Bad Blood: Latter-Day Olympians (12 page)

I stood before him now, hands on my hips, almost a head shorter than him but, I hoped, intimidating in my anger. I put
hold it right there, buster
into my glare. “Without my consent,” I stated.

Apollo stayed put, but that could have been his own arrogance. He was a god, after all, what did he have to fear from little ol’ me? “Yes.”

No apologies, not the least abashed. Okay, on the one hand, I could see how a little precognition might not be such a bad thing. On the other, I knew that Apollo’s gifts did not come free, and I didn’t like the idea that he could play with my mind at will. It hadn’t turned out so well for Cassandra, prophetess of Troy, when Apollo’s broad shoulders failed to make her swoon. Oh sure, she still had the visions, but no ability to make anyone believe. All she could do was watch the horrible reality unfold. Something like that would drive me barking mad. I wasn’t feeling too far from that ledge as it was.

We continued our standoff, toe-to-toe, me with my anger and Apollo with his defiance, daring me to take issue.

“Thank you,” I said with effort. “Don’t ever mess with my head again.” I tried to drive the point home with my glare.

Apollo’s head jerked fractionally. “You want to tell me about the carpet?” he asked, changing the subject.

“I’m not finished with you yet.
Who
threatened me?”

“The same god, I presume, who’s responsible for your water damage.”

“Poseidon?”

He nodded. “Do you think he’s the killer?”

“No. My attacker and Circe’s were one and the same. If it had been Poseidon who’d grabbed me, I doubt I’d still have a pulse. How much do you trust Hephaestus?”

That one shocked him. Apollo’s eyes met mine. “Hiero? Last I checked, he was neither green nor scaly. What’s he got to do with anything?”

“The place I was attacked yesterday—he’s the one who pointed it out on the map. No one else knew where I’d be.”

“But if it had some significance to your case, it wouldn’t have been too hard to figure out.”

Damn, all that beauty and brains too. My righteous anger was wearing off and with it went my defense against Apollo’s spell. I had to end this quickly.

“Okay, point for you,” I conceded. “Sorry to get you down here in such a rush.”

Double uh oh. The smolder was back in his eyes. He must have sensed the second the mood had shifted.

Apollo reached out to me, and I backed out of my own office in retreat.

“Here, let me get the door for you,” I offered

It was a lame cover and we both knew it. Before making his exit, he stopped to take my chin and force me to meet his eyes.

“You had your chance, you know. Off the case and out of my—clutches. I think you know what will happen if we continue working together.”

I struggled to remember why that was a very bad thing; I fought to dredge up some anger at his arrogance, but deep down I both feared and hoped he was right.

“Is this where you start twirling your mustachios?” I asked, trying to dispel the mood.

“If you insist on playing the damsel in distress. Fortunately for me, I don’t think your police detective is much of a challenge.”

Urk. It was on the tip of my tongue to protest, but everything I could think to say would come out as admission or encouragement. I didn’t see how he could really
know
anything and certainly didn’t want to give him any fuel for the fire. The gods weren’t known for their charity toward the competition. Besides, Armani was clearly
not
mine in any way, shape or form.

That fact was illustrated beautifully a few hours later when Lau called to inform me brusquely that my presence was requested at the precinct to once more go over my story of Circe’s murder and discuss “any subsequent attacks”. If Armani had thrown me to the wolf, then he was probably still in a snit about yesterday.

I agreed to come in for two reasons. One, I didn’t trust Lau not to find some way to force the issue, and that would provide her with way too much satisfaction. Two, given the site of yesterday’s momentous battle with the Creature from the Black Lagoon, I wasn’t entirely convinced that Circe’s murder wasn’t tied in some way to the actress’s death. I still wanted to get a look at the Talbot file. Not that Lau would slip it to me, of course, but it might be possible to tap into one of Uncle Christos’s police contacts of yore.

Besides, there wasn’t much to do on my other investigation but wait for my various phone calls to be returned. I was particularly anxious to hear from the widow whether she knew of anyone in the Sunset Strip area to whom her husband might have gone, dragging the dog behind him. With any luck, I’d close the case by sundown. Funny enough, clients were so much happier to pay when you’d actually gotten results. Not necessarily faster, you understand, just less grudging.

Lau kept me cooling my heels for a good half hour, so I decided that when she was ready, she could come find me. Meanwhile, it seemed only polite to drop in on Christos’s old drinking buddies and see what they were up to. Stan Muldavi was out on a call, but I was in luck for George Santos and Tony Robbins, who were catching up on paperwork. Neither noticed me until I snuck up behind George and covered his eyes.

He practically jumped out of his skin, but I kept my hands in place.

Tony chuckled. “You’re getting old, George. Ten years ago you wouldn’t let some slip of a thing sneak up on you.”

George could shrug me off in a second if he chose. Instead, he asked, “Is she cute?”

“Nah. Kinda buck-toothed and cross-eyed.”

“Tori?”

I pulled my hands back. “Very cute, you two. You ought to take your show on the road.”

“Can’t—George gets carsick. Hey, you heard anything from your uncle?”

“Yeah,” George chimed in. “Tell him he owes me money.”

“Great. That’ll certainly get him back here,” I answered. “Listen, I’ve got a question; I was hoping one of you might have heard something.”

“If it’s about the Circe Holland homicide—” Tony made a warding sign.

“Not that. I’ve got this missing dog case. The woman’s husband took off and their hound seems to have followed him—or maybe been dog-napped. Anyway, the lady figures good riddance to the husband, who was catting around, but she’d like the dog back. The only problem is that I probably have to find the former to get the latter and the husband’s pulled a vanishing act. I’m wondering if you guys have anything on him, like some legal reason he skipped town or maybe he’s on the sheets for a domestic dispute.”

Tony shrugged. “Christos will be so glad to hear his business is going to the dogs. What’s the deadbeat’s name?”

“Dick Strohmeyer.”

George and Tony shared a Look.

“What?”

It was George’s turn to shrug. “Go ahead, tell her. Can’t hurt.”

I pushed some files aside to perch on the edge of George’s desk. “I’m all ears.”

Tony settled back in his chair. “Strohmeyer’s girlfriend was in last week, calling for the wife’s head on a platter. She talked to Nelson, but half the squad room heard her.”

“Yeah, real spitfire,” George contributed.

“And easy on the eyes, but that mouth—eesh. Anyway, she hadn’t seen Dick in days. The wife claimed he moved out, but the girlfriend wasn’t buying it. She thinks the wife, your client, had him whacked.”

I couldn’t see Annette Strohmeyer whacking anybody. ’Course, I couldn’t see her getting all sappy over a slobbery hound, but it was always the ones you least expected.

“Did Nelson take her seriously?”

“Don’t know. He talked to her for a good long time. Certainly wrote down all her particulars.”

Tony’s eyes flicked past me.

I turned to look. Uh oh.

“Can you get me her name and address?” I asked sotto voice.

“Call you later,” he said quickly. “Detective Lau, pleasure to see you.”

“Robbins, Santos,” she answered with a bare nod. “
You.
We have an appointment.”

As if I’d kept
her
waiting. I bid farewell to the guys and followed Lau, past her desk, which always creeped me out with its array of desiccated sea life—mounted piranha, urchin shells, starfish—in lieu of photographs, into one of their stark interview rooms.

Lau practically slammed the door behind me and ordered me to sit. The solitary table was littered with files, as if the detective had commandeered the room for some time and had made herself comfortable.

“Why did you fail to report your attack?”

“Huh?” I asked, honestly baffled. “You mean the fish?”

Lau crossed her arms over her chest and leaned against the door, pointedly, if one could be said to lean pointedly. “Armani’s not here to run interference for you, and I’ve got all the time in the world. You can tell me and go free to overcharge some poor schmuck for your time or you can sit here pissing me off until I lock you up for withholding evidence.”

“
What evidence?
” I nearly shouted. “It’s a freakin’ plastic fish. You want to go dumpster diving, you be my guest.”

“What the
hell
are you babbling on about?” she asked.

I stared. “What the hell are
you
talking about?”

“Yesterday. Venice Beach. Ring any bells?”

Oh, that. That was, like, ages ago. Since then I’d been kissed, threatened, flooded and whammied with a spankin’ new psychic power. Surely I could be forgiven for forgetting a little near-death experience.

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh. Now, what’s this about your dumpster?” Lau’s eyes narrowed on me.

“First, I wasn’t attacked at the beach. I slipped and the shock of the cold water knocked me out.”

“Uh huh.” Oh, it sounded like agreement, but read more like giving me enough rope to hang myself.

“Second, the damned fish in the dumpster was someone’s idea of a practical joke, rigging the singing fish above my door to give me a dunking.” I squelched a dribble of water out of my shoes onto the industrial carpet for effect. Unlike my spare suit, the shoes hadn’t been hung above the waterline.

“First, Mr. Lafferty—you remember him—your rescuer—claims that you were struggling against someone.”

“How did you—”

The canary-eating cat had never smiled so broadly. “Armani tracked him down when he figured you were holding out. Wait, let me guess, you got your foot caught, maybe in your mouth?”

I seriously didn’t like this woman. “I’m not under any obligation to report a struggle.” Of course, an
assault
, being a crime, was another matter and I didn’t think Lau was the type to be put off by semantics.

“You do if it had anything to do with my murder investigation.”

I was all out of smart-ass comments. If Lau could convince a judge that I was withholding evidence, obstructing justice, my PI license would be suspended. Suspended, hell, I could be facing jail time. Of course, if my license was pulled it was only a matter of time before I got arrested anyway for vagrancy. Blacklisted from the circus, blackballed by the police, I’d be a two-time loser. It wasn’t as if I had another Uncle Christos waiting in the wings to bail me out.

“What on earth would I gain by keeping quiet about the attack?”

“You tell me. Why did you let the killer get away in the first place?”

My eyes nearly bugged out. “Are you kidding me? Did you see what that guy did to Circe? I’d gone in for a simple delivery.
Unarmed.
How the hell was I supposed to stop him?”

“One of the witnesses said that you had the murderer by the arm and you released him.”

But I heard what she wasn’t saying. “What about the
other
witnesses?”

Lau’s lips compressed into a thin line. I thought I even heard the gritting of teeth. “Why do you think I didn’t haul you in sooner? It starts to look pretty suspicious, though, in light of the new unreported attack.” I opened my mouth to renew my protest, but she plowed right on. “Don’t even try to tell me that there’s no connection. You were investigating the death of that actress, one of Circe Holland’s clients, who, by the way, drowned. Who are you protecting?”

“Drowned!” I was on the edge of my seat. “I knew that she died in the bath, but I was thinking drugs,”
or drained life force, per the dragon lady’s contract.

I looked down at the files spread before me and caught the names Holland and Talbot. Everything I needed was here. I wondered if I dared use my gorgon mojo on the great detective.

It was a huge risk. If I locked the door, anyone trying to enter would get suspicious. If I left it unlocked, anyone could walk in. Plus, as far as I knew, Lau could see and hear perfectly well while frozen and I would be in deep doo-doo when she unfroze.

I was an idiot. As soon as I admitted to myself that I had the power, I should have experimented, tested duration, the ability to snap someone out of it at a moment’s notice. Now I was stuck. This might be my only chance to get at those files since it seemed I’d turned Armani against me—and I didn’t even want to think about how much that hurt.

Lau had been watching me closely, so it was no trick at all to catch her eyes. “Freeze,” I said, quietly but firmly.

I waited for her to ask me what the hell I was doing, but except for the subtle motion of her chest expanding and contracting she was as still as a statue—the kind farmers used to frighten off crows. I wasted no time in rifling through the files.

Circe’s autopsy report was fascinating. Clearly the ME had been baffled by the lack of apparent aging. Whatever magical treatments Circe had been giving herself at the cost of other people’s lives had even repaired the usual dental wear. Unless the victim had survived on an all-liquid diet, it was inconceivable that her teeth should be as good as new. The ME would probably be dining out on the story of Circe’s oddities for months—names carefully excised, of course.

Lau might unfreeze at any moment and even though I could freeze her again, every second that ticked by brought the risk of discovery. I flipped quickly to Sierra Talbot’s file and skimmed through, getting caught up here and there, mostly on the roommate’s interview. Tracy Challis, whose address and phone number I memorized in case I needed to talk to her later, had suspected Sierra of having a stalker. Sierra never said so directly, she admitted, but just before she died she’d suddenly become determined to move back to Ohio. She’d finally landed a real role, kick-starting her career. It seemed so odd…
Unless
, I thought,
she’d gotten the “get out of Dodge” memo.
Did that tie her to Apollo and/or his oracle, I wondered. Or did she have inside information on the source of the danger?