When the Gods Are Away, page 14
Chapter 15
VIRGIL RETURNED TO police headquarters after his therapy session and found the station in uproar. Throughout the lobby, officers chattered in groups or pairs. Some drew unintelligible diagrams on the dry-erase board on one wall, others demonstrated combat moves on their conversation partners, and others lowered their heads with convincing solemnity. Michaelides and Collias leaned against the front desk, staring at the far wall with distant expressions.
“He was there for me,” said Michaelides.
“Yeah,” said Collias.
“Couple months back, he and I were called to stop a robbery at a bank. One of the guys had a gun. Don’t know how he got it. But he pointed it right at me. Woulda shot me straight in the heart. Tektón stepped in front of me, between me and the gun. Guy pulled the trigger. Gun made some kind of clicking noise, and nothing happened, but Tektón would’ve taken the bullet. He grabbed the gun and beat the guy in the head with it.”
“Yeah,” said Collias. “Great partner.”
“The best.”
Virgil tried to escape their notice as he walked past them to the corner where Schirra and Stathis spoke. They didn’t glance in his direction when he stopped several paces away.
“This wouldn’t have happened if they had chosen me.” Schirra glared into her coffee mug as though its contents had choked a beloved relative. “No one else has the arrest record I do. No one else trains as hard as I do. I’m better at criminal investigations than the rest of them. The records prove it, but no one wants to admit it. I should have been the chief.”
Stathis nodded. “Maybe this time.”
She snorted and took a sip from her mug. “Yeah, sounds about as plausible as Zeus keeping his dick in his pants for a week.”
Virgil wondered why she stayed in the police force when she faced so much opposition. Perikiades had told Virgil he needed to solve his case in order to prove his self-worth. Maybe Schirra felt a similar pressure.
Galanos brushed past Virgil and slapped Schirra in the ass. Her face hardened as the officer laughed and danced away. Stathis moved to pursue, but Schirra put a hand on his shoulder.
“I want to be the one to kill him,” she said in a whisper, eyes narrowing. "In the daylight, when he's surrounded by family, when he thinks he's safe."
Virgil stepped closer. “What happened?”
Stathis glared. “Galanos grabbed her ass. He does that every chance he gets.”
Virgil blinked. “No, I mean, why is everyone so excited?”
Stathis snorted. “So you’re just dismissing the daily harassment?”
Schirra shook her head. “It’s okay. I’m used to people looking the other way. Or laughing.”
Virgil shuffled and felt his face redden. He had dismissed Schirra's mistreatment the way others dismissed his.
What should I have said instead? Should I have challenged Galanos, despite the personal injury that would have resulted? He forced his hands to remain still. I wish I didn't exist.
Schirra turned to him. "Last night, we got an anonymous tip about another murder."
"Who?"
"Don't interrupt me, and you might find out. I don't know who the victim was. No one important. Some security guard from the Keres Lab."
"Really? The Keres Lab?" The lab where Chrysanthe's husband worked. "When did he die?"
"We're guessing about five days ago. Look, these aren't the important details."
Virgil looked down. Professor Lambros had told the class that a true detective intuitively knew the correct questions to ask in any given situation. Virgil had thought about that lesson after therapy this morning and how he never asked the correct question, and had written his resignation in the parking lot. Then he had crumpled the paper and thrown it on the floor, realizing he owed Nicholas vengeance.
"Sorry," he said. "Sorry for wasting your time. What are the important details?"
Schirra sighed. “Tektón was trying to prove himself, and he challenged someone to trial by combat." She gestured to the activity within the office. “The accused won.”
"Oh." Virgil closed his eyes for a moment. Tektón had never treated him well, but the thought of him lying dead brought Virgil no comfort. “I guess the chief didn’t do any kind of investigation beforehand.”
"Did you take a class in how to say the exact wrong thing in every situation?" Schirra shook her head. “Is that what they taught you in homicide school? It sounds as though he went to the apartment complex where the murder took place and picked the biggest guy he could find.” Then she glared at him. “What do you know about it, anyway? You wouldn’t understand real police work. You’re just a homicide detective.”
Stathis smirked. “Whatever that is.”
Virgil stared at Stathis for a moment, wondering how seriously to take the comment. “I th—"
“Everyone!” Kostas entered the lobby. The officer stood in the entryway with his thumbs in his belt, his face blank.
“Another tragedy has struck our police force," said Kostas. "This morning, we lost Chief Tektón in the line of duty. This is doubly painful because it comes so soon after the death of our previous chief.
“Tektón was a good chief and a strong one. Though he did not serve long, he compensated for his lack of tenure with his bloodthirst.
“He requires no more eulogizing, though. Tektón would not want us to mourn overlong. He would want us to choose a new chief and continue with our sacred duty of protecting our community. We will gather in the conference room in thirty minutes.”
Without any further words, Kostas left the lobby, and the talking began anew. Most conversations centered on potential candidates for the next chief. Virgil began walking to the lab. No chief was likely to be sympathetic to him.
Schirra placed a hand on Virgil's shoulder and forced him to face her. “You might want to hurry and solve your case,” she said. “If you’re capable. The next chief might not be so soft on you. I know I wouldn’t be.”
"But why not?" Virgil backed away when she released his shoulder. "I'm trying to find the actual person who killed Nicholas. You know trials by combat don't work. Two chiefs—"
Stathis stepped forward and folded two thick arms across his chest. “Watch it, Virgil. 'Ares works his will through our hands,'", he said, quoting the opening passage of the police officers' handbook, "'and guides us in ascertaining the criminal. How could the reasoning of a mortal, shortsighted by his lower consciousness, compare to that of a god?'”
“The priests say police chiefs are often used to assassinate political enemies for their senators.”
Schirra glared. “You’d better get back to your lab before you piss me off even more.”
Virgil watched her hands clench into fists. “Sorry. You're right. That's a good idea.”
Turning, he dodged past the other officers who milled about. No one would miss his presence. He headed to the hallways to retrieve his film from the cameras.
AFTER LEARNING OF THE unfortunate selection of Artino as the new chief, Virgil had spent the rest of the early afternoon refilling his cameras, scouring the diary again, and trying to sort through the scant evidence he'd collected between involuntary naps on the table in the examination lab. As expected, he had discovered nothing new, and the naps had only made him feel as though he’d gotten even less sleep.
Before Virgil had fully succumbed to his fourth involuntary nap, the developer had called to report that the photographs were ready. Virgil collected them from the shop, reminding himself the photographs would likely offer no insights. Every other approach in the investigation had yielded nothing, so this one should be no different.
Virgil opened the folder from the camera shop and removed the first photograph. A delightful picture of Kostas and Collias walking past the lab, dragging a disheveled figure between them and laughing. Virgil tossed the photo onto the examination table and pulled out the next one. There were several more shots of Kostas and Collias walking past the lab, still dragging the same figure.
In the photographs of the door to his former office, Virgil saw himself moving out his personal effects. He held one of the pictures closer. Do my clothes really fit that poorly? I guess my hat compensates somewhat. Do I really look that weak? He shook his head and dropped those pictures onto the pile.
The pictures of Patroklus' office were last. Most showed Patroklus’ own arrivals and departures, but two showed a man in a dark blue uniform that Virgil didn't recognize. The photograph of the man’s arrival showed his back, and Virgil could see no identifying features other than short dark hair. When the man departed, though, the front of his uniform showed a nametag.
Virgil squinted, but couldn’t read the letters. Maybe if I had something to magnify the image... He remembered seeing a microscope in the evidence storage room the other day.
Minutes later, he returned from the evidence room with the microscope under his arm. Judging from the bloodstains on its base, someone must have used it at least once.
Virgil set the microscope on his desk and slid the photograph under the clips on the stage. He peered through the eyepiece and adjusted the photograph’s position until the strange man’s nametag occupied the center of the field of view. Then he twisted the focusing knobs, sharpening the words on the nametag until he could decipher the blurry letters.
Pappas. The man’s name was Pappas. A common enough name that it provided no meaningful clue. Another thrilling success story in the long line of successes Virgil had enjoyed in this investigation. He took hold of the photograph's corner to remove it from beneath the clips, but then noticed more writing under the man's name.
'Keres Laboratory.' The Alliance's main military laboratory, located at the edge of town. A facility that manufactured weapons of any variety: physical, chemical, biological, nuclear, or magical.
Chrysanthe’s husband, Matthaios, worked in the biowarfare department at that lab. And the murder Tektón had tried to solve, hadn't the victim worked at that lab? Three days ago, Chief Dimitriou had killed a murder victim's neighbor and then declared the crime solved. Did that victim also work at Keres Lab?
After returning the photographs to the folder, Virgil hurried downstairs to the records room. Before entering the camera's field of view, he adjusted his hat and tunic. Adopting a straighter posture, he walked to the records room door, picked the lock, and began searching through the cabinets.
Several minutes later, he had procured the murder report on the body found on Hera 30. As Virgil had suspected, the man had worked at the Keres Lab and had been killed early on Hera 29, the night before the neighbor had reported his death. The same date as the murder Tektón had tried to avenge, and the same date Manikas had died.
It was technically possible that the murders of three people on the same night were a coincidence, despite two of them working at the same laboratory and the third applying for a similar job at an unknown place. And it could be an even more fantastical coincidence that Patroklus had met with another man who worked at that same laboratory. Virgil allowed himself a moment to acknowledge the possibility of a universe with that much whimsy, and then his thoughts returned to reality.
Something must have happened at the Keres Laboratory late on the night of Hera 28. Nicholas must have applied for a job there. Later, he and two security guards had been murdered in their own homes. Did Nicholas see something he shouldn't have?
Virgil nodded. Another avenue of investigation. His most plausible yet, one which required the fewest leaps of deduction. While Patroklus had connections to the lab and might have sufficient authority to gain Virgil entrance, Virgil didn't know if he could trust the priest. Matthaios worked there, though. If necessary, Virgil could ask for his help.
Tomorrow, then. After his therapist appointment, he would go to Keres Laboratory, determine Pappas' relationship with Patroklus, and uncover what happened the night of Hera 28. This case is coming to a close soon.
Chapter 16
VIRGIL STUDIED THE tan carpet in Dr. Perikiades’ office, noting the shapes formed by patches of light and dark. In-depth examination of the floor allowed him a respite from the therapist's piercing eyes.
At least I didn’t make him angry by arriving late again. Virgil hadn’t taken a sleeping pill last night. He hadn’t needed to, despite his excitement.
He actually had genuine leads on the case. Those cameras were awesome. Maybe they would actually solve the murder. I should have set them up earlier. They’re much better detectives than I am. He had spent last night calling the families of the murdered guards, although, despite Virgil's pleas about how the information would help solve Nicholas' murder, the families had refused to discuss the victims.
Dr. Perikiades cleared his throat. "Having difficulty answering?"
Virgil looked up. "Oh. Sorry. Just lost in thought. What was the question?"
Perikiades rolled his eyes. "I have many better ways of wasting my time than you paying me to watch you stare at the carpet. In the future, answer my questions promptly. Now, again, give me a list of goals, activities, or material goods that make you happy."
"Happy?" The unfamiliar word stumbled across Virgil's tongue. “Well, I think solving the case might make me happy. It's going really well right now. I think whoever killed Nicholas killed other people, too, and I think they work at the Keres Lab."
Dr. Perikiades coughed and sat up straight. "The Keres Lab? Really? So you think you've uncovered some kind of conspiracy? Are you certain you're capable of surviving?"
Virgil blinked. "Oh. I guess I hadn't thought..."
"I mean, solving a murder already sounded above your ability level, right? And now you're trying to expose a network of violent criminals in the highest levels of the military who want to remain secret?"
"Well, I guess—"
Perikiades held up a hand. "That's your decision, of course. We'll work with that. Let's assume that, somehow, through the intercession of the gods or pure luck, you manage to navigate their web of intrigue, find Mr. Manikas' killer, deliver the conspirators to justice, and survive the experience. Can you imagine that?"
Virgil closed his eyes. He could only see the mocking laughter of his coworkers, the disappointed glare of his deceased academy professor, and his body lying dead in his apartment. “Yes.”
“Great. Now imagine what happens afterward. You return home to your empty apartment and proceed through your normal routine. Which is...” Perikiades flipped to previous pages in his notebook. “Locking your door, sitting on your couch, reading a book, wishing you were doing something else, trying to hit your dartboard, wishing you had some sort of talent at anything, masturbating if the idea didn’t seem too boring at the moment, and taking sleeping pills." The therapist glanced up at Virgil. “When you imagine doing this, are you happy?”
“No.”
“Good, because that sounds worse than having a mosquito colony on your dick. You need to find something beyond your work that will give your life meaning. Why do you wake up in the morning?"
"Habit?" Virgil sighed. “I don’t know. Sometimes I think the only reason I haven’t killed myself is that I know that what might come next is even worse.”
"Right. Anyone in your situation would feel the same. Now, you said before you’ve never had any friends.”
“Right. I thought someone was tolerating me once, but I was wrong.”
Dr. Perikiades adjusted his glasses. “Friends are good. I recommend them, if you’re capable. They’ll insult other people to make you feel better about yourself, and can make you feel less lonely for a couple hours at a time. Remember, a lone building doesn’t make a city.”
“Okay. That sounds nice.” Virgil wished Nicholas hadn’t died. Maybe, under other circumstances, they could have become close. They had similar difficulties fitting in to society and a similar lack of friends. Those commonalities sounded like good foundations for a friendship. “There is a guy, I guess. He’s dead, but I feel as though I’ve gotten to know him. Do..."
Dr. Perikiades’ eyes widened. Virgil's hands tightened on his legs again.
Perikiades shook his head. “You realize how pathetic that sounds, right?”
Virgil's face flushed. “Yes. I guess so.”
“Thank Zeus. Didn’t want to have to explain that.” Dr. Perikiades jotted something in his notebook. “Well, maybe we’re going a little too fast here, but I’m going to suggest you try to find a friend. That can be your goal for next week. I want you to come in here and tell me about a friend you’ve made, or at least about your progress toward friendship with someone. Assuming you survive your conspiracy investigation, of course.”
Virgil looked at his shoes. Maybe I can build a mountain from scratch, too.
“How does that feel? To have a goal, something to work toward?”
“Daunting.”
The therapist pursed his lips and made more notes. “Your response shouldn’t have surprised me. Well, it’s often good to face our fears. Unless they kill us, of course. But making a friend shouldn't be lethal, even for you. Give this task appropriate consideration. You will never find any solace in life unless you do this."
Having solace would feel so weird. Do I even want that?
Do I deserve it?
“Okay.” Virgil stood. “Can I go now?”
Chapter 17
THE CAR PUTTERED TO a stop in the visitors' section at the rear of the Keres Laboratory parking lot. Virgil opened his door and stepped onto the asphalt, gazing toward the distant building. It loomed ahead like a fallen Titan, sprawling to the limits of his vision. Arches and pillars, pure sparkling white, separated the domed partitions and made the lab look like a great leader’s tomb or a temple to a popular god.
And it was a long way from the rear of the parking lot. By the time Virgil arrived at the oaken front doors, sweat soaked his tunic and forehead. He wiped his face off as best as he could and offered a prayer to Hebe for success, another data point for his weekly experiment. After the quick supplication, he entered the building.
