Faye Kellerman_Decker & Lazarus 11

by Jupiter's Bones

  Sammy said, “Dad, I’ve talked to tons of people who have been there. They say it’s very safe. Much safer than Jerusalem. You know, the biggest problem in Israel is the crazy drivers—a much bigger problem than terrorism. And Gush is out in the country so it’s real quiet—”

  “When they’re not sniping at you—”

  “Dad, the Arab villages are down below. Gush is up on a hill.”

  “So you’re going to stay in this very small vicinity for an entire year and never travel in or out of Israel proper?”

  “No, of course not.” Sam played with his food. “It’s twenty minutes from Jerusalem on this new kfeesh which bypasses—”

  “What’s a kfeesh?” Decker asked.

  “Roadway,” Rina said. “Around three years ago they built the tunnel road, which bypasses some of the Arabs—”

  “The tunnel road?” Decker asked.

  Rina nodded. “They dug a couple of tunnels underneath the mountainside.”

  “Why a tunnel?”

  “I guess it was easier to dig under the mountain than to build on top of it. The road bypasses Bethlehem—”

  “That’s the main trouble spot, Dad,” Sammy said.

  “Sam, the entire area is one big trouble spot.” All Decker could think about was how easy it was to blow up a tunnel. “You’re sitting in the middle of Arab territory—”

  “Gush isn’t in the middle of anything,” Sammy retorted. “It’s its own place. It’s been around for…how many years, Eema?”

  “Around thirty,” Rina said.

  “Dad, it’s not this camp settlement with tents and sleeping bags that the papers make it out to be. It has markets and schools and houses—”

  “How many Jews are out there versus how many Arabs?”

  “Dad—”

  “Sammy, I’m not debating politics. I’m talking bodies. There are many, many more of them than of us. And every time some president has trouble here at home, he starts poking around for foreign countries to dominate. Which usually brings him to the Mideast and a peace plan. And every time America starts hawking a peace plan, someone over there gets riled. And I don’t feel good about planting you—my son whom I love very much—in the middle of danger.”

  “It’s not dangerous!” Sammy insisted.

  “Why? Just because a couple of immortal, teenage boys say so?” Decker said. “Look, maybe I’m just being a stupid American, believing all this press about the area being a hot zone. Maybe the Arabs really do love us and want peace and if you’re stuck out there on the road at three A.M., they’ll be happy to help you—”

  “It’s not safe to be stuck on the road at three A.M. here either,” Sammy shouted.

  “Difference is you’ve got a car phone and you can call me. Who are you going to call over there, Sammy?”

  Sammy put down his fork and slumped. No one spoke for a minute. Finally, the boy said, “Abba went there.”

  Another period of protracted silence. Then Decker said, “I know he did. Do you think he’d want you to put your life in danger—”

  “My life wouldn’t be in danger! You’re overreacting. As always!”

  Decker started to speak, then stopped. He pushed his plate away. “Fine, Sammy. You asked for my opinion. You know how I feel. If it would be up to me, you’d go to Yeshiva University directly—”

  “I told you, I’ll get credit for my year in Israel.”

  Decker bit his lip. “I’m staying out of this one. It’s your decision.”

  “Fine, so I’ll go to Gush.”

  Decker shrugged. “Can I ask you one thing?”

  “What?”

  “If Gush wasn’t an option, where else could you go?”

  “Kerem b’Yavneh,” Rina said. “Shalavim.”

  Decker looked at Rina. “Are those bad places?”

  “Bad?”

  “In dangerous areas?”

  “They’re inside the green line.”

  “Are they good yeshivas?”

  “They’re excellent.”

  “As good as Gush?”

  “Definitely,” Rina said.

  Decker turned to Sammy, the obvious unspoken. The teen threw up his hands. “If you’re going to forbid me to go to Gush, I suppose I could go to Shalavim.”

  “Isn’t David going to Shalavim?” Rina asked.

  “I don’t have to do everything David does, Eema. We’re not joined at the hip.”

  “I was just saying—”

  “Look, it’s up to you,” Sammy burst in. “You’re paying for it.” He stood. “I’m going to take over for Yonkie. Let the good son eat his dinner.” He walked away.

  Silence hung in the air. Then Decker whispered, “Where’d he get this good son, bad son bit?”

  “He probably feels like a bad son—both to you and to Yitzchak,” Rina whispered back. “He wants you to make the decision for him.”

  “I’m not going to do it.” Decker nibbled on a floret of broccoli. “I’ve had my say. Rest is up to him…or you.” A beat. “Do you have any feelings about it?”

  “I’d like him behind the green line.”

  “So why didn’t you say something?”

  “I figure one of us is enough. Why overwhelm him?”

  “Wouldn’t have anything to do with being loyal to your husband’s memory, would it?”

  Rina was taken aback. “Peter, you’re my husband. Your opinion is paramount over anything else. I thought we were over this.”

  Decker rubbed his forehead. “I’m sorry.”

  She leaned over and kissed the top of his head. “It’s been a long day, hasn’t it.”

  “Yes.”

  “And you still have Marge and Scott to deal with. You work too hard.”

  “Probably.”

  “Want to take a drive in the Porsche after you’re finally done with work? The boys can baby-sit.”

  “Only if you promise not to call it a Nazi car.”

  Rina smiled. “I promise.”

  Decker grumped. “A ride to where? To the new house?”

  “I have some samples of wallpaper hanging in the kitchen.”

  “And this is your idea of a good time? Choosing wallpaper for the kitchen?”

  “If you behave yourself—and I know that’s a big stretch—I’ll point out the new mattress in the bedroom.”

  Decker broke into subdued laughter. “Well, that has possibilities.”

  “Indeed.”

  He smiled. “You come up with great ideas, you know that.”

  Rina patted his hand. “I have the knack.”

  Decker set up shop in the living room because it held a TV. Marge sat on the couch, Oliver took up one of the chairs. Rina was standing by the wayside, curious but silent.

  He slipped the “borrowed” videotape into the feed.

  The monitor filled with the image of Jupiter. He appeared younger than seventy, but Decker figured that the video was old. The film did have that grainy appearance found in time-worn cameras.

  Everyone watched in silence. Five minutes passed, then ten. Still, no one spoke.

  Ganz’s hair was silver-white but there was plenty of it. His skin held a few creases, but no prominent sags. Its tone was somewhere between red and orange and seemed to glow, but that was no doubt due to the TV’s faulty hues. His eyes were of indeterminate color—blue-green-gray-black—and flashed as he spoke. Although the guru was looking directly into the lens of the camera, he was hard to understand. The volume of his voice seemed to rise and fall at will, having little to do with the points he was making.

  Truth be told, even after fifteen minutes, Decker wasn’t sure what the points were. Something to do with charity and duty, love and honor. Most of the language was florid and arcane. Yet there was something magnetic about his manner. A force of personality. He said, “The man is definitely possessed by a spirit.”

  Oliver said, “Anyone understand what he’s saying?”

  “Not important,” Marge said. “I’m sure even he doesn’
t understand what he’s saying. But he sure has a fever to him.”

  “Hallelujah!” Oliver said. “There’s a sucker born every minute.”

  Marge looked at Decker. “How much longer?”

  “Don’t know.”

  “That man can talk a spell—and nonstop.”

  “Maybe the tape was edited,” Decker suggested.

  “I don’t think so,” Rina said. “It looks continuous to me.” She smiled. “It’s because he’s standing in front of a pulpit. It could magically transform a deaf-mute into a motor-mouth.”

  “Man, ain’t that the case,” Marge said. “In church, it seemed like the pastor would never shut up.”

  “Really?” Rina smiled. “I thought it applied only to rabbis on Yom Kippur. Thrilled to be talking to a full house.”

  Decker smiled. “I see neither of you have ever been to a Baptist revival meeting. We’re not talking hours, we’re talking days.”

  As Rina watched the TV, she furrowed her brow, concentrating on the words shot back in poorly reproduced audio. “That’s sounds familiar.” She repeated the words. “‘Surely as I have thought, so shall it come to pass—’…can you replay that, Peter?”

  “Not a prob.” Decker stopped the tape, backtracked, then pressed the play button. Rina listened assiduously as Ganz preached.

  The great Jupiter spoke in stentorian tones. His Day-Glo red face filled the screen. “That I will break them in my land…this is the purpose that I purposed upon the whole earth. The whole earth, my brothers and sisters. Who shall void my purpose? Who shall void my word? Who shall void it? Who shall turn back?”

  “Peter, can you pause it for a sec?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Decker answered.

  Rina went to her Jewish library and pulled out a book. “It sounds like the words from one of the prophets. Let’s try Isaiah. It sounds like his voice.” She riffled through the pages of the tome. “What a memory! Here we go!” She read the passage to herself. “He’s paraphrasing a bit.”

  “What purpose is Jupiter talking about?” Marge asked.

  Rina shrugged. “I don’t know what purpose he’s referring to. Isaiah was talking about the Babylonians. That Hashem—er, God, rather—was going to punish them for destroying the land of Israel.”

  “So far the only people Jupiter destroyed was himself,” Marge said.

  Oliver said, “Or maybe someone destroyed Jupiter before he could destroy him…or her.”

  “You really like homicide, don’t you, Scott,” Decker said.

  “I really do.”

  “‘That I will break them in my land…’” Decker clicked the stop button. “Now that is open to all sorts of interpretation. The Order calls us outsiders ‘the violators.’ Maybe he thinks we have violated this land, meaning Earth, like the Babylonians did to Israel.”

  “Do you think Jupiter was planning to do something?” Marge asked.

  “It sounds to me like he’s just spouting,” Rina answered. “Cribbing actually. Quoting from previously written material without citing references. I bet most of his speeches are cribbed.”

  Oliver frowned. “This Isaiah fellow doesn’t sound very cheerful.”

  “All the prophets were morose,” Rina said. “Maybe that’s what happens when you have visions.” A pause. “Sounds like Jupiter was having visions of his own. And not exactly the divine kind.”

  Decker said, “Not to be contentious, Rina, but if you read the prophets…the straight text…they sound a little weird.”

  Rina said, “Could be the reason why no one listened to them. It’s hard to be the purveyor of doom and gloom. Telling people what they don’t want to hear. But the chief difference here is Jupiter is plagiarizing. At least the biblical prophets were original.” She checked her watch. “I’ve got to put Hannah to bed.”

  Decker ejected the video. “I think we’ve seen enough.”

  Rina said, “Even as an older man, Jupiter was handsome.”

  Marge said, “Powerful features.”

  Decker asked, “Or is that only because you know who he is?”

  “No, there’s something…charismatic about him.”

  “What?” Oliver asked with disdain.

  “The way he looks into the camera,” Rina said. “Straight at you. As if you were the only person who mattered.” She smiled. “Something to be said for that.”

  “I don’t talk to you like that?” Decker asked his wife.

  “Of course, you do,” Rina countered. “You’re very charismatic, Peter.”

  Decker gave her a look. “Why do I detect sarcasm?”

  “She complimented you, Loo.” Marge nudged him in his bicep. “Say thank you.”

  “Thank you.”

  Rina smiled. “Why is it that only we women know these things?”

  Oliver said, “Better question is why do women like opera and soup?”

  “Pardon?” Rina asked.

  Marge waved at her. “Old conversation, Rina.”

  “So you think Ganz was charismatic?” Decker said.

  “Yes, I do. And I couldn’t be all that off-base. How many members does the Order have?”

  “Someone told me two thirty-five,” Decker said. “But I think there’re babies, too.”

  “So how many kids in all?”

  “Too many,” Decker answered.

  Marge waited until Rina left. Then she said, “The thing is that Nova blushed when I asked if he knew who called Europa.”

  “I asked him the same question while you were in the john,” Oliver said. “He denied it to me, also. Guy’s a pisspoor liar. Which is good. Means he’s probably not a total psycho.”

  “Why do you think he’s a psycho?” Decker asked.

  “Anyone involved in that cult is psycho.”

  Decker pondered the words, wondering how ultra-religious people fit into the definition of a cult. He thought about that aspect of his own faith every time he entered a yeshiva. After eight years, Orthodox Judaism was still foreign to him. Alien, but not oppressive. Certainly the yeshiva he knew wasn’t a cult—not with Rabbi Schulman at the helm. Everyone came and went as they pleased. Look at Rina. After having lived there for four years—two with her husband and two on her own—she walked away with the rabbi’s blessing.

  He glanced at his watch. It was almost nine. They’d been watching the tape for the last half hour. A waste of time. The case merited one more day of probing. Something to work on until the path report came in.

  He picked up the thermal coffeepot sitting on an end table. “Anyone for seconds?”

  Marge pushed her mug to him. “To the brim.”

  Decker refilled her mug then his. “Scott?”

  “Pass,” Oliver answered. “By the way, that was smooth operating, Dunn.” He turned to Decker. “You should have been there in person. She got him riled, but not so over the top that he didn’t want to talk.”

  Decker said, “Good job.”

  “All in a day’s work,” Marge answered. “Point is, we know that Nova had something to do with the phone call.”

  “Europa said the caller was female,” Decker said.

  Oliver said, “So he got someone else to do the deed. It all makes sense now, Loo. Pluto put the screws on Nova to assign a cause of death and to ink the death certificate. Now Nova may be loyal to the Order, but he wasn’t stupid. He knew he wasn’t a qualified pathologist. So he had someone call the death in to the police, knowing that would cover his ass.”

  “Except that the caller phoned Europa, not the police,” Decker said.

  “Whatever,” Oliver said. “I’m just saying that Nova was smart enough to pass the buck. He didn’t want to take final responsibility for diagnosing Jupiter’s death.” He chuckled. “I can’t believe these names—Nova, Jupiter, Venus…it’s like kids playing outer space. They might as well put foil on a box and call it a rocket ship.”

  “Except Jupiter’s dead,” Decker said.

  Marge brushed hair from her eyes and said, “What are you
thinking, Pete? That if Europa had been out to get her father, she would have needed inside help. The call could have been the inside help telling her that the job was done.”

  “You got it.”

  Oliver asked, “If Europa whacked her dad, why would she want to be associated with the death by phoning it in?”

  “Someone had to tell the police,” Decker said. “If they’d waited much longer, the death would have looked really suspicious, and we would have been obliged to launch an all-out investigation. Also, since Europa did the calling, the police don’t have a voice tape of her accomplice. So we have no way of knowing who from the Order helped her.” He thought about his words. “Actually, we have no way of knowing who really called her. We don’t even know if it’s male or female. We’re taking Europa’s word for it.”

  “You have something against the girl, Deck?” Oliver asked.

  “Not a thing,” Decker said. “I’m creating a ‘just in case’ script.”

  “Why?”

  “For a variety of reasons,” Decker said. “Ganz was a famous man whose death was far from straightforward. His demise is bound to be scrutinized, and I want to make sure we’re prepared. Also, we know that the body was moved…some of the evidence was bound to get messed up—or maybe even cleaned up. I’m not saying it was a homicide. But if the Order is intentionally covering up Ganz’s suicide, I’d like to know why.”

  11

  With the phone at his ear, Decker looked up from his desk, saw Oliver leaning against the door frame. Decker beckoned him in, then held up splayed fingers, indicating five minutes. “The court case is at three, Captain. It’s going to be tight for him to get downtown and then back here again…no, that’s what I’m telling you, sir. It came out of CAPS, not Homicide…right, an assault with a deadly which, for some reason, was moved to downtown…No, I don’t know why the change of venue. More than that, I don’t know why the judge agreed to it.”

  He whispered to Oliver to pull up a chair. The detective closed the door and sat. Decker’s office was small, but it was enclosed, affording a semblance of privacy even though the walls were panes of frosted glass—a step up from the usual cubicle.