Everyone's Dead But Us (14 page)

It was one large room dug into the ground about ten feet and extending back under the Great Hall about twenty feet. It was maybe thirty feet wide. Light from the opening we’d come through seeped in. Mostly we used the flashlight. The back wall was natural gray rock. The two side walls had patterns of gray plaster in designs of stars, suns, moons, the zodiac, the solar system surrounded by vast swirls. Bricks, each with its own separate intricate design, made up the fourth wall, the one under the Great Hall. Exquisite porcelain figurines that shimmered in the fitful light were set in alcoves every five feet around the perimeter. The center of the room was what I imagined a reading room in an exclusive men’s club in England would look like: deep leather chairs, mahogany end tables, Tiffany lamps. All the way around the room sculptures and paintings alternated.

I gasped. A
Sex and
hung directly across from us. We approached it. “This has to be a copy,” I said.

“Looks real,” Scott said.

“Can’t be,” I said.

“The real one was stolen, a couple times. What if the authorities recovered reproductions and this is the original?”

I said, “You really think we’re going to find genuine hidden treasures in the middle of a remote island in the Aegean controlled by rich gay Europeans for over a hundred years?”

Scott added, “Which has been essentially undisturbed for all that time.”

I said, “Noble gay people who looted some of the most famous and valuable artwork in the world? Noble gay people who are blind-greedy? Noble gay people who aren’t afraid of being arrested or of having all this stolen stuff?”

“Maybe they didn’t steal it.”

“You mean they got it from eBay?”

“Well, no, but just because it’s here doesn’t mean these guys are crooks or bad. Maybe there’s an explanation of some…” He stopped. “I’m starting to not make sense to myself. How the hell did they get all this crap and how come nobody knows about it and how come nobody blabbed?”

“Excellent questions.”

“This shit would be worth killing for,” Scott said.

“That and a whole lot more,” I said.

I held the light up close to the
Sex and
There was no Plexiglas between me and it as there was in the Louvre. I had no way to tell if it was real. Carefully I passed the light over each object in the room. On a desk in a corner stood a foot-high golden bird encrusted with jewels.

“I’m dreaming,” I whispered. We walked over. “I am not standing in front of the Maltese Falcon. It was only a movie MacGuffin. It can’t be real. Somebody is playing a game.”

The jewels shimmered in the flashlight beam. I placed a finger on the bird’s head. “I just don’t believe it. Maybe a movie fan had a replica made.” I swung the flashlight beam around the room. “These could all be replicas.”

“Look at all this stuff,” Scott said. “It’s supposed to have been missing, some of it for centuries.”

“You know these things?”

“I took art history in college.”

“You did?”

“One semester. You had to take a fine arts class as part of our physical education program. It was known as an easy A. The instructor was a male grad student who was really hot. I sat in front and paid a lot of attention. Only seventeen guys currently playing baseball at the major-league level have a four-year-college degree. I’m one of them. I never had the nerve to approach the guy, but he was a stud. I learned a lot of useless art stuff.”

I pointed to a largish book on a lectern. It was open to the middle. The page was beautiful.

Scott said, “That might be a Gutenberg Bible.”

“Are these real? This can’t be real.”

“I couldn’t possibly say for sure. I just know that some of these have been missing for ages. A few of these look like things that were looted by the Nazis and never recovered.”

“No wonder nobody knew about this place.”

“No dead body,” Scott said.

“Well, that’s a step in the right direction.”

I walked up to the brick wall and examined some of the intricate detail work. Several of the bricks seemed to be contiguous and told a story. Some were frankly obscene. Scott stood near the center of the wall. He said, “I think there’s a doorway here.”

I heard a sound behind us. We whirled around. Two legs appeared on the steps followed by a torso and head. If it had been the other way around, head then torso, I might have really freaked. As it was I was past startled. It was Movado.

“Ah, gentlemen,” he said. “You have chosen to trespass on our little refuge.”

I was wary even though I didn’t see a weapon.

“Who knew about this place?” I asked.

“Those of us in the know. The Great Hall of the castle was off limits to everyone. That kitchen is unused. It’s a medieval joke.”

“Is this stuff real?” Scott asked.

“The correct question is, are they reproductions or fakes or real?”

I said, “Why is there a need to indulge in guessing games? Just give a fucking straight answer.”

“Which I don’t owe to you.”

Scott said, “Could the killer be after these things?”

“Only the very elite of the gay rich know about these things. They would have no reason to kill for them.”

“What bullshit,” I said. “Somebody takes a dive in the stock market. Somebody’s rich family cuts him off. Somebody makes stupid investments. Just because you’re old money doesn’t protect you from greed.”

“I suppose it doesn’t, but my response to you remains the same. No one in the hundred years this has been here has removed a thing. Each person has to make a contribution to the room to be allowed in.”

“How do you know there’s a room to make a contribution to?” I asked.

“The rich have ways of discovering things about each other.” He held up his right hand. “Spare me your class warfare lecture. How do the rich know the most exclusive jeweler on the European continent works on a side street in Paris in a shop that no one would notice? How do we know who is dressing in exclusive fashions? How do we know which restaurants cater to the very rich? We do. We simply do. It’s a lifestyle. A lifetime of being different and being treated differently.” Movado extended his arm and pointed around the room. “Now that you’ve seen all this, what has it gained you?”

I asked, “Is this all there is to it, down here?” “There’s a small storage area hidden behind that declivity in the brick wall. It contains water, beverages, snacks.” Movado pressed a small recess in the alcove next to a
Sex and
A portion of the wall swung back.

Scott and I looked inside. Virl Morgan with his head crushed sat in the middle of the floor.

I said, “This is not good.”

Movado said, “
Ulp.
”

Scott said, “You can’t say we’re making this one up.”

Movado said, “I didn’t think you were making them up since O’Quinn. I’m just saying that…” He walked up close to Morgan’s body. He began to topple over.

Scott and I caught him. We moved him across the room to one of the chairs in the center.

“Should we revive him?” Scott asked.

“I like him with his mouth shut.”

Scott said, “Stillvado?”

I said, “He’s not used to murder?”

“Or the sight of blood makes him sick?”

We checked for weapons, found a gun, disarmed him, and left him there, then returned to the storage room. Scott hung back. I moved as close as I dared. I’d dealt with death while I was in the Marines. I wasn’t used to it, not like you get used to the color of your refrigerator. Perhaps immune enough to the horrors to be able to get close, but not immune enough to have removed all disgust and awe and a wave of nausea. I took I few moments to collect myself then inched closer.

I said, “It looks like he was bashed over the head.” I extended my arm as far as I could and used the tip of the flashlight to move his head slightly. I said, “And there’s a bullet hole in his head.” I didn’t see a gun or a weapon covered in blood that could have crushed his head. In such a closed space the smell of gunpowder would be noticeable. I didn’t see significant amounts of blood and brains scattered about the storage space. I aimed the flashlight back into the room. I noted a few smears on the floor that could have come from moving him. “I don’t think he was killed here.”

Scott nodded. He looked even paler and dizzier than before. The light in the room wasn’t great, but he looked like he could use a vacation in a quiet, out-of-the-way resort. Perhaps we’d have to try the planet Pluto for our next getaway.

He saw the look of concern on my face. He said, “I’m fine. Or as good as I’m going to be until we get out of here.”

I said, “Somebody clubbed him and shot him, although I’m not sure what order those happened in, and then dragged him down here and stuffed him into this hole. Why? They left Henry Tudor in our room. How would anyone know to come down here?”

“The killer has to be one of the rich who knew it was here.”

“Or one of the help who was smarter than Thasos, or who has lied to us about their knowledge. I don’t see any burns on Morgan. We saw him after the fire. He was screwing his boss. So he leaves us, leaves his boss unguarded.”

“Unless his boss is the killer.”

“I don’t think his majesty is strong enough to take on his bodyguard.”

“You don’t need a lot of strength for a bash from behind or a gunshot to the head. No matter which one you do first, your victim is pretty well incapacitated.

“We’ll have to talk to his kingship,” Scott said.

“If we don’t find him dead as well.” A distinct possibility.

“Moving a body around means you’d have to be pretty strong,” Scott said.

“A fireman’s carry and a tote here and there. And it would have to be someone who knew this room was here. We didn’t. I wonder how many of the guests did know about it.”

Movado stirred. We stood on either side of his chair. He opened his eyes, looked at each of us, and then scrambled to his feet. He glanced at Morgan. Movado wiped at his face with his left hand. “This is not possible. People are dying. Someone is trying to kill us.”

A little late on board, but he was finally on the right bus, so who was I to disagree? He began edging away from us. “Maybe you’re the killers. It would probably take two people to overcome Virl Morgan. He was an excellent bodyguard. You two are strong. Maybe you’re the killers.” He edged closer to the stairs.

I said, “Why would we kill all these people?”

“Somehow you found out about the cache down here.”

“We didn’t know about it until we figured out the clues Thasos gave us. We don’t even know if this stuff is real.”

“Oh, it’s real all right. It is valuable beyond your wildest imaginations.” He turned and ran up the stairs.

I said, “He’s going to try and shut us in down here.”

Good thing we’d taken precautions. We rushed to the stairs. He was trying to shove crap over the opening. I led the way and bulled my way through his first efforts. He’d managed to get two chairs awkwardly over the opening. When I was halfway out of the hole, he turned and ran. He was heading inland. We headed for Apritzi House.

We reached our destination in a few minutes. We slapped the rain off our coats. I wondered when I would ever feel totally dry again. Crushton and Craveté were continuing to minister to Thasos. Oser was running down the batteries on a series of cell phones, making useless attempts to connect with the rest of the world.

“Where’s Movado?” Crushton asked.

“He took off. We found Virl Morgan’s body. He was in the art room. Dead.”

“My God,” Crushton said.

“Blood, death, and destruction,” Craveté said. “We’re all going to die.”

“Not if we can help it,” I said.

“Is all that stuff real?” Scott asked.

Oser said, “I’ve never seen it. The staff has never been allowed in. Only a few even knew of its existence. No one knew what was really down there. People suspected. We pretty much thought it was some kind of private sexual chamber where the rich did dirty with each other or with their bought-and-paid-for pals.”

Crushton said, “I figured snuff films at the least.”

I said, “Not a torture instrument in sight. No blood except for Morgan’s. Just artwork. It might have been a library in the very wealthiest English country house.”

“That’s who the first owner was,” Crushton said.

“What do you mean artwork?” Oser asked.

We told him.

Oser said, “Those works of art could be the real thing. The people connected with Korkasi are very, very wealthy. Stolen art has to go somewhere. Why couldn’t the owners of this island have had a hand in art thefts? Certainly, they wouldn’t be the only ones. It’s not like some international gay conspiracy, but they could buy the art like anyone else on illegal markets.”

“Where’s his majesty?” Scott asked.

They hadn’t seen him. I said, “If his guard is dead, I don’t hold out much hope for the health of the one being guarded.”

Scott said, “We should check their villa.”

We hurried back out into the storm. The day had been slightly better than the night, in that the blackness didn’t look like the end of the world, although the clouds and wet had done their best to try to look like the end of the world. But evening had come, and the rain seemed to be intensifying.

We headed up the paved way toward Deplonte’s villa. When we were just outside Klimpton’s posh hideaway, one of the doors creaked open. The Czech porn star peeked out. He beckoned to us. We hurried over. He stood under the lintel. He began speaking passable English.

“I am worried,” he said.

“About what?” I asked.

“Mr. Klimpton is missing.”

Not good.

Scott said, “You mean he stepped out, and you don’t know where he is, or he didn’t tell you where he was going, or do you mean he’s missing, and if he is, how do you know that?”

He looked confused.

I said, “When’s the last time you saw him?”

“He went out about half an hour ago. He said he must find someone. He did not say who. I am frightened. I came here because he paid me. People are dying. What is going to happen to me?”

I saw bruises on his arms. “How did you get those?”

He said, “I fell.”

Yeah, he fell and I was the Easter bunny. I said, “Maybe you should go to Apritzi House. You might be safer with the others rather than here by yourself.”

“I cannot go down there. We are forbidden to do so. I can only do what my master says or I do not get paid.”

“You aren’t a slave,” I said.

“A slave?”

I said, “You make choices. You can choose. This is an emergency. If you stay here, you could die.”

“If I go, I could die.”

“Do you want to come with us?” Scott asked.

“No. That is forbidden, too. We cannot talk to other guests unless the master is here.”

“You’re talking to us now,” Scott said.

“I am not stupid. I am scared. I must be careful. I have looks, for now. In a few years…” He shrugged.

At least he seemed to be self-aware enough of his status and the possibilities of his future appeal to the rich.

I said, “Do you know anything about a hidden room in the castle?”

“No. I have not been in the castle.”

“Was your master?”

“I do not know.”

Again we urged him to join the others. He slowly shut the door.

“That’s not good,” Scott said. We hustled into the storm.

At the top of the cliff and the turn to Deplonte’s home, I thought I saw someone slip out of a side door of Klimpton’s villa. I called out. It was hard to be sure with the pouring rain and the darkness, but I thought it was Deplonte. I hollered his name.

He turned toward us for a second or two, then took off the other way. He was a few steps away when someone followed him out of the house. I called out again. A well-muffled figure was following Deplonte. This second person turned toward us. I couldn’t see who it was. Neither of them looked like Klimpton or Mylon Drak. I could see the glint of metal. A bolt of lightning lit up the headland. Seconds later I saw the flash of gunfire and heard the report. A bullet gouged the dirt three feet from my left foot.

We ducked behind an escarpment.

“We should go for help,” Scott said.

“There’s nobody around to help. Somebody is trying to kill his majesty. We’ve got to stop them.”

“The gun just got fired at us. We could get ourselves killed.”

“We’ll avoid that.”

“And your well-thought-out plan is?”

I said, “Well, we sneak around the other way and come back from the middle of the island.”

Scott gazed at me carefully.

My eyes didn’t waver. “No,” I said, “it is not at the same level as planning for the invasion of Europe. I’d need more than a few seconds for that. We’ve only got a small island here. And the person could be after us. We got shot at. We’ve got to be careful.”

We inched into the gloom.