Jupiter’s Bones

Looking into his rearview mirror, Decker saw the meat wagon about thirty feet behind him. He led the way to the compound. Together, they pulled up curbside, parked and got out.

The Order of the Rings of God had placed itself on five acres of flat land blending into mountainside. The structure was a series of square, gray stucco bunkers linked together chock-a-block. From this view, Decker could see the tops of the skylights peeking out from the roofs. And his memory had served him correctly. There were very few windows—small, square panes more suitable for an attic. The domain was enclosed by a six-foot chain-link fence. A pack of Doberman pinschers had materialized, greeting them with vicious snarls.

The driver of the van wore blue scrubs. His name tag called him Postham. With him was the deputy coroner, Dr. Judy Little, a misnomer because she stood about five-ten and weighed around 175. She reminded Decker of Marge, both of them being large-boned, attractive and in their mid-thirties. But Marge’s eyes were softer, brown and doelike. They were one of her best features.

Postham squinted into the glare of the steely sky. Judy Little growled back at the dogs, which made them bark louder. “I don’t envy the mailman. Where’s the gate? Surely they don’t expect us to drive around the entire perimeter.”

Decker picked up his mobile phone and called Oliver. “How do we get in?”

“Where are you?”

“In front, being sized up by a trio of maniacal Dobies. Have someone come out here and direct us.” Decker punched the end button, regarded the stucco cubes. From his perspective, he could see seven.

“A real architectural masterpiece.” Little had to shout to be heard over the dogs. “What’s the style? Neo-Cult military?”

“Squares are the way to get the most space for the least money.”

“May be practical, but no aesthetics.”

“Agreed.”

Little said, “Got any background for me?”

Decker tried to stare down the dogs. No success. “Call came into headquarters as a suspicious death. Detective Oliver found an empty fifth of vodka under the victim’s bed. I’m thinking like a Heaven’s Gate suicide—a combination of drugs and liquor. The victim was Dr. Emil Euler Ganz. He was once a big wheel in academic physics. Then he suddenly disappeared for ten years. When he finally showed up, he had reinvented himself as Father Jupiter. He’s been running the Order for fifteen years.”

Little screamed at the dogs to shut up. They didn’t listen. “Oh. Him. So you think he left this galaxy to ascend to a better universe? Well, good luck to him. I wonder if he took anyone with him?”

The thought made Decker shudder. “We’ve only found the one body.” He waited a beat. “It’s a good point.”

“What is?”

“Ganz’s taking his disciples with him. Maybe he left some instructions for them to join him. Even if he didn’t, there’re bound to be a few unbalanced individuals in there who could play follow the leader.”

“A few unbalanced individuals?”

Decker raised his eyebrows. “Look, if adults inside want to kill themselves, I’d try to stop them, but you can’t save the world. In this case, though, there’re kids involved. That concerns me.”

Little made a face. “Now that’s a very good point.”

Decker rubbed his forehead, wondering how he could possibly ensure the kids’ collective safety. As always, responsibility weighed him down, much more than his two-hundred-plus poundage.

A silver van was approaching from the other side of the fence. When it stopped, a girl of around twenty stuck her head out. No makeup or jewelry. She had a heart-shaped face and a smooth complexion. Her murky pond-colored eyes were swollen, her nose was red and drippy. Her hair was tied up in a bun and covered by a white, crocheted net. She wiped her nostrils with a tissue and said, “How many more of you are coming down?”

“Pardon?” Decker asked.

“Police,” she sneered. “How much longer must we put up with this invasion of our cherished privacy? What we do is no one’s business but our own.”

Decker didn’t speak for a moment, letting the silence hang in the air. Pausing always helped him to deflect anger and control his tongue. Finally, he said, “Ma’am, are you supposed to direct us to the compound’s entrance?”

“I am not Ma’am! I am Terra!”

“Okay,” Decker answered. “Terra! Are you supposed to direct us to the compound’s entrance?”

She nodded. “Yes, I am.”

Decker opened his car door. “So why don’t you do just that?”

2 (#ulink_2e2f9805-21b9-5e08-a199-58bb14eb4135)

Ignoring hostility was part of the profession. Decker was used to stony glares and the occasional hurled epithet. But there was something disconcerting about the group. So many disciples, all of them displaying a curious mixture of fury and fragility. Or maybe it was the white cotton robes they wore, making them look like zombies housed in shrouds.

He thought a moment.

That wasn’t fair. Jews also wore white robes—kittles. Men wore them when they married, during the High Holy Days, and at the seder—the festive Passover meal. The garment was also used in burial. A morbid association, but Decker couldn’t help thinking about it.

Most of the sect members simply stared as Decker, along with Oliver, draped the yellow crime tape across the temple door.

Brother Pluto, on the other hand, expressed himself verbally. “Is that yellow ribbon really necessary, or are you two just looking for something to do until that doctor is done?”

He was thin and short and balding. He also wore a robe, but his was blue and appeared to be fashioned from silk. He had a belt on it, but it was partially open. Underneath, Pluto wore a white T-shirt and jeans. The acting head guru was irritated. He spoke in a reedy voice. If Decker were to personify him as a planet, Pluto would have been the logical choice.

Decker finished pinning the tape and straightened his back, towering over the little man. “Sorry about spreading the investigation all over the place. Since the body was moved, we can’t confine ourselves to just the one room—”

“A clear violation of our civil rights!”

Decker smoothed his mustache, then said, “Tell me whose civil rights are being violated and I’ll put a stop to it!”

Pluto spoke bombastically. “You know what I mean! Your people questioning our grieving family.”

Oliver ran his hands through his black hair, wondering if the guy really was an alien. He sure as hell looked like one. “We’re trying to find out what happened to your leader, sir. Don’t you want to know?”

“But we do know, Detective! Our Father Jupiter has gone to a better place.”

So why all the grieving? Decker glanced upward at a peaked skylight of stained glass—swirls of blue, yellow and orange. It looked like something Van Gogh would have designed. Huge mother. It was supported by beams of steel and wire mesh.

He returned his eyes to Pluto and said, “Spiritually, I’m sure you’re right, sir. Unfortunately, we need to know what happened physically—”

“Spiritual and physical are one and the same. Of course, the violators will never understand that. Society’s thinking has been fractured irreparably, constantly separating the soul and body. Just as you’ve done now, Lieutenant. It’s not your fault, though. You’ve just never been schooled.”

Decker said, “Perhaps, at another time, you can enlighten me.”

“You’re being sarcastic. Your attitude is typical for a violator. Even more in sync with your work as a policing agent.”

Pluto’s vitriolic words had drawn a little crowd. It was growing by the moment.

Now what was the friggin’ purpose of all that? But of course, Decker knew the purpose. To embarrass him, to make the outsider—the violator—look like the ignorant fool. Still, he held his tongue. He wasn’t about to start a riot for what appeared to be an open-and-shut case of suicide.

“I’m not trying to be contentious. Just curious. If I were an outsider interested in joining the Order, how would you explain to me the true nature of the universe?”