David Wishart - In at the Death

‘Oh, Marcus!’ Perilla looked at me with wide eyes. She’d heard of Soranus too: we don’t go in for gossip, Perilla and me, but you pick up the occasional nugget here and there, and Mucius Soranus was one of the nastier lumps.

‘According to his friend Atratinus he’d borrowed from a loans shark to pay Soranus off.’

‘How much?’

I shrugged. ‘Exactly, I don’t know, but Atratinus said it was a lot. Too much for him, that’s for sure.’

‘He hadn’t told his parents?’

‘They’re divorced. There’s just the mother, practically speaking, and although she seems okay financially I get the impression that actual cash is pretty tight. Certainly she knew nothing about the loan, or she’d’ve mentioned it when we talked. Natalis neither. My guess is Papinius was too embarrassed to tell anyone at the time and just let the thing get on top of him. You know how kids’ minds work at that age.’

Perilla bit her lip. ‘The silly, silly boy!’ She sat down. ‘He didn’t leave a note? A suicide note, I mean.’

‘No; not that I’m aware of. But again if he had Rupilia — that’s the mother — would’ve mentioned it. Her or Natalis.’

‘Don’t you think that’s strange?’

‘Not necessarily. He didn’t kill himself at home, so it could’ve been a snap decision.’

‘What was he doing in an Aventine tenement in the first place?’

‘Interviewing the factor. At least, I assume that was the reason. He worked with the fire commission investigating damage claims, remember.’

‘So he’d probably have had a set of tablets and a stylus with him. To take notes if necessary.’

‘Uh…yeah.’ I hadn’t thought of that. ‘Yeah, I suppose he would.’

‘How about the work aspect of things? As a reason for suicide?’

I shifted on the couch. ‘That seems okay. Atratinus was a colleague as well as a friend, and he says Papinius was well up to the job. I’ve still to talk to the aedile in charge, but there don’t seem to be any problems there.’

‘So it comes down to money, pure and simple.’

‘Uh-huh. He had a girlfriend, too. Not a real gold-digger, according to Atratinus, but a pretty fast model all the same. Paying her running costs can’t’ve helped.’ Shit; this was depressing. I’d seen it before, a thousand times: kid from a good family gets into a fast lifestyle, finds he can’t afford to pick up all the tabs and gets into debt, then before he knows where he is he’s out of his depth and struggling to keep his head above water. In most cases, when things get really bad he forgets his pride and bawls for help; at which point daddy steps in, pays the creditors and tears enough strips off the son and heir to make him think twice, if he has any sense, about making the same mistake again. It’s a lesson in life nine-tenths of the blue bloods in Rome go through, and have been doing since Romulus ploughed the first furrow. Only with Papinius it hadn’t happened that way, had it?

Bugger!

‘So what do you do now?’ Perilla said.

‘Hmm?’ I sank another quarter-pint of wine. ‘Go through the motions. I owe Natalis that much, at least. Talk to Lippillus down at Public Pond, clear up that side of things. Have a word with that bastard Soranus, check how much was involved. Not that I’d bet he’ll give a toss because if Papinius borrowed the cash from a money-lender the debt’ll’ve been paid already. Cross-reference with the money-lender himself, maybe drop in on Papinius’s boss at the aediles’ office just for form’s sake. Then — well — report back to Rupilia and Natalis. I don’t reckon I’ve earned that fifty thousand, anyway. Natalis can use it to pay back the loan.’

‘You’re absolutely certain? That it was suicide, and for financial reasons?’ Perilla was watching me closely. ‘Marcus, you aren’t, are you?’

‘Sure I am.’

‘Then why are you scowling?’

‘I’m not. It had to be suicide. I told you.’ She was right, though: something was niggling, and in spite of all the facts it wouldn’t let go. ‘Okay, Aristotle. I won’t say they’re actually points against — they aren’t, because I could explain them away myself — but some things don’t add up.’

‘Namely?’

‘First off, Papinius doesn’t sound the suicidal type. Sure, he was moody at times, but show me the teenager who isn’t. And Atratinus couldn’t believe he’d killed himself when he heard. The last time they saw each other — the morning of the day it happened — Papinius was completely normal and making plans to go to a birthday party.’

‘There’s the lack of a suicide note, too. I would’ve expected one, even if it had been unpremeditated. And as I said he probably had a tablet and pen with him.’

‘Yeah.’ I took a swallow of wine. ‘Second, the debt. Natalis said he was no gambler. Add to that, from what Atratinus and his mother told me about him he wasn’t your usual fast set cheese-brained idiot. Oh, sure, Soranus might’ve rooked him, but I’d bet he was too sensible to lose much more than he could afford. Unless he was drunk, and from what Atratinus said that doesn’t seem too likely either.’

‘But he did borrow money from that money-lender. What was his name?’

‘Vestorius. Yeah.’ I sighed. ‘Perilla, I know, all right? It’s stupid. I’m playing devil’s advocate here against my own theories. And Atratinus said, quote, that he’d borrowed “quite a lot”. If that doesn’t square up completely then I’m sorry, it’s the best I can do. Besides, I can check with Vestorius himself. In a way, the amount’s the clincher. No one from Papinius’s bracket commits suicide over a debt of a few thousand silver pieces, unless there’re reasons over and above, and if that’s all it was then sure, there’d be a chance we might be into a completely different ball-game, but on present evidence that doesn’t seem all that likely.’

‘Also, if — ’ Perilla stopped, and shook her head. ‘No. I’m sorry, Marcus; you’re quite right, this is pointless. All the same, dear, there’s no sense in jumping to a single conclusion this early on, even if it is the obvious one. Get your proof first. You’ll feel much better if you can go to Minicius Natalis with your mind completely at rest about things.’

Yeah. I reached over and topped up my wine-cup. Putting minds at rest. That was the nub of the business: Natalis’s mind, Rupilia’s, Atratinus’s and now mine. No one was asking for anything more, no one was suggesting anything more, and on the face of it the simplest explanation was also the most likely. Papinius had topped himself. Full stop, end of story, close the book.

So why the niggle? Because — and I had to admit it — niggle there was…

Hell. Leave it for now. Tomorrow I’d do the rounds, like Perilla had said drum up the proof that I knew would be there. Sextus Papinius had died because of a gambling debt he couldn’t pay and had borrowed over the score to cover. Sure he had.

Maybe.

‘So how was your..?’ I began.

‘Ow-ooo!Owoo-woo-woo!’

‘Oh, shit!’ I jumped up and ran to the window, spilling my wine. Perilla was about two seconds behind me.

Down below in the garden things were happening, largely involving a ballistic Gallic boarhound, a streak of white fur and what had up until five minutes ago been our gardener Alexis’s prized rose-trellis.

‘It’s next-door’s Alcestis!’ Perilla screamed. ‘Marcus, I thought you told me you’d tied Placida up!’

‘I did.’ Hell, the knot must’ve slipped, or maybe she’d broken the rope. In any case it was trailing behind her. As I watched she clambered up the ruins of the trellis ladder and disappeared after the fleeing cat into our neighbour’s garden. ‘Fuck, she’s gone over the wall!’