Faye Kellerman - Jupiter’s Bones

“You don’t like him either,” Oliver said.

“I don’t like lots of people,” Decker said. “But not all of them are criminals.” A pause. “Just a high percentage.”

Marge smiled. “Venus doesn’t know who called Europa either,” she said. “She claims that Europa hadn’t seen her father in over fifteen years.” She turned to Decker. “Weren’t you planning on interviewing her?”

“Planning to do it sooner or later.” Decker looked at his sack lunch, sitting on the passenger’s seat of his unmarked. Guess he was going to eat in the car after all.

Over the phone there were no signs of tears, no long sighs, nor any mawkish sentiment. Europa was polite but all business. Of course for her, the loss of her father happened years ago, so Decker supposed her grief had happened then. She was still in her office when Decker had called, and would be there for at least another hour. She told him to come down although she wasn’t sure why he wanted to talk to her.

“Just a few questions,” Decker said. “Tie up a couple of things.”

“For a few questions, a telephone is very expedient,” Europa answered.

“I’m a face-to-face kinda guy,” Decker answered. “I hope you don’t mind. It shouldn’t take too long.”

“Well, I’m an e-mail-to-e-mail kinda gal. But I suppose it wouldn’t hurt me to make human contact. Sure, come down.”

Decker got into his unmarked, apologized to God for not ritually washing his hands, then bit into his turkey sandwich. The fresh meat was thinly sliced with lots of mayo and Dijon mustard, just the way he liked it. No, the food wasn’t the problem. It was the lack of company. He picked up the cell phone and dialed home.

Rina answered after three rings. “Something tells me you’re not on your way here.”

“How’d you know?”

“You’re talking with your mouth full. You’re also on the cellular. Which means you’re probably driving. Driving and eating mean you’re in the field working.”

“You should be in my profession.”

“You’re not only driving and eating at the same time, you’re also talking. If a cop sees you, he’s going to pull you over.”

“I’ll fix the ticket. I know people.”

“It’s not the citation I worry about. Just be careful, Peter. Traffic is getting worse and worse each year.”

“That’s true. Is the baby home yet?” The baby being five years old. “Or is today her long day?”

“Today is her long day at school.”

“So we could have had some real time together?”

“Yes.”

“Ouch!”

“Your choice. What are you working on?”

“The Ganz thing.”

“The news is saying it was a suicide.”

“Maybe.”

Rina said, “Maybe as in probably a suicide? Or maybe as in maybe yes but maybe no ?”

“Maybe as in I have to investigate every angle before I close up the file.”

“And the department requires a second-grade lieutenant to do the investigation?”

“Ganz was once a famous man.”

“I see. Am I wrong or do I smell politics?”

“What can I say? Strapp said he’d have someone cover for me in the division. When he says that, it means the guy is on the hot seat. Man, you make a mean turkey sandwich!”

“Thanks. You’re my best customer.”

Decker placed the borrowed videotape in the glove compartment of his car. “I’ve got a tape for us to watch when we get home.”

“What kind of tape?”

“Don’t know.”

“Sounds exciting,” Rina said. “Should I breathe hard?”

“Don’t bother. It’s probably more spiritual than physical.”

“Now I’m curious.”

“Good, it’ll keep you up in case I’m home late.”

“Before I forget, Cindy called.”

Decker’s heart took off. “What happened?”

“Nothing,” Rina said. “She’s taking four-day, twelve-hour shifts, that’s all.”

“But she’s okay?”

“Great! Never sounded happier.”

Thrilling , Decker thought.

“She wants to go with you to the range,” Rina said. “Call her when you get a free moment.”

Shooting forty-fives and Berettas at the head and chest regions of paper felons—a real father/daughter bonding experience. Decker said, “I’ll call her tonight. Maybe we can go next week if it’s okay with you.”

“It’s fine with me.” She hesitated. “And if you go to a public range, maybe you can take Sammy?”

Decker was taken aback. “Why in the world would I do that ?”

“Because Sammy has made up his mind where he wants to study in Israel next year. He wants to go to a yeshiva in Alon Shvut—Gush Etzion. It’s behind the green line and—”

“Hold on! What do you mean behind the green line ?”

“It’s in the territories, so they do Shmerah there—guard duty. It wouldn’t hurt him to have a jump-start on how to handle a weapon—”

“ What?! ” Decker suddenly realized he’d missed his turn-off. He also realized his heart was still hammering inside his chest. He pulled onto the shoulder of the freeway, and killed the engine. “Hold on a friggin’ minute! When was this decided?”

“He was going to say something to you this morning but you rushed off—”

“Excuse me, I was called off!” He was shouting, but he didn’t care. “Rina, how could you agree without at least talking it over with me! How could you agree to it period ! You’re his mother, for goodness sakes! Don’t you care about his safety?”

“Peter, I used to live in Gush—”

“And cavemen used to grunt instead of talk.” He took a deep breath, resisting the urge to reach for a cigarette. “Allowing Sammy to go to Israel was a big concession for me. I love that boy!”

“So do I—”

“I’ll be damned if I’m going to put him in danger! Going anywhere within the disputed territories is out of the question! End of discussion.”

The line went dead for a moment.

Decker said, “Are you still there?”

“Yes, I’m still here.”

“Rina, I’m expecting a united front on this one!”

“Peter, as his mother, I agree with you one hundred percent. Except we’re not just two parents, we’re three. He told me that if Gush was good enough for his father, then it’s good enough for him. Now what do I say to that?”

Decker felt his head throb.

His father. Of course that meant Rina’s late husband, Yitzchak. Decker had been Sammy’s father for over seven years, almost two years longer than Yitzchak had been with the boy. Still, the word father was reserved for this ghost.

Rina said, “Are you still there?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Decker smoothed his mustache. “All right. At least I see what the problem is. Not that I’m agreeing to anything. But I understand … we’ll talk about this later.”

Rina said, “It was wrong of me to bring it up.”

“No, it wasn’t,” Decker answered. “I know it’s easier dealing with me on the phone than it is in person. I’ll try to behave civilly about this. But no promises.”

“Fair enough.”

“I love you,” Decker said.

“Love you, too.”

Decker said, “No, I really mean that. I love you.”

“And I really mean I love you, too. We’ll talk later. Finish your sandwich in peace … and hopefully without indigestion.”

Fat chance of that! Decker said good-bye, then cut the line and leaned back in the driver’s seat. As always, after these types of issues, he debated his efficacy as a husband and father. Would his children—unlike Ganz’s—mourn for him when he was dead? Would it make a difference if they did? To him, life wasn’t about memories, it was rooted in the here and now. Yet there was his stepson, Sammy, desperately trying to communicate with the departed. What was the point of telling him it couldn’t be done? It would only build resentment.