David Wishart - In at the Death

‘Wine, please, Marcus.’

No ordinary Roman matron, Marcina Paullina. She’s North African, a good foot taller than Lippillus, and a total stunner.

‘Do it, little guy,’ I said. Bathyllus soft-shoed off.

‘How’s the dog?’ Lippillus said.

‘Oh, Placida’s settling in very well.’ Perilla smiled. ‘Isn’t she, Marcus?’

‘Uh…yeah. Yeah, she is. In a manner of speaking.’

Lippillus was grinning. ‘You’re lucky, then,’ he said. ‘I was talking to Quintus Pilius earlier. He’s Watch commander for the Fifth and Sixth, says there’s this thing up on the Viminal belonging to a woman called Sestia Calvina, and you would not believe — ’ He stopped. ‘Have I said something wrong?’

I was grinning too. Perilla had coloured up to her earlobes. ‘No, pal, not at all,’ I said. ‘We’re fascinated. Carry on.’

‘Ah…there’s not much to tell, really.’ Lippillus shot Perilla a nervous sideways glance. You could’ve used the set of her lips to draw lines. ‘Pilius was probably exaggerating.’

‘That so, now?’

‘I mean, nothing could possibly — ’

‘Wine, sir.’ Bathyllus had come up with the tray. Saved by the butler. Never mind, I’d get the whole story later.

Lippillus took a cup, and while Perilla’s and Marcina’s attention was on their own drinks he turned away and said quietly: ‘You got a moment, Marcus? In private, before we start?’

Uh-oh. He might be wearing his best party mantle, but currently the guy had his Watch commander’s face on. Also, I hadn’t missed the fact that Marcina had taken Perilla’s arm and was leading her out of earshot like she and Lippillus had arranged things in advance. Which, I would bet, they had.

So. Business.

‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘Yeah, of course I have.’

‘Lucceius Caepio hanged himself last night.’

Oh, shit. ‘He did what?’

‘Titus Mescinius sent to tell me just before we left. He thought you might be interested.’

I glanced over at Perilla. Her head was turned in our direction, but Marcina was keeping her busy. So; arrangement was right, and very sensible: to Perilla, a dinner party was a dinner party, and if she caught us talking murder there’d be hell to pay later. ‘You have any details, pal?’

‘Not many. His wife found him when she came home this morning. You know she was in Capua, visiting her sister?’

‘Yeah. Yeah, Caepio told me.’ My brain had gone numb. Bugger, what a mess! ‘Was the suicide genuine?’

Lippillus gave me a sharp look. ‘As far as I know. Or at least, as far as Mescinius does. There any reason why it shouldn’t be?’

I was thinking back to how the guy had looked and acted the day before. It was possible, sure. Caepio had been desperate enough, and frightened enough — the gods knew why, or what of — to have taken his own life, but another suicide was too coincidental for comfort. ‘No,’ I said slowly. ‘Or at least nothing definite. Even so — ’

‘There were no suspicious circumstances. At least that’s what Mescinius says.’ Hah! ‘Suicide note, the lot.’

‘Did Caepio’s wife identify the handwriting?’

That got me another sharp look. ‘Not as such. When she talked to Mescinius the lady wasn’t in any fit state to swear to her own name, and anyway he didn’t think to — ’

‘- ask.’ I banged the flat of my hand against the portico pillar. ‘Right, par for the fucking course! Jupiter bloody God Almighty!’

Lippillus shrugged. ‘Mescinius may not be the greatest brain in the world, Marcus, but he’s a good Watchman. And at least he let me know. He didn’t have to do that.’

‘No. I suppose not.’ I took a swallow of the Signinan. Hell!

‘Besides, I haven’t finished. One thing he did do, with you in mind, was have a quick poke around. He found this in Caepio’s desk. Just the one, which was why he noticed it.’ He reached into a fold in his mantle and brought out a key.

I took it, and the hairs stirred on the back of my neck: keys; this whole thing came down to keys. ‘It fits the top flat, right?’ I said.

‘Right. It didn’t come from Caepio’s bunch of duplicates, either, that was one thing Mescinius did check. And it isn’t the one the kid had on him when he died, because Mescinius never got round to sending that back. Interesting again?’

‘Yeah.’ I was still staring at the key. ‘Very.’

‘Want to tell me why?’

‘You really want to know?’

He grinned and shook his head. ‘No,’ he said. ‘Perhaps I don’t, at that. I told you at the start, the Thirteenth’s not my patch. Now. Duty done.’ We’d been speaking almost in whispers. He raised his voice. ‘What’s for dinner?’

‘Meton’s been slaving his little socks off. Listen and drool. Poached eels in a nut-and-onion sauce, baked bluegill with quinces and a shellfish ragout. Plus — ta-daaa! — a small sturgeon slow-cooked in saffron and wine must. That do you?’

‘Great! Let’s — ’

— at which point Perilla screamed:

‘Placida!’

I whipped round, just in time to see a familiar grey-black figure streak towards me through the peristyle with what looked like an oversize book-roll in its mouth. Close behind was Meton, armed with a cleaver, and three or four assorted kitchen skivvies…

Oh, fuck! The sturgeon!

I grabbed Meton by the scruff of the tunic as he passed. Stopping him wasn’t easy — me, I’d back a chef who’s just lost a sturgeon slow-cooked with saffron and wine must against a qef -stoned German berserker any day of the month — but I managed it somehow. Then I spun him round and kneed him hard in the balls.

‘Marcus!’ Perilla put hand to mouth in horror as our prize chef sank groaning onto the path.

‘Shock tactics, lady,’ I said. If he’d caught up with Placida she’d definitely have rustled her last larder, and total fucking menace though she was I didn’t want that on my conscience.

Besides, sinking Meton was worth a sturgeon any day of the year.

The skivvies were milling. ‘It’s okay, lads,’ I said. ‘We’ll take it from here. Anyone see where she went?’

‘Ah…that was the dog, wasn’t it?’ Lippillus said.

‘Yeah.’ I was scanning the garden. No sign: she’d gone to ground with the sturgeon attached. Bugger. Double bugger. Well, that was that, then. It’d be inedible now in any case.

‘Sestia Calvina’s dog?’ Lippillus said.

‘That’s the bunny.’ I told you he was quick. ‘We’ll just have to make do with the sundries. Sorry about this, pal.’

He was grinning.

‘Don’t be. Best dinner party I’ve been to in years.’

‘I thought Meton took it very well, all things considered,’ Perilla said as we were getting ready for bed.

‘Yeah, well, after I explained to him that he’d run into the stone Priapus by the flower bed — ’

‘Marcus, you didn’t!’ She was laughing.

‘The guy was completely out of it, lady. He’d’ve believed anything I told him. And anyway the whole thing was his fault: she’d been planning it from the start, and if he hadn’t encouraged her she’d never have been near the kitchen.’ I stripped off my tunic. ‘He was just grateful that when he hit the statue he was facing forwards.’

She pulled back the blanket. ‘What was Lippillus talking to you about?’

‘Hmm?’

‘Oh, come on, Marcus! You managed that very well between you, not to mention Marcina, but I’m not entirely gormless. It had to do with Papinius’s murder, didn’t it?’

I grinned and moved across to the bed: gormless she mightn’t be, but the lady had a streak of curiosity a yard wide, and I knew she’d been itching to ask me all evening. ‘Yeah. Lucceius Caepio hanged himself yesterday.’