Murder on Olympus (24 page)

66

By the time I reached my car, Aphrodite and Dionysus were gone. I didn’t bother looking for them. I was too pissed off to deal with them right now.

The Gods had been lying to me this entire time. They told me there was nothing they knew of that could kill a God. And now I found out there was, the Gods knew about it,
and
the killer had possession of it. I always knew the Gods were assholes. They just kept coming up with more and more ways to prove it.

As angry as I was, I could still see the intelligence behind the lies. If I were the omnipotent ruler of mankind, I probably wouldn’t want my subjects to know my one fatal weakness. Still, that didn’t justify what they’d done. Cowardice is cowardice, no matter how you slice it.

When I arrived home, I called the records department on Olympus for information on the Claw of Erebus. They said exactly what I knew they’d say: “I’m sorry, Mr. Jones, but no such weapon exists.” Surprise, surprise.

I ended the call and considered my next move. If the Gods had the claw, they’d likely keep it in the secret vault on Olympus, under twenty-four-hour guard. Chrysus was the director of the Treasury. In the morning, I would try to finagle some answers out of her. She’d probably play dumb, but it was worth a shot.

Having done all I could do for one day, I dragged myself to my room and crashed onto the bed. I finally had a break in the case. I just hoped Ares wouldn’t screw everything up.

In the wee hours of the morning, I was awakened by the sound of my cell phone ringing. Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I grabbed it from the nightstand.

“Hello?” I grumbled.

“Plato?” a woman’s voice said.

I sat up and pressed my back against the cool wood of the headboard. “Aphrodite?”

“Yes, it’s me,” she said. “I apologize for calling so early, but I was concerned.”

“Concerned about what?”

“About you, of course. You disappeared last night.”

“Oh yeah.” I held back a yawn. “Sorry about that. Something urgent came up.”

“That’s all right.”

“Did you have trouble getting home last night?”

“No,” Aphrodite said. “Dionysus gave me a ride.”

I’ll bet he did
.

“Prometheus told me you were almost mauled to death by a gorgon. Is that true?”

“Yeah, I was attacked.”

“You poor thing,” she cooed. “Are you feeling alright?”

“I’m fine.”

“Are you sure? I can bring over some hot soup. Or a nice pie.”

I could’ve gone for some pie. But not Aphrodite’s. Hers tended to drive people crazy.

“I appreciate the offer,” I said, “but I’m okay, really.”

“All right.” She sounded disappointed. “So did Prometheus give you any useful information?”

“Maybe.”

“Nothing you’re willing to discuss?”

“Afraid not,” I said. “Sorry.”

“I understand.”

“Thanks for helping me out last night.”

“Anytime.”

“I’ll talk to you later.”

“I look forward to it.”

I ended the call and put my cell phone back on the nightstand. The numbers on my digital clock glowed neon red in the dimness. It was five until four. I tried to go back to sleep, but the conversation with Aphrodite had left me wide awake, and sexually frustrated. I rolled out of bed, went to the living room, and watched TV until the sun came up.

At eight in the morning, I called the Department of the Treasury and asked for Chrysus. The receptionist told me Chrysus was filing some reports for Zeus, and that I should call back later. I was in no mood to play phone tag, but I left her a message anyway.

At half past one, I was about to give the Treasury another ring, when my cell rang. It was Chrysus. Finally.

“Hey, beautiful,” I said.

“Hello, Plato.”

“Did you get my message?”

“I did. Is there something you wanted?”

“Yeah. I need to ask you a question. Are you alone right now?”

“Hold on one moment.” Chrysus was quiet for a time, but I could hear her heels clack against the floor. When she spoke again, there was an echo. I assumed she was in the restroom.

“What’s going on?” she asked.

“I’d like some information on an item in the vault.”

“Which one?”

“The Claw of Erebus.”

Chrysus went silent. After a few seconds she said, “What’s the Claw of Erebus?”

“You know, weapon of unimaginable power. The only thing that can kill a God.”

“I’m afraid I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

“You sure about that?” I asked.

“Absolutely.”

“Okay,” I said. There was no point in pressing the matter. She wasn’t going to talk.

“This Claw of Erebus,” Chrysus said, “who told you about it?”

“About what? It doesn’t exist. Right?”

There was another stretch of silence on the other end.

“You still there?” I asked.

“One second.”

I heard the sound of a toilet being flushed. Moments later, Chrysus said, “I apologize. Someone came into the bathroom. They’re gone now.”

“Chrysus, are you sure there’s not something you want to tell me?”

“I wish I could tell you what you want to hear, but I’m afraid that’s just not possible. Listen, I have to get back to work. We’ll talk later.”

“Okay, bye,” I said.

My search for the Claw of Erebus had only just begun, and already I had hit a brick wall. I didn’t stress about it too much. The Claw was only one piece of a much larger puzzle. If I found the killer, I’d inevitably find the murder weapon. Whether or not the smoking gun turned out to be the Claw, I’d just have to wait and see.

67

With the Claw of Erebus temporarily out of the picture, I shifted my attention to Lamia. Her history with Zeus and Hera made her a huge suspect. As did the fact that she had faked her own death. Prometheus believed she did it to escape Hera’s wrath, but I suspected there was more to it than that.

Every year, dozens of criminals staged their own deaths. Dropping off the grid gave them more freedom to move around. They could commit crimes without having to worry about the cops coming after them. Maybe that was what Lamia was doing.

I called Prometheus and asked if he’d seen her. I had a feeling he was going to say no, and I was right. The only other thing I could think to do was speak with Poseidon. Being Lamia’s father, he might have some useful information.

I called the offices on Olympus and set up a meeting with him. The next morning, I drove to the harbor. Two men in white suits waited for me in the parking lot. One of them held a sign with my name on it. I flashed them my ID, and they motioned for me to follow them.

They led me to a luxury speedboat moored to the dock. It was blue with white leather seats. The wood-grain dash panel and silver instruments gleamed in the sunlight. A bottle of champagne sat in a bucket of ice next to one of the passenger seats. I knew where I was going to sit.

We sailed east, slicing through the waters of the Aegean. Poseidon’s yacht bobbed in the distance. It was massive, more along the lines of a cruise ship. The hull was pearl white, and the prow was shaped like a horse’s head. Dozens of windows spotted the exterior. I didn’t even want to think about how much a vessel like that might cost.

We boarded the yacht. The suits escorted me to the bow, where Poseidon was oil-painting. With his short black hair and light blue eyes, he looked almost identical to Zeus. Only he was taller and brawnier and had a fuller beard. He sported a navy polo, white slacks, and no shoes.

I had first met Poseidon while working for the OBI. I felt about as safe around him as I did with Ares. He had a notoriously bad temper, and almost anything could set him off. Bad news for people living near the coast.

I knew nothing of his relationship with Lamia. It seemed like he and Zeus were battling for the title of biggest deadbeat dad on Olympus.

“Good morning,” I said.

“Hold on, old boy.” Poseidon continued to paint.

He was doing a self-portrait in which he stood naked atop Mt. Olympus, holding his trademark golden trident overhead. It looked photorealistic, even up close. Several strokes later, he put down his brush and pallet and turned toward me. He smiled. That was a good thing . . . I hoped.

“What do you think of my latest work?” He gestured at the painting. His voice was deep and even. Sophistication clung to his every word.

“It’s great.”

His smile waned.

I laughed anxiously. “Did I say great? I meant perfect.”

Poseidon nodded. “I love painting. I can’t think of many things more fulfilling. Do you paint, Mr. Jones?”

“I took a few classes in high school. I was good. But not as good as you.”

“Naturally.”

“Thanks for seeing me on such short notice.”

“Don’t mention it, old boy. Now then, you wanted to talk about the murders, yes?”

“I just have a few questions.”

Poseidon motioned for me to follow him. He led me up to the observation deck. The space doubled as a formal dining area, with warm lighting, upholstered furniture, and three fully stocked bars. The hardwood paneling and floor appeared freshly polished. Heavy red curtains covered the windows.

We sat down at one of the many dinner tables lined up in two rows on the deck.

“Tell me, old boy,” Poseidon began, “do you like the ship?”

“Yeah, it’s really something else.”

He smiled approvingly. “I designed it myself, you know.”

I pursed my lips and nodded, acting more impressed than I really was. “Wow, that’s really amazing.”

A female servant came over to the table. She was tall with straight brown hair and large, come-hither eyes. Her tight white polo, white pants, and black apron showed off a slender figure. To Poseidon she said, “What can I get for you, Captain?”

“Vodka martini.”

The servant nodded, then shifted her attention to me. “And you, sir?”

I raised my hand. “Nothing for me.”

“Oh, come on, old boy,” Poseidon urged. “Don’t be a stick in the mud. Have a drink.”

“I’m still buzzed from the boat ride over. Thanks for the champagne, by the way.”

Poseidon smiled. He glanced at the servant. “Just the martini, my dear. And be quick about it.”

“Yes, Captain,” she said. As she turned to leave, Poseidon gave her a playful smack on the rear. She let out a squeal and hurried along.

Poseidon took a metal cigarette case and a lighter out of his back pocket. “Smoke?”

“No thanks.”

“You’re a bit of a mossback, aren’t you, old boy?”

I had no idea what that even meant. But I wasn’t about to disagree with him. “I guess I am.”

Poseidon slipped a cigarette out of the case. He lit it, took a drag, and blew out the smoke. “So what would you like to ask me?”

Before I could respond, the servant came back with Poseidon’s martini. Her timing couldn’t have been better. It gave me a chance to think about the best way to bring up Lamia. I couldn’t just come out and say, “Hey, let’s talk about your formerly deceased daughter.”

Well I could, but I’d probably end up being the ship’s new figurehead.

Once the servant left, I said, “Thanks again for being so gracious. This case has been pretty tough. But I think I’m finally on the verge of a breakthrough. Right now, I’m trying to fill in some missing pieces.”

“I’ll help however I can,” Poseidon said.

“First, let me ask you. Is there anything that can kill a God? A weapon of unimaginable power maybe? Created at the dawn of time? Any of that ring a bell?”

The mood in the room shifted. But Poseidon’s calm expression remained unchanged.

“I’m afraid it doesn’t,” he said.

I didn’t bother asking him if he was sure. I had learned my lesson about asking Gods to repeat themselves. I certainly wasn’t going to make that mistake on Poseidon’s boat, in the middle of the sea.

“Okay, next question,” I said “Do you know of anyone who has it out for Zeus and Hera?”

Poseidon took a pull from his cigarette and seemed to consider the question. “There are the Titans. That bunch has always hated us. But they’re too cowardly to come after us directly.”

“Does anyone else come to mind?” I asked.

“Not really.”

I nodded. “When was the last time you spoke to Lamia?”

Poseidon froze, his cigarette less than an inch from his lips. His face was unreadable. Carved marble. He took another drag and tapped his cigarette on the edge of the ashtray. Red-orange cinders fell into the crystal bowl. “Why do you ask?”

“I heard a rumor about her.”

“What kind of rumor?”

“That she may be involved in the murders.”

Poseidon’s blue eyes fixed on my face. “Lamia is dead.”

“Sources tell me differently.”

“What do you mean?”

Poseidon’s gaze weighed upon me. My palms moistened with sweat. Every animal instinct in my brain shouted at me not to proceed. To drop the subject. But I was already in too deep. I had to keep going.

“She faked her death,” I said. “Lamia is still alive, and I need to find her. I was hoping you could help me do that.”

“Lamia is dead,” Poseidon repeated.

His huge frame seemed to grow even larger. My muscles tensed. My jaw tightened as I spoke. “I’ve seen her with my own eyes.”

He rose to his feet and said, in a monotone, “I think it’s time for you to leave, old boy.”

That was my cue to exit, or possibly get thrown into the sea. I chose the exit. “Right. Thanks for your time.”

As I left, Poseidon sat back down and continued to smoke his cigarette. That went well.

I stepped out onto the deck and was nearly knocked over by a violent gust of wind. It threw me against the railing, which bit into my back as I collided with it. The water had become choppy, and dark clouds churned overhead. They rumbled with thunder, threatening to burst.

68

The storm that raged across the city soon after I left the boat was one of the worst I’d seen in recent months. Rain and sleet fell in thick sheets, creating a near-total whiteout.

I drove fifteen miles under the speed limit with my high beams on, using the taillights of other cars as beacons to guide me down the road. If I was lucky, I’d make it home without wrapping my car around a light post.

I was still pretty shaken up after the meeting with Poseidon. I probably should have apologized to him before leaving the yacht. The last thing I needed was another enemy on Olympus. Hera was one too many.

Our conversation hadn’t given me much in the way of clues. But it did let me know one thing: Poseidon had strong feelings for Lamia. The only question was whether those feelings were positive or negative. Did he care about her, and feel that I was defiling her memory? Or did he despise her to the point where the mere mention of her sent him into a rage?

I was leaning more toward the first possibility. It was no secret that Poseidon and Hera weren’t the best of friends. But no one really knew why. Maybe it was her charming personality. Or maybe Poseidon blamed Hera for the death of his daughter. Maybe he killed the other Gods to get back at her. Maybe he knew Lamia was alive. And the two of them were secretly working together, trying to get back at Hera for slaying Lamia’s children.

Any way I looked at it, Poseidon had reason to seek revenge against Hera. Regardless, I had doubts about his being the killer. When it came to revenge, Poseidon took a more direct approach—or so I’d heard. He confronted his enemies in public and beat them to a pulp. He didn’t give a damn about witnesses. In fact, Poseidon enjoyed having an audience. The killer, on the other hand, seemed to favor the shadows.

Despite his reputation, I wasn’t ready to drop Poseidon as a suspect. People could change after all. Just look at Herc and—to a lesser extent—Ares.

I arrived home at a few minutes after three. I was soaked to the bone and shivering. All I wanted was a long, hot shower. I wished Chrysus could join me, but hey, we couldn’t always get everything we wanted.

I kicked off my shoes and headed to the bathroom. I flipped the light switch and there, standing in front of me, was a figure in black sweats. A white ski mask covered his—or her—face.

My heart jumped into my throat. “Who are you?”

The figure said nothing, but raised a pistol with a silencer.

Before I could react, the intruder fired two shots. The impact was like getting hit full force with a sledgehammer. I fell backward onto the floor. I couldn’t breathe. My pulse raced out of control. I pressed trembling hands against my chest. Warm blood spilled over my fingers. The world dimmed. I didn’t feel any pain. Only intense pressure.

Then I felt nothing at all.