through thick tufts of hair. “Or maybe Jupiter was a lush and a pill popper, and this was a simple accidental overdose.”

      Oliver looked dubious. “He downed a fifth of vodka.”

      “We’ve all known alkies who drink that much for breakfast.”

      “Venus said he didn’t drink or take pills,” Marge stated.

      “According to her.” Decker stuffed his hands in his pocket. “We’ve got a suspicious death—three options. Accidental OD, suicide or homicide. We may never be able to distinguish between accidental OD or a suicide. But that’s not that important for us. The only thing that gets us involved is a homicide. So the question is this: Can you force someone to chugalug a fifth of vodka and/or down a bottle’s worth of Valium?”

      Oliver said, “If the guy was a secret drinker, someone could have dissolved the pills in the booze.”

      “Valium’s insoluble in water,” Decker said.

      “Then maybe someone ground the pills up in his food.”

      “Valium has a bitter taste—”

      “So Pluto injected it into Ganz’s veins,” Oliver tried again. “In case you’ve forgotten, the body had fresh needle marks.”

      “Venus said Jupiter often injected himself with vitamins,” Marge commented.

      “Injected himself?” Decker asked. “He had IM needle marks on his butt.”

      “Sometimes she’d do it,” Marge said.

      “How convenient,” Oliver mocked. “The logical assumption is that someone stabbed him with an IV needle, telling Jupiter that it was his vitamins. Meanwhile guy’s being shot up with a lethal dose of Valium.”

      “The drug burns like hell when you inject it,” Decker said. “Jupiter was a scientist. He would have known immediately that he wasn’t being shot up with vitamins.”

      “But by that time, it would have been too late—”

      Decker said, “I don’t like it. Too many ‘ifs.’”

      “So maybe Jupiter was dead drunk when he was dosed up with Valium,” Oliver retorted. “Maybe he had already been knocked out with the vodka.”

      “You’re saying Ganz drank himself comatose, then someone finished him off with the Valium?”

      “Why not?” Oliver asked.

      “For one thing, it’s messy.” Decker paused. “You’re saying that someone went to all this trouble just to take over as leader of the Order.”

      “Loo, you met that twerp, Pluto. He lusts for control.”

      Decker said, “So you not only have a theory, you have a prime suspect.”

      “Pluto had the means, the motive and the opportunity. He was Jupiter’s privileged attendant.”

      “He was one of four privileged attendants,” Decker said.

      “But the first one on the scene after Venus, and he’s the only one who’s come forward as the leader. He needs to dominate. I’m telling you, there’s something off with that guy.”

      “Scott, Pluto has been with Jupiter for years. Why now?”

      “Because Jupiter was out cold from the vodka. The perfect opportunity presented itself.”

      Decker conceded Oliver some points. He said, “Even if the path report comes back with drugs and booze in Jupiter’s system, we’ll still have no way of knowing if Jupiter’s death was suicide or homicide. Not without other overriding evidence. If you have something up your sleeve, Scott, I’m all ears.”

      “No direct evidence,” Oliver answered. “Just twenty years experience.”

      “I don’t discount that,” Decker said. “But we can’t open a murder case based on your experience.”

      “Can I put in my two cents for suicide?” Marge asked.

      Decker said, “Let’s hear it.”

      “Venus said that Jupiter hadn’t been himself lately. That he hadn’t been exactly ill, but … how’d she phrase it?” Marge consulted her notes. “He hadn’t been his usual spirited self. He’d been drained of his energy, he held his head a lot … like he had headaches. But when she asked him about it, he assured her that this was all part of the process.”

      “What process?” Decker asked.

      Marge let out a small chuckle. “Well, here goes nothing.” As Marge recounted the leader’s supernatural ideas, they sounded even stranger than the first time she had heard them.

      “So he was receiving radiation from all these parallel universes.” Oliver gave her a sneering smile. “Well, why didn’t you just say so. That explains everything.”

      “I’m not giving credence to her hypotheses, Scott. I’m just saying maybe he was ill with something serious and he decided to mask it in quasi-scientific theory.”

      “Why would he do that?” Oliver asked.

      “So as not to upset his followers,” Marge said. “Maybe he decided to go out with dignity rather than suffer an agonizing death.”

      “What makes you think he was suffering from a physical illness?” Decker asked. “To me, it sounds more like psychosis … voices telling you to do strange things.”

      “Or like a drunk after imbibing a fifth of vodka,” Oliver put in. “I’ve heard those kinds of voices before. They sound a lot like my buddies egging me on.”

      “I’m serious,” Decker said.

      “So am I,” Oliver retorted. “If Ganz drank a lot, I’ll bet he heard voices.”

      Marge said, “To hear Venus describe Jupiter … he sounded like a man with something on his mind.” She tapped her foot. “There’s more to Jupiter’s illness than what Venus told me. I feel it in my gut.”

      “I’m sure you’re right,” Decker said. “But I can’t base a case for suicide on your gut feelings any more than I can base a homicide on Oliver’s experience.”