The Lost Labyrinth. Will Adams

      II

      There was a boiler in the top corner of the police interview room. Every so often it would click on and start heating up like a kettle, and its pipes would rattle and clank for a few moments before it abruptly switched itself off again. What with the only window painted shut, the room was unpleasantly humid and the walls were sweating like a fever. Knox, too, could feel moisture prickling all over him, disconcertingly like guilt. He rocked back in his chair and flexed his fingers together, striving to keep his memories at bay. But it was no use, they came at him like frames in a slide-show. Augustin on the hotel room floor, blood oozing from his scalp; the paramedics strapping him to their stretcher; Claire’s wails and ravaged face as she’d clutched his hand.

      Knox had first met Augustin ten years before. The Frenchman had arranged a drinks party in honour of Richard Mitchell, Knox’s old mentor, inviting all of Alexandria’s leading archaeologists and citizenry. Richard, typically, had been waylaid at Pastroudi’s by a gorgeous young waiter with fluttery eyelashes and a slight lisp who’d kept bringing them pastries they hadn’t ordered, so he’d sent Knox on ahead to make his excuses. Augustin’s eruptions of Gallic temper were legendary, so Knox had feared for his eardrums; but it hadn’t been like that at all. He and Knox had got on from the start, one of those rare friendships that arrives fully formed, which they’d both known even then would endure. Any time Knox had been in trouble since, it had been to Augustin he’d turned first; and never once had he been let down. So what did it say about him that Augustin had taken such a savage beating while he’d just stood there and watched?

      The door pushed open abruptly. Theofanis, the sprightly police officer who’d taken Knox’s statement earlier, walked back in. A second man followed. He was informally dressed, though from his manner and the way Theofanis deferred to him, he was obviously the boss. He came to stand in front of Knox and glared down at him. ‘You speak Greek, yes?’

      ‘I get by,’ agreed Knox. He’d studied the ancient language at Cambridge before adding its modern counterpart in less happy circumstances in Thessaloniki ten years before, running a failed campaign to gain justice for his murdered parents and sister.

      ‘I am Chief Inspector Angelos Migiakis,’ he said. He had an unhealthy, man-in-the moon kind of face, with a partial eclipse of black beard. ‘I am taking personal charge of this case.’ He jabbed Knox’s statement at his face. ‘Theofanis tells me you’re the one who found Alexander’s tomb. He tells me you’re quite the celebrity.’

      ‘I helped find Alexander’s tomb, yes.’

      ‘You think this entitles you and your friends to assault my officers while they’re carrying out their duty?’

      ‘Since when has it been the duty of the Greek police to grope women and put their husbands in hospital?’

      ‘There was a dying man in the room. My officers were taking charge of the scene, as they’re supposed to do.’

      Knox closed his eyes. It was the first confirmation he’d had that Claire’s efforts to keep Petitier alive had failed. ‘He’s dead, then?’ he asked.

      ‘Yes. He’s dead. And I want to know why someone should want to kill him.’

      ‘How should I know that?’

      Theofanis had gone over to the boiler, looking in vain for ways to turn it off. He gave it an irritable thump and then turned around. ‘You said he tried to tell you something before he died. Could it have been his killer’s name?’

      ‘I suppose,’ acknowledged Knox. ‘It sounded like “Elysium”, but I wouldn’t swear to that.’

      ‘Elysium?’ frowned Angelos.

      ‘Where virtuous and heroic souls spent eternity in Greek myth. The Elysian Fields. They were a kind of paradise.’

      ‘You’re not trying to tell me that Petitier thought he was off to paradise, are you?’ scoffed Angelos.

      ‘I don’t know,’ said Knox. ‘I never knew the man. But I’d say it was more likely it had something to do with his talk tomorrow.’

      ‘His talk?’

      ‘Yes. We’re all in Athens for a conference on the Eleusinian Mysteries.’ He paused to look for any sign of recognition on Angelos’ face, but didn’t see any. ‘They were a very important religious festival that took place at the port you now know as Elefsina, but which used to be called Eleusis.’ The Mysteries fully warranted their name, for the ceremonies that had taken place there had been protected by high walls, closed doors and an almost pathological insistence on secrecy that had worked so successfully that almost nothing was now known about them. It was a tantalising ignorance, not least because Sophocles, Pindar, Aristotle, Cicero, Plato and many other sophisticated, intelligent and sceptical people had considered the Mysteries to be among the greatest experiences of their lives. All the experts therefore agreed that something remarkable must have taken place there; the trouble was that no-one knew precisely what. ‘Eleusis was very closely associated with Elysium by the ancient Greeks, partly because their names were so similar, but also because the Mysteries were believed to offer celebrants a glimpse of life after death.’

      ‘And Petitier was due to give a talk to the conference tomorrow afternoon,’ nodded Angelos. ‘On what aspect, precisely?’

      ‘I don’t know,’ said Knox. ‘The organisers wouldn’t say, other than vague hints about how sensational it was going to be. But I’m sure they’d tell you, under the circumstances. Or maybe the text is on that laptop of his you took.’

      Angelos raised an eyebrow at Theofanis. ‘Laptop?’ he asked.

      ‘I gave it to Stelios to check out.’

      ‘Go see if he’s made any progress, would you?’ He waited for Theofanis to leave, then turned back to Knox. ‘Your friend Augustin was also to give a talk tomorrow, yes?’

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘But he lives in Egypt, as I understand. A Frenchman who lives in Egypt. How precisely is he qualified to give talks on ancient Greek ports?’

      ‘The Mysteries weren’t just celebrated here in Greece,’ replied Knox. ‘When Alexander the Great went conquering, he set up offshoots all over the ancient world, including Egypt. There’s a whole district called Eleusis in the southern part of Alexandria, and Augustin has been excavating there recently. That’s what his talk was to be on. My girlfriend and I have been helping him with it, so we decided to come along too, make a holiday of it.’

      ‘Your girlfriend?’ asked Angelos.

      ‘Gaille Bonnard,’ said Knox, nodding at his statement. ‘She was at the conference all afternoon.’

      ‘So why weren’t you with her?’

      ‘I wasn’t in the mood. Besides, I promised Augustin I’d drive him to the airport to pick up Claire.’ He suffered a sudden memory of her emerging from the arrivals hall with Augustin, incandescent with the joy of reunion, clutching a huge bouquet of white roses against her chest, while Augustin pushed a trolley laden with luggage. ‘Travelling light, huh?’ Knox had grinned, kissing her cheek, catching a distinctive chemical-lemon whiff of disposable face-wipe.

      ‘The damned shipping people!’ she’d exclaimed. ‘They screwed up like you wouldn’t believe. I had to bring everything with me. It’s cost me a fortune in freight!’ She’d shaken her head and turned to the trolley. ‘Pathetic, isn’t it? My whole life, and that’s all I’ve got to show for it.’

      ‘Your life’s with me now,’ Augustin had said.

      Her eyes had glittered; her complexion had turned a glorious glad red. ‘Yes,’ she’d agreed. ‘It is.’

      The interview room door opened and Theofanis came back in. ‘I need a word,’ he told Angelos.

      ‘What about?’