The Metaphysical Detective (A Riga Hayworth Paranormal Mystery) (26 page)

“It is an illusion,” Zeus said, with a note of pride.  “My own.”

“It’s remarkable.”  She cleared her throat and forced herself to move closer to the small figure upon the bed.  Hecate looked more like a wax figure than a corpse – a very surprised wax figure.  The bed spread was neat, and the area around the bed tidy, with the exception of a dull black knife that lay beside the bed.  It looked Paleolithic, crudely fashioned from stone.  

Riga turned to Zeus, careful to avoid looking directly at his eyes.  She focused on his mouth instead.  That was safe.  “Sir, am I to understand that Hecate was killed inside a locked room, with your knife, and the only one who could possibly have gotten inside to commit the crime was you, but you were with three other people at the time?”

“Precisely.”

 “I would have thought that killing an Olympian was not an easy thing, sir, even for another Olympian.”

“Hecate would have been more vulnerable here and he used the Soul Splitter.”

At Riga’s questioning look, he continued.  “You remember your history, of course?  When man was originally created, he was too powerful – a danger to himself and others.  He walked on four legs, had four arms, and two faces.  So I split man in half, and Apollo, using his healing power, enabled man to exist as two separate beings – male and female.  The knife I used to do it was given to me by Hecate for the purpose.”

It was the myth of the soul mate, the foundation story of alchemy.  But she’d never heard the blade named before.  Riga was fascinated in spite of herself.

She prowled the room.  The shutters were thick planks of wood which did not allow any light.  A heavy beam held them fast on the inside.  She ran her fingers down the joins of the shutters.  They were nearly seamless. 

Zeus watched as she knelt and examined the pottery shards by the door. 

She looked at one grouping and knelt to reassemble it like a puzzle until its shape became clear.  It was black with red figures.  “A wash basin?” she asked.

He nodded. 

She stood, looked around, then walked to a small table on the opposite side of the bed.  A matching pitcher.  Riga turned it upside down.  It was dry. 

She replaced the pitcher and returned to her examination of the room.  Her hands glided lightly along the legs of the overturned chairs.    Suddenly she stood and pointed.  “This chair, was it against the door when you entered?”

“Yes.  When I opened the door, the chair was directly behind it.  It was pushed into that position when the door swung open.  However, the chair had already been overturned.”

“Sir, please look at this.”   Carefully, she lifted a nearly invisible filament which was tied to the leg of the chair.

“A string?  What of it?”

“I’m not sure.   May I borrow it, sir?”

Zeus shrugged his permission.

“Who entered the room after Hecate’s death, sir?” Riga asked.

“I was the only one.  Dionysus arrived on the heels of the event.  He tried to force his way inside and so I sealed it.  Afterward, I decided to keep it sealed.”

Riga stiffened.  “Dionysus arrived?” 

“He was not here when she was killed,” he said.  “He could not have been involved.”

Dionysus hadn’t mentioned any of this to Riga – another in a long string of omissions.  “Sir, when was the last time anyone saw Hecate alive?” she asked.

Zeus motioned to the door, indicating they should leave.  He followed her into the hallway.  “I walked with her earlier that day in the garden,” he said, sealing the door behind them.  “She seemed untroubled, even happy.”

“Happy, sir?  Why was that?”

“I assumed it was because she knew Dionysus would soon arrive.  They had a relationship.”

And the other shoe dropped.  Dionysus and Hecate. Of course.

Fuming, Riga turned, pretending to admire a bouquet of flowers upon a slim table in the hallway.  She grasped the rim of the clay vase and tilted it forty five degrees.  She peered underneath, found nothing, replaced it.  “Sir, was anyone else at Olympus that day?”

“Only those I spoke of earlier.”

Good.  She had enough suspects to deal with.  “It would be useful, sir, if my colleague and I could speak with the others who were here that night.”

Zeus casually sank the blade of the knife into the wooden table.  “If you mean Dionysus, there is enough discord upon Olympus.  When you uncover the guilty party, his involvement will make you lose credibility.”

 “I agree, sir,” she said.  “I was thinking of Vinnie.”

Chapter 39: Dionysus

Riga returned to her chambers, where she found Vinnie and Dionysus waiting. 

The ghost paced the floor.  “How did it go with the big guy?”

“Zeus is assembling the Olympians who were here when Hecate was attacked.  I’ll need you to interview Hades, Demeter and Persephone to figure out who last saw Hecate alive, and a get timeline of where everyone was and with whom from that afternoon up until the discovery of her body.  I’ll also need you to find out everything you can about Hecate.”

Dionysus brushed an imaginary speck of dust from Donovan’s jacket.   “At last.  I’ll go find them.”

“Not you, Dionysus.  Vinnie.”

“Me?  Why me?”

“Why him?” Dionysus echoed.

“Because Dionysus can’t.”  She spoke to Vinnie but looked at Dionysus.  “He was on the scene when the body was discovered and he was involved with Hecate.  That makes him a suspect.”

A muscle jumped in Dionysus’s jaw.

Vinnie backed away, looking around wildly.  “Why would they talk to me?  I’m just a ghost!”

Riga clapped him on the shoulder.  “You’re not just a ghost.  You’re a warrior and a musician, who was talented enough to win a record contract.  Besides, Zeus has told them to cooperate.  Stay respectful but feel free to remind them of it if they give you any trouble.”

The door swung inward to reveal a scowling Hades.  “Zeus requested I speak with you about Hecate.”

“With Vinnie, sir,” Riga corrected.  She gave Vinnie a pen and notepad.

Hades entered, eyes darting around the room, suspicious. 

Vinnie nervously tapped the pen on the notebook.  “Who are you interviewing?”

She looked at Dionysus.  “May I start with you?”

He strode to the door, and sketched a sarcastic bow.  “Shall we go to my chambers?  They are more private.”

She followed him to his rooms.  Thick carpets lay scattered upon the floors and a fire burned in a tile chimney.  Two wide chairs sat angled before it.  Dionysus threw himself into one of them and Riga lowered herself more cautiously into the other, shifting the cushion behind her back and setting her bag down beside her.  The flames didn’t throw out any heat, she noticed.

“Why have you set me aside?” he demanded.

“You know why.  Now why don’t you tell me the truth about your relationship with Hecate and why you latched onto me?”

Firelight flickered off his granite features.  “You cannot seriously consider me a suspect.”

“I consider you a liar.”

He leapt to his feet, his face a glowering mask of rage.  The flames exploded in the fireplace.  “You dare!”

Riga felt a wave of energy wash over her.  She kept her voice steady.  “Wow.  The god of alcoholics is angry at me.  Does this mean we’re not friends anymore?”

A long silence stretched between them and then, abruptly, he lowered himself into his chair and laughed.  “You are so like her.”

“Like Hecate?”

“You said you wanted to learn more about her.  She was ancient, you know.  She was here before the Olympians and I always assumed she would be here long after we were gone.  When Hades displaced her as ruler of the dead and banished Hecate from her underworld palace, she just continued on.  When Artemis took her place as goddess of the moon, she let it go.  Hecate took the long view.  Finally, she was left with but one aspect to rule – magic.  The other gods laughed, claimed her debased.  But she
was
magic, Riga Hayworth, and deep in their hearts they feared her for it.”

He leaned forward, bracing his elbows upon his knees.  “Of course I loved her, each of her faces – maiden, mother, and elder.  She was the greatest mystery on Olympus and a beautiful woman.  Hecate was the great nothingness that came before, and when our world came into being she changed to fit it. But a piece of that nothingness remained in her.  She was the new moon, the full moon, and all its phases in between – the triple goddess.”

“Why was she at Olympus that day?” Riga asked.

His voice was bitter.  “Where else could she go?  After her palace beneath had been taken, she spent more and more time here.”

Some option: to wander, dispossessed in hell or be stuck with a bunch of petty gods on Olympus.  The choice to Riga was obvious, but Hecate hadn’t had a choice. 

“What happened when you arrived?”

“I heard shouting.  When I arrived at Hecate’s chamber, Zeus had just entered.  The others were in the doorway, gaping like fools.  I pushed past them and saw her.  Zeus ejected me from the room, and sealed it.”

“And afterward?”

“The accusations flew.  Apollo accused me of killing her in a lover’s quarrel.  Persephone was hysterical and accused Hermes, though the murder of a goddess is beyond even his tricks.  Zeus became enraged and banished us all from Olympus.  It was probably a wise decision.”   He looked at her, his face bleak.  “Why would someone kill her?”

“I don’t know why, but I do know how.”  She reached into her pocket and pulled from it the piece of filament, so thin it was nearly invisible.  “I found this around the leg of the chair that had fallen behind the door.”

“I don’t understand.”

“That’s because you haven’t read every book ever written by Agatha Christie, which is, I might add a serious oversight for the god of mystery.”  She returned the filament to her pocket.  “You’ve been working on this case for a long time, Dionysus.  You thought there might be a connection between her death and the opening of the door between our worlds.  How?  What could possibly have opened it?”

“Nothing.  I have searched through our oldest records.  Just as your world has laws, so does ours, and there are laws that rule the in between, as well.  They are explicit – though the worlds may brush against each other, nothing can hold the door open.  Nothing.”

Chapter 40: The Trickster

Dionysus stopped Riga outside the blue painted door to Artemis’s chambers.  “I will wait here,” he said.  “If anything happens, call me.”  His hand brushed lightly against hers.  His eyes darkened and he tightened his grip.

“I’m not her,” she reminded him.

He released her and stepped back.  “Yes.  I know.”

Riga rapped on the door; it flew open beneath her raised fist.  Blinding, golden light leapt out at her and Riga flinched away.  Through her lowered eyelashes, she could see the silhouette of a man surrounded by a halo – Apollo, she presumed.    

“Good afternoon, sir,” she said.  “Zeus commanded me to speak with you.” She had no qualms laying the blame at Zeus’s feet.

The light faded.  Apollo’s pale blue eyes traveled from her boots to the top of her head.  “It is the human,” he said to someone in the room behind him.  He glanced at Dionysus.  “And the traitor.”

“Don’t be boring,” a man’s voice drawled from inside the room.  “You’d better let them in.”

When Apollo made no sign of moving, Dionysus said, “Do not fear, brother.  Zeus commanded you speak with Riga Hayworth, not with me.”

Apollo sneered.  “How that must pain you, after all your efforts on our father’s behalf.”  He stepped aside. 

Riga sidled past him into the room and heard the door slam shut behind her.  She looked around.  Antlers and animal heads lined the walls and were mounted above the empty fireplace, interspersed with bows, spears, and other weapons of the hunt.  For the goddess of animals, Artemis had certainly killed a lot of them.  The room was otherwise Spartan – the floor was bare and plain white cushions lay upon the chairs.  A cool breeze blew in from the balcony, where a woman – Artemis – stood, her back to the others.  She had the lean muscle tone of a dancer.  Her toga was short, like a man’s, but glinted at the edges with delicate embroidery.

A second golden haired man lounged upon a divan, twirling an olive branch in one hand.  Wings fluttered ineffectually at the heels of his golden sandals.  Hermes.  He looked at Riga with interest.  Abruptly he said, “So what do you think of Olympus, Riga Hayworth?”

The place was a beautiful mausoleum.  “It is extraordinary, sir,” she said.

Hermes’ eyes twinkled.  He was handsome in today’s fashion, with an androgynous look about him.  “If you can’t think of anything nice to say, speak in bland generalities.  I told you, Artemis, this place has become a cliché.”

Artemis turned to face them.  Curly chestnut-colored hair tumbled loosely atop her head.   Beneath it, her silvery eyes glinted.  “For once, hold your chattering tongue, Hermes.”  She looked at Riga.  “Our father has commanded we speak with you and so we shall.  Dionysus was right – by allowing the murder to stand, suspicion has festered between us.  We must learn who is responsible.”

Apollo brushed past Riga, jostling her, and flung himself into a chair beside the fireplace.  Moodily, he stared at the empty grate.  “I shall cooperate as well, though under protest.”

Hermes slung his legs from the divan and braced his feet upon the floor.  “What does Hecate’s death matter?  Even the gods must pass some day and the old witch was long past her time.”

Riga pulled her notebook from her bag.  “Would anyone object if I took notes?”

“If you must,” Artemis said.

“Thank you, ma’am.  When was the last time you saw Hecate alive?”

Artemis shrugged.  “I was out most of the day, hunting.  I didn’t see her at all.  I had just returned and prepared to dine, when I encountered Apollo and Hermes in the corridor.  Together we walked toward the Great Hall.  When we passed Hecate’s chambers, we heard a great crash.  We pounded on the door, but there was no response.”

“Would you tell me more about that?” Riga said.  “What were you doing when you heard the noise, ma’am?  Where exactly were you in regards to each other?”