When the Gods Are Away, page 11
Virgil wished he had done better in combat training. He hadn't realized it would be useful even when drinking with one's friends. "Tim, please. I could really use your help with this."
Tim's face contorted for a moment. Then he shrugged. "Yeah, fine, I do have something that might help. Just a few pages from his diary."
Virgil blinked. "You... Were you the person leaving Nicholas’ apartment the other morning? The guy I was in a car chase with?”
“Car chase? I think I would have noticed that.” Tim shook his head. “No, I just happened to find a few pages somewhere.”
Virgil glanced at the stone in Patroklus’ robe. Orange again. “Are you sure you’re telling me everything?”
“Okay, maybe I took some pages out of a diary.” Tim shook his head. “But I didn’t murder Nicholas. I just thought maybe, since I didn’t have an alibi when he was killed and since those pages probably mentioned me, maybe I should... Well, I didn’t do it and I didn’t want to get killed for it.”
"How did you even know about the diary?"
Tim laughed bitterly. "Nicholas was drunk at the time. He was telling me he'd written in his diary that he would slash my tires if he ever caught me again. Said he changed his mind after we became friends."
Virgil jotted that information in his notebook. "Do you have the pages with you?"
"They're in the car." Tim stood.
"You still owe me that drink, man," his companion said.
Tim glared. "Yeah, yeah, I know. Fuck off."
Virgil glanced at Patroklus, who nodded. They followed Tim outside. Once in the parking lot, Virgil led the way to the Titan or Gorgon. Tim gave him an odd look, but said nothing.
"Here." Tim reached inside the car and pulled the pages from the passenger seat. Virgil held them close and squinted to read the first page in the dim moonlight.
Hera 15. They fired me. They actually fired me. The bastards. I...
VIRGIL LOOKED UP. THIS was it. This was the rest of the diary. Nicholas’ final days were recorded here. Maybe this book contained the clues that would solve the case.
"Why didn't you take the whole book?" asked Virgil.
Tim shut his car door. “I still wanted you to find the killer. I thought there might be some clues in the first part of the diary. I realized afterward I should have gotten all the entries starting with when he met me. I was going to go back tomorrow.”
Virgil glanced at Patroklus, who nodded. It was nice having a magic-wielding priest to help him. Given the success of the spell tonight, Virgil thought he could eliminate Patroklus from his list of suspects.
“Okay. We'll contact you if we have more questions.” Virgil raised the diary pages. “Thank you for these. They’ll be very helpful.” Tim said nothing as Virgil and Patroklus departed.
“That actually didn’t go too badly,” Virgil said as he and the priest walked back to the Nymph. “Thanks for helping.”
“I am here to serve.”
“We actually got some good clues. And I was questioning people, just like a real detective. And you were a big part of it. Didn’t it feel great?”
Patroklus stopped beside the passenger-side door of the Nymph. He glanced at Virgil expectantly.
“Sorry.” Virgil hurried to his door. He opened it and was about to slide inside when he noticed a piece of paper lying on his seat. Who put it there? He picked it up and, sliding behind the steering wheel, began to read.
Virgil, I am having you watched by someone within your organization. I know every move you make. Cease your investigation while you can. If you fail to heed my warning, death awaits you.
Virgil frowned. Someone had searched his apartment, someone had desecrated Manikas' corpse, the senator had written to the chief about him, and now this. Who is spending so much time focusing on me?
He reread the note. Someone within the organization. That could mean almost anyone within his social circle. Schirra, Stathis, any of the other officers, maybe even...
“What does it say?”
Patroklus.
“Nothing.” Virgil pocketed the paper. “Nothing. It’s just a blank sheet of paper. Must have fallen out of my pocket earlier.”
Patroklus’ eyes moved to the sleeve of his robe. The stone glowed orange. His eyes met Virgil’s. “I see.”
Virgil swallowed. The priest said nothing and turned his face straight ahead, peering out the windshield at nothing in particular.
“Um,” said Virgil. “It’s kind of late. I should take us back to the station.”
Chapter 12
THE DRIVE TO THE STATION took place under the most oppressive silence Virgil had felt since first introducing himself to his police officer coworkers. He wondered what Patroklus was thinking as he sat in the passenger seat, staring ahead with his usual indiscernible expression. Even when Virgil apologized for going over bumps in the road, Patroklus stared straight ahead without response.
The note might not have referred to the priest. Any of the officers would have worked with an outsider to prove Virgil’s incompetence and that his entire profession had no merit. Kostas in particular might do it for free, and might even throw in an assassination if the requester didn’t dissent with too much vehemence.
I probably won’t know who wrote the note until he’s leaning over me, watching me die.
Patroklus had earned suspicion, though. He had pointed Virgil out during the funeral, as though he wanted people to murder Virgil.
Virgil tightened his grip on the steering wheel. He didn’t need to go through Patroklus’ numerous suspicious behaviors again.
Should I question him while the stone is visible? No, that would be stupid. If the stone reveals his intentions to kill me, he’ll feel forced to act immediately. But I could tail him after I drop him off at the station.
His previous attempt at a car chase, when he had chased Tim from Nicholas’ apartment, had been a failure of impressive proportions, but Patroklus seemed like he would be a slow driver. Maybe he would go somewhere incriminating or visit someone who would provide another piece of evidence. The chief’s deadline expired in two hours, so Virgil hoped to find proof before then that Patroklus had committed the murder.
Virgil’s car lurched into the almost vacant station parking lot and came to a halt in the spot nearest the main door. Without saying a word, Patroklus exited and floated to one of the few cars in the lot. A Sphinx. Virgil waited, hoping his intentions weren’t too obvious. Is he going to think I’m politely waiting to make sure his car starts, or is he going to suspect me of following him?
Patroklus gave no indication of noticing and entered his inexpensive but respectable car in the same fluid motion with which he conducted all his affairs. A moment later, the Sphinx’s lights flashed on, and the car pulled away from its spot and entered the road. Virgil backed out of his own spot and shoved the gas pedal to the floor, offering a prayer to Hebe that he could match Patroklus’ speed.
The Sphinx moved at a sedate pace, gliding up and down hills and making smooth turns. It seemed to pass over potholes, while Virgil’s Nymph risked losing its tires as it dropped into each one.
He wondered if he maintained enough distance from Patroklus. There weren’t many cars on the road, so Patroklus could easily notice the Nymph following him.
This is such a stupid idea. Like all of my ideas. I should never have become a detective, should never have thought I could do anything.
Virgil took a breath. Those thoughts could wait until he was trying to get to sleep. He concentrated on following the Sphinx.
After a few minutes, Patroklus’ destination became obvious. Several intersections later, the Sphinx pulled into the tree-shaded parking lot of the huge Temple of Ares. Lights covered the building, making it bright as day. Virgil drove past to make the priest think Virgil wasn’t following him. At the next block, Virgil turned around, switched off his headlights, and drove back to the temple. There were no signs that anyone noticed as he parked in the row farthest from the temple entrance.
What now? Virgil sat behind the steering wheel, watching the temple. No movement. Patroklus must have already gone inside.
Virgil knew he couldn't follow. If he entered the building, the priests would discover him and Patroklus would learn of his visit. Maybe he could find a window through which to spy on Patroklus.
He grimaced. He hadn’t thought this plan through and hadn’t initially expected the priest to drive to the temple, anyway. Coming here made Patroklus' plans ambiguous. Why couldn’t he have gone to meet the murderer or killed another person or something else helpful?
Virgil stepped out of the car and eased the door closed. No sounds other than the rustling of leaves. No movement other than the rocking of tree branches. Good. He was still unseen.
He took deliberate steps, following the outside perimeter of the parking lot. The temple's floodlights shone only dimly here, and shadows from the thin line of trimmed trees along the road gave him a modicum of cover. While most of the grounds beyond the perimeter lay bathed in light, darkness covered the areas to the sides of the temple. Virgil decided those spaces would offer the best chances to observe Patroklus.
It felt wrong to be spying on someone on the hallowed ground of a temple. Maybe this place was sacred and maybe it wasn’t, but doing espionage here was so vulgar. Like using the flag to blow his nose.
As a child, he had thought of temples as sacred, mysterious, magical. Exactly the way priests wanted you to view them. When he grew older and more distrustful, temples had come to symbolize secrets. He sometimes wished his parents had given him to the priesthood so he could have learned those secrets and determined whether the gods existed.
It was probably for the best that his parents kept him for their own. He probably didn't even possess the aptitude for magic.
Virgil quickened his pace. Maybe attempting surveillance here was pointless. Maybe he—
“What is your purpose here?”
“Diaper-pissing Ares!” Virgil’s legs went wobbly as he turned, one step at a time, making no sudden movements. A priest stood behind him, enshrouded in a gray robe. A tiny silver pin, in the shape of a sword, was fastened to his breast. The man’s face appeared as impassive as Patroklus’. He folded his arms across his stomach, each hand disappearing into the opposite arm’s sleeve.
“I’m sorry!” Virgil clutched his chest, as though he could somehow tame his racing heart. “For the curse and... I shouldn’t say things like that, I know, and please don’t hurt me, and... I mean, it’s Blasphemer’s Week, so maybe it’s okay, but probably it isn’t...”
The priest said nothing, but he also didn’t seem inclined to perform some kind of harmful magic or call the police.
“So I was, I just got lost and...”
Virgil’s voice trailed off. The priest wouldn’t believe that.
What are the consequences for wandering through the temple parking lot?
Temples were technically public property, but those in charge of enforcing the rules didn’t always agree on the conditions under which the rules should be enforced. The priest might have him arrested. Kostas would love to throw Virgil into the back of a police truck. Better to tell the truth and hope for mercy than risk telling lies the priest could unveil.
“I was following someone and—"
“Following whom?”
Virgil blinked. “Um, Patroklus. He’s a priest, too. He came here and he’s been helping me with my investigation, but I got a note and I’m worried he might be spying on me. So—"
“So you came to this holy place to spy on him.” The priest stood rigid, his muscles unmoving and his face stone.
“Yes.” It sounded bad when stated so baldly. Virgil looked at his shoes. What’s the priest going to do? Can he excommunicate me? Virgil remembered the only excommunication he’d heard of, remembered reading about it in the papers and imagining what the poor woman was experiencing. They had tattooed her cheek so that everyone would know the temple had forbidden anyone to employ her or sell her anything or offer her succor. He often wondered what had happened to her after that day. The same fate would befall him if anyone discovered the shallowness of his belief, and if the judge were feeling exceedingly kind. In case the priest could determine Virgil’s thoughts from his expression, Virgil concentrated on keeping his face blank.
The priest gave no indication he had noticed anything unusual. “What do you wish to know about Patroklus?”
“Um.” Is it really going to be this easy? Is he really going to just answer my questions? “I guess, just, is he planning to kill me or anything?”
“I see.” While most people would have used the ensuing pause to consider the request, the priest appeared to do nothing beyond staring at Virgil.
“Do... do you know if he’s planning anything like that?”
“Patroklus is inscrutable even amongst his brethren.” A twitch at the priest’s mouth, the first indication of any emotion. “Or his near-brethren, I suppose. You know he is a priest and not a Custodian-Priest, yes?”
“Um, I knew he wasn’t on the career path to be High-Priest.”
“Yes, that is the polite way to say it. During his acolyte period, he displayed no affinity toward any particular god. Most priests do and are assigned to temples accordingly when they become Custodian-Priests." The priest tapped his sword pin. "As Patroklus has no affinity toward any god, a very rare condition, his thoughts are more difficult to discern.”
“Okay,” said Virgil. “So you don’t know his intentions, either. But why isn’t he in line to be High-Priest? Not matching a specific god doesn’t mean he’s not any good, right?”
The Custodian-Priest inclined his head. “You are quite polite and have a kind heart. Unfortunately, those conditions are concomitant with naïveté. Consider this: if no god wanted him, how good could he be?”
“Well, maybe all the gods wanted him.”
“No, such is not the way priests are selected. That is why he was assigned to law enforcement. To sate your curiosity as to his purpose at our temple, he sleeps in the dormitories with the real priests.” Another twitch of his mouth. “Pardon. I must be more vigilant about maintaining the illusion that all priests are equal. Patroklus sleeps in the dormitories with the Custodian-Priests. He is therefore unlikely to conduct any suspicious activities while here.”
“Okay.” Those answers helped, at least. Disappointing, though, that one more investigative path had ended in failure.
“Now that your questions have been answered, even your unasked question, will you vacate our premises?”
“Oh.” Virgil glanced at his car many meters away. “Um, sure. Yeah, I’ll do that. Thank you.”
The Custodian-Priest inclined his head and disappeared without sound into the shadows. The night felt undisturbed, as though the priest had never stood here.
Virgil headed back to his car. The venture hadn’t been as complete a loss as most of his ideas. He still didn’t know if Patroklus wanted to kill him, but at least he had learned that no one else knew, either.
Virgil opened the door to his apartment. After the encounter with the Custodian-Priest, his mind had sifted through all his observations of Patroklus. All the law enforcement priest's behavior could be interpreted as deliberate deception, or harmless incompetence, or as the simple result of unavailable evidence. Maybe Virgil would never know Patroklus’ intentions until the priest killed him. Or until his death from old age, or pneumonia, or a tiger attack, or another event unrelated to Patroklus.
He sighed as he lowered himself onto the couch. It groaned its familiar groan, and he began the familiar routine of his lonely night.
Despite the nebulous possibilities surrounding the priest’s immediate goals, Virgil felt sorry for him having to spend every night in the dormitories with people who had so little respect for him. Maybe under other circumstances, Patroklus, Nicholas, and I could have formed a support group. All of us know what it’s like for others to hate us and to dread returning home at night. Virgil didn’t have to endure the ridicule of dorm-mates, but he knew the loneliness of an empty apartment.
At least he had Chrysanthe. Patroklus didn’t have anyone. Nicholas didn’t, either. Nicholas didn't even have the friends he thought he had.
Even if Virgil couldn’t help Patroklus, he could avenge Nicholas and give the poor man’s spirit some peace. Assuming he determined the murderer's identity in the next hour.
One set of clues remained, a tenuous hope for justice. Virgil pulled the diary pages from his pocket and unfolded them, realizing that by reading them he was counting down through Nicholas’ final days.
Hera 15. They fired me. They actually fired me. The bastards. I couldn’t believe it. They fired me, after all those years I worked for them. After all I put up with. They hired some asshole to play detective and then said they couldn’t afford me, too, and that I wasn’t a real officer, anyway. I was a real officer. I was a lot better than any of them. I made my share of arrests. The only reason I didn’t have stats as good as Kostas or Tektón or Schirra is because they never gave me the good assignments. They were setting me up for failure and I went along with it. I was too innocent to see what they were doing.
I will never forget Chief Dimitriou’s expression when he told me. He smiled. He thought it was some big joke that he was throwing me out on the streets after all my years of service. I wanted to punch him in the face, but civilians can’t get away with that kind of thing. Actually, officers can’t, either, not with the chief.
I hate them all, and I hate the guy they replaced me with.
Thrown away like trash
Left to drift in the wind
place to place, never resting
Never feeling happiness again
If they knew what it was like,
if they knew the pain and the sadness
and how lost I feel
they would do it again and just laugh louder
