Private Games

Chapter 18

AT THREE-TWENTY THAT Thursday afternoon, Karen Pope and Peter Knight crossed the courtyard and climbed the granite front steps of the venerable British Museum in central London. As they entered the museum, Knight was grinding his teeth. He liked to work alone because it gave him enough silence to think things through during the course of an investigation.

Pope, however, had been talking almost non-stop since they’d left Private London, feeding him all sorts of trivial information he really had no need to know, including her career highlights, the creep Lester she’d dated in Manchester, and the travails of being the only woman currently working on the Sun’s sports desk.

‘Got to be tough,’ he said, wondering if he could somehow ditch her without adding to Jack’s problems.

Instead, Knight led them to an older woman at the information desk, where he produced his identification and said that someone from Private had called ahead to arrange a brief interview with Dr James Daring.

The woman had sniffed something about the curator being very busy, what with his exhibit about to open that very evening, but then she gave them directions.

They climbed to an upper floor and walked towards the rear of the massive building. At last they came to an archway above which hung a large banner that read The Ancient Olympic Games: Relics & Radical Retrospective.

Two guards stood in front of a purple curtain stretched across the archway. Caterers were setting up for a reception to celebrate the opening, with tables for food and a bar in the hallway. Knight showed his Private badge and asked for Daring.

The guard replied, ‘Dr Daring has gone to take a—’

‘Late lunch, but I’m back, Carl,’ called a harried male voice from back down the hallway. ‘What’s going on? Who are these people? I clearly said no one inside before seven!’

Knight pivoted to see hurrying towards them a familiar handsome, ruggedly built man wearing khaki cargo shorts, sandals and a safari-style shirt. His ponytail bounced on his shoulders. He carried an iPad. His gaze jumped everywhere.

Knight had seen James Daring on television several times, of course. For reasons Knight did not quite understand, his son Luke, almost three years old, loved to watch Secrets of the Past, though Knight suspected that the appeal lay in the melodramatic music that accompanied the man in virtually every programme.

‘My kids are big fans,’ Knight said, extending his hand. ‘Peter Knight, with Private. My office called.’

‘And Karen Pope. I’m with the Sun.’

Daring glanced at her and said, ‘I’ve already invited someone from the Sun to view the exhibit along with everyone else – at seven. What can I do for Private, Mr Knight?’

‘Actually, Miss Pope and I are working together,’ Knight said. ‘Sir Denton Marshall has been murdered.’

The television star’s face blanched and he blinked several times before saying, ‘Murdered? Oh, my God. What a tragedy. He …’

Daring gestured at the purple curtains blocking the way into his new exhibit. ‘Without Denton’s financial support, this exhibit would not have been possible. He was a generous and kind man.’

Tears welled in Daring’s eyes. One trickled down his cheek. ‘I’d planned to thank him publicly at the reception tonight. And … what happened? Who did this? Why?’

‘The killer calls himself Cronus,’ Pope replied. ‘He sent me a letter. Some of it is in ancient Greek. We’d hoped you could translate it for us.’

Daring glanced at his watch and then nodded. ‘I can give you fifteen minutes right now. I’m sorry but …’

‘The exhibition,’ Pope said. ‘We understand. Fifteen minutes would be brilliant of you.’

After a pause, Daring said, ‘You’ll have to walk with me, then.’

The museum curator led them behind the curtains into a remarkable exhibition that depicted the ancient Olympic Games and compared them to the modern incarnation. The exhibit began with a giant aerial photograph of the ruins at Olympus, Greece, site of the original Games.

While Pope showed Daring her copy of Cronus’s letter, Knight studied the photograph of Olympus and the diagrams that explained the ruins.

Surrounded by groves of olive trees, the area was dominated by the ‘Atlis’, the great Sanctuary of Zeus, the most powerful of the ancient Greek gods. The sanctuary held temples where rituals and sacrifices were performed during the Games. Indeed, according to Daring’s exhibit, the entire Olympus site, including the stadium, was a sacred place of worship.

For over a thousand years, in peace and in war, the Greeks had assembled at Olympus to celebrate the festival of Zeus and to compete in the Games. There were no bronze, silver, or gold medals given. A crown of wild olive branches was sufficient to immortalise the victor, his family, and his city.

The exhibit went on to contrast the ancient Games with the modern.

Knight had been highly impressed with the exhibit. But within minutes of reaching the displays that contrasted the old with the new, he began to feel that the ancient Games were heavily favoured over the modern Olympics.

He’d no sooner had that thought than Pope called to him from across the hall. ‘Knight, I think you’re going to want to hear this.’