Faye Kellerman - Jupiter’s Bones

The area looked to be about a couple of acres with two fruit orchards sandwiching a vegetable garden. Beyond the arable portion was scrubland overrun with wild fauna and airborne spores: dandelions, orange nasturtiums, purple statice, wild daisies, sage plants and chaparral. Copses of silver eucalyptus gave the land some texture and height. Gnarled California oaks sat dormant in ground water, grumbling because El Niño had overwatered the turf.

Decker stopped walking, his ears hearing more than ambient sounds. Dogs barking—the Dobies. He hoped they were locked up somewhere, but suspected they were close at hand. Stupid to explore with them on the prowl. Yet he kept going.

He came upon a good-sized tool and potting shed—around two hundred square feet. The usual stuff—trowels, claws, rakes, hoes, weeders. Shelves with terra-cotta pots, and dozens of plant starts sitting in egg cartons. There were also shelves containing bags of fertilizers, boxes of nutrients, plant food sprays and aerosol cans of weed killer. There were also jars of rat killer, all clearly marked with the skull-and-crossbones logo, some pest traps and animal cages as well. Apparently the Order of the Rings of God had decided that bugs and pests took a backseat to human needs.

Not that Decker found that philosophy objectionable. He embraced the Jewish philosophy that had animals serving people, and not the other way around. God had given the human race the gift of reason, although in Decker’s line of work he rarely saw it utilized. That being said, people—with their theoretical gift of reason—had obligations to their animals. Cruelty was strictly forbidden. As a matter of fact, pets and livestock had to be fed before sitting down to one’s own meal, the rationale being that though people don’t forget to eat, they are occasionally remiss about that bowl of dog chow. Tsar Ba’alei Chayim —kindness to animals.

The shed was neat, the garden implements hanging on the walls or stowed in one of the built-in slots. There were several plastic trash cans for dirt and leaves. The floor had been swept clean.

Cleanliness and godliness—hand in hand.

Decker mulled over the adage.

The sect must believe in some type of a god. Why else name yourself the Order of the Rings of God? Why not just … Order of the Rings. Or just plain Rings. Much thought often goes into naming. Decker remembered how he and Rina had endlessly debated baby names even after they decided to name Hannah Rosie after Rina’s grandmothers. Then how much more important would the name be if it denoted a personally tailored philosophy? Or a new religion ? Each word would be important.

Decker heard a throat clear, and turned around. The man wasn’t as tall as Decker, but must have cleared six feet. He appeared to be in his late thirties with a thin face and brown eyes. He sported a goatee, and had a black ponytail, which fell between his shoulder blades. Like Pluto, the man wore a blue silk robe overlaid with a purple silk vest. Decker wondered about his name. Mars? Maybe Uranus. That would be fitting. Because the whole investigation was a big pain in the ass.

The man walked over to Decker and held out his hand. “Bob,” he announced.

Involuntarily, Decker let out a chuckle. He shook the proffered hand. “Lieutenant Decker.”

“You find me funny?”

“Just the name.”

“Why’s that? Bob’s a common name.”

Again, Decker smiled. “Yes, sir, it is indeed. I hope I’m not trespassing—”

“You are. You’re lucky I locked the dogs up. With the police coming and going, I had no choice. They don’t like strangers.”

“Good guard dogs never do.”

“You’d better believe it.” Bob smiled. “Their names are Dormer, Dancer and Rudolph. Santa has his reindeer, I have my friends.”

“They’re your dogs?”

“No.” Bob wiped sweat from his brow. “They belong to the Order. But I’m outdoors a lot so we enjoy a personal relationship.”

Decker sensed an underlying message—a veiled warning that said, “Don’t mess with me.”

Bob said, “When I first arrived, Father Jupiter asked if I wanted to change my name to something more … far-reaching—celestial or heavenly, if you will. That was the trend. To follow our great leader’s lead. But, being an individualist and a bit of an oppositionalist, I declined. Unlike most of the people here, I wasn’t running away from myself per se. Just running to something better, my spirit being my compass.”

Decker nodded, waiting for more.

Bob mulled over his words. “I’ve found peace that had previously eluded me. I found my personal god.”

Decker kept his face flat. “Father Jupiter is your personal god?”

“Perhaps that’s an overstatement.” Bob smiled, showing tea-stained teeth. “He’s not a god, but a leader. Showing me the way. My own personal … Tao. I feel that we were birthed from the same matter.”

“Is he related to you by blood?”

Bob chucked. “How I wish.” His eyes swept over the vista. “Look around, sir. This is a type of modern-day Eden. Rephrasing it into scientific parlance, I’d say here we have ideal Newtonian physics—a perfect world of action and reaction, and absolute time. Out there …” He cocked a thumb over his shoulder. “It’s strictly Einstein where everything’s relative. Or Max Planck and quantum mechanics where things are random and unpredictable.”

Decker waited a beat. “You tend the garden by yourself?”

“I have help. But I’ve been here longer, so I get to wear the blue robe and purple vest.”

“Which means?”

“I’m an official privileged attendant to our Father Jupiter. Like Socrates, we get to sit at his feet and listen his words. We hold the title of guru. So I’m officially Guru Bob. But you may call me brother. After all, we’re one big family.”

The guru’s face remained neutral, but Decker suspected that Bob was speaking tongue-in-cheek.

Bob explained, “There are four of us who hold the rank.”

“Ah. I see. I’ve only met—”

“Pluto. He’s quite the organizer.”

Decker said, “I had assumed he was the acting head of the Order now that Father Jupiter is gone.”

Bob continued to be unreadable. “I suppose you could call him the partial acting head. He certainly is a talking head.”

“He has opinions.”

“That is true,” Bob answered. “Let’s get back to Newtonian physics. Because basically that’s the same concept we’re dealing with. For our everyday reactions, Newton’s laws hold. You know his laws, right?”

“Refresh my memory.”

“A body at rest stays at rest … a body in motion stays in motion. The orbits of the planets. What comes up, must come down. Any of this sound familiar?”

“The up and down part.”

“The specifics are not important. What is consequential is that his laws hold in ordinary life, but they break down when objects start approaching the speed of light. Then time no longer is absolute, but is relative and lumped into this category called space time. Not to mention the effects of the space warp—the curved topology of our universe. And the effect of huge gravitation bodies we can’t see called black holes. In other words, you get massive distortions, you understand what I’m saying?”

“The analogy is eluding me, sir—”

“Bob.”

“Bob, then.” Decker paused. “Were you a scientist in your past life?”

“A graduate student in astrophysics at Southwest University of Technology. I worshiped Dr. Ganz as a scientist, as a physicist, as a cosmologist and as a brilliant philosopher and thinker. I devoured his texts, could quote his writings word for word. He became the idealized father I never had. Mine was a washed-out old coot. Even after he made money, he wasn’t happy.”