David Wishart - In at the Death

He read it in silence. Then he looked up. No smile, but you couldn’t expect miracles.

‘Papinius, eh?’ he said. ‘Tragic affair. Tragic. He was only nineteen, you know.’

‘Yeah. Yeah, I did.’ There was a stool in front of the desk. I pulled it over. ‘Mind if I sit down? I’ve had a busy morning.’

‘Suit yourself.’ He laid the tablet to one side. ‘So you’re representing who, Corvinus? Decimus doesn’t say. Or are you a relative?’

‘Uh-uh. But there’s no hassle, I promise. Minicius Natalis, the Greens’ faction master — he’s an old friend of the family — and the boy’s mother asked me to find out all I could about the death. Why the boy killed himself, I mean. I just wanted to get the facts straight right at the start.’

Mescinius nodded. He didn’t look precisely gruntled, but I reckoned that was his normal expression. At least we were over the hump, and Natalis’s name seemed to have registered. Maybe the guy was a Greens fan. ‘Very commendable. And perfectly reasonable, under the circumstances. I’d be delighted to assist as far as I can. Just let me consult my notes.’ He pulled out a drawer in the desk, scrabbled through it and brought out a set of tablets. ‘Ah. Here we are.’ He untied the laces, opened the tablets and read. ‘Yes. Three days ago, two hours or so after noon, at the Carsidius tenement. Several witnesses, particularly the stallkeeper on the opposite side. Death was instantaneous, of course.’

‘Carsidius is the tenement owner?’

‘That’s right. He’s a senator; Lucius Carsidius. He has several properties in the area run through a factor by the name of Lucceius Caepio. The man has a flat on the first floor.’

‘Papinius was visiting Caepio?’

Mescinius frowned. ‘Actually, no, not that day, at least, although he had done on other occasions. Caepio was in at the time — he came downstairs when he heard the shouting — but he’d no idea the young man was in the building.’

‘So why was he there?’

That got me a look like I was a retarded prawn. ‘Surely the reason’s obvious from what followed, Corvinus. The boy was mentally disturbed, and he’d decided to kill himself. Under these circumstances I don’t think we need look for another explanation, do we?’

We were only at the information-gathering stage here, and theorising could wait for later. Still, I could feel the tingle of cold at the base of my neck that I always got when things didn’t quite add up.

‘Okay,’ I said. ‘So what exactly happened? You said there were witnesses?’

‘Certainly. A whole streetful. Although no one saw the actual fall.’

‘He didn’t cry out? Scream? Anything like that?’

‘No. Not as far as anyone reported.’

‘And he didn’t leave a note?’

‘No again. Not in the room, at any rate. He had a tablet and stylus with him when he fell. We found them near the body, but the tablet was blank.’

‘The top flat. It was empty?’

‘That’s right.’

‘So how did he get in?’

‘He had a key on him. We found that too.’

Jupiter on skates! ‘He had a what ? Where the hell did he get it from?’

Mescinius stiffened. ‘I’m afraid I can’t say. Presumably from the factor, Caepio, on one of the previous occasions.’

‘Why would Caepio give him a key to an empty flat?’

‘For the purposes of damage assessment, naturally. You know that Papinius was with the Aventine fire commission?’

‘Yeah. Yeah, I knew that.’

‘There you are, then. Although the tenement itself wasn’t directly affected, the roof would certainly have been exposed to blown embers from properties further up the hill, and of course the top flat lay immediately under the tiles.’

I was staring at him. Sweet immortal gods! This guy was a Watch commander? ‘But you didn’t check,’ I said neutrally. ‘As to whether Caepio had given him the key or not.’

The drop in temperature was almost physical. Mescinius leaned forward slowly and put his hands flat on the desktop. He wasn’t looking friendly at all now. ‘Valerius Corvinus,’ he said. ‘Do you realise just how busy this section of the Watch is? I’ve two regions under my jurisdiction and precious few men to deal with them, and I can’t afford to spend time chasing up every apparent anomaly in an incident, especially where the incident is obviously a suicide and the anomaly will no doubt prove to be only apparent. Now. The flat the boy fell from was empty. He had clearly gone there with the intention of killing himself and secured the means of access beforehand. How he did that I don’t know, but no doubt there’s a perfectly rational explanation. I am very sorry for the lad’s family, and I wish you every success in your investigations, but young Papinius’s reasons for committing suicide, as such, are not my concern. Under the circumstances I have to regard the matter as closed. You understand me?’

‘Yeah. Yeah, I understand.’

‘Good.’ He reached for a wax tablet. ‘Then if you’ll excuse me — ’

Bugger. Well, Lippillus had warned me, and I should’ve kept a firmer control of my mouth, but all the same… Still, there was no use pushing things further. I stood up.

‘Thanks for your help,’ I said, and exited.

So what now? Obviously, the tenement, and hopefully a word with this Lucceius Caepio. Oh, everything could be above board, like Mescinius assumed, but the way things were developing I didn’t like the smell. Not above half, I didn’t. Forget about calling the case a wrap: the cold feeling at the back of my neck was telling me it was very much alive and kicking.

So was Placida. The guy I’d left holding her lead didn’t look too gruntled, either. Being yanked down a flight of steps and dragged over the cobbles for twenty yards can get some people that way.

Like Natalis had said, the tenement was a fairly new property, six storeys high and upmarket compared with most of the others in the immediate area, which probably explained why Carsidius’s factor had chosen it for his flat. There was a butcher’s shop directly underneath one side of the entrance door, with a guy looping sausages over a hook, but I was learning: I didn’t even think of approaching him for information, not while I was attached to Placida. Diagonally opposite, on the other side of the street, a large-breasted woman in a bright red tunic and earrings was selling fruit and vegetables from a stall. Fruit and veg should be safe enough. I took a firm grip of Placida’s collar and manoeuvred her over.

The woman beamed when she saw us coming. I was beginning to realise that there were basically two reactions to Placida; one was to coo over her, the other was to look for the nearest climbable wall. Strangely enough, women seemed to favour the first option.

‘Oooh! Isn’t she a pet!’ she said. ‘What’s her name?’

‘Uh, Placida.’

‘There’s a luvvums!’ Placida reared, tongue lolling, to put her paws on the woman’s ample chest, but I was ready for that one and hauled her down before she could cause an embarrassing incident. ‘Doesn’t she have a beautiful face?’

‘Yeah. Yeah, she does.’ Sure; if you happened to like jaws that could rip the throat out of a bear and a muzzle permanently covered in spit. Still, as a conversational icebreaker with strangers — women especially — I couldn’t fault her. I wondered if Perilla’s stepdad the poet had featured Gallic boarhounds in his book on seduction. The brutes’ other, less appealing proclivities would be a bit of a style-cramper at a later stage, mind.

‘Now, sir,’ the fruit-lady said. ‘What can I get you?’

‘Just an apple, thanks. One of these Matians’ll be fine.’