Jupiter's Bones (21 page)

Decker grimaced at the sight, but kept talking. “So you think someone wanted Jupiter alive, but out of commission?”

“I don’t think anything. I’m just throwing out possibilities,” Little said. “You know, Jupiter still could have killed himself, Lieutenant. The terrible effects of the poisoning could have driven him over the edge. He may have wanted to end his own misery.”

“Sure, that’s possible.” Decker stood up. “Anything’s possible. Even so, I’m liking Jupiter’s death as a homicide a whole lot better than I did a few days ago.”

Hearing the knock
on the bedroom door, Rina put her book down. “It’s open.”

Jacob walked over to his mother, bent down and kissed her forehead. “Just thought I’d say good night.”

Rina checked the time—twelve-thirty. “It’s late.”

“Just catching up. I’ve got a couple of tests tomorrow.”

In his pajamas, Jacob looked about twelve. She said, “Sit down, Yaakov, I want to talk to you.”

The boy sat. “I’m really sorry, Eema. It won’t happen again.”

“Yonkie, why didn’t you tell me you got a fifteen sixty on your PSAT?”

Jacob licked his lips. “Sammy told you?”

“Sammy?” Rina asked. “You told
Sammy
, but you didn’t tell
me
?”

“No, of course not.
I
didn’t even know.
Sammy
told me. He called up and pretended he was me. I was willing to wait until I got the card in the mail. But that’s Sammy…he’s gotta know everything.” Jacob shook his leg. “I just found out tonight. So who told you?”

“The school called.” Rina sighed. “I had long talk with Rabbi Wasserstein and Mrs. Gottlieb yesterday.”

She sounded so tired, and it was all his fault. His eyes
darted from side to side. “What’s going on?”
As if he didn’t know
.

“Rabbi Wasserstein tells me you’re getting C’s in
gemara
and Halacha—”

“That’s why I was up so late,” Jacob interrupted. “I was studying. I know I’m doing bad, Eema. I’m trying to improve—”

“Yonkie, this isn’t about your grades. It’s about
you
.” She spoke in a gentle voice. “Rabbi Wasserstein says your attitude toward school has changed in the last six months. You’re not a problem kid—you’re never disruptive—but you’re not doing well because you don’t seem to care. Half the time you sleep at your desk, the other half you appear apathetic. He thinks you’re very bored.”

“School’s boring. I am bored.” Jacob looked at the ceiling.
If only she knew. So trusting
. “But I can do better. It’s no big deal. It’s just a matter of doing all the busy work. I’ll do better, Eema. I promise. Don’t worry.”

“Sweetheart, forget about me. I want to talk about
you
.” Rina kissed his hand. “Mrs. Gottlieb says you’re roughly two years ahead in math without even trying. You’re only a sophomore. She says by the time you reach your senior year, there’ll be no one left at school who’ll be able to teach you.”

“So I’ll take some classes at CSUN. Or better yet UCLA.” The kid smiled. It lit up his face. “I’ll need a car for that.”

Evading the issue. Rina said, “Jacob, I want you to listen and take what I have to say seriously. Okay?”

“This sounds bad.”

“It’s not bad. Just listen. Rabbi Wasserstein told me about a program that he thinks is tailor-made for kids like you—those gifted in math and science—”

“Nerds.”

“Jacob, let me finish, please.”

“Sorry.”

Rina said, “You’d be officially enrolled in high school
at Ner Yisroel, but you’ll take your science and math courses at Johns Hopkins.”

“Ner Yisroel?” Jacob made a horrified face. “You’ve got to be kidding!”

“Yonkie, it’s a golden opportunity—”

“They’re fanatics!” Jacob cried out. “I’ll die!”

“You won’t die,” Rina said. “You might even
learn
something.”

Jacob bit his lip and was silent.

Rina said, “I know you’re a social kid. And I know you like girls. This wouldn’t be forever. It’s for one year. I think you could make it through one year.”

Jacob exhaled. His expression was still sour. “When would I go? Like for
next
year?”

“No, no, no,” Rina said. “For your senior year. I’m not sending you and Sammy away at the same time. Selfishly, it would be too hard for me.”

“So either way, I’m going to be here next year?”

“Yes. And that would be good, because your grades in Hebrew studies would have to come up in order to qualify. In addition, you’d have to do really well on your SAT, and you’d have to get eight hundred on the math portion of your SATIIs. Wasserstein doesn’t think that would be a problem though—the eight hundred.”

“Yeah, well, he’s not taking the tests.” Jacob cracked his knuckles. “I suppose I could do all right. I’m a good test-taker.”

“Yonkie, everyone in the school thinks you’re not being challenged academically, but no one knows how to fix the problem.” Rina’s eyes misted up. “I don’t relish the idea of sending you away. Your life has been one big mass of disruption. But time is so precious. Why waste it if there’s something better for you?”

“I know. You’re trying to do what’s best for me.”

“It’s a cliché, but it’s true.” Rina patted his face. “You don’t have to make a decision. I’m just offering it to you as a possibility.”

The teen was quiet for a moment. Then he said, “If I
went to Baltimore in my senior year, Sammy would be in New York by then.”

“Yes. The two cities are about a three-and-a-half-hour train ride or a forty-minute plane trip apart. You two could spend Shabbos with each other anytime you wanted.”

Jacob shrugged. “I’ll consider it. I know it’s important to you.”

“Jacob, it’s not
me
. It’s you—”

“No, Eema, it’s
you
. If it was up to me, I’d drop out of school and like…sail around the world.”

Rina was stunned, not by his words, but by his honesty. “Jacob, you’re so unhappy.
What is it?
”

The teen shrugged.

“Do you feel burdened by being religious?”

He regarded his mother.
How did she know?
“Sometimes.” He hesitated. “It’s not just being religious. It’s…just…I don’t know. Everything seems so pointless. I mean, look at you, Eema. You’re a good person. You believe in Hashem. You do all the right stuff, all the moral stuff. And then, bam!” He clapped his hands loudly. “Abba gets sick and dies. And suddenly you’re a widow stuck with two small kids—”

“Yonkie—”

“And then you go on and remarry, thinking that life is going to be peachy. But then look what’s going on.
He’s
never home. And still you wait up all hours of the night. I betcha he doesn’t even come home tonight.”

“He’s not coming home—”

“Told ya.”

“Yonkie, this isn’t your concern—”

“But it is, you know. Because I see you day after day with life dragging you down.”

“Where is this
coming
from? I’m a very happy person!”

“Don’t you ever get
lonely
, Eema?” Jacob was agitated. “I mean, night after night after night…how many books can you read?”

Rina regarded her son. “You are really angry at Peter, aren’t you?”

“It’s not that, although I don’t know why he’s so against getting another dog.”

“Look, if you really want another dog, we’ll get another dog—”

“That’s not the point.”

“Jacob, your father was broken up by Ginger’s death. He has a very hard time with loss. Not just his loss, anyone’s loss! He feels personally responsible for the world’s problems.”

“What’s his excuse? He never lost a father.”

“Maybe it comes from being adopted, I don’t know.”

Jacob had forgotten about that. “Look, I love Peter. I know he does the best he can. And he may care about the world in the abstract. But I don’t think he spends a lot of time considering other people’s needs.”

“Yonkie, he has a very demanding job.”

“Eema, nobody forced him to take the promotion.” Jacob rolled his eyes in self-disgust. “I’m whining. I guess if you don’t mind being alone, why should I care?”

“Yonkie, Peter loves his work. And that’s a very rare thing, to love what you do—”

“I thought he was supposed to love you.”

“He does—”

“And that’s why he leaves you alone all the time?”

Rina gave his words some thought. “You know, I must not mind being alone. Because I seem to marry men who aren’t home a lot.”

Jacob looked at her. “What do you mean? Abba was home all the time.”

“Sweetie, Abba was
never
home. Usually, he got up at around five for early minyan. Then he’d come back around a half hour later and take care of you kids until I got up…which was usually around seven. As soon as I was up, he left for the Beit Midrash to learn until dinner. He ate dinner every night with the family…that much he did. And he did spend time learning with you boys,
too. But as soon as it was bathtime or bedtime, he was off. He went back to learn until midnight or whatever. I don’t even
know
when he came home. I was always asleep.”

Silence.

Jacob was looking at his lap. Rina realized she had just punctured a balloon. She said, “Honey, I didn’t mind it. Honestly. Abba loved learning, Peter loves his job and I must love solitude. Especially after a day with your sister, who’s a perpetual motion machine. You think that I’m staying up, pining over Peter. In fact, I’m lying down in a very comfortable bed, off my feet, with no one making demands on me, reading an interesting book—”

“Well, that sounds really exciting.”

“Jacob, you want excitement. I’ve had enough excitement in my life. I want peace.”

The teen laughed softly. “Guess I’m not giving you much of that.” It was close to one in the morning. “I’m not only keeping you up, I’m keeping myself up. I should get some sleep.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.” A beat. “Eema, I don’t want you to think that I’m unhappy. Most of the time, I do great. I guess you know…sometimes things pile up.”

“You’re
bored
, Jacob. You need to find a passion other than girls.”

He grinned. “If you’re gonna have a passion, I think girls are a great one.”

“I’m not saying girls aren’t great. I’m just suggesting something
in addition
to girls.”

Jacob thought about it. “You’re right. I’m going to be sixteen in a couple of weeks. There’re always cars.”

“Are you doing this to aggravate me?”

“Maybe a little.” Jacob laughed. “Good night.” He turned serious. “I’ll give the Hopkins program some real thought. Maybe it won’t be so bad.” A hint of a smile. “Actually, it may not be bad at all. There are girls at
Hopkins.” The smile turned into a broad grin. “
College
girls.”

Decker was trying to have it both ways. It wasn’t working.

Marge was talking. “Okay, say we arrest him. Then he’s entitled to make the phone call to whoever he wants. At least to his lawyer—”

“That’s exactly what we don’t want. Pluto making calls before the search warrants for the compound are pulled! The last thing we need is him warning the others.”

Decker tapped his foot.

“The idea is to stall him without ostensibly denying him due process.” A pause. “Okay. Let’s say we’re detaining him, not booking him—”

“He’s still entitled to a phone call even if he’s detained.”

“No, he isn’t—”

“He’s entitled to a lawyer—”

“It only becomes relevant if we question him. So we won’t question him.”

“So why are we detaining him?”

“Detaining him pending our current investigation. Until we can verify his story that he hasn’t been up here for the last two days.”

“Pete, that could take time—days. We can’t detain him that long without a lawyer.”

“He doesn’t know that.”

“Yes, he does. Even if he doesn’t,
we
do! We screw up, they throw out everything we found on a tech.”

Of course she was right. Decker frowned. “All right. Let’s say we’re detaining him and he’s entitled to a phone call. And we’re willing to give him one. But we can’t let him use the line up here because it’s blocked off, being part of the crime scene. And we can’t bring him to an alternate locale to make a call, because…because…why?”

Marge shrugged. “We’re too busy.”

“Exactly,” Decker said. “We’re too busy. So we have
no choice but to keep him locked tight in the car until our current investigation up here is completed to our satisfaction. Then of course when we leave the site, we’ll try to find him a phone. But by then, it’ll be three in the morning. And you know most everything will be shut down—”

“Pay phones?”

“They’re always broken, Marge.”

Marge was skeptical. “You’re just lucky that his antiquated cellular phone has a signal that doesn’t carry this far.”

“Damn lucky.”

“What if he wants to use our radio?”

“Can’t let civilians use tactical lines. Against regulations.”

“Not the tactical lines, Pete. Let’s say he asks either Scott or me to place a call through the RTO.”

“Then you don’t get through.”

Marge complained, “He’s going to scream.”

“Let him scream—”

“
You’re
not dealing with him.”

“I’ve been
dealing
with a dissected corpse, Margie.”

She thought a moment. “I’ll trade you jobs.”

Decker grinned. “Easier to work with a dead asshole than a live one?”

“You got it.”

“No dice,” Decker said. “
I
choose the assignments. One of the perks of being a loo.”

Modern-day holding cells
were hermetically sealed, the only way to peek into the room being through a double layer of steel-meshed glass set into the steel-reinforced door. Sheriff Johannsen’s jail consisted of two connected holding pens of ancient variety—steel-barred like the old-fashioned types used in Oater movies. As a matter of fact, Marge thought the entire office looked like a western film set. The window to the sheriff’s office held a decal of a big gold star. Inside were three scarred wooden desks sitting in a room that couldn’t have been more than five hundred square feet worth of space. A linoleum floor had been browned by age, and walls held neon pink flyers of local events as well as official sheriff notices with everything thumbtacked to corkboards. A bare bulb hung from a lethargic ceiling fan. Scanning the area, Marge thought she noticed a gun vault. On second glance, it turned out to be a fifty-year-old icebox.

The cells were in the back and reached through a door cut into the back wall. The area was hot and stuffy even at night. A yellow bug light gave off dim illumination in sepia tones. Benton was sitting, bent forward, on a jail bench steel-bolted to the wall. His feet were planted on the ground, his knees apart, his cuffed wrists resting in front of his groin as if guarding it. He was sweating rivers—his face wet rather than damp—but he didn’t seem
to care. His clothes stank of perspiration, blood, dirt and shit. His hair was matted, his expression shadowed with dirt and darkened with uncertainty. When the cell door opened, he made eye contact with Johannsen, but refused to look at Marge or at Oliver. Marge leaned against one corner of the bars while Scott took up the other.

Johannsen chose to sit on the bench, keeping an eighteen-inch distance between Benton and him. “How you feeling, guy?”

The farmhand’s voice was soft. “Been better, Sheriff, though I’m not complainin’.”

“Stoner offer you some coffee?”

“Yeah, he did.”

“Did you take it?”

“Yeah, I did.”

“You want another cup?”

“No, I’m all right.”

“A cigarette…you don’t smoke.”

“No, I don’t.”

A protracted silence.

Johannsen said, “I called Ruth up about twenty minutes ago to tell her what’s going on.”

A long pause. “Why’d you do that?”

“You know Ruth. She likes to help—”

“Don’t need no help.”

Johannsen said, “Benton, you’re gonna need help and lots of it. You’re in a tight position.”

“I didn’t kill no one, Sheriff. You know that.”

“Benton, did you know that man in the cabinet?”

“Yes, sir, that was Guru Nova.”

“Did you have anything against him?”

“No, sir. Not at all. Though I didn’t knowed him so well. I knowed Pluto better.”

“Pluto visit you recently?”

“Mebbe a week ago, I saw him.”

“Anybody else been up at the ranch?”

Benton pondered the question. “No, just Old Guy Shoe trying to bum a free chicken.”

Johannsen turned to Oliver. “They call him Old Guy Shoe because he walks around with old shoes around his neck. Strung together like a lei.” He turned back to Benton. “What happened with Old Guy Shoe?”

“Nothin’.”

“Nothin’?”

“I gave him some chicken heads and feet and he was happy.” A pause. “When do I get outta here, Sheriff?”

Johannsen said, “First, these people here gotta ask you some questions.”

“So ask already.”

Marge said, “I think Pluto wants to have an attorney present during the questioning.”

“Don’t need some lawyer man. I didn’t do nothin’.”

“It’s for your protection, sir,” Oliver said.

For the first time, Benton’s dull eyes focused on the detectives. “Then I’d like to call Father Jupiter if you wouldn’t mind it.”

Oliver and Marge exchanged glances. Oliver jumped in. “That’s going to be hard to arrange, Benton. I was hoping Brother Pluto would have told you by now.”

“Told me what?”

Marge spoke softly. “Father Jupiter died two days ago.”

For a brief moment, Benton didn’t react. He sat frozen in his position with only his chest rising and falling. Then he said, “So that’s why he wasn’t coming up. I thought he was mad at me.” He looked at Marge. “Wonder why Brother Pluto didn’t tell me?”

“He didn’t want to make you feel bad.”

“How’d he die?”

Benton appeared to be absorbing the words.

“I can’t say too much, Benton,” Marge said. “But I’ll tell you what it says in the papers. It’s a suspicious death by overdose. Possibly a suicide—”

“Pigshit!” He blushed. “Pardon my language, ma’am.”

“That’s all right.” Remaining in the corner of the cell,
Marge squatted. That way she was eye level with him. She didn’t want to ask anything about Nova. But what would it hurt to ask him about Jupiter’s death? “Why do you say his suicide is pigstuff?”

“’Cause he weren’t the type to do that.”

Marge waited. Nothing. She prompted, “Tell me why
you
think Father Jupiter wouldn’t have committed suicide.”

“Ma’am, I ain’t like Brother Bob or Brother Pluto. I ain’t smart. But I kin tell when a man’s happy. When we used to take out the telerscope, I’ve never seen such a content being as Father Jupiter. The way he looked at the stars…like he was one with the heavens. He tole me that one day he was going up there…with the stars.”

Oliver said, “That might have meant that he was going to kill himself—”

“No, sir,” Benton corrected. “He was talkin’ about his time machine. He was buildin’ one.” He looked at Johannsen. “I told you that, didn’t I, Sheriff?”

“That you did.”

“Father Jupiter tole me he was talkin’ to a university ’bout it. About his ideas. He was real excited.”

No one spoke for a few seconds. Oliver glanced at Marge. He said, “What university?”

“I don’t recall. But he said ’twas a big one.”

Marge said, “Southwest University of Technology—”

“That’s it.”

Again the two detectives exchanged looks. Marge said, “His old haunt.”

“Also where his daughter works,” Oliver added.

Marge asked the farmhand, “Did Jupiter ever mention his daughter, Europa?”

“Don’t recall,” Benton answered. “Maybe he did say something about a daughter. ’Course all the ladies at the Order of the Rings of God was his spiritual daughter.”

“She’s not from the Order,” Marge said. “She’s Jupiter’s real daughter—his biological daughter. Jupiter was married before he became Jupiter. Did you know that?”

“No, ma’am, I did not. Still, it don’t surprise me.”

“How long have you known Jupiter?” Oliver asked.

“Ten years.”

A decade is a long time
. Marge asked, “How’d you meet him, Benton?”

The farmhand tensed in concentration. “Believe ’twas when I worked at Harrison…up in Saugus. Not too far from the Order. Mebbe twenty minutes by car.”

“I know where Saugus is,” Marge said.

“All right. So you know.” Benton straightened his spine and scratched his nose with his cuffed hands. He was asked an important question and he had to answer it with the proper respect. “Father Jupiter jus’ came up to me the one day. We talked some. Then he left.”

“What did you and Father Jupiter talk about, Benton?”

He thought about that. “’Bout me, I suppose. Did I like my job? Stuff like that.”

They waited for more. But nothing came forth.

“Then what happened?” Marge urged.

Benton said, “He visited me another day. Agin, we talked. I reckon this went on for a couple of weeks. Then one day, he asked if I’d like to run his chicken ranch up here in Central City. He said he’d pay me as much as I was making at Harrison, and I’d have a whole house to live in—not just a room. Sounded good so I said all right.”

Oliver had taken out his notebook. “Do you remember the address of the Harrisons?”

“Not Harrisons. Just Harrison. No ess.”

“Ah,” Oliver said. “It’s the name of a place, not the name of a couple.”

“That’s right.”

The conversation was making Marge very curious about Benton’s past relationship with Jupiter. “What kind of place is Harrison?”

“What kind of place?”

“What kind of people live there?”

“Oh.” Again, Benton scratched his nose. This time, he
also wiped his soaking face. “Lots of different people. Some were drying out on alcohol, some were drying out on drugs, some were just plain old folks. Me, I didn’t do no drugs or alcohol. I was the handyman. They let me live there—”

“Who’s they?” Marge asked.

Benton thought about that for a long time. “The woman who hired me was named Florine. That’s all I knowed about her.”

“How’d you find the job, Benton?” Oliver asked.

A stretch of silence. “I think one of the nurses tole me about it.”

“Nurses?” Marge asked. “Were you in a hospital, Benton?”

“Board and care,” the farmhand replied flatly. “I came out of the army with a bad case of congestion that didn’t go away. In the VA for two years, then they moved me to board and care in Newhall. Took a while for me to get better. A long while. The nurses used to ask me to fix things. They knowed I was good with my hands.”

More silence.

“I recall that one of them mentioned Harrison to me. I worked there for five years. Never missed a day, though at times I was pooped. Got tired of people’s bitches and messed-up lives. So Father Jupiter’s offer sounded all right to me.”

Saugus was in the Foothill division. Ten years ago Marge was working in Foothill as a detective in sex crimes. As far as she remembered, there weren’t any murders resembling Nova’s dissected body. If Benton had been a serial killer all those years ago, he had used a different MO. “How did Jupiter find you? Had he ever lived at Harrison?”

“Don’t know.”

“What was Jupiter’s connection to Harrison?”

The farmhand shrugged. So much for Benton’s power of conjecture.

“And this was around ten years ago?” Marge asked.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Did he talk about time machines back then?” Oliver asked.

“No, sirree. Back then, it was all about God and the heavens and the evils of modern science and scientists. That’s why I was real surprised when he brought up the telerscope a year ago. ’Cause a telerscope sure is a science object. Still, it seemed to make him happy.”

Oliver gave Marge a look. He said, “I need a word with my partner in private, Sheriff. Let’s take five.”

“No problem.” Johannsen liberated himself and the two detectives from the cage. He locked the door behind him. “We’ll be back, Benton. Would you like a cold drink?”

“No, I don’t think so.” He lay down on the bench. “Think I’ll snooze a spell.”

“You do that.”

To Marge, Oliver said, “Let’s take a walk.”

They stepped outside under a star-studded blanket. The air was saturated with cricket calls, cicadas and the low croaks of lusting bullfrogs. The sheriff’s office was in the middle of town—the only storefront still lit up. The rest of the shops were dark and shut tight, to be expected since it was almost one in the morning.

Oliver asked, “You believe Benton? About Jupiter being happy and not the type to kill himself?”

Marge said, “We should believe a man who has body parts in his kitchen?”

“Good point.” Oliver smoothed back sweat-soaked hair. “So why do I feel we’re missing something?”

“Let’s start with what we know.”

“A novel idea,” Oliver said. “We’ve got Jupiter dead. And we know that he was being poisoned.”

“Although not in lethal doses.”

“And now we have his farmhand…who granted is a weirdo with a dead body in his kitchen…that’s a big granted—”

Marge broke in. “Look, these are the facts. Either Ju
piter ODed himself or he didn’t OD himself. If he ODed himself, that contradicts what Benton says about Jupiter being a happy camper. If he didn’t OD himself, then someone did it to him. And that goes hand in hand with the poisoning. The way it’s laid out, it looks like the arsenic wasn’t going fast enough so someone acted drastically.”

Oliver said, “Agreed. So who wanted Jupiter dead?”

Marge said, “Dr. Little says that you can last awhile with arsenic in your system, but not forever. Because there is a build-up factor, each bit adding to each other. The poisoning couldn’t have been going on forever—maybe a year or so.”

“Which corresponds to about the time that Jupiter was rediscovering science…”

Marge said, “Europa told Decker that Jupiter was as sharp as a tack when it came to their scientific discussions.”

Oliver said, “It seems to me that Jupiter was coming back to his old field after what…a twenty-plus-year hiatus?”

“Could be. But what does that have to do with someone pumping him with arsenic—not enough to kill him, but enough to make him sick as a dog—” Marge stopped herself. “It made him
sick
, Scotty. Maybe it also made him addled. Confused enough so he couldn’t concentrate.”

Neither one spoke.

Marge said, “The question I’m asking is: Was someone poisoning him to keep him from thinking about his former preoccupation with time machines?”

Suddenly Oliver’s eyes widened. “Margie, suppose you were a scientist trying to establish a distinguished reputation for yourself as a hard-nosed cosmologist. And you have this father who was once brilliant, but had been laughed out of the profession as a crackpot—a crazy, demented man who kept talking about building time machines. And finally, when you think he’s out of the picture
…well, suddenly he reemerges with the same crazy, embarrassing ideas—”

“
Europa?
”

“Didn’t Benton say Jupiter was speaking to the people at Southwest U? Margie, she teaches there. She must cringe every time someone mentions his name.”

“Europa hadn’t seen her father in years—”

“
If
she’s telling the truth.”

Marge gave his idea serious thought. “She finally manages to get this albatross off her neck, and just when she’s getting somewhere in her field, he reappears.”

“Exactly,” Oliver said. “So what would it hurt if she slipped a little arsenic in his vitamins to slow him down. You know, just slipped a little powder in Jupiter’s drink or in his vitamin supplements—”