(Please Read!)
THE CHARACTORS
Percy Jackson - A murder mystery author (Richard Castle in Castle)
Annabeth Chase - A homicide detective (Kate Beckett in Castle)
Piper McLean - Percy's daughter (Alexis Castle in Castle)
Sally Jackson - Percy's mother and broadway actress (Martha Rodgers in Castle)
Grover Underwood - A homicide detective (Javier Esposito in Castle)
Jason Grace - A homicide detective (Kevin Ryan in Castle)
Thalia Grace - A medical examiner and a forensic analyst (Lanie Parish in Castle)
Chiron - Captain of the homicide division (Roy Montgomery in Castle)
Rachel E. Dare - Percy's publisher and ex wife (Gina Cowell in Castle)
AN - Jason and Piper do NOT get together in this because he's in his 20s and she's in her teens.
This was originally a fanfic I made for another fandom but I decided to change it.
Disclaimer: I own nothing, the characters belong to Rick Riordan and the themes and plots belong to the creators of Castle.
Sorry for any mistakes
Chapter 1
Flowers for Your Grave
(Part 1)
The landscape was sand colored, stretching into a horizon of black. It was very serene. A single bead of red, rolls down like a teardrop. The view zooms out till you could see that it wasn't a landscape. It was a body. A gloved hand reaches into a ziplock bag and withdraws a fistful of rose petals. The petals slowly tumble through space, landing on naked skin.
The gloved hand picks up bloody clothing from the floor and stuffs it into a plastic bag. With the bag in hand, the killer leaves the room. The victim was a young woman in her Early twenties, staring into the distance with lifeless eyes.
Across the city at a rooftop publishing party. Waiters dressed as murder victims serve drinks, while attractive women mingle with middle-aged men.
A hush falls over the crowd. Around the room, giant placards display the photograph of a handsome, roguish man - Percy Jackson. The placards were set up to advertise his latest book, "Storm's End." The woman, standing at the podium in front of the crowd was Rachel E. Dare, the president of Black Pawn Publishing.
"What is it about a dark and stormy night that sets our pulses racing? What is it about a hard-boiled detective, a femme fatale, and the cold steel of a gun that keeps our bedside lamps glowing until the early hours of the morning?" She questioned smiling down at the crowd.
Waiting nearby is Percy Jackson himself, a man in his early-thirties and a rock star of the literary world. He was dressed in jeans, a blue button up shirt and a leather jacket. He's the kind of trouble every woman hopes to find. And a couple of them have, much to his delight.
"Are you really Percy Jackson?" A busty blonde asks him.
"Are you really a blonde?" He countered and somehow from Percy, it sounded charming.
Back at the podium. Rachel continues speaking. "However the spell is cast, tonight we honor one of the masters of the form and celebrate the launch of storm's end, the stunning conclusion to his best-selling Derrick Storm mystery series."
Percy holds a sharpie at the ready as one giggling young woman pulls her dress top aside to reveal a lace bra tastefully covering her breast. Percy grins and signs his name just above the bra line. "Call me when you're ready to wash it." He whispers to her. Rachel glances over in time to witness this. A fleeting glimpse of disapproval crosses her face.
"Ladies and gentlemen, the Master of the Macabre... Percy Jackson."
Percy walks onstage to the applause of the audience. He and Rachel exchange a kiss.
"Pig." She said quietly.
"Witch." He replies with the same tone. The smile never leaves either of their faces.
"Rachel E. Dare everyone. President of Black Pawn Publishing." He praised, followed by another round of applause. Rachel walked off stage and took a seat in the front.
"Isn't she something." Percy said looking down at her with a fake smile. "You know, on the way over here tonight, it occurred to me... Detective Storm and I have been together longer than both my marriages put together and when I thought of it that way, it made me realize something."
He pauses dramatically. Moved. Almost teary. Then within the space of a few minuets he changes, his cocky smile returns. "No wonder I'm ready to move on." The crowd erupts in laughter.
"Seriously. It's been a great ride. The book is a great read. And I look forward to seeing you all back here after I've spilled more ink and blood." He said smiling.
FLASH. FLASH. FLASH.
Rachel and Percy stand together for the photographers. Rachel speaks through gritted teeth. "What kind of idiot kills off a best-selling character?"
"Are you asking as my blood-sucking publisher or my blood-sucking ex-wife?" Percy inquires looking at her. The Photographer nods thanks. Immediately, the smiles drop.
"Is that what you're doing? Punishing me by killing the golden goose?" She asks.
"I may be petty and short-sighted, but I'm not that petty and short-sighted." He answers.
"Then for godsakes why?" She questioned as they move through the crowd, people hand Percy books to sign. He looks up at her."I told you, I was bored."
"You don't kill a billion dollar franchise because you're bored." She argues.
Percy looks at her for a moment, pondering his answer. "He wasn't fun anymore. Writing him was like... Work."
"God forbid you work. You could've retired him, crippled him, had him join a fucking circus! But no. You put a bullet through his head." Rachel shouted.
"Don't forget the big exit wound too. Real messy. Like Cortez burning his ships." He said, grabbing a glass of champagne from a passing tray. "Besides, Derrick Storm isn't the Golden Goose. I am. I wrote half a dozen best-sellers before him. What makes you think I'll stop now?" He asked.
"Oh I don't know. The fact the new book was due nine weeks ago." She said sarcastically, raising her eyebrows at him.
"You can't rush genius." Percy states. Rachel pulls him aside. "I'm not hearing genius, Percy. I'm hearing blockage. I'm hearing you haven't written in months."
"That's ridiculous." He complains.
"My sources are very reliable." She affirmed watching as Percy's eyes narrowed. "Well, they're wrong." He said a little too quickly.
"They better be, because Storm or no Storm, you're still under contract. And if I don't have a manuscript on my desk in the next three weeks, Black Pawn is prepared to demand the return of your advance." She informed him.
He glaring at her. "You wouldn't dare."
"Try me, Cortez. Just try me." She challenged as she walked away, Percy called after her. "I already returned the advance. I spent it divorcing you!" Rachel just smiled at him and gives him a shrug.
NYPD patrol cars gather outside an apartment building in Chelsea. Officers hold back the noisy civilians. An unmarked car pulled up and out steps detective Annabeth Chase. She was street-savvy and confident. She crossed the police tape and flashed her badge. "Detective Chase. Homicide."
Annabeth headed up the hallway, past the officers interviewing neighbors, to apartment 217. A couple of detectives were going over their notes.
"Grace, Underwood." She said, nodding to them.
"Figured they'd send you down." Grover confessed. She looked at him confused. "Yeah? Why's that?"
"Because. You like the freaky ones." He finished.
The crime scene techs photographed the body of Elizabeth Tisdale. She was lying on the dining room table, nude. She was covered head-to-toe in rose petals. Covering her eyes were two sunflowers.
"Elizabeth Tisdale. 24. She was a Grad student in Social Work at NYU." Jason informed them. "Neighbors called to complain about the music. When she didn't answer, they had the landlord open the door."
"Nice place." She said, looking around.
"Her father's money. Upper east side. Real estate." Jason replied.
"He couldn't spring for an alarm?" She questioned. Jason motioned towards the alarm on the side of the wall. "Top of line. But it was off."
"No forced entry. No sign of theft. No sign of struggle. She must have known the guy." Grover summarized.
A woman leans over the body, examining it. "Roses and sunflowers. Who says romance is dead?" She jokes. Somehow Thalia manages to maintain a warm, friendly outlook despite her chosen profession.
"I do, every Saturday night." Annabeth said solemnly. "What'd she get besides flowers?" She asked, trying to draw attention away from herself.
"Two to the chest. Low caliber. But here's the weird part." Thalia commented while removing the flower petals to reveal the gunshots. "Fibers in the wound indicate she was dressed when she was shot."
"Someone shot her, and then undressed her?" Annabeth inquired with a frown. "Must have been a first date because that's as far as it went." Thalia replied.
"Did you find the clothes?" Annabeth asked looking at Jason. "We've got officers looking through dumpsters." Jason responded.
"Fingernails?" Annabeth questioned. Thalia shakes her head. "They're clean. She didn't struggle."
"What are you thinking?" Grover asked Annabeth. "I'm thinking that if you want to kill someone, you kill them. You don't take the time to strip them and cover them with flowers, and you sure as hell don't leave the music blaring so the police will get here faster."
"Unless you're a genuine psycho." Grover muttered.
"Or trying to send a message." Annabeth suggested. Something about the scene irritated her. She stared at the body intensely. "Are you okay?" Thalia asked concerned.
"Does this look familiar to anyone?" Annabeth inquired looking around at her co-workers. "Familiar, how?" Grover questioned intrigued.
"Dead girl covered in roses. Sunflowers on her eyes?" She said, looking around again.
"I think that's something we'd all pretty much remember. Why?" Thalia questioned.
"Because... I've seen this before."
Back at the publishing party, a classy broad in the broadway mold, re-applies her make-up. A former actress on the Great White Way, Sally never made it nearly big as she thinks she did. "Come on, honey. Let me give you a touch up." She said to the teenager next to her.
"No thanks, Gran." She replied. Piper Jackson sits at the bar in a party dress, studying from a physics text book. She's a natural beauty, more mature that most of the teenagers her age.
"A word of advice, kiddo. When it comes to real life, girls need makeup a hell of a lot more than we need physics." She insisted. Piper looked at her with a bored expression "What if I become a physicist?"
"Then not even makeup can save you. Look, it's a party. Let's at least gloss those lips." Sally persuaded. Piper give up and offered her lips to her grandmother.
"It feels more like a funeral, the way he's been acting lately."
"He killed off his main character. Doesn't take Freud to see he's working through the five stages of grief. Anger, denial, booze, blondes, and rehab. Good news is that he's only up to blondes." Sally joked.
"I've never seen him this way. He's always been able to write."
"That's debatable. Let's face it, it's not Shakespeare." She mocked smiling at Piper.
"Gran, I'm being serious." Piper said looking at her grandmother, concern etching across her delicate features.
"Way too serious. Who does homework at a party?" Sally scoffed taking a sip of her drink.
"I have a test next week." Piper replied. Her eyes not leaving the text book in front of her.
"So do I. Liver function. You don't see me studying. Speaking of which." She stated, turning to the bartender. "Hey, sweetcheeks. You hiding any gin back there?"
The bartender looks at her apologetically. "Sorry, ma'am. Beer, wine, or champagne."
"Holy moley. No wonder the terrorists are winning. Alright. Gimme a hit of the bubbley." She requested.
Percy walks over, joining them. "Make it two."
"Sales must be slipping, kid. If they're only serving the soft stuff." Sally said displeased. He may be a rock star to everyone else, but not to his disapproving mother.
"Hey Dad." Piper said trying to break the tension.
"Hey sweetie." Percy replied, smiling down at his daughter. He turned to Sally. "Mother."
"Shh. Not so loud. I'm still hoping to get lucky." She chastised.
"Did you tell Rachel I was having trouble writing?" He asked, trying to change the subject.
"I told her nothing of the sort." She said with a off look. "I may have said you spend your days moping around the house in your underwear waiting for post time at Belmont, but hey, you're an artist. It's expected, right?"
"We had an agreement. I let you live with us and you don't talk about my work."
What's there to talk about? You haven't done any since I moved in." She declared.
"Gran!"
"Well, he hasn't." She argued.
"Whatever I have and haven't done, I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't share it with my ex-wife."
"Oh, what's the harm? If you ask me, she's still in love with you."
"If by love you mean hate, then yes, she is still very, very much in love with me." Percy corrected.
"Right. So what's the big deal?" She asked.
"You're missing the point.." He reasoned. She hold up her hand to him. "Hang on. I just got a hit on my Grey- dar." Sally said locking eyes with a man across the room. He had country club looks and a spray-on tan. As he lifts his glass of champagne to his lips, Sally scans his fingers. "Bingo. No ring."
"Mum." He sighed.
"Later kid. Mother's going fishing." She said, disappearing into the crowd. "You should have me committed." He groaned, looking at his daughter with tired eyes.
"For letting her move in? I think it's sweet." She smiled.
"You won't think it's sweet when I strangle her in her sleep." The bartender puts the two glasses of champagne on the bar. Percy slides one of the champagne flutes towards Piper.
"You do know I'm only fifteen right?" Piper stated with a frown. Percy just shrugs it off.
"You're an old soul."
"Me and my soul can wait." She said pushing the glass back.
"You know, when I was your age." He stopped, thinking to himself. "Ah. Can't tell that one... Wildly inappropriate. Which is, oddly, my point. Don't you want to have wildly inappropriate stories that you can't tell your children?"
"I think you've got enough of those for both of us."
"Life should be an adventure. You know why I killed off Derrick? There were no more surprises. I knew exactly what was going to happen at every moment in every scene. It's all become so goddamn predictable. Like this party." He said gesturing around him.
"Just once, I'd like someone to come up to me at one of these things and say something really unexpected."
"Mr Jackson?" Percy turns to see a detective approaching with a pair of officers at her sides. She held up her badge. "Detective Annabeth Chase. NYPD. I need to take you in for questioning."
Piper and Percy exchanged a look. "That's new."
Percy sits in an NYPD interrogation room. Annabeth enters holding some files. "Mr. Jackson... You have quite the rap sheet for a bestselling author. A couple of drunk and disorderlies. Disturbing the peace." Percy laughs.
"Says here you stole a police horse?" She questioned.
"Borrowed." He corrected.
"And you were nude at the time?"
"It was spring."
"And every time the charges were dropped." She stated.
"What can I say? The mayor's a fan. But if it makes you feel better, I'd be happy to let you spank me."
"Mr. Jackson, this whole bad boy charm thing you've got going may work with bimbettes and celebutantes. Me? I work for a living and that makes you one of two things to me. The guy who makes my life easier or the guy who makes my life harder, and I assure you, you do not want to be the guy who makes my life harder." Annabeth threatened, throwing down a photo of the deceased.
"Elizabeth Tisdale. Daughter of real estate mogul Jonathan Tisdale."
"She's cute."
"She's dead." She interrupted. "You guys ever meet? Charity event? Book signing?" Annabeth asked, staring down at Percy with an intimidating stare.
"It's possible, but she's not in my little black book if that's what you're asking." Percy answered.
"How about this guy?" Annabeth inquired sliding over a photo of a man in his 40s. "Martin Fisk. Small claims lawyer."
Percy examined the photo. "Most of my claims tend to be on the large side." He replied looking up at Annabeth. "What's this got to do with me?"
"Fisk was murdered in his office two weeks ago. I didn't put it together until I saw the Tisdale crime scene tonight." She said, putting a photo of the Tisdale crime scene on the table. Roses and sunflower covered the body. "This is how we found her."
Percy leans forward, and recognizes the scene. "Flowers for Your Grave." Annabeth places another photo of Martin Fisk on the table. He's lying face down in a pentagram. "This is how we found Martin Fisk. Right out of Hell Hath No Fury."
Percy looks up at Annabeth, his tone serious. "Looks like I have a fan."
"A really deranged fan."
"You don't look deranged to me." Percy joked.
"What?"
"Hell Hath No Fury? Angry wiccans out for blood? Come on. Only hardcore groupies read that one."
He grins at her. She moves on. "You get letters from these groupies? Disturbing letters?" She questioned.
"All my fan mail's disturbing. It's an occupational hazard."
"Sometimes in cases like these, the killer attempts to."
Before she could finish Percy interrupted. "Contact the subject of his obsession. I'm pretty well-versed in psychopath methodology. Another occupational have gorgeous eyes by the way." Annabeth doesn't take bait.
"So you'd have no objection to us looking through your mail."
"Knock yourself out." He replied looking at the gruesome crime scene photos. "Hey, can I get a copy of these? I've got this poker game, mostly other writers. You know, Patterson, Grafton, King. I can't tell you how jealous these would make them."
"Jealous?" Annabeth asked.
"That I have a copycat. In my world, that's the red badge of honor. The criminal Cooperstown."
She looked at him shocked. "People are dead, Mr. Jackson. Doesn't that mean anything to you?"
"I'm not asking for the bodies. Just the pictures." Percy said, pointing to the photos.
"Doesn't it bother you that these people were killed because of you?"
"They weren't killed because of me, Detective. They were killed because some psycho finally snapped. If it wasn't me, it would've been Black Sabbath or reruns of Full House."
"I think we're done here." Annabeth replied, walking out of the room. Percy watched her go, a little bit pleased he had gotten under her skin.
Percy enters his Penthouse apartment. From the living room he can hear the sound of his mother singing. Or rather belting out. He checks his watch and shakes his head. It's almost 1'oclock in the morning.
He walks in to the living room and sees Sally standing in the middle of the room, dressed in a leotard and tights, performing like she's center stage at the Winter Gardens. Sat at the piano is the guy from the party. He sits there tinkling the ivories and drinking a Martini.
As Percy crosses the living room, Sally notices him. "Hey honey." She smiled before starting to sing again. Percy heads down the hallway.
Percy can still faintly hear her singing in the background as he entered the kitchen, Walking over to the fridge. He grabs a can of whipped cream and noticed Piper sat at the kitchen table doing homework.
"You're missing the late show."
"I saw it in previews."
He shakes the whipped cream can and sprays a mound of it into directly into his mouth. "Looks like we've got a new lead."
"His name is Burt. He does magic." She mocked.
"Let's hope he disappears by morning. C'est apres minuit dans une school night. Don't you turn into a pumpkin or something?" Percy joked.
"Not if your Dad's escorted away by the police. How was the slammer? Anyone make you their bitch?"
"Sorry, Switchblade. I still belong to you." Percy said with a cheesy smile.
"So you wanna tell me, or do I have to read it on the fan sites?" Piper asked.
"I thought we had a deal. Surf all the porn you want. Just stay away from the fan sites."
Piper looked at him seriously and asked, "Seriously, Dad. Are you in some kind of trouble?"
"Despite my best efforts, no. They want my help on a case." He replied, holding the whipped cream above her mouth, offering some to her. She shakes her head.
"What's the case?" She inquired.
"Apparently, someone's been killing people the way I do in my books." He answered.
Her face turned to a look of horror. "Oh god. That's awful."
"Yeah. There have been two so far" Percy explained
"Are you okay?"
"Yeah. It's just so senseless."
"Murder usually is." Piper stated.
"No. Murder usually makes a great deal of sense. Passion, greed, politics. What's senseless here are the stories the killer chose." Percy replied. He put down the cream. "Flower For your Grave? Hell Hath No Fury? My truly lesser works. Why would a psychotic fan pick those?"
"Maybe because he's psychotic." Piper suggested.
Piper headed of up the stairs to bed. Percy goes into his office. He sat at his desk and stared at his laptop. As he lent forward, his reflection appeared in the screen. His fingers hovered above the keyboard like he was about to start writing but instead he clicked his writing window closed and opened google. He typed in Elizabeth Tisdale and started making notes.
Annabeth came into the room with officers carrying the bags of mail. "Set these up in interrogation three. Have we heard from the lab yet?"
"DNA and prints are negative, just like Fisk. Guy was careful." Grover answered taking a sip of his coffee.
"Any connection between Fisk and Tisdale?" She questioned.
"Other than your boy there, no." He replied, nodding across the room. Annabeth sees Percy across the way, talking with captain Chiron - Annabeth's gruff but paternal boss.
"What's he doing here?" Annabeth asked Grover.
"Maybe he likes you."
Chiron calls her over. "Detective Chase." Annabeth rolled her eyes and joined them.
"Captain?"
"Mr. Jackson has offered to assist with the investigation." He declared.
"It's the least I can do for the city I love." Replied with a cocky smile
"Given the circumstances, I think it's a good idea." Chiron stated.
"Sir, can I speak to you a moment? Privately." Annabeth asks. They move into his office. "No. Uh-uh. Absolutely not."
"Detective."
"I'm in the middle of a murder investigation. I do not have time to babysit some dime-store novelist who wants to play cop." She argued.
I'm not asking you to babysit, Detective. I'm asking you to use every resource we have to catch this son-of- a-bitch before we're knee deep in bodies and press. He knows his fans better than anyone. If there's a needle in that haystack, he may be the only guy who can recognize it. Do I make myself clear?" Chiron lectured.
"Yes, sir."
Annabeth came out to see a smiling Percy. "What's so funny?"
"You got told off."
"Hardly."
"I read lips."
Annabeth heads to the interrogation room. Percy followed, trying to keep up. "Look, why don't we just start over." He suggested.
"What's the point?"
"I think we got off on the wrong foot. I came off as a..."
"A callous self-centered jackass?" Annabeth interrupted.
"Something like that."
"Well, aren't you?" She turns to look at Percy who gives her a shrug. "Yeah. So why start over?" Annabeth pushed through the door into the interrogation room.
Officers dump the contents of a couple bags onto a large table. Annabeth grabs some evidence gloves and pulls them on. "Okay, people. I want two piles - Ordinary fan mail here, and anything remotely threatening here."
"This'll take hours." One of the officers said to his partner.
"You got somewhere else to be, Gomez?" Annabeth asked
"No, ma'am." He replied.
"For those of you who haven't had the pleasure, this is Percy Jackson, the writer and inspiration for our perp. He will be assisting. Feel free to ask him every annoying question you can possibly think of." She paused and then added. "Alright people. Let's go."
The officers begin tearing through it. Percy pulls on his own pair of evidence gloves and takes a seat by Annabeth.
Hours later in the interrogation room, Annabeth and Percy are still going threw the stacks of mail. Stacks of letters and empty envelopes litter the floor. coffee cups are scattered across the table.
Annabeth looked up and caught Percy looking at her. "What?"
"Nothing. It's just, the way your brow furrows when you're thinking. It's cute." He replied but then added. "I mean not if you're playing poker. Then it'd be deadly, but otherwise."
"Can I ask you a question?" Annabeth asked.
"Shoot."
"Why are you here? You don't care about the victims, so you aren't here for justice. You don't care it's your books, so you aren't here for outrage. So what? Are you here just to annoy me?"
He takes a moment to consider her question. "I'm here for the story."
"The story?"
"Why those people? Why those murders? Why my books?" Percy questioned.
"Sometimes there is no story. Sometimes the guy's just a psychopath."
"There's always a story, always a chain of events that makes everything make sense. Take you for example... Under normal circumstances, you shouldn't be here. Smart, good looking women become lawyers, not detectives. And yet here you are. Why?" Percy asked.
"You're the novelist. You tell me."
"You're not bridge and tunnel, no trace of the burroughs when you talk. That means Manhattan and that means money. Odds are you went to college, probably a good one. You had options, lots of options, better options, more socially acceptable options. And yet you chose this. That tells me something must have happened. Not to you - you're wounded but not that wounded. It was someone you cared about. Someone you loved. And you could've probably lived with that, except the person responsible was never caught. And that, Detective Chase, is why you're here."
From the look on her face he knows that he's right. "Cute trick. But don't think that means you know me."
"Point is, Detective, there's always a story. You just have to find it." He replied.
Annabeth looks down at the letter in her hand. Scrawled on it are very disturbing childish pictures of murders, including the rose petal murder and the pentagram murder.
"I think I just did."
The precinct was filled with controlled chaos and ringing phones. Homicide detectives sit at their desks working on cases. Annabeth is at her file-covered desk on the phone.
Percy is with Grover standing by the board, re-examining the photos of Elizabeth Tisdale and Martin Fisk.
"You know in "Dead Man's Chest," when those fishermen find that body stuffed in a crabpot?" Grover asked.
"Yeah."
"How do you come up with that stuff?"
"Congenital defect. My mother drank a lot of gin when she was pregnant." Percy replied looking over at Annabeth. "How about her? What's her deal?"
"Highest cleared case percentage. Youngest woman to make detective. I guess that's what happens when your mother's murdered. You end up working the job the way alcoholics work the bottle." He answered.
Annabeth hangs up the phone. "Looks like we got lucky. They got a print off the letter."
"Whose?"
"This isn't one of your books, Mr Jackson. Our system's backlogged. It'll take at least a week to run a match."
"Assuming there's one in the system." Grover interjected.
"A week?"
"Welcome to reality, Superstar." Annabeth responded.
"I never liked reality much." Percy said, pulling out his phone and dials. "Denise? It's Percy Jackson. Is he in?" He turns to Annabeth, "Like I said, the Mayor's a fan."
He taps his fingers on her desk, waiting for an answer. "Yo, big cheese... It's Percy. Good, good. Yeah. Of course." He walked away as he continued the conversation.
A couple minuets later Percy hangs up the phone and walks back over. "You'll have it in an hour."
"Mr Jackson. We don't jump the line. We have a procedure." Annabeth replied with a stern voice.
"I think someone feels threatened."
"I'm not threatened."
At that moment Jason comes running up to them. "They just found another one."
A woman floats face down in a pool. She was wearing a green evening gown with a tiara. A knife sticks out of her back like a fin.
"Death of a Prom Queen." Percy stated. He and Annabeth were standing next to the pool with some officers.
"Maintenance found her about forty minutes ago." One of the officers said.
"Have we got an ID?" Annabeth asked.
"Kendra Philips. She lives in the building."
"Let's get her out of the water." Annabeth pointed to Percy. "You. Wait over there. And don't touch anything."
The woman's body is on the ground on blankets, lying face down. Forensics scours the rooftop deck for evidence. Annabeth, Grover and Jason speak with the buildings maintenance man.
"This time of year, no one uses it much. We were going drain it at the end of the week." He declared.
"When were you up here last?" Annabeth inquired.
"Yesterday afternoon." He answered.
"That would've given the killer about a 24-hour window." Grover stated, writing it down. "You mind showing us her apartment?" Jason asked.
"No. Of course." He replied. Annabeth starts to follow, but sees Percy hovering over Thalia as she examined the body. She sighed.
Thalia was examining the body. Percy leans over her, startling her. "Sorry. Hi, Percy Jackson. I'm consulting." He said reaching his hand out.
"Percy Jackson, the author?" Thalia asked taking it.
"On my better days." He replied.
"Thalia Grace. Medical Examiner. I love your books."
"Thanks."
"You know, you have a real gift with the details of death." She complimented.
"High praise from an medical examiner." He smiled. Annabeth walked over and joined them. "Do you ever do what your told?" She asked.
He flashed her a cocky smile. "I got lonely." She turns to Thalia and asks her. "Do you have a cause of death?"
"Not until the full exam. But I don't think she was stabbed." Thalia answered.
"She's got a knife sticking out of her back." Annabeth stated.
Percy interrupted Thalia before she can answer. "Lack of blood around the wound suggests she was dead before it was inserted. And there's no foam around the mouth, so we know she didn't drown."
"Oh, you're good." Thalia praised.
"She was killed and posed. Like the others."
"Mr Jackson. Can I have a word?" Annabeth pulled him aside and Percy flashed her an innocent look. "Something wrong?" He asked.
"This is a homicide investigation with multiple victims, not a day at Disneyland. When I give you an order I expect you to obey it."
"Then you don't know me very well." He commented, looking down at the body. "In my book the dress was blue."
"Don't try to change the subject."
"I'm not. Listen, did Fisk and Tisdale know each other?"
"We haven't found a connection, aside from your books." She replied.
"What about motive?" He asked. Annabeth's phone rings.
"He's a serial killers. He doesn't need motive." Annabeth said answering her phone. "Chase... Yeah. You have an address? Yeah... Got it. Thanks." She hanged up the phone "We got a match off the print."
Annabeth's car pulls up at an apartment building followed by three other squad cars. She un-holstered her gun and turned to Percy, vaguely threatening. "Stay here."
"Scout's honor." He promised. Annabeth got out of the car and headed towards the building with the other officers.
Officers flanked a door with their weapons drawn. Annabeth knocked.
"Kyle Fogerty! NYPD! Open up!"
No answer. Annabeth stepped aside and two officers slammed a ram into the door. It burst open. Annabeth is the first through, her weapon at the ready.
Moving through the apartment, the officers broke off into different rooms, yelling "Clear" as they cleared the rooms. Annabeth walked into the living room. No one's was there. She walked up to the bookcase that was standing against the left wall. It was filled with Percy Jackson's books, and only Percy Jackson's books. Most of them were dog-eared from multiple reads. She pulled on gloves and took one off the shelf. The pages were highlighted and notes were written in the margin.
"Detective. You gotta see this." One of the officers said.
The officer opened a closet. Inside was a psycho mural collage of Percy Jackson photos and crude childish drawings just like the letter she found.
"Well that's creepy." Annabeth turned around to see Percy right behind her.
"You promised you'd stay."
"What? I was never a scout." He smiled.
"Detective." Another officer pulled a garbage bag out from under the bed. He stuck his gloved hand in and pulled out bloody clothing. Annabeth checked the blouse, it had two bullet holes in it.
"Tisdale's clothing." The officer reached in again and pulled out a gun. Annabeth looked disgusted.
In a Greek diner around the corner from the apartment. A geeky looking kid oblivious to the world around him, mops the floor intensely while murmuring to himself. There was something a little off about him.
His mop hit someone's boot and he looked up to see Annabeth. "Careful, floor's wet."
She held her badge up.
"Kyle Fogerty. You're under arrest for the murders of Martin Fisk, Kendra Phillips, and Elizabeth Tisdale." The officers moved in to cuff him. Kyle turned to the restaurant owner and shouted,"Mr Papidakis, they're touching me."
"I'm sorry, Kyle." He replied.
"They're touching me! They're touching me! They're touching me!" He screamed. He started to freak, screaming bloody murder, as the officer tried to subdue him.
In the interrogation room Kyle Fogerty sat alone, rocking back and forth. Percy, Annabeth and Chiron stand behind the glass watching him. "State medical records say he's got pervasive developmental disorder." Annabeth stated looking down at a brown file.
"That explains his fixation. PDD sometimes manifests in an obsession with a single subject." Percy replied.
"Well your superfan also had a history of delusions. He was on anti-psychotics." She finished as Grover and Jason entered.
"I just got off with Social Services. Guess who his caseworker was?" Jason asked.
"Elizabeth Tisdale." Annabeth replied.
"Part of the volunteer work for her degree. She placed him in his job at the diner. Turns out Kyle didn't look too far for his victims. According to the owner, Martin Fisk and Kendra Phillips were both customers."
"Doesn't this seem a little too easy?" Percy asked.
"We got the guy. That's all there is too it." Grover stated looking at Percy.
"The kid can barely mop a floor. How can you think it's him?" Percy questioned.
"Oh, I don't know. He had the murder weapon and the victim's belongings at his house? Come on. This one's airtight." Grover argued.
"That's the problem. It's too easy. The reader would never buy it." Percy declared.
"This isn't one of your books, Percy. We think what the evidence tells us to think. Out here, if we find a guy standing over a body with a gun, he's the guy that did it." Annabeth replied as they continue up the hall, leaving Percy a little stunned.
A poker game was in session. Cigar smoke was in the air. Some of the most famous authors sat around the table. Stephan King, James Patterson and of course, Percy Jackson. King threw in some chips.
"That's twenty to you, Patterson."
"You're bluffing." Patterson replied.
"Pay up and you'll find out." Patterson tossed in chips. Percy just stared at his cards.
"Bet's to you, Percy. Percy?"
"I know that look. Story trouble." King guessed. "Should've never killed off Storm, Percy. You should've crippled him."
"Or retired him. The man was money." Patterson interrupted.
"What's the problem?" King asked.
"I'm having trouble with this story I'm writing. It starts with a famous writer who gets brought in because it turns out some psycho is staging murders like in his books. The crime scenes are clean. No prints, no DNA. But the psycho writes the author a fan letter and his prints are on it. The police are able to track him down and in the apartment is all the evidence they need for a conviction."
"OK. Then what happens?" Patterson inquired.
"That's it."
"That's it?" King asked.
"Yeah. They arrest him." Percy answered. The other writers looked at each other and then laughed.
"Jesus, that's terrible. No wonder you're blocked." Patterson joked. "Guy doesn't leave prints at the scene, but sends a letter with prints? Right there, you lost me."
"Yeah, I mean where's the twist?" King added looking at Percy. "What your story needs is a character that thinks the kid is innocent and keeps digging until he finds the truth." A funny look crossed Percy's face then he smiled.
"I know just the guy." He said laying down his cards on the table. The others groaned as he took the pot.
So what do you think? I love hearing your opinion. :)