Jupiter’s Bones. Faye Kellerman

if you could show me to Father Jupiter’s bedroom, I’d be much obliged.”

      Bob tapped his foot. “Ordinarily, that’s off-limits. But since a birdie has told me that you’ve parked a couple of your lackeys there, guess I might as well show you the proverbial light. Or at least the way.” Bob started walking, but Decker didn’t follow. Bob stopped. “Yes?”

      “You all going to be all right here? Maintain status quo, so to speak?”

      Bob said “You all? Much obliged? Originally from the South, sir?”

      “I guess that’s true if you consider that Florida was part of the Confederacy.” Decker turned grave. “I have concerns, Bob. I don’t want any unbalanced members trying to join Father Jupiter. An individual adult suicide is one thing. But mass suicide that includes children, well, that qualifies as murder.”

      “And you’re wondering who would you arrest as the culprit if we were all dead?”

      “Bob, I’m not screwing around anymore. I’m very concerned for the kids.”

      Bob said, “Here we believe in free will. Father Jupiter said that nothing is sincere if it’s done under coercion. As far as I know, there are no plans for us to jump to the next level. Not that I can predict anyone’s individual behavior any more than I could predict the position of a photon at any given moment. But I do understand what you’re saying.”

      Decker wasn’t too sure about that. “And if you hear anything about mass suicide, you’ll let me know immediately, correct?”

      Bob said, “I don’t recall you being assigned to our welfare and safety.” A tap of the foot. “I suppose I could take your concern as a compliment. You care.”

      “Especially when it comes to protecting kids.”

      “Lieutenant, I live here, but I don’t live in a vacuum. I have a son. I want to see him grow to be a man.”

      “So we have an understanding.”

      “Up to a certain point.”

      “Meaning?”

      “As long as Newtonian physics hold, we’re fine. But when we get to Einsteinian travel in space time … what can I say? Things get pretty warped out there. I’ll show you the way to Father Jupiter’s bedroom now. Once you’re there, Lieutenant, you’re on your own.”

       4

      Guru Bob walked Decker back to the Order’s entryway before deserting him for the young girl van driver known as Terra. He whisked her away, leaving Decker to flounder among the white-robed mourners. Standing solo, Decker felt as welcome as a leper. He hunted around the hallways until he saw yellow crime tape strung across a doorway. He stepped over it and went inside the room. The scene wasn’t much to speak about. In general, overdose suicides weren’t messy or bloody. It was just a matter of finding out which specific agent stopped either the breathing or the beating of the heart. More a matter for a doctor than a detective.

      Ganz’s bedroom was significantly larger than his parishioners’ cells, but not grandiose by any means. He had a queen-sized bed instead of a cot, a dresser for his clothing instead of a trunk under the bed, and a wall of bookshelves. Most important, he had an attached bathroom. The techs had just finished dusting; black powder covered Ganz’s nightstand, bookshelves and bedposts. At the moment, Scott Oliver was rifling through Ganz’s clothes. Marge Dunn was scribbling in her notepad. She wore beige slacks, a white blouse and a black jacket. On her feet were basic black loafers with rubber soles. There were gold studs in her ears—no other jewelry. The simplest necklace could become a noose when dealing with a violent felon. She wore no perfume either, because alien scents can screw up evidence.

      She looked up. “Lieutenant.”

      “Detective.” A smile. “What do you have?”

      “A headache.” Marge pushed blond bangs from her brown eyes. “You have any Advil on you, Pete?”

      “Always.” Years ago, Decker had been shot in the shoulder and arm. The wound had healed without motor nerve damage, but pain lingered like an unwanted relative. He tossed her his bottle. She took off her gloves and plunked out two pills, swallowing them dry. Then she hurled the bottle back. Decker caught it with one hand.

      “According to Pluto …” Marge dropped her voice. “Have you met Pluto?”

      Decker smiled. “I have met Pluto.”

      Marge rolled her eyes. “A piece of work.”

      “Wouldn’t want him for a houseguest.”

      She smiled. “Anyway, Pluto’s story is that Ganz was found roughly in this kind of position.” She flung her hand back, opened her mouth and flopped her arms out at her side. “Rag doll style. Head and left arm hanging off the side of the bed. He was lying on the diagonal, the body skewed to the left. You can still see part of the outline on the sheets.”

      Decker examined the depression in the rumpled coverings. It ran from the left top of the bed to the right bottom corner. “Who found him?”

      “Venus—Jupiter’s significant other—did.” She paused and thought. “You know, there’re only nine planets. Wonder what the rest of the group call themselves?”

      “There’re always the asteroids,” Oliver said as he rooted through the pockets of Jupiter’s purple robes. “Isn’t a mile-long asteroid gonna hit earth in something like twenty years?”

      “Yeah, I heard something like that on the news.” Marge scratched her head. “Wonder if I should take an early retirement?”

      “Where’s Venus?” Decker asked. “And please nobody say second rock from the sun.”

      “At the processional, washing Jupiter’s feet as the people pass by,” Oliver answered. “It’s a full-time job because his followers keep kissing Jupiter’s big toe. And no, I don’t know what that means.”

      Decker said, “Mennonites wash their feet before praying.”

      “Why’s that?” Marge asked.

      “I think Jesus used to wash the feet of his followers before praying out of humility. So did Abraham—he did it out of kindness. Of course, way back when, washing feet was a standard Middle Eastern custom. You live in the desert and wear sandals, you’re going to have dirty feet.”

      Marge said, “Most of the people here wear tennis shoes.”

      Decker thought a moment. “You know, Jews wash the dead bodies before corpses are buried. In addition to their own philosophy, maybe the Order co-opted bits and pieces from different, established religions. A little of this, a little of that.”

      Oliver asked, “What is the group’s philosophy?”

      “I’m not sure.” Decker pulled out the videotape. “Maybe this’ll help us find out.” He dropped it into a plastic bag.

      “Where’d you get that, Loo?” Oliver asked.

      “I’ll return it. Don’t worry.” Quickly, Decker changed the subject. “What time did Venus find the body?”

      Marge said, “Pluto said around five in the morning.”

      “Pluto said,” Decker stated. “Has anyone talked to Venus?”

      “I’ve tried but she’s been in seclusion,” Oliver said. “Incommunicado until she took her place at the processional.”

      “She’s going to have to be interviewed.” Decker rubbed