Chapter 59
Chapter Fifty-Nine
ORPHEUS
Blake and Ingrid stared at the many files and books on Ingrid’s coffee table. They sat back on her couch.
“Okay, so run it by me again,” Blake said.
“What we have believed to be myth all this time is in fact real,” Ingrid said.
“Ingrid, you know I always run with your ideas, but this time . . .”
“I’ve seen things when I visited St. Michael’s. Jadeon Artimas had artifacts that pertained to him. I’ve never once seen him eat anything, and every time it gets light he’s nowhere to be seen.”
“Come on, Ingrid.”
“And he’s always one step ahead of me . . . me!”
“Maybe you’ve finally met your match,” said Blake.
“Trust me on this, Artimas is . . . different.”
“Different how?”
“Look, I discover something—”
“What . . . are you holding out on me?”
“It’s complicated,” she said.
“Ingrid?”
“He hasn’t got a birth certificate. He has no driving license.”
“Well, we can get him in for questioning on that alone.”
“He’s too elusive.”
Blake ran his fingers through his hair. “You said you’ve left the best for last. So go on then. Let’s have it.”
Ingrid opened the large beige folder and spread the contents on the table. “DNA,” she said.
He studied the papers.
“As you know, it’s possible to determine the sequence of base pairs in the DNA and thus identify an individual with high level of certainty . . .”
“We got a fingerprint?”
“Better, a blood sample.” Ingrid smiled.
“Where from?”
“Jadeon Artimas.”
“How did you obtain that?”
“I need you to keep an open mind.”
“I’m listening.”
“We radiocarbon-dated the blood cells.”
“To discover his age? Bit dramatic.”
“There was marked transmutation,” she said.
“Okay. Wait, there was what?”
“Jadeon Artimas is over two hundred years old. And no, before you ask, there is no way it could be one of his ancestors.”
“So you determined his true age?”
“The results were run three times!”
“Impossible,” Blake scoffed.
“Ellison verified it.”
“Maybe—”
“They used cutting-edge technology.”
“Okay, as always I’m seeing it through your eyes. And I know you have something else for me.”
“I do.”
“Do I need a drink?”
“Do you need a drink?”
“The suspense . . .”
“I am going to show you a photograph of Orpheus, otherwise known as Daumia Velde. See here.”
Blake viewed the photograph. “Okay, a snapshot of one of our suspects on the opening of his club in Belgravia.”
“And now this.” Ingrid handed Blake the black-and-white newspaper cutting.
Blake leapt up. “No way! Tampered with?”
“The lab tells me it’s authentic.”
“That’s the same man, but he’s dressed in 1930s garb and standing next to—”
“Sir Winston Churchill.”
Blake went pale. “Okay, I definitely need that drink now.”