David Wishart - In at the Death

‘You’re Valerius Corvinus, sir?’ he said.

‘Uh…yeah. Yeah, that’s me.’ Jupiter! Weird was right! ‘How the hell — ?’

‘I was told to wait for you, sir.’ The guy was white and shaking, and it wasn’t just old age, either. ‘Until you’d found the — ’ His eyes slid to what was left of Soranus, then back to my face. Whatever he saw there can’t exactly have been reassuring, because he took a step back. ‘Believe me, sir, I didn’t…I had nothing to do with…’

‘You want us to beat him up, boss?’ The head of the Wrecking Crew again. I had to hand it to these guys. They’d taken finding a dead man with his throat slit in their stride like it happened every day of the month. Not a grunt from any of them. Phlegmatic isn’t the word. Maybe ‘bovine’ covered it.

‘No. No, that’s okay,’ I said. Then, to the slave: ‘Tell me.’

‘They brought the body in a cart, sir, about an hour ago. I was…I sleep in one of the booths beside the entrance. They must’ve known that, sir, because they woke me up and told me to open the door.’ His teeth were chattering. The fact that the Wrecking Crew to a troll were standing close beside him fondling their sticks can’t’ve helped his confidence that he’d come out the other side of this intact much either.

‘You’re the caretaker?’

‘Yes, sir. Almost all my life, ever since the Divine Augustus rebuilt the theatre, sir.’ His hand pawed at my tunic. ‘Sir, I’ve told you the gods’ truth! Don’t let me be tortured! I didn’t kill him!’

‘Look, no one’s going to torture you, pal, okay?’ I said. ‘Right. So who were “they”?’

‘Two men, sir. Big-built, about your age, sir, or a bit older. One called the other Quintus. They said if I called the Watch before you came, or if I warned you, they’d come back and…Sir, I don’t know any more! Please!’

No, he probably didn’t, and he was obviously close to wetting himself as it was. No point in terrorising the guy further. Besides, I knew who the killers were: they hadn’t made any secret of it, quite the reverse. Which was weird in itself. ‘It’s okay, pal,’ I said. ‘You’re off the hook. Go and call the Watch now. Oh, and they’ll want to know the dead man’s name. Tell them Mucius Soranus. He lives — lived — over on the Cipian near Livia Porch.’

‘And…I know your name, sir, but you live..?’

‘On the Caelian, foot of Head of Africa. They can find me if they want to. I doubt they’ll bother, though.’ Not if the head of the Ninth Region Watch was anything like Titus bloody Mescinius, that was. Gods! What a mess!

Well, there wasn’t much more I could do here, was there?

Home.

Perilla was waiting. She ran across the atrium floor and hugged me tightly. She was white as an unused dishrag.

‘You’re all right?’ she said.

‘Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. No problems.’

‘What happened? Did you see Soranus?’

I unpeeled her. ‘Yes and no.’

‘Yes and no?’

I told her.

‘It was your stonemasons?’ she said when I’d finished. ‘You’re certain?’

‘Couldn’t be anyone else. The whole thing was a setup. Surprise surprise.’ I stretched out on the couch and poured a cup of Setinian from the jug Bathyllus had handed me at the door. ‘Never mind. At least I didn’t get killed or beaten up.’

‘Marcus, don’t joke! Please!’

‘Well, it was always a possibility. Still, that wasn’t the purpose of the exercise, was it?’

‘No.’ She gave a little shiver and sat down on the couch opposite, hands clenched. ‘So what was, do you think?’

‘Search me. Some sort of message, sure, that much is obvious. But what kind? A warning? “Lay off or you’ll be next”?’

‘Marcus!’

‘Yeah, well.’

The lady had got a bit of her colour back, although she still didn’t look exactly happy and her fingers were still wound together. ‘Your pseudo-stonemasons,’ she said. ‘What were their names again?’

‘Aponius and Pettius. At least, those were the names they gave me.’

‘Yes. They did save your life last time. That doesn’t fit with a warning, does it?’

‘Nothing about this case fucking fits!’

‘Gently, dear. There’s no point in getting angry.’ She took a deep breath and let it out. ‘Or upset.’ Her fingers untwined themselves. ‘Let’s be logical. If it wasn’t a warning, then what kind of message was it?’

‘Jupiter, Perilla, I already said, I don’t know! Anyway, what kind of sick brain sends messages using a corpse?’

‘It isn’t just that. The whole situation is…odd.’

‘You’re telling me.’ I took a swallow of wine. Nectar! All the way to Mars Field and back in a morning had left me with a throat dry as a leather strap.

Perilla was looking pensive and twisting at her hair. Good sign; a thinking Perilla I can cope with. The other kind makes me nervous.

‘To begin with, why Pompey’s theatre?’ she said. ‘Soranus was practically a neighbour of ours. They could have left his body anywhere. Why choose the other side of Rome, especially if the whole point was simply to have you find it?’

‘Yeah. Yeah, I was wondering that myself. Maybe it was just a quiet, out-of-the-way place.’

‘There are quiet, out-of-the-way places far closer to the Caelian than Mars Field, Marcus, especially at that time of the morning. Besides, Pompey’s theatre isn’t exactly isolated.’

‘Okay. Then maybe he was killed close by. Decoyed to somewhere in the neighbourhood some time yesterday, bumped off and shelved for delivery first thing. Certainly that explains the dawn meeting. They’d have to use a cart to transport the body, and that means a dusk-to-dawn timeslot.’

‘It’s possible. But still, the distance wouldn’t matter. They’d have all night to do it, and it’s unlikely they’d be stopped by the Watch because from sunset to first light the streets are full of carts. Besides, if the murder was committed nearby they wouldn’t want to advertise the fact.’

‘Okay, Aristotle.’ I took another sip of the wine. ‘I’m open to suggestions.’

She took a long time answering. Then she said slowly: ‘I think it’s more complicated than that. It’s more of a code. Or a puzzle.’

‘Jupiter’s holy balls, lady! Why should guys like Aponius and Pettius set me a puzzle? They’re sodding — ’

‘Marcus. Stop it, please. I don’t mean the actual killers, of course I don’t. I mean whoever sent them, whoever was behind the murder. Mind you, to be honest I don’t see why they should bother either. This isn’t a game.’

‘Too right it isn’t! Bloody hell!’ I reached for the jug.

‘Nevertheless.’ Perilla’s hand went back to her curl. ‘Just calm down and let’s think. Pompey’s theatre. What’s special about Pompey’s theatre?’

I grinned. ‘You’re on your own there, sunshine.’

‘Very well. It’s the oldest stone theatre in Rome, originally built by Pompey on the model of the theatre at Mytilene and renovated by Augustus. Anything else?’

‘Perilla — ’

‘All right. Perhaps not that, then. Theatres in general. What do they call to mind?’

‘Actors? Acting? Plays?’ I frowned. ‘Tragedies. Comedies. Masks.’

‘Fine. That’s better. Masks. People pretending to be someone they’re not. Acting out a play that isn’t real. Possible? Anything suggest itself?’

‘Uh-uh. Besides, the body wasn’t on the stage.’

‘Ah. Good point.’

‘I’m sorry, but this isn’t helping, lady.’

‘No. No, perhaps it isn’t.’ The curl knotted, and she began prising the hairs apart with her fingernails. ‘But there must be something.’

‘He was leaning against a statue.’ The fingernails stopped. Her mouth opened, then closed. ‘Perilla?’