Faye Kellerman - Jupiter’s Bones

“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—”

“On what grounds?!” Pluto blurted out.

Nova’s voice held a tremolo. “Brother Pluto, I appreciate your show of solidarity. But if they want to talk with me in private, I have no objection.”

Pluto’s eyes narrowed.

Quickly, Nova added, “Brother Pluto, you know how much I respect your wisdom. If I require your help, I shall ask for it immediately.”

Marge said, “Make it easy on all of us.”

Pluto glared at the detectives. “We all have work to do. Be quick.” Then without another word, he turned and left.

Oliver stood up and peeked around the opening. Pluto had remained nearby. Oliver gave him a wave. The short man turned an angry red, but finally left the temple.

Oliver returned to his place. “I think Brother Pluto has a trust problem.”

Nova said, “He’s protective.”

“I think it goes deeper.” Oliver took out the tape recorder and handed it to Marge. “I think he doesn’t want you saying the wrong thing.”

Nova bristled. “I can speak for myself.”

Marge made the necessary identifications for the tape, then placed the recorder in front of Nova. “So you take full responsibility for your own actions?”

“Of course!” Nova was indignant. “We’re all adults.”

Marge said, “So tell me why you signed Jupiter’s death certificate when you’re only a podiatrist.”

Nova raised his voice. “Detective, I am a trained medical practitioner. I was the most qualified here to make such a determination.”

“And if you were on a desert island, I’d say fine and dandy,” Marge said. “But here in L.A. there are better people to make that determination. As a medical practitioner, you must know that suspicious deaths require investigations—”

“I had no way of knowing that the death was suspicious—”

“Exactly,” Marge interrupted. “That’s why you should have called the police and let them handle it.”

“I resent this line of inquiry!”

“You can resent it just so long as you answer me,” Marge said. “Why didn’t you call the police?”

“I saw no need—”

Marge interrupted. “Sir, as a podiatrist, how many autopsies have you conducted?”

Oliver broke in, “Sir, we’re not challenging your abilities. We’re just wondering why you went out on a limb.”

Marge said, “Were you pressured to wrap the thing up?”

“Certainly not!”

“So why’d you do it?”

“Because Father Jupiter was dead!” Nova was flushed, droplets falling down his forehead. “Someone had to make it clear to the followers that he wasn’t returning to earthly life. I felt that I was the chosen one for the mission.”

Oliver said, “Doctor, when did you first check him out?”

“When?”

“What time ?” Marge asked.

Nova took in a breath and let it out. He wiped his face with a tissue. “Around five in the morning. Perhaps a little later.”

“And you examined him thoroughly?”

“Of course—”

“Took his pulse?”

“This is insulting—”

“Checked the heart?”

Nova leaped to his feet. “I will not stand here and be abused like this!”

“A standard death certificate asks for time of the demise,” Marge said. “What time did you put down?”

The brother faltered. “I don’t remember the exact time to the minute. As I stated, I was called in a little after five.”

“But that really wasn’t the time of his death, sir,” Marge said.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean Jupiter didn’t actually die at five in the morning.” She glared at Nova. “Or did he?”

“Detective …” Oliver warned. Time to play off her aggression. He turned to Nova. “I know this sounds like we’re … doubting your competency—”

“It certainly does!” Nova looked pointedly at Marge. “I was just doing my duty—to the Order and to my profession—”

“Meaning you checked Jupiter’s feet for corns?”

“Detective …” This time Oliver was chiding her in earnest. To Nova, he said, “Why don’t you sit back down?”

With reluctance, Nova returned to his chair, refusing to look at Marge. She stood up. “I gotta use the bathroom. Don’t bother with the directions, I’ll find it myself.”

As soon as she left, Nova wiped his brow with a blue silk handkerchief. “She is a detriment to your department!”

“She’s a good cop,” Oliver said flatly.

“She’s got a rotten disposition.” Nova imitated her. “‘Meaning you checked his feet for corns?’ She hasn’t the foggiest notion of what a podiatrist is or what he does. We’re extremely well trained.”

“I’m sure you are,” Oliver said. “But we are bothered by your not calling the police right away.”

“What difference does it make?” Nova said. “The police were obviously called in.”

Oliver said, “So you called them?”

Nova fidgeted. “No, I didn’t.”

“But someone did. Any idea who?”

“I was told it was Ganz’s daughter—Europa.”

“Any idea who called her?”

“None.”

But he squirmed as he uttered the word. Oliver didn’t press him on it … not yet. “Who called you into the room?”

“Brother Pluto. He asked me to make some kind of assessment as to why he died … to tell the people something. I had to make a split-second decision as to the cause of death. Remember I was stunned myself. Shocked! Although Father Jupiter wasn’t feeble, he was in his seventies. A coronary didn’t seem out of line. I knew that if there was more, it would come out later on.”