Faye Kellerman_Decker & Lazarus 11

by Jupiter's Bones

  Beside the stump was a stump of a man—not exceptionally tall but built like a fireplug. His square, hairless head sat on a blocky neck. He had a wide, protruding forehead. Dark, dull eyes were inset in a sunken trough of skull. The orbs landed on Oliver’s face for just a moment, before returning their focus to the ground. One beefy hand was squeezed around the neck of an upside-down, headless chicken, its legs frantically striking at air because the motor impulses hadn’t died with the bird. The man’s other hand held the bloodied ax.

  He didn’t look up. He spoke over the din of the clacking chickens. “Welcome, Brother Pluto.”

  “It’s good to see you, Benton.”

  The plug’s eyes remained on his feet. Gunboat-sized shoes. His sausage-shaped fingers loosened their grasp around the chicken’s neck. Blood poured out of the newly opened aperture and splashed into a waiting bucket. Benton threw the corpse into a large, metal tub. “I’m not done yet.”

  “That’s fine, Benton, we made good time.” Pluto relieved him of the ax and walked over to the chopping block. Lifting the hatchet, he slammed down the metal edge across the wooden surface and severed the tethered chicken’s neck. As blood spurted out, Oliver did a little two-step backward, his eyes still on the chopping block. Slowly, he looked up at Pluto.

  Leaving the ax in the tree stump, the little man said, “Her squawking was giving me a headache.”

  Though shaken, Oliver kept his voice even. “Yeah, it was pretty loud.”

  Pluto regarded Oliver. “Sorry. I should have warned you. Did you catch any spray?”

  “No, I jumped back in time.”

  “Good.” Pluto walked over to the tub and looked down. “How many birds do we have, Benton? Around twenty?”

  “Eighteen. But I ain’t even defeathered and gut ’em yet.”

  “That’s all right. I’m not in a hurry. I’ll take around three dozen back with me—”

  “Not in my car, you won’t,” Oliver blurted out.

  Benton’s eyes lifted from the ground to Oliver’s face. His eyes narrowed. Oliver met the stare dead on, but he was disconcerted. Again, he felt his hand patting his gun underneath his jacket.

  “I’m not coming back with you, Detective,” Pluto said. “You do what you have to do. I’m going to help Benton finish up with the chickens. I’ll take the truck back if that’s okay with you, Benton.”

  “You shouldn’t dirty up your hands with the slaughterin’, Brother Pluto,” Benton said. “You’re a clean man. Dirtyin’s my job.”

  Pluto gave him a pat on his solid shoulders. “How about if I pack up the eggs. Would that make you feel better?”

  “It’s dirty in the coops, too.” The square man untied the dead chicken from the block. He threw the disconnected head in a plastic bucket, then once again drained the body of its blood by holding it upside down. “I hate for a godly man like you to be walkin’ in feathers and chickenshit. House ain’t much better. I’d a cleaned it more if I’da knew you was coming.”

  “Shit is good for the soul, Benton,” Pluto philosophized. “It brings us back to the ground. Back to Mother Earth.”

  The farmhand looked confused. “If you say so, then it must be true.” A pause. “When is Father Jupiter comin’?”

  Pluto hesitated. “Father Jupiter hasn’t been feeling well.”

  Benton’s lower lip jutted out. “Did I make him mad?”

  Pluto smiled kindly. “Oh no, Benton, not at all. He’s just been tired. He needs rest.”

  Well, he’s getting plenty of that, Oliver thought.

  “You ain’t lyin’?” Benton asked.

  “No, I’m not lying.”

  “I thunk that mebbe I did somethin’ wrong.”

  “Not at all—”

  “’Cause he ain’t been out here in a couple of weeks.”

  “Father Jupiter has been very tired—”

  “He likes comin’ out here.”

  “Yes, he does—”

  “He sits over there.” Benton pointed out to some unknown place in the dark. “He does his lookin’ there. You know, with that telerscope. Sometimes he lets me look through it. You see stuff up close…stuff you cain’t see with just your eyes in your head.”

  “I know. Interesting, isn’t it?” With a single pull, Pluto liberated the ax from the tree stump and handed it back to the farmhand. “I won’t keep you from your work.”

  Benton nodded, opened the cage and pulled out a clattering bird. The hen pecked at Benton’s calloused skin. If he felt anything, he didn’t show it. “This one’s real fat. Get a lot of stew from her.”

  “That’s good because we have lots of mouths to feed—”

  “Yo, Oliver!” Marge was screaming to be heard over the chickens. “Scott, can you hear me?”

  Oliver shouted back, “I hear you—”

  “Where are you?”

  “Behind the chicken coops—”

  “Come over to the house!” Marge yelled at full voice. “I think we’ve got a problem.”

  18

  Except now that Lyra is growing into a young lady, someone’s been making noises…

  It sure wasn’t the Farranders.

  By seven, Decker pulled into his driveway.

  Either the missing letters were pure invention or someone else wanted Lyra. But who else did she have? An unknown father, no siblings to speak of, apathetic and dismissive grandparents…something wasn’t adding up.

  He shut the motor and got out of his unmarked.

  It would have been nice to take a hot shower, eat, then crawl into bed. Instead, Decker had to be Dad. Not the Emil Euler Ganz kind of Dad—unfettered, egotistical, bombastic and irresponsible. And not the Herbert Farrander type of Dad, who wrote off his daughter as if she were a bad debt. No, he had to be a good dad, the TV dad—understanding, wise, stern, cheerful, childlike without being childish. And he had to act these roles even though his mind was on a stolen child, along with a missing girl not much older than his teenaged sons and a bit younger than his own daughter, and hundreds of men, women and children whose lives were determined by a few unbalanced individuals as solid as holograms.

  At the door, Rina greeted him with Hannah and the newspaper. She kissed his cheek. “Glad you made it home. How are you?”

  “Beat.” He held the folded paper up. “What’s with this?”

  “Look on page fourteen.”

  “What’s on page fourteen?” Somehow, Hannah had climbed onto his back and was hanging from his neck like a spider monkey.

  “Editorial section,” she said. “Yesterday there was an op-ed piece about Great Ganzby, the scientist. Today, it’s clear he isn’t being mourned by everyone if the letters to the editor are to be believed. Hannah, you’re choking him.”

  Decker brought the little girl around into his arms. She wrapped her thin legs around his waist. “My daddeeeee. I love my daddeeeee!”

  “I love my Hannah Roseeeee!” He flipped through the newsprint as best he could, trying to find page fourteen. Hannah hit the paper with a closed fist, ripping a page in two. “Hannah!” Decker barked with irritation.

  Instantly, the girl reached out her hands to Rina who took her. “Let’s let Daddy change his clothes first.”

  “Thank you.” Decker picked up the broken paper and headed for the shower.

  There were three letters, one mild in its condemnation, the second medium hot while the last one was scathing:

  Epistle number one:

  At one time, Emil Euler Ganz may have been a luminary of the scientific community of cosmology. But that time has long past, and it was a man called Jupiter who died. That man was nothing but a two-bit sideshow con who bilked suckers out of money, and spewed out watered-down pseudoscientific drivel. From an informal poll taken by my colleagues, I assure you that the Guru Ganz will not be missed.

  Dr. Kevin Doss, Ph.D.

  UCSD Department of Physics

  San Diego, California

  The second letter:

  I don’t know
why society finds it necessary to praise men and women simply because they had talent, even remarkable talent. A case in point being the death of con man Jupiter aka Dr. Emil Euler Ganz. Yes, the man might have been brilliant, but so what? He was a scamster who kidnapped unsuspecting children and wrecked many lives. I should know. Our lovely but naive daughter was taken into his cult—the Order of the Rings of God—over two years ago. No matter how many times we have reached out to her, our overtures have gone unanswered, and our letters have been returned. This is the most painful point as I don’t know if she’s even getting our communications. And every time I’ve tried to see her, a door has been shut in my face. A long time ago, Ganz may have done something for humanity, but the man who died was anything but human.

  Emily Whilte

  Brentwood, California

  Number three:

  Emil Euler Ganz was the ultimate con man who had honed his skills years before becoming Father Jupiter. A mediocre physicist himself, Ganz was smart enough to surround himself with brilliance, and crafty enough to exploit the talent around him. He was a pirate, a plagiarizer, a thief, a kidnapper and an adulterer, and I can document every single one of those accusations. I’m not surprised that he disappeared for ten years. He wasn’t seeking spirituality. He was probably on the run from some irate husband who just got tired of Ganz messing with his wife. My wish for Jupiter is to be sucked into a black hole and come out the other side as shredded cabbage. Good riddance to bad rubbish.

  Dr. Robert Russo, Sr.

  Russo Holistic Supplements

  Lancaster, California

  Decker folded the paper and put it in his briefcase. Europa hadn’t being lying: her father had made enemies. The last note was especially venomous. But it was the second letter that intrigued him. The woman spoke of unanswered and returned mail. If the Order had received letters concerning Lyra, why weren’t they sent back unopened? Who determined which letters were opened and which were returned?

  Stepping into the shower, Decker took a deep breath and tried to turn it off. He washed away grime and tension with hot, burning needles. By the time he came out, his skin was pink and his head was pounding from the heat. He did some arm circles and stretches to loosen his stiff back. The exercise helped the tightness but did little to mitigate the knot in his stomach.

  Maybe he needed food.

  By the time Decker made it to the dinner table, he felt battle-scarred. To his surprise, the boys were seated at their usual places. Jacob was staring at his hands—Mr. Lothario.

  Ah, yes, there was that to deal with.

  Decker asked, “Where’s Hannah?”

  Rina said, “I fed her an hour ago. She’s drawing pictures in her room. Maybe we can have a nice quiet meal…for once.”

  Decker asked, “You waited for me to eat dinner?”

  “The boys wanted to wait.”

  He regarded his sons. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome,” Sammy answered. “How was your day?”

  “Fine…busy.” Decker looked at Jacob. The boy had his eyes glued on his food. Rina had made turkey breast with stuffing. It smelled and looked delicious. But truthfully, Decker was so hungry, he would have wolfed down gruel. Still, he remembered his manners and his religion. After the ritual washing and breaking bread, he dug in and chomped on a slab of white meat. “It’s wonderful. I’m starved.”

  “Great, Eema,” Sammy said.

  “Very good,” Jacob agreed.

  “Thanks.” Rina smiled. “Isn’t this nice?”

  For as long as it lasted, Decker thought it was very nice.

  No one spoke for a few minutes, the table occupied by chewing, drinking and swallowing.

  Very quiet.

  Rina took a stab at conversation. “The Israel Philharmonic is in town. I thought I might get some tickets.”

  “Sounds great,” Decker said. “Do we take Hannah?”

  “I don’t think so, Peter. My parents can baby-sit.”

  “Even better,” Decker said. “It’s nice to relax at a concert.”

  “I agree.” Rina turned to her sons. “You boys want to come?”

  “When?” Jacob asked.

  “Sometime next week. I figure maybe Wednesday evening.”

  The teen hesitated. “I can’t.”

  “Why not?” Rina asked.

  He laid down his fork. “I have detention all next week.”

  Decker felt his stomach tighten.

  Rina looked confused. “You have detention?”

  “Yes, Eema, I have detention.”

  Sammy asked, “All week?”

  Jacob nodded.

  “Why?” Rina cried out. “What did you do, Yaakov?”

  Jacob looked at Decker, then at his lap. “I cut school today.”

  “You what?” Rina shrieked. “Why? Where’d you go?”

  “Here.”

  “Here?” Rina exclaimed. “Meaning home?”

  Jacob nodded.

  “Guess who caught him?” Decker asked. “I came home to do some work and there he was.”

  “You caught him?” Rina exclaimed. “Why didn’t you tell me about this, Peter?”

  “Rina, I’ve been tied up all day. I just got home—”

  But she wasn’t listening; her attention was on her son. “You cut school to come home when you knew I wouldn’t be here. You knew I was on Hannah’s field trip. You did that on purpose!” Rina’s face had taken on an irate blush. “You were with Shayna, weren’t you. You both came here.” She turned to Decker. “She was with him, wasn’t she?”

  “As a matter of fact, she was—”

  “And were you going to tell me that as well?”

  “If you’d give me a chance—”

  Again, Rina cut him off, her indignation directed at Jacob. “You cut school to be with her. Well, that’s just great! That girl is a bad influence on you—”

  “That is such a prejudiced statement, Eema!” Sammy butted in. “You’d never say that if she was from a frum family.”

  “What are you talking about!” Rina snapped back.

  Sammy said, “You know Shayna hasn’t had it exactly easy. Matter of fact, the whole family is messed up. Her brother, Ben, is in my class. You know what his father did to him? He pulled Ben out of high school in his senior year and put him in a Jewish school because the old man suddenly decided to become religious. The poor guy doesn’t speak a word of Hebrew and doesn’t have a clue as to what’s flying. So of course, he doesn’t learn a damn thing—”

  “Will you please not swear!” Rina said. “What happened to your mouth?”

  Sammy was unperturbed. “The guy is totally lost. He just hangs around the druggies all day, getting stoned—”

  “The druggies?” Rina asked. “What druggies—”

  “All I’m saying is that if Yonkie brought Shayna here, he probably had a good reason. She was probably really depressed or something. And you know if he tried to talk to her at school, he’d have a thousand rabbis down his throat telling him the evils of speaking to the opposite sex—”

  “That’s nonsense!” Rina said.

  “It’s not nonsense, Eema, it’s a fact,” Sammy insisted. “I’m sure she was really needy. For sure, her brother is. So instead of being happy that Yonkie’s trying to mekarev someone, you’re putting him down.”

  “Mommeeeeee!” Hannah cried out from the other room.

  Rina turned a furious face to Sammy. “You know I just love this.” She pointed a shaky finger at Jacob. “He cuts school and somehow I’m to blame—”

  “Mommeeeee!”

  “I’m coming!” Rina screamed back. “I’m through with dinner. Clear your plates when you’re done!” Then she stomped away.

  Seething, Decker looked at his older stepson. “And what was that all about?”

  Sammy said, “I just believe in tolerance.”

  “So how about showing some tolerance as well as respect to your mother?” Decker shot back. “Your behavior just now was deplora
ble. We’ll deal with this later.” He threw irate looks at both his stepsons and left the table.

  Sammy waited until his stepfather had shut the door to the bedroom. To his brother, he whispered, “You brought her here? Are you an idiot?”

  Jacob stared at his food but said nothing.

  Sammy continued to talk softly. “You’re just lucky he didn’t catch you doing something.”

  Again, Jacob didn’t answer.

  Sammy stared at him. “Or did he?”

  Abruptly, Jacob stood up, shoving his chair in the process. He picked up his plate and went into the kitchen. Sammy followed a moment later with his own dish. “He caught you, didn’t he?”

  Angrily, Jacob shoved his untouched dinner down the garbage disposal.

  “What he’d do?” Sammy asked.

  Jacob started to speak, then changed his mind. He shook his head.

  “You’re still alive. He obviously didn’t maim you.”

  “I don’t want to talk about it.” Jacob began to wash his plate, scrubbing it well after it was clean.

  “You want to wash mine while you’re at it?” Sammy asked.

  Jacob grabbed the dish from his brother and stuck it under the running tap, splashing water all over himself. Sammy went back into the dining room and began to clear the table, eating scraps of poultry as he brought the food into the kitchen. Dynamite turkey. Poor Eema. All her culinary talents going unappreciated. Still, he had to defend his brother against the onslaught. Jacob looked very upset and that was very out of character.

  “C’mon,” Sammy said. “Talk to me. What happened?”

  Jacob shut off the tap. “Truthfully…he was actually pretty cool. Which worries me. It’s like…” He shoveled leftover stuffing from the serving bowl into a smaller container. “It’s like he’s giving me this second chance.” He exhaled loudly. “It’s like if I mess up again, it’s all over. That he’ll send me away to military school or to the army or something—”