thank you to Fairygirl34 and Guest for commenting in previous chapters :)

Sunday morning, Annabeth and Clarisse were on their way to the auto shop where Charles Beckendorf had worked to interview his colleagues. Despite the air conditioning in Clarisse's car, the summer sun baked against the side of Annabeth's face through the passenger-side window. She squinted as they drove on the open roads without trees for shade. She predicted it would only get hotter as the day wore on, and she wondered how the mechanics could stand working in the heat.

From their read-through of the victim's records the day before, they'd learnt that Charles Beckendorf had worked at Vince's Auto Shop for the past three years after spending six years as a program manager at Hephaestus Technologies, which was an engineering firm in Chelsea. It was stated that he had moved to New York from South Carolina prior to that, where he'd worked as a computer hardware engineer at another company.

With regards to his personal life, no living relatives were listed. Since his mother had passed away early in his childhood and no name was mentioned as his father, he had stayed in the foster system until he turned 18, when he pursued a college degree in mechanical engineering with a minor in computer engineering. Throughout his life, Beckendorf had never married.

Personal information aside, there were no direct ties to Percy Jackson or Poseidon Enterprises listed in his file. The detectives' visit to the shops surrounding the crime scene the day before hadn't offered any leads either—none of the employees had claimed to hear anything unusual in the area during the night. Annabeth was frustrated with the lack of leads so far, but she tried to stay optimistic that something would turn up soon.

The detectives pulled up to the repair shop and stepped out into the blazing heat. It was only 10 am, but Annabeth could feel the humidity gathering on her skin and making her sweat under her clothes. They entered through the front and were immediately greeted by a middle-aged man who looked to be the owner of the shop.

"Hi there," he greeted kindly. "What can I do for you ladies today?"

"Good morning, sir," Annabeth said. "We're detectives with the 17th Precinct, NYPD. We're here to gather some information about one of your employees, Charles Beckendorf. Could we possibly talk in a quieter section of the shop?"

Right away a shadow fell across the man's face. "Oh, Beckendorf. Yes. We can talk over there." He directed them to a corridor leading to the main office, further away from where the cars were being worked on.

"How should we address you?" Annabeth asked.

"Please call me Tommy. I heard about Beckendorf on the news last night. What a terrible thing to happen to him. He was one of my best employees."

"He worked here for three years?" Clarisse asked for clarification.

"That's right. He had an impressive résumé, so at first I wondered why he'd choose to work in a place like this instead of some huge engineering company, but I was just happy to have another experienced kid on my team. And till now I don't regret ever hiring him. Beckendorf was great with cars, and he really seemed to like it here."

He glanced behind them to the left and a quiet relief emerged on his face.

"You know what, I think Ethan might be the best person for you to talk to. I'd say he was the closest to Beckendorf out of all my employees. I'll go tell him to come over."

Without waiting for a response, Tommy stepped away and approached an Asian man standing by a table laid out with spare tools near the back of the workshop. It wasn't too surprising how eager he'd been to set the detectives' attention on someone else as soon as he had spotted the chance, as most people got understandably nervous when questioned by the police about someone they'd known who recently died. So far nothing about his behaviour had set off the silent alarms in Annabeth's head.

The Asian man walked up to them. "Hi, detectives. Tommy said you wanted to speak with me?"

Annabeth noted the rag mottled with motor oil and grease clutched in both of his hands. He looked back at the detectives with calm, dark eyes.

"That's right," she said, even though it wasn't exactly the case. "We understand you were friends with Charles Beckendorf?"

Ethan's shoulders tensed slightly. "I was. I heard about what happened. It… He was a good friend. I can't believe he's gone."

"You have our condolences," Clarisse said. "We'd like to ask you some questions that will be helpful in our investigation. Is it okay if we conduct the interview out here?"

"Of course."

"When did you last see Charles?"

"Friday afternoon, about 5 pm. We signed out of work together and split up near the youth centre down the road. I know he usually took the bus. And he liked to go by Beckendorf, by the way. Said it's been a thing since he was a kid."

"Okay. Did he tell you about having any plans that night?"

"No. We just talked about one of the cars we were working on last for the day. It had a tricky maintenance issue, and we were stuck on it for a while."

"Did you happen to notice anything out of the ordinary about him lately?" Annabeth asked. "Perhaps that he was distracted, or like something might have been on his mind."

"No. Why? You think he might have been in trouble or something?"

"We're just trying to collect as much information as we can," Clarisse answered noncommittally.

Ethan seemed to clench the dirty cloth in his hands with a little more force. "He seemed normal—optimistic and enthusiastic about getting the job done as usual. He really liked working here, and the customers never had a problem with him."

"Do you know of anyone who might have wanted to hurt him?" Annabeth asked.

"No. I'll admit I'm not too close with him outside of work. I don't… I mean, I didn't really hang out with him except for when we would leave the shop together after closing hours. And he never mentioned or acted like he was having trouble with anything."

"Would you happen to know where he goes on his off days?"

"I'm sorry, I don't. We didn't talk about those things."

"Was he seeing anybody we could talk to for more information? A girlfriend, maybe?"

"Not that I know of. Beckendorf was a pretty private person. Anytime we tried to ask about his family or if he was married, things like that, he'd kind of shut down and try to change the subject. Eventually we all got the message and left him alone… Not saying he was anti-social or anything, because other than that he got along well with everyone."

Clarisse nodded in understanding. "Do you know of any connections he might have had to Percy Jackson?"

His eyebrows shot up. "Percy Jackson? You mean the guy that's about to take over that Poseidon company?" He thought for a moment. "Beckendorf never mentioned anything about him to me. Does… Does he have something to do with what happened?"

Clarisse cleared her throat. "We can't tell you much about our investigation, but rest assured that we're going to explore all possible leads to figure out what happened to your friend."

Annabeth closed her notebook and gave a small nod to her partner.

"All right. We appreciate you taking the time to talk with us. If anything else sparks your memory and seems relevant to the case, give us a call." Clarisse gave him her contact card. "We might need to reach out to you again in the future, so if you don't mind, try not to leave the city anytime soon."

The detectives spent the next half hour asking the rest of the employees the same questions, and they all gave more or less the same answers. Beckendorf's last whereabouts before he died were still unknown, and no one seemed to know about any possible links between him and Percy Jackson. Annabeth hoped a search of his apartment would give them clues as to where he might have gone in the moments leading up to his murder, and possibly what the motive might have been for killing him.

-Ψ-

After they left the repair shop, Clarisse drove them straight to Beckendorf's address that was located ten minutes away. Beckendorf had lived alone, but to let it be on record and avoid any legal problems, they'd requested a search warrant for his apartment and had been granted it without issue.

Upon arrival the detectives talked with the landlord and paid a brief visit to the neighbours. After gathering statements of their alibis for the night of the murder, all of them expressed the shared sentiment that Beckendorf had been polite and respectful and never caused trouble throughout his residence. One neighbour stated he had heard Beckendorf enter his apartment at around 5:30 pm on Friday like on every other workday, although when questioned for specific details he clarified that he'd only heard Beckendorf's door open and close through the wall and thus assumed he had returned from work. The neighbour had left his own apartment shortly after that so he couldn't tell them at what time Beckendorf might have left later in the evening. And the building's surveillance cameras were only present in the stairwells and lift lobbies, so while they could look at the footage to determine when the victim had entered and left the building, the detectives would have no way to check for any activity directly outside his front door.

The landlord directed them to and unlocked Beckendorf's apartment for their search after the questioning. At first glance, there were no signs suggesting any sort of crime had taken place inside. Although small, the open-plan interior was neat and comfortably furnished, with a TV against the wall in the living room and a sofa bed in the centre, and nothing seeming out of place. A stack of unopened letters lay on an end table next to the door, the earliest of which dated back to Thursday. Annabeth marked them for collection; their forensics technicians were scheduled to drop by later in the day. A cluster of browning bananas sat on the kitchen counter, with two having been ripped off and presumably consumed some time ago. The home had been left with other indicators that suggested Beckendorf had fully expected to come back, which added a melancholic tinge to the air. It was reminiscent of many other cases Annabeth had worked on in the past, and she tried not to think about it as she continued to scan the house.

One thing Annabeth ultimately took note of was the lack of personal pictures or memorabilia on the walls and furniture. There was not even a graduation certificate or trophy from school on the sparse shelves in the living room. Having read Beckendorf's file, she knew he had plenty of achievements to show off, but strangely he'd decided not to in his own home.

Aiming to gather more insights, Annabeth ventured further into the apartment while Clarisse stayed to take a closer look in the living room. Slipping on a pair of nitrile gloves as she entered the home office, she recalled from the victim's file that he had lived at this same address since his move from South Carolina nine years ago. Here there were no awards or pictures to be seen either. Instead the solemn grey walls were minimally decorated with framed sceneries of mountains and canyons. The work desk was placed with the short edge against the left wall. There was a bookshelf along the right wall housing engineering theory textbooks and sophisticated 3D-printed models of objects Annabeth didn't recognise, with a fine coat of dust present over all of them. One she guessed was a prototype for a car's internal combustion engine, and the others she thought might be early designs for turbines and electric generators. The models weren't labelled or dated, so she couldn't tell when each of them had been created, but she assumed they had been Beckendorf's projects while he had still been working at the engineering firm.

She walked over to the desk next. An orange rug had been draped across the floorboards underneath, and a small wastepaper bin was tucked near the side with the drawers. A relatively outdated computer sat on the tabletop, and Annabeth marked it for collection as well. There wasn't much else on the table apart from a fake potted plant on the top left corner and a few pens in a cup on the right.

She knelt next to the bin and emptied its contents onto the floor, sending crushed balls of paper rolling across the lacquered wood. She carefully smoothed them out and studied what had been printed or written on each of them. Nothing but more complicated hand-drawn designs of unfamiliar machines.

One question drifted through her mind: were all these drawings and plans under Beckendorf's job scope at the mechanic shop as well? They were definitely more recent than the 3D models on the shelf. Annabeth knew for a fact he'd have needed to draw up such schematics in his previous positions, so perhaps he missed the designing part of the field and continued the task for leisure at home. That begged the question then of why he'd left the industry—after working in it for 12 consecutive years no less—when he clearly still loved what he did.

Filing the thoughts away, Annabeth went to check the drawers. The topmost one contained a few pieces of scrap paper. With a brief look, she found that they were mostly old bank documents and receipts, although none of them revealed any particularly interesting information; none of the receipts were for fancy restaurants that Beckendorf might have visited on a date, and there were no transfers listed on the bank statements large enough to be considered suspicious. To be thorough, they'd have to check the rest of his account transaction history within the last three months.

She moved on to the next drawer. Inside was a miscellany of tools that could be found in a hardware shop, many of them rusted and looking like they hadn't been used in some time. Annabeth had to assume these were Beckendorf's personal set he had used as references to help him in his engineering designs when he worked at home.

So far many of the clues Annabeth had observed in the home office pointed to Beckendorf being a relatively sentimental person. As his boss and Ethan Nakamura had mentioned, he still greatly enjoyed working at the repair shop. Perhaps his leaving a stable career at a major firm for a more modest and hands-on job had to do with personal preference. Annabeth resolved to look into the reason for him leaving the firm and was a little disappointed in herself for neglecting to ask about that detail during the earlier interview with his co-workers. Refocusing her attention to her current task, she closed the drawer.

Then something made her stop.

She studied the exterior of the drawer more carefully before pulling it open again, and she realised why her instincts had alerted her—the drawer was slightly shallower inside than it appeared on the outside. She rapped her knuckles on the base, and the sound that came back confirmed her observation.

With a renewed buzz of energy, she brought all the tools out onto the table and hollered for her partner to come over.

Clarisse entered with an openly curious expression. "What's up?"

"Hey, it looks like there's a secret compartment in this desk. There could be something hidden inside."

There was a tingle in her spine as Annabeth grasped the protruding edge of the false bottom. It turned into an anticipatory spark as she wiggled it free, but her excitement extinguished when she saw that the compartment underneath was empty.

"Would you look at that," Clarisse remarked coolly. Now standing next to her, she stared down at the rather disappointing discovery.

Annabeth tutted. "Whatever was in here must have been important to the victim. Question is, was it him who removed it, or someone else?"

"We can check the security cams for whoever accessed the floor," Clarisse suggested. "Although if someone came in here and stole it, he or she is going to be tough to pinpoint since we can't see who actually went in and out of the apartment."

"True. But maybe forensics can find traces of what was kept in here assuming it wasn't just money. Any substances or agents should have left some residue behind."

"Yeah, I think it's our best bet for a lead at the moment. God forbid something goes our way in this case."

While Clarisse turned to take her first look around the office, Annabeth checked the other drawers for more hidden compartments but ultimately found none. She went to bag the one they had for forensics testing but realised the ones she usually carried were far too small. She'd have to ask the technicians to take care of it.

Annabeth straightened from the desk and faced Clarisse. "Hey, how about you? Find anything so far?"

"Nah, living room was clear—nothing strange lying around. I was looking in the bathroom when you called me over. Still gotta check the master bedroom, though."

"Okay. Well, I'm done here, so I'll go with you."

They searched the rest of the house but turned up no other relevant finds, apart from old family photos hidden away in a bedside drawer. Instead of an entire album, there were only a few aged pictures that had been laminated for preservation. They all featured the same two people who Annabeth assumed were Beckendorf as a child and his mother when she was alive. Both had warm, contented smiles in every single one. Annabeth felt a little wistful looking at them, then she caught herself.

Later, once they had completed their preliminary search of the house and indicated the potential evidence for collection by forensics, Annabeth and Clarisse left the apartment. They returned to the landlord's office to request copies of the surveillance footage for the front entrance, stairwells and lift landings on the same level, and informed him Beckendorf's unit was only to be accessed by police from that point on.

The afternoon sun beat down on their backs as they walked across the small parking lot to Clarisse's car to return to the precinct. Annabeth thought back to the hidden compartment in the victim's office desk and the new road of theories it opened up for them to follow. Now they knew Beckendorf had been in possession of something he'd felt he needed to hide, and now that it was missing, it summoned a new stream of questions about what it was, and if it had anything to do with getting him killed.

-Ψ-

Annabeth and Clarisse reported straight to the Chief's office as he'd instructed at the start of the day. They needed to discuss an approach for the interview with Percy Jackson, considering he was a high-profile person of interest and they wanted to avoid as much publicity as they could manage.

Chief Brunner regarded them from behind his desk as they entered. "Good afternoon, detectives. I trust you had a safe journey back. Let's get right down to business. I've given our precarious situation a lot of thought and, taking into account the background of our subject, decided that the option with the highest chance of success would be to send in just one of you to conduct the interview with Mr Jackson."

Annabeth raised her eyebrows. "Sir? That's not in line with investigation protocol."

"I'm well aware, Detective. But since we find ourselves in a rather unique situation, I find it in our best interest to adapt to the circumstances and adjust our tactics accordingly. He's not the same as our regular suspects, if you remember. I have a feeling Mr Jackson will feel less pressure in the presence of one police officer instead of two. In fact, Annabeth, you're the one I recommend for the task."

Annabeth blinked, wondering if she'd heard him right. "Uh, come again?"

The Chief gave her a kindly smile. "Like most high-ranking businessmen, questioning Mr Jackson in the context of a homicide investigation calls for both a certain gentleness and tact—things I'm glad to report are within your capabilities." He turned to her partner with the same warm eyes. "Please understand I mean no personal offense to you in that regard, Clarisse."

Clarisse smirked. "Hey, none taken. I got no objections there. I, for one, agree that Chase here is the best choice for the job."

"Oh, come on," Annabeth complained. "You're only saying that because you won't have to be the one to deal with a pompous nepo baby on a Sunday afternoon."

"The priority is to avoid drawing media attention," Brunner continued, ignoring their bickering. "Which means avoiding any instances where he might be tempted to seek counsel with his lawyers. Since he's a public figure, such a move would alert tabloid press and jeopardise our progress if the media starts looking into the case as well. For this interview, let him tell you what he wants, but don't push him too hard such that he feels you suspect him of being involved."

"Sure, that won't be any trouble at all," Annabeth grumbled. "We're being awfully accommodating to this guy. What's next? Offer to call up a limo to drive him to the station? Oh wait, I'm sure he already has his own people to arrange that."

"That actually brings me to my next advice—it'll be best to conduct any interviews in a space he can feel relaxed, preferably his own home. Unless of course, there is evidence down the road of his involvement in the crime, in which case he'll be brought into the station for a standard interrogation."

"Oh, excellent. At least we have that. Now I'm convinced this whole arrangement can't be that bad."

Brunner's eyes crinkled in amusement. "I have complete faith your interview will go smoothly. Clarisse, you may be dismissed. There are a few more details I need to go over with Annabeth before we wrap up this briefing."

"Sure thing, boss. Good luck, partner." Clarisse saluted and threw her a gloating smile over her shoulder before strolling out the door. Annabeth turned back to face the Chief as it fell closed.

She crossed her arms. "Let me guess: be friendly, don't intimidate him, and don't pressure him into talking if he doesn't want to?" She didn't bother trying to mask her disapproval of this 'strategy'. Why should one man be given special treatment in a police investigation just because he was a member of the wealthy and elite? She understood the rationale of the strategy, but she still didn't like that she had to be the one to carry it out.

"More or less." The Chief smiled. "Just for this first interview, ask questions and observe with the intention of getting a sense of him as a person. That will be helpful to us in planning future sessions and interactions. Despite what we've talked about, I still want you to make full use of your skills in the field. Maintain your instincts as an investigator. Get as much information from him as safely as you can, but at the same time try to get him to trust you. It'll make things easier for us in the long run. I do remember your remarkable work in a number of past cases, and so I have full confidence in your abilities to execute this task."

Annabeth's chest warmed a little at the praise. She nodded her compliance. "I'll do my best. I won't let you down, sir."

"I know you won't. Just remember: the most important thing is that you deal with him carefully. The last thing we want is all of the media's eyes on this case."

"Understood." Annabeth smiled as she reached for the door leading back out into the bullpen. "I'll get on it right away."

-Ψ-

Annabeth smelled the sea the moment she stepped out of the cab along Coney Island Avenue. She hadn't realised how much she missed it. She could still remember the times her parents had taken her to the beach on the weekends, when they'd still been together. How old had she been the last time? She shook her head and continued walking down the road towards the sand.

Percy Jackson's address was located on the far end of Brighton Beach, relatively secluded from the gatherings of people who normally didn't stray too far from the public bathrooms and designated parking lot. She spotted the property in the distance as soon as she stepped onto the boardwalk, and she had to admit she was impressed.

Three storeys tall, it was a modern quartz stone building detailed with basalt and another black mineral she couldn't remember the name of. All of its many windows glinted silver-blue in the sunlight. A dark oak staircase wrapped around the back of the house and led up to the second level. She suspected the front door was on the other side facing the water, so she'd have to take a walk around to get to it.

For a wealthy person's home, Annabeth thought the relatively minimalist architecture quite suited the ambience of the beach. It almost blended in with the other housing units clustered further along the waterfront, although anyone would have been able to recognise that this house in particular was one of extreme luxury. She wondered if that had been the intention of the design in the first place.

Her shoes sank lightly into the sand as she reached the end of the boardwalk. For a moment she considered taking them off, then realised it wouldn't be professional. It was going to be a headache to clean them afterwards. She trudged forward, edging around to the front of the house where it faced the ocean.

On this side, floor-to-ceiling windows made of one-way glass encased the first level so that during the day the interior of the house wasn't visible from the outside. Extending from the right sat an open patio of wooden planks that stretched to the back end of the property, an overhead canopy strung all the way across to shield it from the sun and rain, with unlit cordless lanterns hanging from supporting beams. On the near end of the platform was a glass-topped table coupled with two rattan outdoor chairs.

As Annabeth walked up the steps to the front porch, she contemplated how easy it had been to get this close to the personal home of the heir to a major company. She would have thought there would be more security around the place, but right now she couldn't see any. Did that mean anyone could just walk up to Percy Jackson's front door?

She rang the doorbell and waited. After a minute or so, no one came to the door.

She took a step back and curiously looked up the face of the house. Maybe she should have gone to find him at the company building after all, even though the whole intention had been to question him without attracting attention.

She tried the bell again, then knocked on the door three times. "Mr Jackson?" she called out.

Still no answer. Annabeth let out a small sigh of defeat. It appeared she'd wasted this whole journey. She turned around to face the sea. A calm breeze brushed against her face and pulled free a few strands of hair from her ponytail. She squinted at the glittering waves that reached all the way out to the horizon. Not too far from the shoreline, someone was swimming in the water. She watched as the swimmer made one lap parallel to the beach, then swam back roughly the same distance. The motion was smooth and effortless, which gave Annabeth the impression that this person was experienced.

She was about to look away when she realised the person was now heading in her direction. A thought came to her, and it was confirmed as the man stepped out of the water. Even from afar, she could tell it was none other than Percy Jackson. And a little late, she noticed that all he had on was a swimsuit. She averted her eyes, feeling embarrassed, which made her annoyed. She couldn't help the silly thought that she'd practically been spying on him. She waited until she glimpsed him sling a beach towel across his shoulders before looking up as he approached her.

He walked with an easy air about him. As he got closer, she saw that his handsome face was the same as in the newspapers and media tabloids that featured him on the front page every few months, although in person the inherent playfulness in his eyes was much clearer.

She climbed down the porch steps to meet him on the sand. "Percy Jackson?" she greeted as a formality.

"That's me. I just saw you standing by the house. I'm sorry to have kept you waiting."

Annabeth was mildly taken off-guard. "It's all right."

"If I had to guess, I'd say you're a cop. The firearm kind of gives it away," he said with a small smile.

She bit back an impulsive retort before it could reach her tongue. Jackson was certainly charming. She was sure he was aware of it and used it to his advantage.

"Yes, I'm Detective Annabeth Chase with the 17th Precinct. I'm here to speak with you about a homicide that happened recently. Were you familiar with anyone named Charles Beckendorf?"

Jackson froze. She'd been watching for how he reacted. His smile had disappeared, and dread and despair warred with each other across his face.

"He was my friend," he said after a moment. "I heard about it on the news last night."

"I'm sorry for your loss," she told him respectfully.

Jackson cleared his throat. "I think I'd better get changed. Please have a seat out on the patio. I'll come back out in a few minutes."

Annabeth reflexively grew cautious. In her line of work persons of interest who said things like that would try to flee the scene to avoid questioning by the police. While she let him go back into the house, she remained standing by the steps in case she would need to run after him. She listened for any sounds of escape from inside the house but relaxed when a minute later Jackson emerged out onto the patio in a fresh shirt and trousers.

He gestured for her to take a seat and took the chair opposite her. "What are your questions, Detective?"

Cutting right to the chase—she liked that. She flipped open her notepad and trained her careful gaze on him. "For starters, did you know Charles well?"

"I like to think so." His throat bobbed as he swallowed. "We became good friends after I met him about nine, ten years ago, when he first moved to the city. He was working at Hephaestus Technologies so I got to know him through intercompany meetings and events. He was a hard worker, so he got promotions easily. We ended up working closer as he was charged with handling more of Hephaestus's big decisions. If you ask me, I think he liked building things with his own hands a lot more. He quit after a few more years and passed along his role to the guy he'd been mentoring. The last I heard of him he got a job at a mechanics shop somewhere in Harlem. Oh, and he always went by Beckendorf. That's how he told everyone to address him."

"I see," she said, noting how the preference matched up with what Beckendorf's colleagues at the auto shop had told them. She was jotting down everything he told her, though a lot of what he had said was already listed in Beckendorf's file. None of it was necessarily new information, but she made a note about a possible business relationship between Hephaestus Technologies and Poseidon Enterprises that she would look more into later.

"I'll be honest with you, Mr Jackson," she said, then he interrupted.

"Please call me Percy. I've been called enough 'Mr Jackson's to last me a lifetime."

"All right, Percy." The word felt strange in her mouth. "I'm here because we found something that belongs to you at the crime scene. It was a fountain pen with your name engraved on it. Any idea how it might have got there?"

"No," Percy said carefully. His face was a mixture of controlled confusion and apprehension. "I lost it months ago. I usually keep it on my desk in my office at the company, but after one weekend away I couldn't find it anywhere."

He lost it. What a convenient thing to say, Annabeth thought. But her gut seemed to tell her he wasn't lying. And the way he talked about it prompted a new question.

"Is it one of a kind?" she asked.

"It is. My dad gave it to me when I was 12."

Annabeth remembered the story, and the significance of his age at the time in particular. Although she hadn't been in the city when the news first broke, it was a scandal that was still talked about and sensationalised to that day. When a 12-year-old boy had been in the news for pushing his abusive stepfather off a staircase in their apartment, the CEO of Poseidon Enterprises had publicly announced that Perseus Jackson was his son and claimed him to be the next in line for the position at the company as his eldest biological child. It wasn't ever stated directly, but Annabeth guessed the CEO had looked at the boy's last name, age and picture and put it all together. She hadn't known what to make of the story at the beginning, particularly why the head of a flourishing maritime company would be so eager to expose the affair he'd had in his youth, which was before he even took over the head position. Was it to make himself look noble and altruistic in the eyes of the public for his own political gain? Annabeth didn't know if she gravitated more to that reason, or the one where the CEO perhaps still held affection towards the mother and had truly wanted to get to know his son.

"It's refillable so I can still use it after this long," he continued, bringing her out of her thoughts. "Where— Where did you find it? At the scene, I mean."

She contemplated whether it was a detail she should share with him, then decided she would use the opportunity to build rapport.

"It was pinned to his shirt," she told him honestly.

"Oh. Any chance I can get it back?"

"Unfortunately, no. It'll be held as evidence until further notice. And I'm sorry to tell you, but… some of your friend's blood got on it. You should probably just get another pen."

She watched his reaction carefully, seeing if he would act too surprised or too unbothered. Instead his smile only flickered.

"A shame," he said. "I'm a little sentimental about it."

Annabeth tapped her pen a few times on her notepad. "Can you tell me where you were Friday night between 8 pm and 2 am?"

"I was working late. Had to investigate a logistics issue involving a recent shipment of goods listed under the company. I only left the building at 4 am." He didn't seem fazed by the question, although she thought he appeared slightly more guarded. "I can give you the names of all the colleagues I spoke to. And feel free to check the sign-in and sign-out records at the company."

"We will," she promised. "What are the names?"

Percy gave them to her, pausing at times presumably to recall the specific conversations he'd had that night. She noted down the names to be verified. So far, nothing had alerted her that he was lying.

"Do you recall anyone who might have wanted to hurt him before?"

He thought for a short moment before shaking his head. "I know it's hard to believe, but not at all. I never knew Beckendorf to have crossed anyone, intentionally or unintentionally. If there's someone who had a problem with him, then they never made it obvious. Personally I can't imagine anyone wanting to hurt him like this."

His words hung heavily in the air between them. Regardless of what he claimed, someone had hurt Beckendorf. Annabeth wasn't sure what the motive was yet, but she was as intent as ever on finding out.

Percy cleared his throat. "Can I ask how long it'll be before we can bury him? He was a good friend and… I want to do right by him."

"I'm afraid I can't give you a straight answer right now, but I'll be sure to check with the ME's Office." Annabeth casually sat back a little more in her seat. "I understand Beckendorf didn't have any close living relatives?"

"That's right. His father was out of the picture before he was born, and his mother died when he was young. He told me he was mostly on his own once he got out of the system."

Distantly recalling his own background, she thought he might have gotten along well with Beckendorf partly because of their shared experience growing up without a father figure. And she hadn't missed how Percy had used the word 'we' in his earlier question. She wanted to press him for more information, but she didn't want to risk making him on edge if she prodded too much.

"Okay, Percy. This'll be the last question I have for you now. Is there anyone else I can talk to who knew Beckendorf personally? Other friends or a partner, or anything like that?"

"Off the top of my head are the people who used to work with him at Hephaestus. He'd made other contacts in the partner companies, of course, like Poseidon and Demeter Inc. I think you might have better luck going to them and asking directly."

Right. Going to major companies and requesting them for information on their highest-ranking employees wouldn't be difficult at all.

"Apart from that," he continued, "I don't know of any other contacts he might have had. I'm not sure if he was dating anybody either. Like I said, I haven't talked to him in years."

"Okay. Well, thank you for your time, Percy. I very much appreciate your cooperation and assistance." Annabeth closed her notepad and stood.

Percy walked her down the porch steps. When they got to the bottom, she turned to him and handed over her business card.

"If you remember any other details you think would help, please don't hesitate to contact me."

"Will do," he said. Then she caught his gaze lingering on her face, but before she could wonder much about it his expression shifted back into a polite and necessary smile. "Have a good day, Detective."

He turned and entered the house through the front door without waiting to watch her leave. Annabeth didn't waste any more time hanging around. She went towards the boardwalk behind Percy Jackson's house to head back to the main road and call another cab.

-Ψ-

On her way back to the precinct, she received a text from Clarisse that Reyna, their ballistics expert, had finished reassembling the bullet fragments extracted during the autopsy. She promptly made her way to the forensics level as soon as she reached the building. Annabeth met with them at Reyna's work desk outside the lab.

"Chase," Clarisse greeted. "How'd the interview with Jackson go?"

"Smoother than I thought it would. He was pretty forthcoming about how he knew the victim."

"So he did know him."

"Yeah, but he claims they stopped contact some years ago. He told me to look into Beckendorf's connections with old colleagues from Hephaestus. I'm thinking we go check on that tomorrow? And at the same time we can look at confirming Jackson's alibi for Friday."

"Sounds like a plan."

Reyna offered a wry smile as she handed Annabeth a copy of the analysis report for the bullet. "So, met a celebrity today?"

Annabeth chuckled. "I'm just glad he didn't call for his lawyer the moment he realised I was a cop. You saw how well that last case went… Anyway, what have you got for us?"

Reyna pulled up the complete results of her analysis on her own computer screen. "Well, I can tell you for sure the bullet is a hollow-point—9-millimetre 124 grain, to be exact. Typically it's the type of ammo used for self-defence, and it's common in law enforcement firearms as well. Although the bullet fragmented when it hit the bone, the base was left intact enough for rifling marks to still be visible. The ones I saw are consistent with a gun that fires at a 1 in 16" twist rate, and specifically with polygonal rifling. If you can find a firearm down the road that matches those traits, I'll be able to test if it was the same one that fired the bullet into your vic."

"Nice," Clarisse said, wearing a rare smile. "That's the first piece of good news we've had on this case."

"I've found something interesting, though," Reyna continued. "There was enough of the bullet left intact for me to find a partial microscopic image engraved near the base."

On her screen, she presented them with a picture of the semi-reconstructed bullet. One diagram showed it lengthwise, with the nose having expanded into a blunt flower shape after being fired. In a close-up next to it, etched close to the base of the bullet were purposeful markings that looked like they combined to form a logo.

"Since there was no bullet casing left behind at the scene, we can't identify the manufacturer, and the bullets themselves aren't microstamped during commercial production. Not only does that tell us this bullet was custom made, but the signature might give us clues as to how and where it was manufactured."

Arms crossed, Clarisse thoughtfully held her chin. "You said it's microscopic? Sounds like pretty advanced technology to me. If I remember right, there's no machine that's able to do that for bullets, is there?"

"You're right, and that's the thing. It shouldn't even be possible to put a mark like this on a bullet on purpose. Whoever went to all the trouble to do this, they must have had a reason. I'd say the only upside is that you shouldn't have too many suspects to go through, 'cause it would take a whole lot of expertise and resources to be able to pull this off, and I doubt it'll be common to find both of those together."

"Good point," Clarisse said. "It's definitely a start, and I'll take any lead we can get."

With a smile, Annabeth waved the report on the bullet in her hand, signalling their intent to leave. "We'll definitely look into it. Thanks for your help, Reyna."

Reyna nodded. "Always glad to be of assistance to you two. Good luck on the rest of your case."

Annabeth and Clarisse headed to the elevator. When they got to the lift landing, Annabeth pressed the 'down' button and watched the red LED numbers above the doors flash and slowly ascend to their current level.

"So, back to the interview… What did Jackson have to say about the pen?" Clarisse asked while they waited. "Did he act all funny about it?"

Annabeth shifted her weight onto her other foot. "Not in particular…"

The elevators doors slid open. The two stepped inside and Clarisse pressed the button for their floor.

Annabeth continued, "He did have a strange request, though. He asked if he could get it back. Said it was sentimental to him because his father gave it to him when he was a kid."

Her partner pondered for a moment. "I guess I can see it. You know rich people: they have their quirks. Most of them I will never understand. How'd he react when you told him he couldn't have it?"

"He seemed all right. Didn't throw a fit or anything, so I'd count that as a win."

Soon the elevator deposited them onto their level. They turned the corner and walked down the hall towards their office area.

"What'd he say for his alibi?" Clarisse asked.

"That he was at the company working until 4 am. He gave me the names of the people he spoke to within the timeframe. We'll see if they can vouch for him."

"Yeah, if he hasn't fed them a script already…"

Annabeth didn't respond as they reached their desks. She picked up Beckendorf's case file off the top of the stack she always kept on her table and slotted in the report for the bullet analysis. As she flipped through the other pages, she remembered one part of the case they hadn't revisited yet.

"We still don't know why he was dressed up that night," she mused.

"Right," Clarisse said. "Well, now we know it definitely wasn't for work."

"What if he was going on a first date? Ethan Nakamura said he never mentioned he was seeing anybody, so maybe he had plans with someone that night but never told anyone. It aligns with his preference in keeping to himself about his personal relationships. We should check the phone for trails next—messages, dating apps…"

Annabeth snatched up a sticky note from her desk and scribbled a reminder to look into Beckendorf's phone records and check his social media activity with their digital forensics team.

When she finally looked up, Clarisse's gaze was drawn to something behind her, and she cursed. "What is he doing here?"

Annabeth turned and saw who her partner was referring to.

Percy Jackson had just walked into the room.