David Wishart - In at the Death

‘About two minutes later I heard the door open and close. Very quiet. Then someone went down the stairs.’

I didn’t ask if she’d opened her own door to look. She wouldn’t have done, no way: Lautia wasn’t stupid, she could put two and two together and she’d know a lone woman in an empty tenement who’d just for all practical purposes witnessed a murder wouldn’t stand a snowball’s chance in hell if the killer knew she’d done it. Besides, she’d had the kid with her.

‘You didn’t tell the Watch?’ I said gently.

‘No. They never asked me. They never even talked to me. Besides, they’re the Watch, aren’t they?’

Bugger. There you had it, the Aventine in one. Not just the Aventine, but any of the other tenement districts in Rome: they kept themselves to themselves, and they left the Watch strictly alone. And score another for fucking Mescinius, the Thirteenth District so-called Watch Commander. That inefficient bastard couldn’t find his arse with both hands and a map.

One thing was sure, though: forget suicide, totally. What we had was definitely a murder. Plus there was something else. I could count up to two, and two keys figuring in Lautia’s story was one too many in this business. Lucceius Caepio, our forgetful property factor, had serious questions to answer. Apropos of which…

I glanced up at the first-floor window. Factors, unlike run-of-the-mill tenement punters, can afford to bring in takeaways from cook-shops and burn lamp-oil in the evenings, and the light showed through the chink in the shutters. The guy was at home. No time like the present.

I turned back to Lautia, reached into my purse and took out a half gold piece. ‘Here, sister,’ I said, laying it on the table. ‘Thanks for your help. Buy the kid a sledgehammer.’

Her jaw dropped. ‘But you don’t have to — ’ she said.

‘Sure I do. Thanks again. You’ve been really, really helpful.’ I was picking up my bag of cardoons when I had another thought. ‘Uh…by the way. How long’s the flat been empty? You know?’

‘No. I only moved in last month.’

‘You ever see anyone else there?’

‘No. But then I’m out all day, usually, like I said. I help out on a clothes stall in the market.’

‘Fine. Thanks again. Enjoy your dinner.’

Right. Time for explanations, and a certain amount of buttock-prodding. I went upstairs to talk to Caepio.

Caepio didn’t exactly seem delighted to see me. Not that I’d been expecting otherwise.

‘Valerius Corvinus?’ he said when I pushed past him into the living room. ‘What’re you doing here at this time of night?’

‘Sextus Papinius was murdered,’ I said. ‘And you know it.’

He went grey. ‘But that’s — ’ he began.

I stepped within grabbing range. He flinched. ‘Look,’ I said, ‘there was someone in the flat upstairs when he arrived, okay? I know that for a fact. They didn’t leave until after he was dead, and then they slipped out quietly while everyone else was rubber-necking at the body. Now put these three items together and tell me I’m jumping to unwarranted assumptions. Pal!’

‘Who’ve you been talking to?’ he whispered. ‘Holy gods alive — !’

‘Never mind that! They were there, right? So who were they?’

‘Corvinus, I swear to you — ’

The hell with this. I reached over, gripped the tunic under his throat and pulled him almost off his feet. He went rigid. ‘Papinius had a key. Maybe he took it for himself like you said, or maybe you gave it to him; the jury’s still out on that one, and it doesn’t matter anyway. What does matter is whoever went into the flat before he did had a key of their own. So where did that one come from? Maybe they borrowed your bunch of duplicates while you were standing with your eyes conveniently closed? In which case, friend, even if you didn’t do the actual killing yourself you’re well and truly screwed.’

‘Corvinus, please…’ The guy was white and shaking.

I let go of him. He pulled up a stool and sat.

‘Okay,’ I said. ‘Now talk.’

He swallowed and rubbed his throat. ‘I swear to you. Please! Any god you like, on my grandmother’s grave I swear it, I don’t know! I don’t know who the killer was, I don’t know where he got the key. It wasn’t mine. I was here all the time and the bunch never left my desk. Look, you’ve got to believe me! The first I knew Papinius was dead was when I saw his body in the street, and that’s the holy truth!’

He wasn’t lying, not in his state. If he hadn’t pissed his pants it was probably because his bladder was already empty. And he couldn’t’ve been the murderer: Lautia had said Papinius had been on his own, and if Caepio had decoyed him into the flat to kill him they would’ve been together. Besides, with his gammy leg he’d never have got down five sets of stairs in time to pretend he’d only come from the first floor. So scratch Caepio’s duplicate set. What did that leave us with?

‘Carsidius,’ I said.

Caepio’s head snapped up. ‘What?’

‘Your boss. The owner. He got a set of keys too?’

‘Yes, of course he’s got — ’ Then his brain must’ve caught up with his mouth because his jaw dropped open. ‘Holy gods, no! No, never! Carsidius wouldn’t…he’s got no reason to..!’

‘Okay. So you tell me, sunshine. Where did the key come from?’

‘I don’t know! It could’ve been a copy, an illegal copy, I mean. Or the killer could’ve picked the lock.’

‘Fine. So how did he get his hands on an original long enough to get the copy made, and why should he bother on the sodding off-chance that Papinius might choose to go up there some day to be murdered? And picking the lock’s out. Lau — ’ I stopped myself. ‘The person who told me said they’d heard the key used.’

‘You don’t want to believe Lautia. That little slut’s — ’

I reached out and grabbed him again; maybe harder than I’d meant, because he gave a terrified gasp. ‘Listen to me, pal,’ I said softly. ‘Listen very carefully indeed. If I find that the lady’s been hassled by you or by anyone else just because she had the decency to tell the truth then by every god in the pantheon I swear you’ll wish you’d never been born. Clear?’

‘I wouldn’t — !’

‘Then just make very, very sure you don’t. Right.’ I let him go and pulled up a spare stool. ‘So. Personally, since we’ve got a murder here, I’d say your Lucius Carsidius has just shot up into the number one suspect slot. If you’re not happy with that then you go ahead and convince me I’m wrong.’

He was the colour now of an old dishrag. He took a deep breath. ‘Corvinus, believe me, Carsidius would be the last person to kill Papinius. Or have him killed.’

‘Yeah? And why’s that?’

‘Have you ever met the man?’

‘What does that have to do with it?’

‘You wait until you do, then you can accuse him to his face and see what he says. He wouldn’t, in the gods’ name he wouldn’t! That’s all I’m saying.’

Bugger. He meant it, too. ‘I’ll ask you again, friend,’ I said. ‘You want to give me a why? A real one?’ But Caepio’s lips were tight shut. ‘Come on! Carsidius has the only other key!’ His eyes shifted. ‘Or has he? Caepio!’ I thought of grabbing him by the throat again, but the guy clearly wasn’t talking and there was no point to gratuitous violence. Shit; what was going on here? I took a deep breath. ‘Okay. Okay. If it wasn’t Carsidius had the boy killed then who was it? You know, you bastard, or if you don’t you can make a pretty good guess. So spill!’

The look he gave me would’ve frozen a basilisk, but behind the eyes there was pure terror.