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 his eyes. “So all the information about Jupiter’s death is via Pluto?”
Oliver nodded. “He’s the official spokesperson.”
“I don’t know about that.” Decker explained the cult’s pecking order, mentioning that there were three other privileged attendants. He told them about Bob.
Oliver said, “So who are the other two?”
Decker said, “Count the purple vests.”
“Venus was wearing a purple vest,” Oliver stated. “That leaves one more. Want me to go out to the processional and take a look, Loo?”
“Are you done here?”
Oliver shut the dresser drawer. “I’m done. I don’t know about Detective Dunn.”
Decker turned to Marge. “Find anything to suggest that this was anything other than a suicide?”
“Nothing at first glance, at least.” She consulted her notes. “Empty fifth of vodka under the bed, empty vial of…let me get the exact name…” She paged through her notes. “Nembutal sodium capsules…twenty milligrams per capsule. Vial was empty, prescribed originally for ten capsules, no refills. I also bagged a vial of diazepam—”
“Valium,” Decker said. “Diazepam is the generic name.”
Marge looked up. “Whatever you say. I don’t use that stuff. I found an empty vial prescribed for twenty tablets, also twenty milligrams per tablet.”
“Ganz’s name on the labels?”
“Not Ganz, Father Jupiter.”
Decker said, “The label read ‘Father Jupiter’?”
“Yes.”
Decker said, “Where’d you find the empty vials?”
“On his bed stand,” Marge said. “All the vials were dusted and bagged. To me, it plays out like a typical case of mixing drugs and alcohol.”
“What about anything injectable?” Decker asked.
No one spoke for a moment. Then Marge asked why.
“Because the ME found recent IM needle marks in his arm and butt.”
Oliver smiled sheepishly. “Uh…there’s a slew of shit in his medicine cabinet. I wrote it all down, but I didn’t bother to dust or bag it. Not with the two empty vials at his bedside.”
“I’ll bag it,” Decker said.
“It’s not that I screwed up—”
“Who said you screwed up?”
“You’ve got that look on your face, Deck.”
Oliver had screwed up, but Decker let it go. “Go out and find the remaining guru—”
“Yeah, yeah,” Oliver muttered, stepping over the crime tape. Deck wasn’t a bad guy. He never lorded his position over those in his command, and he didn’t buddy up to the brass. Begrudgingly, Oliver was forced to admit that Deck probably made it to the position on merit.
“Come back here when you’re done, Scott,” Decker called out.
“Fine, fine,” Oliver answered.
When he had left, Marge asked, “Needle marks?”
“Yep.”
“Self-inflicted?”
“In the arm, maybe. But in his butt?”
Marge regarded his face. “The empty fifth of vodka…the pills. Everything’s too neat. You have doubts, don’t you? So do I.”
“I just don’t like it when the crime scene has been altered. It would have been one thing if someone had tried to revive the body—moved it just enough to do CPR. But to move a corpse in order to place it in a shrine before contacting authorities? I find that odd. People are usually nervous around dead bodies.”
“The group’s strange. Maybe they have odd ideas about death and bodies.”
“Even so, Marge, someone should have known better. Then you have the fact that the death wasn’t called in by anyone in the group. It was called in by Ganz’s daughter. So how did she find out about it? And if no one in the Order of the Rings called the police, what exactly were they planning to do with the corpse?”
“Bury it on the grounds?” she suggested. “They seem antiestablishment enough to do something like that.”
“That’s certainly true.” Decker slipped on a pair of latex gloves. “We have two immediate tasks.”
“We have to talk to Venus,” Marge said.
“Exactly. Do you want to do it? Might be better woman to woman.”
“Sure. I’m just about done here, so I can do it now. Unless you want me to bag the vials in the bathroom.”
“No, I’ll bag ’em. The second thing we need to know is—”
“Who from the group called Jupiter’s daughter?” Marge interrupted. “Which means someone should talk to her. You’ll do that, right?” She smiled. “Anything to get out of here.”
“Why waste my breath if you know what I’m going to say?”
Marge laughed. “No need to get peevish, Loo. All it means is that you trained me well.”
The bathroom was a closet crammed with a toilet, a wash-stand and a shower without a stall—a curtain cutting across one of the corners, and a mounted handheld water spray. White tile walls, white tile floors, all of it slippery when wet. A drain had been cut into the floor. Above the washstand was the medicine cabinet. Decker opened the cupboard, plastering his body against the opposite wall to avoid getting hit by the swing-out door. There appeared to be around thirty different white plastic bottles, each with its own label. At first glance, nothing was in duplicate form. Which meant everything would have to be bagged separately. Decker draped a clean cloth over the toilet seat—which was surprisingly in the down position (had a woman been in there?)—and laid the plastic evidence bags down on the clean surface. He also placed a cloth over the washstand. Then he took out his pad and pen.
He started at the left upper corner:
Decker wrote down the name of the drug, the number of tablets per bottle and the dosage of each pill. Then he spilled out the remaining capsules on the cloth draped over the washstand and counted them. Twenty-six still in the container. Carefully, he picked them up and put them back into the bottle, counting each kerplunk as they dropped to the bottom. Twenty-six tablets on the first count, twenty-six tablets on the second count. It’s a wrap. He bagged and labeled the bottle.
One down, around twenty-nine more to go. He glared at the vials, knowing the same routine awaited him. Aah, the glamour of police work. Perhaps a little gray matter helped solve a few cases. But the true tricks of the trade were patience and an eye for detail. Of course, a confession never hurt. With any luck, he’d finish the bagging before the procession ended. And if he didn’t, he hoped that the gurus would leave him alone to do his thing.
He took another bottle from the shelf: Zinc tablets (as citrate). One hundred tablets at 10 mg each. Forty-two tablets remaining.
Bottle three: Calcium (as calcium citrate). One hundred tablets at 200 mg each. Eighty-six tablets left.
Bottle four: Manganese. One hundred tablets at 100 mg each. Seventy-seven left.
Bottle five: Vitamin C (as ascorbic acid). One hundred tablets at 100 mg each. Forty-two left.
Bottle six: Sublingual B12 with folic acid and biotin.
Decker read the instructions.
This unique formula is in sublingual (under tongue) form, the most effective form known for the absorption of vitamin B12 and folic acid (other than injection).
He thought a moment.
Other than injection.
Maybe that explained the IM needle marks in Jupiter’s arms and butt. He was shooting up B12. Maybe this was going to turn out to be simple.
One can hope. Decker turned the bottle in his gloved hand. It held one hundred tablets, each containing 800 mcg of vitamin B12, folic acid and biotin. One hundred and eleven left.
Bottle seven: Super-Antioxidants. One hundred and twenty tablets, each containing 100,000 IU of vitamin A (one hundred% as beta-carotene), 500 mg of vitamin C, 200 IU of vitamin E and 25 mg of selenium.
Decker emptied the bottle onto the cloth. They looked like horse pills. Fifty-seven left.
Bottle eight: Healthy bones supplement: For a healthy skeletal system. This one contained calcium, zinc, manganese, magnesium, copper (as gluconate), boron, horsetail herb extract, yucca juice and vitamins C, D, B and K.
Decker perused his notes, then looked back at the shelves. Lots of concoctions containing the same supplements—vitamins C, D and K. And the minerals zinc, magnesium and chromium. There were five bottles holding megadoses of vitamin C. If Ganz had taken all of the pills, all at once, he would have been overdosing on many of the vitamins and minerals, some as much as ten thousand milligrams more than the recommended daily dose.
Is it possible to OD on vitamins? Decker didn’t see why not. Vitamins were drugs. Judy Little would know.
Moving from the first shelf to the second, Decker found more of the same—vitamins, minerals, extracts and supplements. Interestingly enough, as he waded through the bottles, he found no prescription drugs, nor did he locate any over-the-counter medication. Not even a lowly bottle of Tylenol. Yet on Ganz’s nightstand were recent prescription vials of Valium and Nembutal. And according to Marge, his name was typed on both of the labels.
Speculate later, Deck. For now just finish up.
Fifteen minutes later, the cupboard was empty. As he gathered the numerous evidence bags, Decker felt hostility over his shoulder.
“Just what do you think you’re doing?”
Pluto’s voice. Decker turned around, knocking into the little man with his shoulder. “Are you all right?”
“No, I’m not all right.” Pluto rubbed his shoulder. “You clobbered me.”
“It was an accident. There’s not enough room in here for two people.”
“Agreed. You shouldn’t be here.” Pluto’s face was bright red. He continued to massage his shoulder.
Decker felt the hairs on his neck rise in protest. But he managed to check his temper. “Sir, this is a crime scene. And you, being here, are in violation of the law. Now I know you want me out of your hair. So make it easy for me and leave—”
“You’re taking personal property—”
“I am taking evidence from a crime scene. Now if you don’t get out of my way, and out of this room, I’m going to handcuff and arrest you in front of all your people.”
“Which will only serve to stoke their simmering anger—”
“I’m willing to chance it if you’re willing to spend a night in jail. Now move it!”
Pluto rocked on his feet, faltered, then stepped aside. Decker stomped out of the bathroom, bags in arms, then placed them on the floor. He searched around for shopping bags for easier transport. “Is the processional done?”
Pluto sighed. “Yes.” Another sigh. “Yes, it’s done.”
Decker regarded the man’s face. He seemed genuinely saddened. But as soon as he realized Decker’s eyes were on him, he hardened his expression. “I suppose you ghouls are going to take Father Jupiter’s body now. When will it be released for our private burial?”
“We won’t keep it any longer than necessary.” Decker spoke softly. “I’m very sorry for your loss, sir. Father Jupiter was a great man.”
Pluto held the stare, then looked away. “Yes, he was. Thank you for your words.”
Decker paused. “Perhaps you can explain something to me. The death was called in by Ganz’s—”
“Father Jupiter.”
“Yes, of course. The call to us came by way of Father Jupiter’s daughter. Now, as far as I know, no one in the Order of the Rings of God called it in.”
Pluto was silent.
Decker asked, “Were you planning on reporting the death, Guru Pluto?”
Pluto whispered, “It makes no difference now.”
“So you weren’t planning on reporting it—”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Sir, in the future, please be advised that you must report any death. It’s the law.”
“It’s irrelevant now,” the guru stated.
Again, Decker hesitated. “Out of curiosity, were you planning to bury the body on the grounds?”
“What might have been is no longer a concern.”
“Fair enough,” Decker answered. “No point in speculation. Just one more question, Pluto. Who called Father Jupiter’s daughter and told her the news?”
“I wish I knew. Whoever did it needs to be addressed.”
“Addressed?”
“For breaking the vows and overstepping the chains,” Pluto orated. “You have your laws, we have ours.”
5
It took some time and a little internal maneuvering, but eventually Marge was given the go-ahead to interview Venus. She had expected her bedroom to adjoin Ganz’s, but it was located on the other side of the compound. She was led to the chamber, flanked by two gendarmes in white robes, each one looking very grave. One had facial hair, the other was clean-shaven, but both had close-cropped haircuts. The bearded man knocked on the door. It was answered by a smoky, female voice asking who was there. After Marge identified herself, the voice told her to come in. Beard opened the door, but didn’t dare cross the threshold—as if restrained by an invisible net.
Marge went inside, then took a moment to look around. Spare but bright, the room held a double bed, a Shaker-like chair and a bookshelf. Venus was propped up by pillows, her legs stretched out atop the bedcover.
Talking to her guard, she said, “You may go now, Brother Ansel.”
The man hesitated, then spoke in a nasal voice. “Are you sure you want to be left alone with a violator, Mother Venus?”
“Yes, I can manage. Thank you for your consideration. You may go.”
“As you wish.” He lef
t, throwing Marge a hostile look as he shut the door. The two women made eye contact.
Marge said, “Thank you for seeing me, Ms….”
“Just call me Mother Venus. Or just Venus.” She’d been reading a paperback. She put it down in the spine-up position, and pointed to the chair. “Have a seat.”
“Thank you.” Good-looking, Marge thought. Even with red eyes and no makeup, her features were striking. Appearing to be around thirty, Venus had shoulder-length, chestnut hair that framed an oval face. Translucent green eyes were shaded by enormous lashes. Her silken complexion was wan—to be expected—but Marge detected a hint of pink at the cheekbones. She wore a bright blue robe that plunged at the neckline and fell open mid-thigh, exposing graceful legs. She wasn’t wearing a bra, but even without the support, she had cleavage. Her feet were bare and her left ankle was adorned with a gold bracelet. She lowered her gaze, then flung the bottom of the robe over her uncovered legs. Crossed and recrossed her ankles.
Marge felt funny addressing her as Venus, although if one needed a model for the goddess of love and beauty, this one could fit the bill. She craned her neck and managed to read the paperback’s title—Faith and Beyond. She couldn’t make out the author. Extracting a notepad from her jacket, she said, “Would you mind if I took some notes?”
“Why would I mind? I have nothing to hide.”
Marge digested her words, translating them. She has something to hide. “I’m sorry if I have to probe into sensitive areas—”
“You’re just doing your job.” Again, Venus recrossed her ankles.
“What are you reading?”
The question seemed to momentarily stump her. She glanced at her side and picked up the paperback. “This?” A shrug. “Something in Jupiter’s library. The metaphysical part is interesting, but the science is complex.” She tightened the robe around her neck. “That was Jupiter’s forte—science…physics…cosmology. The very origins of existence. But you know that already, don’t you.”
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