Jupiter's Bones (8 page)

“So who’s right?”

“You both are.”

“A Solomonic approach to physics,” Decker stated.

Again, she smiled. “It’s all perspective.”

Decker said, “Getting back to your father, you’re saying he based his theories of teleportation on Einstein’s relativity. Something like he could transport himself from one place to another because everything’s relative?”

“Actually, Einstein wasn’t a major factor in my father’s theories.”

“So there’s more.” Decker held up his pencil. “Shoot, Doc. I’m ready for you.”

She chuckled. “Einstein’s theories kicked off a revolution, but he wasn’t the final word on cosmology. That belongs to quantum physics.”

“Is this going to make me feel really stupid?”

“I’ll keep it simple,” Europa said. “There are two distinctly different aspects to how we view light or any electromagnetic radiation. Now, Newton stated that light acts like a wave, that it’s continuous and uninterrupted, that it has rises and falls, peaks and troughs. Okay so far?”

“I’m with you.”

“Quantum theory says light is
not
a wave, but discreet packets or bundles made up of particles called photons. Two contradictory theories—light as wave, light as particles.”

“Dare I ask? Which one is right?”

“They both are. Sometimes light behaves as a wave, sometimes it behaves like photons. If you thought relativity was bad at pinning things down, you don’t even want to know about Heisenberg’s Uncertainty Principle. It says
that although you can make predictions on how these photons will behave over the long run, you can never say exactly how they will behave over the short run. At any given moment, you have no way of knowing which energy state any given photon will occupy. Are you with me?”

“No. Can I ask what photons have to do with teleportation?”

“You’re a single-minded man, Lieutenant.”

“A bad physicist, but a decent cop.”

“Photons, sir, have been one of the links implicated in instantaneous travel. Before Dad dropped out, he was one of the few men who was trying to prove that photons originating from the same packet of light had this instantaneous link between them. Whatever was happening to photon one was also happening with photon two no matter what the distance between them was. All because once they had shared the same light bundle. Are you with me?”

“Instant communication.”

“
Instantaneous
communication,” Europa corrected. “Now, since mass can convert to energy at the speed of light—E equals MC squared—then atoms—like the kind that make up your body—can be converted to electromagnetic energy or light in the form of photons. And since there is an eternal, instantaneous link between photons from the same packet, you can transport
your
atoms—now in photon form—instantaneously from one position in space to another using this superluminal link. Which is considered a scientific lost cause. Although things can move faster than light, they can’t seem to transport meaningful information…things like
organized
atoms. Which is what my father spent his scientific life trying to prove. He hit walls, but that didn’t stop him. When he couldn’t do it as Emil Euler Ganz, he went metaphysical and tried to prove it as Jupiter.”

She frowned. “But you know how things get messed up going from theory to actuality. Sometimes we physicists predict it right on—like with the atom bomb. We
knew the math
way
before we had the technology. But most of the time, we sit there and wallow in our own mistakes. Like a baby with a dirty diaper, just crying and squirming while waiting for someone who knows better to clean it up.”

Oliver said, “I
can buy the thing about time slowing down. Ever been to an opera?”

Decker laughed, but Marge said, “I like opera.”

“That’s ’cause you’re a woman.” Oliver bit into an egg roll. “Sure you don’t want one, Deck? They’re vegetarian.”

“No thanks.” He added sugar to his tea. “So when are you two meeting with the death certificate guy…what’s his name? Omni?”

“Nova,” Marge said. “We found out he’s a podiatrist.”

Decker made a face. “A podiatrist signed Ganz’s death certificate?”

“Maybe Jupiter’s feet were cold.” Oliver polished off a wonton.

“I’m sure they were if he was dead,” Marge said. “For your information, Scott, there are plenty of men who enjoy opera.”

“None of them heterosexual.”

“That’s ridiculous!”

Oliver thought it over. “Okay. Maybe there are a few effete Englishmen who like opera. But I dare you to find
one
straight guy who likes ballet.”

Decker tried again. “What time are you meeting Nova the podiatrist?”

“Six-thirty,” Oliver said.

Decker looked at his watch. “That’s in a half hour.”

Oliver pointed to Marge’s entree. “Put a dent in your cashew chicken or we’ll never make it.”

“I’ll take the rest to go. The soup filled me up.”

Oliver said, “That’s another gay thing—soup. Straight guys would never get filled up by soup. Straight guys don’t even eat soup. Soup is a broad thing.”

Marge said, “Were you always this concrete or am I just noticing it more?”

Oliver rolled his eyes. To Decker, he said, “So Ganz was a schmuck. Doesn’t surprise me. All these cult leaders are megalomaniacs.” He attacked the remnants of his Mongolian chicken. “I mean look what he was into—time machines, alternative universes…instant travel through space. Playing God basically. Good sci-fi, but for a man of Ganz’s stature…he was freaking out.” He turned to Marge. “You know, the whacked-out ideas combined with the headaches that Venus told you about…maybe he had a brain tumor.”

Decker said, “When Europa spoke to him, she said he was still scientifically sharp.”

“That’s her opinion,” Oliver said.

“I found it interesting that Ganz had made enemies.”

“It’s irrelevant, Deck. Unless one of them sneaked into the Order and laced his vodka with cyanide.”

Decker said, “You never know when the past can come back to haunt. Besides, Ganz wasn’t completely divorced from his former life. He kept in contact with Europa, his significant other was Europa’s girlhood friend—”

“What?” Marge broke in. “You said that Europa’s around forty.”

“She is.”

“Venus looks about thirty.”

“So she looks young,” Decker answered. “Europa said she was a pretty girl.” He told them Jilliam’s background.

Marge said, “So Ganz was the father Jilliam never had. Where have I heard
that
one before?”

“And she was also a young piece of ass,” Oliver said. “Yes, it’s the same-old, same-old. But so what? Why the fascination with the past, Deck? Do you have a former associate of Ganz who you think was out to get him?”

Decker admitted he didn’t. “This Bob—the one who dated Europa—she said he was obsessed with Emil Ganz the scientist.”

“But Bob met Ganz
after
he had become Jupiter, right?”

“Right.”

“So Bob couldn’t have been a past enemy. He would have been too young to be one of Ganz’s colleagues.”

Decker conceded the point. “In fact, he was Europa’s former schoolmate.”

“Look, Loo. Even if every single one of Ganz’s former acquaintances hated his guts,
I
don’t see what that would have to do with his death. Ganz stopped being Ganz twenty-five years ago.”

Marge said, “
If
someone murdered him, it has to be a current member of the Order. Someone who wouldn’t arouse suspicion by being there, don’t you think?”

“Maybe.”

Oliver wiped his mouth. “You like this
past coming back to get him
theory, don’t you?”

Decker said, “I’m trying to get a complete story. So
if
it turns out to be something other than suicide, I’ve got avenues to explore.”

“Then start with Pluto,” Oliver said. “He’s my nominee for asshole of the month.”

“Actually, I like
Europa
,” Decker said. “She phoned the police about her dad’s death,
and
she knows the key players in the Order—”

“Including Pluto?” Oliver interrupted.

“She claims she didn’t
know
Pluto, only that she met him and didn’t like him.”

“Something in her favor,” Oliver said. “Why would she want to hurt her father now?”

“He was a lousy father,” Marge said.

“He was
always
a lousy father,” Oliver retorted. “I repeat. Why now? You think she’s been harboring a murderous grudge for twenty-five years?”

“I like simple reasons,” Decker said. “Like money—”

“Ganz had been a professor in his former life,” Oliver broke in. “How much money could he have saved up?”

Marge said, “If he had won a major scientific award, maybe lots. What’s the Nobel prize worth these days?”

“He didn’t win the Nobel prize,” Oliver grumped.

“There are plenty of other organizations that give money to genuises just for being genuises,” Marge answered.

“Or Ganz could have worked for NASA or some other scientific government agency,” Decker said. “Maybe he moonlighted in industry as a consultant—in aviation or aeronautics or even a think tank. Point is, we don’t know what Ganz was worth. We don’t even know who holds the deed for the Order.”

“The building?”

“The building, the land, its bank accounts. Does it
have
its own bank accounts? Since this is a suspicious death, maybe we should find out.”

No one spoke for a moment. Then Marge said, “Looking into Ganz’s finances…do you think it’s a good use of our time, Pete?”

The implication was right on. Decker blew out air. “Probably makes more sense to wait for the pathology reports to come in. Could be I’m obsessing.” He sipped tea and gave his words some consideration. “How busy is tomorrow, Margie? Could you give it a couple of hours?”

Marge said, “Not a problem.”

“Okay, do the basics. Bank accounts, brokerage accounts, insurance policies—” He stopped himself. “That’s going to take longer than a couple of hours. Margie, you do the bank and brokerage accounts. Scott, you call the assessor’s office and find out who holds the deed
to the land, then poke around for insurance policies.”

Marge said, “Pete, insurance isn’t applicable in cases of suicide.”

“They’ll pay death benefits if it’s accidental death. And if he took out whole life insurance, there’d probably be a nice little nest egg cash policy
as well as
death benefits.”

Oliver was dubious. “You want me to cold call insurance companies? That seems kinda…screwy.”

He was right. Score another for his crew. Decker said, “How about this? Ganz was a full professor at Southwest University of Technology. Faculty usually gets all sorts of perks—health insurance, car insurance, life insurance. Start there with the insurance angle. If you reach a dead end, call it quits and we’ll reevaluate.”

“Simple enough.” Oliver looked at Marge. “Are you gonna take that last egg roll?”

“It’s all yours.” She turned to Decker. “If Ganz had secret money, don’t you think Venus would make a better suspect than Europa?”

Decker said, “Venus wasn’t officially married to Ganz. Kids would be first in line to inherit.”

“Unless he made other provisions in a will,” Marge said.

Oliver said, “Jupiter didn’t seem like the ‘will’ type.”

“I’m not so sure about that,” Decker said. “For a guy who was into spirituality, he had his feet firmly planted in earthly trappings—a pretty, younger girlfriend, attendants who waited on him, people who worshiped him. We found an empty fifth of vodka under his bed.” He shrugged. “Doesn’t sound like any capuchin I’ve ever known.”

Marge smiled. “Exactly how many capuchins have you known, Pete?”

Oliver said, “What does cappuccino have to do with this? Speaking of which. How about some dessert? Ever try litchi nuts, Loo?”

“Have to pass.” Decker finished his tea. “I’ve already
missed breakfast and lunch with the family. Don’t want to press my luck by missing dinner.”

Each time Decker pulled into the driveway, he grew wistful. Because each passing day brought him
that
much closer to the end; good-bye to the acreage, the horses, the ranch land, the orchards, the
freedom
of his carefree divorced days.

Well, carefree wasn’t exactly the right word.

Truth be told he was miserable in that interim period—lonely and disagreeable. Ah hell, who was he kidding? He hadn’t been the Marlboro Man in over seven years. Only thing he and Marlboro had in common was sucking nicotine.

After killing the motor, he got out of the car. The front door opened and a little stick figure with orange ringlets and open arms came running to him.

“Daaaaddeeee!”

“Hannah Roseeee!” He bent down, scooped her up and threw her over his shoulder—a small, chortling sack. He opened the front door with his foot and threw his briefcase onto one of the buckskin living room chairs. He tossed Hannah onto the couch as she squealed with delight. Within moments, Rina materialized, drying a dish. She wore a maroon sweater over a denim skirt. Her thick, black hair was secured by a barrette. She had recently trimmed her long locks. Now they fell just past her shoulders. A becoming style for her beautiful face. Except that most of the time, as required by her religious beliefs, she kept her hair covered with a scarf or a hat, or, at the very least, tied up in a braid or a bun.

“You’re home.” She glanced at the wall clock. “And at a reasonable hour.”

Hannah started jumping on the couch. Again, Decker picked her up, threw her up in the air and set her down.

“Something smells very good.”

“Chicken with garlic.”

“Do I have enough time for a quick shower?”

“It’s not a problem for
me
.” Rina looked at Hannah, who was tugging on Decker’s sleeve.

“Let’s play, Daddy,” the little girl shouted.

“In a minute, honey,” Decker answered.

“Hannah, let Daddy take off his jacket.”

“You can take off your jacket in
my
room!”

Hannah’s room was an outpouching off their master bedroom. Decker had built the house with only two bedrooms. In retrospect, poor planning. But after his divorce, he never assumed that he’d be hosting anyone other than Cindy.

Hannah pulled at her father’s hand. “Let’s go, Daddy!”

“Hannah, hold on!” Rina chided.

The little girl looked disappointed, but remained quiet. Rina immediately felt guilty. “Oh, go ahead! We’ll talk later.”

The five-year-old brightened. “Goody! Let’s go!”

“A minute, sweetie.” Decker held back impatience. “Boys okay?”

“They should be home any minute.”

“Do you need me for anything?”

“It’s all right. Go with your daughter. We’ll have the evening to catch up.” She looked at him with piercing eyes. “You are
done
with work, right?”

Decker winced. “Scott and Margie are coming over around eight. But just for an hour or so.”

Rina didn’t speak. She had heard that one before.

“No, really,” Decker reassured her. “We’ll wrap it up quickly. It’s the Ganz thing. Which seems pretty straightforward…at the moment.”

She had heard that one before as well. “It’s fine, Peter. I put Hannah to bed at that time anyway.”

Again, Decker grimaced. “Didn’t I say that I was going to put her to bed tonight?”

“You can do it tomorrow night.”

“I said that last night, didn’t I?”

“
C’mon
, Daddy! Let’s go do puppets!”

“Go, Peter,” Rina told him. “I’ll call you when dinner’s on the table.”

Hannah said, “You can sit on the floor while I get the show ready.”

“Can I change my clothes first, Hannah?”

“
Sure
you can change your clothes!” she shouted with generosity.

“Maybe I can look at the paper while you set up?”

Hannah’s face darkened.

Rina said, “Now you’re pushing it.”

“Silly me,” Decker said, “I meant
after
dinner.”

Hannah recovered her cheer. “Sure you can look at the paper after dinner, Daddy.
After
we play squiggles.”

“She’s made plans,” Decker said.

“Yes, she has.” Rina smiled sadly. “Lucky her. She has yet to learn how futile plans can be.”

Pluto led the detective duo into an alcove off the main sanctuary. It had enough room for a trestle table and four chairs. The walls were covered by bookshelves. As she sat, Marge caught some of the titles, all of them having to do with the metaphysical. No surprises there. Nova, the podiatrist, paused before choosing the seat opposite Marge. Immediately, Oliver took up the chair next to the Doc, closing in on the man’s personal space.

Chunky and balding, Nova appeared to be in his middle thirties. He wore the costume of a privileged attendant—the blue robe and purple vest—but the vest sported an embroidered caduceus. His round face held an almost hairless complexion as well as dark, saucer eyes. Probably his hair was once dark brown, but because of its thinness and streaks of gray, it had taken on the sandier tones. His fingers were stumpy, his nails cut short. His hands were shaking—nervous. Marge felt he should be. He had no business signing a death certificate.

Pluto remained at the entryway, his arms folded across his chest. His position made it clear to all that he had no
intention of leaving. Marge looked up at him and said, “Thank you, sir, you can go now.”

“I’d prefer to stay,” he answered.

“I realize that,” Marge said. “I’m trying to be polite.”

Pluto remained rooted to his spot.

Oliver shrugged. “If our presence here is problematic, sir, we can take Nova down to the station house—”