Crazy in the Blood (Latter-Day Olympians)

by Diver, Lucienne

  The cop covered his own surprise by snarling, “What is it now?”

  “Another man, another alibi, more bail money.”

  “Another—” He ripped a hand through his hair, I could see it this time. I was surprised he didn’t yank it straight out by the roots he was pulling so hard.

  His partner looked at me, no longer hiding his smile of amusement. “You’re a popular girl.”

  I shrugged. “Well, you know, I put out.”

  I don’t know what made me say it, but I thought good cop was going to swallow his tongue.

  “Take her to booking,” bad cop ordered the female officer. “Let her make her one phone call, though it seems like everyone she knows is here. We’ll go talk to these alibis.” He said it like it was a dirty word.

  She looked me up and down assessingly, either to see if I was going to be any trouble or what was so special about me that I’d draw two witnesses out of the woodwork. She’d play a mean game of poker—I couldn’t tell the verdict from her face.

  We passed good cop and bad cop in the hallway, just opening the door to one of the interview rooms. The voice that issued forth from inside stopped me in my tracks. “It’s about time,” he said.

  Hades.

  Hades was my alibi? Poseidon’s pearly whites, I was in trouble. If they allowed him to bail me out, I wondered whether anyone would ever hear from me again. Although, I’d done what he wanted; I’d found Persephone. I just hadn’t actually told him as much. I’d barely had time to think about what to do about the situation, and now he potentially held my freedom in the palm of his hand.

  I wondered who my other alibi was, but I was doomed to go unsatisfied on that point. I was through SFPD’s version of cubicle city and into an elevator faster than Jesus could get his panties in a wad. Okay, maybe not that fast. Two floors later we were stepping out into the booking area, where I’d have mug shots and fingerprints taken and my criminal record would begin.

  The booking officer behind the desk got a call as we approached and waved to the officer escorting me with his free hand as he picked up the receiver with the other. “Booking,” he said into it.

  I could tell by the way his gaze suddenly laser-focused on me that I was the subject of the call, and I prayed with all my heart that it wasn’t someone ordering him to amend the charges against me to murder.

  “Yes,” he said cautiously into the phone.

  The officer with me raised her brows to him in question, and he held a finger up to let her know he’d answer momentarily.

  “Now?” he asked, as if unsure he’d heard correctly. “Before processing?”

  “Now.” It was barked. Even I could hear it from feet away.

  “The Feds are taking custody,” the booking officer said in disbelief as he hung up the phone. “They say she’s part of an ongoing investigation. And that her uncle’s awake and asking for her.”

  I went boneless with relief and had to force myself to stay upright. Christos was awake. He’d be okay. He had to be. I’d known it all along.

  The female officer looked at me hard. “Who are you?” she asked.

  “Just what it says on my ID.”

  “You’re sure getting a lot of attention for a newbie private eye.”

  I smiled, grateful that I could smile again. “Lucky me.”

  She sighed and we backtracked up to cubicle city, where Agents Rosen and Holloway were waiting. Had Christie called everyone in my address book or had they found me on their own? Which begged all kinds of questions about bugs and tracking devices.

  “Agents,” I said, nodding to them respectfully, like a good little PI who should absolutely be released on her own recognizance.

  “Officer, would you remove her cuffs?” Agent Rosen asked.

  And give her a triple venti, extra hot latte and a sack full of scones, I thought, hopefully.

  But unfortunately the universe wasn’t prepared to make restitution for all the recent crap. Still, the relief to my shoulders as my hands were freed from the cuffs was a pretty fine thing.

  “You do know we found her uncle’s unconscious body in the back of her car?” the cop said.

  “He’s asking for her,” Holloway said. “That seems pretty compelling evidence of her innocence.”

  “Anyway, it’s all been cleared through channels,” said a man I just now noticed standing behind them, probably the same man who’d been barking orders on the phone. From the cut of his suit, he was pretty high up in the command food chain. “Mizz Karacis, you’re free to go…with these agents.”

  “And if I decide I’d rather go back to my hotel and get some sleep?” Not that I would; I wanted to see Uncle Christos as much as they wanted to take me to him, but I had to see how far this freedom extended.

  “That would be ill-advised. Besides, our techs are still going over your car for evidence; it’s not ready to be released. I’m sure the agents will give you a lift back to your hotel once they’re finished with you.”

  “Great,” I said, trying to mean it. After all, they had gotten me free, at least temporarily. I didn’t want to seem ungrateful. “Any chance we can stop off at a coffee shop on the way? I’ve been up all night.”

  “Due to your two alibis?” Agent Rosen asked slyly.

  “No,” I answered, glaring. “My stake out. Anyway, who—”

  I started to ask who my second alibi was, then stopped when I figured it was the sort of thing I should know. I wasn’t about to peg any potential alibi as a liar.

  The agents ignored my unasked question and escorted me out. Rosen fiddled with his cell phone as we emerged into the early morning sunlight hitting us full blast from just above the tree line. He drew cool black shades from his pocket and slid them into place with his free hand, then reached his phone out to me, already ringing.

  “Your friend, Christie,” he said. “She’s been calling me all night, frantic. I thought you might want to talk to her before she has an aneurism.” There was grudging respect in his voice.

  “Ohmagod, Agent Rosen, tell me you have her,” Christie ordered as soon as she picked up the phone.

  “Hey, girl,” I said, so glad to hear her voice, which whooshed out now in the mother of all sighs.

  “Tori, you’re safe! You didn’t check in. Jesus flew all the way up here. And then he said he distracted everybody at the compound so that you could get out of there. He saw you go. You were supposed to be right behind him!” she gushed accusatorily. “Then you disappeared. For hours.”

  I tried to get a word in then, but she continued. “Jesus drove back and saw the police surrounding your car, and we feared the worst.”

  She was crying now. I could hear it in her voice. I felt terrible, even though I’d never meant to scare her that way.

  “I’m good,” I soothed. “You did good. Great. And they found Christos. He’s okay.” I saw the two agents exchange a look, and my heart sank. “Well, isn’t he?” I demanded.

  “Tori.” The voice came from behind us, and my heart squeezed. I turned slowly, and the agents along with me.

  Apollo stood there, just staring, looking me over from head to foot as though I might have wounds not readily apparent. My other alibi, I presumed.

  “Did Christie call you too?” I asked, unable to think what else to say. I didn’t want to be happy to see him, but the idea that he would have come when I was in trouble even after I said I was through with him made my wants a moot point. I was glad to see him.

  “Who?” Christie asked in my ear. “Who’s there?” I’d nearly forgotten the phone.

  “Apollo,” I answered.

  “Tori,” he said again.

  “I didn’t send him,” Christie said. “Jesus, yes, and I called Armani. And the agents, but—”

  “Christie, can I call you back?” I didn’t wait for an answer. I’d make it up to her later. For all of this.

  Of course, Apollo would have known I was in trouble, via our unwanted link. Still, the fact that he’d come…


  “Thank you,” I said to him, “for coming. You didn’t have to.”

  “We need to talk,” he said, taking a step forward.

  “Later,” Agent Holloway cut in, moving between us and cutting off all eye contact. “Right now she’s coming with us.”

  “Where to?” he asked.

  “The hospital,” I answered, when Holloway didn’t, “to see my uncle.”

  “I’ll follow you.”

  Holloway grunted and turned back to me, steering me with a no-nonsense hand toward his car. I was almost thankful. I didn’t want to talk to Apollo. It seemed like every time I did I fell further and less willingly into his debt. Someday soon I’d stop fighting and I’d be like a fly trapped in a web, waiting to be devoured. Worse, not even minding the thought.

  Chapter Thirteen

  When we got to Uncle Christos’s room, my two agent escorts hung back. Far enough to give us the illusion of privacy but close enough to hear and to intervene if it turned out my alibis were full of crap and I was inclined to finish the job I’d allegedly started.

  He was sleeping as I approached—mouth open, a little drool escaping from one corner, gentle snore like a buzz saw with a silencer. I took his left hand where it rested above the blankets. His eyes fluttered to half mast and then shut again.

  “Maria?” he asked.

  It was my mother’s name.

  “Tori,” I told him, concern kicking up my heart rate. “I’m here, Uncle Christos.”

  His eyes slowly peeled open again. “Can’t be,” he said. “Tori’s just a skinny little thing. No bigger’n…a bug.”

  The speech seemed to take a lot out of him, and his eyes closed again. That way he couldn’t see the tears in mine.

  “It’s Tori, theios. I’m all grown up. Don’t you remember?”

  I spoke to him in Greek, hoping…I don’t know what, but he loved to hear it. He was always afraid that my brother and I would lose it. He’d made us practice with him all the time when we were kids.

  The look on Christos’s face was strained, like he was trying to remember and couldn’t, and he seemed to have new lines creasing his forehead. In six months? Maybe I was misremembering his face, like he was misremembering my age. But the hale, vital man I’d known seemed to have gotten old and shrunken all of the sudden.

  “It’s okay, theios, sleep. We’ll talk later.” I kept the catch out of my voice, but a big fat tear rolled down my cheek. I brushed it away and stood watching his face until it relaxed and the buzz saw started up again. Then I turned to the agents.

  “He doesn’t remember,” I told them.

  “Yeah, we got that,” Rosen said, relatively gently. “We hoped that your presence would spark…something.”

  “What happened to him?”

  If they exchanged a glance, I swore to myself I’d slap them, regardless of the charges for assaulting a federal officer, but Holloway said, “We don’t know. The drug tests aren’t back yet. There’s no cranial damage on the X-ray, no pupil dilation or blurred vision to indicate a concussion. Just the loss of memory.”

  “Sleep deprivation? Brain washing? Hypnosis?”

  “We’re waiting on approval of more tests, but if it’s any of the above, they won’t do us any good. There was no evidence of deprivation or torture, if that helps. His bruising is more consistent with taking a run at something and being knocked on his butt than of direct violence. There’s also some pooling of blood, as if he’d laid prone for some time, which would indicate at least the opportunity for sleep.”

  “Or that he was knocked unconscious.”

  “Or that. He’s a little like Rip Van Winkle right now, like he fell asleep and half your life passed him by,” Rosen said.

  “Only he was there for it. All but the last six months.”

  But something he said, about Rip Van Winkle, gave me pause. Uncle Christos had slept the sleep of forgetfulness, and while it could have been caused by any of the things we’d discussed, one more disturbing possibility came to me—the waters of the River Lethe, which wound through Hades’s realm. He’d have had no reason I could think of to use it on Christos, but Persephone…she’d have had motive and means. She could easily have taken some when she won her freedom from the underworld.

  I doubted any drug test or tox screen in the world was going to turn that up. I’d always thought the River Lethe was imaginary, a myth like Mount Olympus, gorgons, the Fates and all that jazz. I’d been wrong on everything else thus far, so why not this too?

  Agents Rosen and Holloway turned at some kind of commotion in the hallway, the latter motioning me to stay back and presumably safe while the former slipped out to see what was going on, closing the door behind him.

  A second later, he opened it again, and I couldn’t even believe my eyes.

  Nick stood there, looking about two cups of coffee down for the day, but nonetheless gorgeous with his dark hair ruffled, one wave, as always, half over his eyes, which were emphasized by the blue denim, button-up shirt he was wearing over jeans. I’d never seen him look quite so casual before except when he was wearing nothing at all.

  “You’re here!” I said, ever ready to display my brilliant grasp of the obvious.

  “I took the red eye.”

  Then I was in his arms, my face buried in his shoulder as his arms went around me and held me fiercely. “Christie called,” he said.

  “She told me.”

  Nurse Nancy was goggling at us, and I remembered she’d seen that news footage of me with Apollo. She’d probably assumed he and I had been an item. If I had half the fun everyone suspected me of having…well, I wouldn’t have time to get into nearly as much trouble.

  Rosen cleared his throat from the doorway. “Can we take this into the hall or to the visitor’s lounge? Nurse Nancy says that we’ve exceeded the visitor room limit…again. She was trying to explain that to Mr. Armani when he flashed his badge and went around her.”

  I looked up at Nick, who shrugged, totally unrepentant. I wanted to kiss him, but not with an audience. I supposed it could wait.

  Agent Holloway led the way to a visitor’s lounge, which was either naturally deserted or had been pre-cleared by the agents. It sported dirt-brown couches and chairs, seventies green plastic tables and two-year-old magazines, largely winners like Field and Stream. Nick and I took the couch, leaving the chairs for the agents. We promptly sank toward each other as the couch sagged in the center.

  “So, you’ve been inside the complex?” Agent Rosen began.

  “I never said that,” I answered immediately, not about to admit to B&E.

  “Earlier in the day,” he prompted, “with a Mr. Apollo Demas.” Agent Rosen held up his smart phone to show me a screen of words too small to actually read. “It’s his statement. Plus, your car was logged by the side of the road around midmorning. A police officer approached to offer assistance and couldn’t locate the driver of the vehicle. It came back clean when he ran the plates, except for a host of unpaid parking tickets.”

  Armani looked amused over that, but Rosen looked like a disappointed papa. Was he the one with kids? I couldn’t recall.

  I let out a breath. “Oh, okay, I was there. It’s not a crime, is it?”

  “We want you to get with our people and give them the layout of the place—structures, vehicles, population estimate.”

  I leaned forward, studying his face. “You found something? The lab results on the food?”

  “Results were…inconclusive. There’s definitely an additive, but it couldn’t be identified. The chemical structure…it’s not something we’ve seen before. It’s definitely not on any black list.”

  “What about Alonzo’s sister?”

  “We have her samples en route to our lab, but results are not instantaneous, whatever you see on TV. Do you expect anything different?”

  Damn, I didn’t.

  “We have no cause for a warrant. Nothing on which to go in.”

  “But you suspect,” I said. “You wouldn�
�t be here otherwise.”

  “We have several similar and very brutal crime scenes, one of which happened close to the site of a terrorist attack on domestic soil at the top of Mount Lee. Six deaths now, including the eviscerated man in the morgue and the tourists who were killed in the parking lot of your hotel. We have one common denominator—you.”

  Armani took my hand and squeezed it as I said, “But you told the officer at the station I wasn’t a suspect,” I protested.

  “Honestly, that’s up to you. Suspect or informant…your call. Whatever else is up, you know more than you’re telling.”

  “If only I knew as much as everybody thinks I do, I’d have this solved by now. But—wait—what if I could get you that informant?” I thought of the questioning girl who’d come to check on the alarm bells with Casey Olivieri. She didn’t seem to have drunk the cultish Kool-Aid. I wondered if she’d be as good at answering questions as asking them.

  “You know someone?” he asked, leaning forward himself and studying me as if to determine whether I was putting him off or finally, truly, cooperating.

  “I might. Look, I’ll meet with your people. I’ll give them all the info I have and you can put a sketch artist with me on the girl I think might be your weak link. If you can get her outside the compound, away from the others…but first, I really need to use the facilities.” Because that double espresso had finally run through me. I supposed that up until now I’d been scared literally shitless.

  Holloway rose to go with me. I guess he’d drawn the short straw for the day. I squeezed Nick’s hand as I rose and told him I’d be right back. Famous last words.

  Holloway preceded me out into the hall so that he could check it out first, and it must have been clear, because he motioned me to follow him. The restrooms were in an alcove directly across the way, so we didn’t have far to go. Within a few paces, Holloway was at the ladies’ room door. He knocked loudly, and when no one responded, he turned the knob and pushed the door open hard. It was a small, cotton candy pink space with two stalls—one a large handicapped stall—and one small sink. There were no windows through which I could escape, even if I were so inclined. The doors to both stalls were closed, and Holloway motioned me to stay back while he stepped inside and shoved them both open to check that they were truly empty. I felt a tingle of warning, but nothing happened. Both doors swung in, completely unobstructed, and bounced back into place, closed apparently being their default.