LITMIR.BIZ

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tried but she’s been in seclusion,” Oliver said. “Incommunicado until she took her place at the processional.”

      “She’s going to have to be interviewed.” Decker rubbed his eyes. “So all the information about Jupiter’s death is via Pluto?”

      Oliver nodded. “He’s the official spokesperson.”

      “I don’t know about that.” Decker explained the cult’s pecking order, mentioning that there were three other privileged attendants. He told them about Bob.

      Oliver said, “So who are the other two?”

      Decker said, “Count the purple vests.”

      “Venus was wearing a purple vest,” Oliver stated. “That leaves one more. Want me to go out to the processional and take a look, Loo?”

      “Are you done here?”

      Oliver shut the dresser drawer. “I’m done. I don’t know about Detective Dunn.”

      Decker turned to Marge. “Find anything to suggest that this was anything other than a suicide?”

      “Nothing at first glance, at least.” She consulted her notes. “Empty fifth of vodka under the bed, empty vial of … let me get the exact name …” She paged through her notes. “Nembutal sodium capsules … twenty milligrams per capsule. Vial was empty, prescribed originally for ten capsules, no refills. I also bagged a vial of diazepam—”

      “Valium,” Decker said. “Diazepam is the generic name.”

      Marge looked up. “Whatever you say. I don’t use that stuff. I found an empty vial prescribed for twenty tablets, also twenty milligrams per tablet.”

      “Ganz’s name on the labels?”

      “Not Ganz, Father Jupiter.”

      Decker said, “The label read ‘Father Jupiter’?”

      “Yes.”

      Decker said, “Where’d you find the empty vials?”

      “On his bed stand,” Marge said. “All the vials were dusted and bagged. To me, it plays out like a typical case of mixing drugs and alcohol.”

      “What about anything injectable?” Decker asked.

      No one spoke for a moment. Then Marge asked why.

      “Because the ME found recent IM needle marks in his arm and butt.”

      Oliver smiled sheepishly. “Uh … there’s a slew of shit in his medicine cabinet. I wrote it all down, but I didn’t bother to dust or bag it. Not with the two empty vials at his bedside.”

      “I’ll bag it,” Decker said.

      “It’s not that I screwed up—”

      “Who said you screwed up?”

      “You’ve got that look on your face, Deck.”

      Oliver had screwed up, but Decker let it go. “Go out and find the remaining guru—”

      “Yeah, yeah,” Oliver muttered, stepping over the crime tape. Deck wasn’t a bad guy. He never lorded his position over those in his command, and he didn’t buddy up to the brass. Begrudgingly, Oliver was forced to admit that Deck probably made it to the position on merit.

      “Come back here when you’re done, Scott,” Decker called out.

      “Fine, fine,” Oliver answered.

      When he had left, Marge asked, “Needle marks?”

      “Yep.”

      “Self-inflicted?”

      “In the arm, maybe. But in his butt?”

      Marge regarded his face. “The empty fifth of vodka … the pills. Everything’s too neat. You have doubts, don’t you? So do I.”

      “I just don’t like it when the crime scene has been altered. It would have been one thing if someone had tried to revive the body—moved it just enough to do CPR. But to move a corpse in order to place it in a shrine before contacting authorities? I find that odd. People are usually nervous around dead bodies.”

      “The group’s strange. Maybe they have odd ideas about death and bodies.”

      “Even so, Marge, someone should have known better. Then you have the fact that the death wasn’t called in by anyone in the group. It was called in by Ganz’s daughter. So how did she find out about it? And if no one in the Order of the Rings called the police, what exactly were they planning to do with the corpse?”

      “Bury it on the grounds?” she suggested. “They seem antiestablishment enough to do something like that.”

      “That’s certainly true.” Decker slipped on a pair of latex gloves. “We have two immediate tasks.”

      “We have to talk to Venus,” Marge said.

      “Exactly. Do you want to do it? Might be better woman to woman.”

      “Sure. I’m just about done here, so I can do it now. Unless you want me to bag the vials in the bathroom.”

      “No, I’ll bag ’em. The second thing we need to know is—”

      “Who from the group called Jupiter’s daughter?” Marge interrupted. “Which means someone should talk to her. You’ll do that, right?” She smiled. “Anything to get out of here.”

      “Why waste my breath if you know what I’m going to say?”

      Marge laughed. “No need to get peevish, Loo. All it means is that you trained me well.”

      The bathroom was a closet crammed with a toilet, a washstand and a shower without a stall—a curtain cutting across one of the corners, and a mounted handheld water spray. White tile walls, white tile floors, all of it slippery when wet. A drain had been cut into the floor. Above the washstand was the medicine cabinet. Decker opened the cupboard, plastering his body against the opposite wall to avoid getting hit by the swing-out door. There appeared to be around thirty different white plastic bottles, each with its own label. At first glance, nothing was in duplicate form. Which meant everything would have to be bagged separately. Decker draped a clean cloth over the toilet seat—which was surprisingly in the down position (had a woman been in there?)—and laid the plastic evidence bags down on the clean surface. He also placed a cloth over the washstand. Then he took out his pad and pen.

      He started at the left upper corner:

      Echinacea Purpura—For supporting the immune system. One hundred capsules at 404mg each.

      Decker wrote down the name of the drug, the number of tablets per bottle and the dosage of each pill. Then he spilled out the remaining capsules on the cloth draped over the washstand and counted them. Twenty-six still in the container. Carefully, he picked them up and put them back into the bottle, counting each kerplunk as they dropped to the bottom. Twenty-six tablets on the first count, twenty-six tablets on the second count. It’s a wrap. He bagged and labeled the bottle.

      One down, around twenty-nine more to go. He glared at the vials, knowing the same routine awaited him. Aah, the glamour of police work. Perhaps a little gray matter helped solve a few cases. But the true tricks of the trade were patience and an eye for detail. Of course, a confession never hurt. With any luck, he’d finish the bagging before the procession ended. And if he didn’t, he hoped that the gurus would leave him alone to do his thing.

      He took another bottle from the shelf: Zinc tablets (as citrate). One hundred tablets at 10mg each. Forty-two tablets remaining.

      Bottle three: Calcium (as calcium citrate). One hundred tablets at 200mg each. Eighty-six tablets left.

      Bottle four: Manganese. One hundred tablets at 100mg each. Seventy-seven left.

      Bottle

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