Читать книгу Jupiter’s Bones - Faye Kellerman - Страница 14

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.

But better resentment than to risk his son’s welfare. Youth had no concept of danger. Decker knew that because once he had been young. He waited a few moments, then started the engine. When the lane was clear, he pulled out into the void and joined up with the smooth flow of oncoming cars.

Southwest University of Technology had set its roots in Pasadena, a quiet, staid town northeast of Los Angeles. A small place compared to its overcrowded sister, it harked back to gentler times—less traffic, street parking and even some small cafés without a franchise logo. Once a year, Pasadena still grabbed the spotlight with its annual Rose Parade. But the day after January 1, the city seemed to fade like the flowers on the floats.

The Tech’s campus hosted an amalgamation of low-profile structures nestled among ancient pines and majestic oaks. Some Ivy League architecture had crept into a few of the buildings—the administration house and the student union—but most of it was postmodern and utilitarian. The air was cool, and Decker enjoyed walking around. The backpack-toting students were a diverse lot of ethnicities, and seemed younger every year. Since the weather was inviting, many of the kids studied outdoors, sprawled out on the lawns or sitting at a café table drinking lattes, poring over texts of particle physics or nonlinear topology. Jeans and T-shirts appeared to be the corporate dress, and no one gave Decker or his typical cop-suit a second glance. Judgments here were made on the basis of what was inside the package rather than the wrapping.

Dr. Europa Ganz was stationed in a triangular-shaped corner office on the fourth floor of the astrophysics building. She had the requisite institutional desk, metal chairs and file cabinets and bracket bookshelves. It was fluorescently lit, but it did have a window that showed a patch of steel sky and the quad area below. Hanging on the walls were two black-and-white photographs of some planetary surface, excellent in their clarity and resolution. Decker took a moment to study them, both chalky white, pockmarked and completely barren.

“The moon?”

“This one’s the Mohave Desert at night,” Ganz answered. “The other one’s the moon. Hard to tell the forest from the trees, eh?”

“You fooled me.”

“We were all one once—the moon, Earth and planets, the sun, the entire universe. And when you’re young—like babies—you all look alike. Later on comes the process of differentiation. Look at me. Forty years old and still trying to pull away from my father’s ghost.”

Decker nodded while studying the scientist. Her hair was light brown and had been clipped short across the back. Feathered bangs softened her wide forehead. Her face was square-shaped with a strong jawline. Pale, white skin and intense blue eyes. Her gentlest features were her lips—lush and red. No makeup, but there were gold studs in her ears. She wore jeans, a white T-shirt and a black jacket, the sleeves rolled up to the elbows. She pointed to a chair.

“Have a seat. Is it Lieutenant Decker?”

“Yes.”

“My father must rate.”

Decker smiled. “Only you can answer that.”

Europa’s lip gave a half-smile. “Snappy retort. I hope you’re not intending to delve into my family’s psychodrama. I don’t have time.”

Decker sat down. “Why would I do that?”

“Now you’re really sounding like a shrink.”

He took out his notepad. “Actually, Doctor, I came here to find out who told you about your father’s death. No one at the Order of the Rings of God seems to know who called you.”

“Can’t answer that because I don’t know who called.” Europa sat down at her desk. “I hope you didn’t drag yourself all the way out here just to ask me that.”

“No idea?”

“No idea.”

“Male or female?”

“That I can answer. Female. She was probably making the call on the sly.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because she spoke quickly and in hushed tones.” Europa stood. “Coffee?”

“Sure.”

“How do you take it?”

“Black.”

“Caffeinated?”

“The more drug-laden, the better,” Decker answered.

Europa laughed. “You’d do well here.” She brought out a bottle of water and poured it into the coffeemaker. “She also told me to alert the police.”

“The police?” Decker wrote as he talked. “Did that make you suspicious?”

“Of course it did.”

“You made the call around seven?”

“I suppose. You’d know better than I would. Don’t you tape incoming phone calls?”

“Just trying to get your recollection.”

She paused, heaved her shoulders as if they held granite epaulettes. “It’s been a long day.”

“I’m sure it has. Thanks for seeing me.” Decker smoothed his mustache. “Recall as best as you can the exact words this female caller used.”

“Something like … ‘I thought you should know. Your father just died. I’m not sure how it happened. It’s suspicious. Call the police.’” Europa measured out coffee. “Then the woman hung up. I knew it was useless to call the Order back. They wouldn’t tell me anything. So I found out the number of the closest police station and reported it as a suspicious death. The news is saying it’s an apparent suicide. Is that your conclusion?”

“One of them.”

“Cagey fellow. What are the others?”

“Too early to speculate,” Decker answered. “People at the Order have said you haven’t spoken to your father in years.”

“Not true. Maybe it’s wishful thinking on their part. If he completely denies his real children, then they’ve co-opted the right to be substitute children.”

“So you’ve seen your father recently?”

“No, not recently. The last time I saw him was maybe fourteen … fifteen years ago. But I have talked to him. He would call me every so often, usually around my birthday. I’m surprised he remembered it. Not that he’d ever wish me a happy birthday. Instead, he’d say something like he’d been thinking about me. He’d ask me about what I was doing. I told him my latest research. If I asked him about an idea, he’d offer an opinion. If I didn’t, he wouldn’t. We’d talk for about twenty minutes. Then nothing until the next year.”

“Why do you think he called you?”

She shrugged. “Maybe he missed me. More likely, he missed his science—real science. Not the pseudoscientific garbage he’s been professing for the past fifteen years.”

“You don’t approve.”

“No, but that doesn’t matter.”

“Have you ever been down to the Order?”

“Way back when.”

“And?”

“And nothing. I came and I went. Jupiter wasn’t the father I remember. Nor did I want him to be. I found the entire experience disconcerting. Also, back then, I was mad at him. Your dad deserts you at a crucial moment in your life … disappears for ten years, well, you don’t suddenly welcome him back into your arms.”

“Do you remember any of the people there?”

“No, not really. Well, this one guy named Pluto. Short, obnoxious fellow. Hated me from the get-go simply because I was Jupiter’s daughter.”

“He’s still there.”

“It doesn’t surprise me. My dad likes people he can push around.”

Decker paused for just a fraction. “He was pushing Pluto around?”

“He was pushing everyone around. Dad always liked his underlings subservient.”

“Your father was a notable man,” Decker said. “I’m sure he had underlings in academics.”

“Yes, he had underlings, but he also had colleagues. Sometimes it’s hard to be challenged.”

“Your father felt that way?”

“I’m second-guessing, but yes, I think he didn’t like to be questioned. I think that’s one of the reasons he dropped out. As his ideas drifted farther and farther from the mainstream, he became a target for intense criticism. I don’t think that set well with him. But this is all very beside the point. I don’t know who called me. I certainly don’t know why she did. But I’m glad she did. It’s good to have the police involved.”

“Did anyone from the Order other than your father ever call you before this?”

“No.”

“So this woman who called you … it was the first time you had heard her voice?”

“Are you asking me if her voice sounded familiar?”

“Did it?”

“No. It wasn’t Venus, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

“I’m not getting at anything. How do you know it wasn’t Venus?”

She took down two mugs from the bookshelf. “Because I know what Venus sounds like. You see, Venus, née Jilliam Laham, was my girlhood best friend.”