David Wishart - In at the Death

She picked it up, rubbed it off and handed it to me while I took a coin from my belt-pouch.

‘I heard there was a suicide here two or three days ago,’ I said.

‘That’s right. Dreadful thing.’ She counted out my change. ‘He was hardly more than a boy.’

‘You see it happen?’

‘Couldn’t but help it, could I? It’s the sort of thing gives you nightmares.’

I glanced up at the tenement. Some of these places — the upmarket ones, anyway — have balconies, at least on the first floor, but this one didn’t. ‘He, uh, jump straight off from the window-ledge?’ I said.

‘Can’t tell you that. I wasn’t looking. You don’t, do you? Not up.’

‘He didn’t shout first, then, or scream? Give any kind of warning?’

The woman gave me a long stare; the friendliness had gone. ‘I’m sorry, sir,’ she said finally. ‘No disrespect, but I don’t hold with ghouls. The poor lad’s dead and there’s an end of it. That’s no one’s business but his.’ She bent down to rearrange the fruit on her tray. ‘Enjoy your apple.’

Yeah, well. That was fair enough; I’d no time for ghouls and rubber-neckers myself. And at least she’d confirmed what Mescinius had said. I put the Matian away for later and crossed the road to the tenement entrance, lugging Placida behind me and steering her away from the bucher’s shop.

New was right: the steps were clean, there was no sign of graffiti on the white-plastered walls inside and no smell of urine on the stairs. Give it time. I tied Placida to the banister, making sure the knot was tight, went up to the first floor and knocked on the door marked ‘Lucceius Caepio’.

I thought for a minute there was no one in — tenement dwellers spend most of their time elsewhere — but as I raised my hand for the second knock the door was opened by a thick-set, unshaven guy in his forties wearing a lounging-tunic and chewing on a hunk of bread.

‘Lucceius Caepio?’ I said.

‘Yes.’ There was suspicion in his eyes. ‘Who’re you?’

‘Valerius Corvinus. I’ve just come from Titus Mescinius over at the Watch-house.’ No harm in dropping the name, and given he didn’t look particularly welcoming I reckoned the ambiguity would get me over the threshold faster. ‘You have time for a chat, pal?’

He hesitated, then stepped back, still chewing. The eyes hadn’t shifted. ‘A little,’ he said. ‘You’d best come in.’

I followed him, closing the door behind me. There was something badly wrong with the guy’s leg, because he held it stiffly and didn’t so much move as lurch.

‘Sorry about the mess,’ he said. ‘The wife’s at her sister’s down in Capua. New baby. You want a bite of breakfast?’

‘No thanks. You carry on, though.’

He grunted and sat down at the table. Tenements, even upmarket ones, are pretty basic, and tables don’t come as standard, but Caepio seemed to be fitted up quite snugly here. There was even a small dresser with a set of Samian bowls and plates, and a line of the cheap souvenir statuettes they sell outside the Circus. The other thing I noticed was a key-board with numbered hooks fixed to the wall.

‘It’ll be about that youngster, no doubt,’ Caepio said, dipping his crust of bread in a bowl of oil. ‘Sextus Papinius.’

‘Right.’ I pulled up a stool.

‘You’re no Watchman. Not with that stripe.’

‘No. I’m looking into the kid’s death. Or the reasons for it, rather. On behalf of the mother and a family friend.’

He gave me a quick, sharp look and bit into the bread. ‘That so, now?’ he said. ‘Sad business. Terrible.’

‘He worked for the fire compensation board. I understand you and he had a professional connection.’

‘If you can call it that, sure. I was factor for a couple of other properties further up the hill that got burned down. He came over a couple of times and we talked through the details.’

‘But you didn’t know he was here the afternoon he died?’

Long silence. Then, finally, Caepio said: ‘That’s not quite true.’

I frowned. ‘I’m sorry?’

‘Look.’ He took a deep breath. ‘I knew he was here, but not that he intended to…use the upstairs flat. Okay?’

‘That’s not what you told the Watch, friend,’ I said carefully.

‘No.’

‘All right.’ I kept my voice neutral. ‘So why the lie? And why bother to tell the truth now?’

‘Where lying goes’ — Caepio shrugged — ‘well, if you think about it you’ll understand that yourself. I’d nothing to do with the death, first thing I knew was when I heard the commotion in the street and went down.’ He dipped his bread again. ‘But the kid had died on my property and I didn’t want to get involved, right? Besides, he only called in in passing to confirm some of the figures we’d discussed. At least that’s what I thought at the time, because that’s what he told me. As far as telling the truth now’s concerned’ — he got up, hobbled over to the board on the wall and pointed to the last hook — ‘there’s your answer there.’

The hook, like all the others on the board, was empty.

Uh-huh. ‘That’s where the flat key was,’ I said. Tenement factors use these boards for the keys to the various flats because it keeps everything nice and neat. If a flat’s occupied then of course the occupier gets the key, but otherwise it stays on the board. The last two hooks would go with the top floor.

‘Right. I didn’t notice it was missing until I got back here after the Watchmen had gone with the body. Didn’t know he had it on him, either; still don’t, as such, because they haven’t been back, but I assume now he must’ve because it wasn’t upstairs when I looked. Did he?’ I nodded, and his mouth twisted. ‘Right. That solves that one, then. Anyway, it wasn’t until later that I put two and two together, and by then I’d told my story. Now I’m just setting the record straight, that’s all.’

‘You didn’t wonder how he’d got into the flat?’

He stared at me, the bread-crust half way to his lips. ‘Jupiter, that’s not something you give a thought to! Not when a man’s lying there smashed like a doll with his brains…’ He stopped, looked at the crust and put it down. ‘Anyway, the answer’s no. No, I didn’t wonder, not then.’

‘And the Watchman you talked to didn’t ask? Where Papinius had got the key from?’

‘He hadn’t seen it at the time. Or at least he never mentioned it to me, and like I say no one from the Watch office has been here since. I assume it was in the lad’s belt-pouch and they found it later.’

Oh, great; score one for the super-efficient Thirteenth District Watch. Gods alive, what a shower! ‘So what you’re saying — now — is that Papinius dropped in on an excuse and helped himself to the top floor flat key?’

‘Yes. At least, that’s what I’m assuming. The document with the figures he wanted was in my desk in the other room. He’d’ve known that. He must’ve taken the key while I was getting it and then gone upstairs when I thought he’d left the building.’ Caepio spread his hands. ‘Look, I’m sorry I lied, Corvinus. It was stupid, and I’ve regretted it ever since, but I’m levelling with you now before I get myself into more trouble. After all, what does it matter? And I swear to you the boy didn’t get that key from me. Not as such.’

Yeah, well, there was no point in pushing things. And he seemed genuine enough. ‘Okay.’ I stood up. ‘Can I see the flat?’

Caepio was looking relieved. ‘Certainly. No problem. It’s locked again, of course, because I’ve got a duplicate. Hold on and I’ll fetch it for you.’ He got up and lurched into the next room, reappearing almost immediately with a heavy bunch of keys. ‘That’s the one, the last on the ring. You want me to come up?’