David Wishart: Food for the Fishes

‘Of course. If you think it’s best.’ He frowned. ‘Only — ’

‘Trust me,’ I said. ‘This way you might escape with surface burns. Mention the cat-house and the girl and you’re cooked. Mother’s expecting you in the library for an explanation. Once there, you’re on your own. You want me to send Bathyllus up with some breakfast first?’

‘Oh, indeed! I think I could manage an egg this morning. Lightly boiled.’

Lightly boiled. Yeah, that’d make two of them…

I went downstairs.

That afternoon we took the carriage to Cumae. Priscus and Mother were pretty quiet, then and at dinner later, but whatever the old bugger had said he seemed to have smoothed the thing over. After dinner I went along the beach to Zethus’s. There was only one topic of conversation, but that was a show-stopper.

Licinius Murena had been murdered.

‘They found him this morning,’ Zethus said, filling my cup. ‘Or what was left of him. In one of the eel tanks.’

I winced. Oh, shit. Eels are carnivorous, and they ain’t fussy feeders. There’re black stories about gourmets feeding their morays on human flesh because they think the fish tastes better that way. Sometimes it’s dead human flesh, but not always.

‘Who’s “they”, pal?’ I said.

‘Ligurius. He’s Murena’s manager.’

‘Was.’ Alcis, along the bar, sniggered. ‘When he got to him he only had half a boss left. Hardly enough for a decent funeral.’

‘Ill of the dead, Alcis,’ Zethus murmured. ‘Let’s have some respect.’

Alcis opened his eyes wide. ‘I’d nothing against the old bastard, me.’ He sipped his wine. ‘Unlike some.’

There was a thoughtful silence. Zethus’s wasn’t crowded, but the regulars were all there. They were all ears, as well.

‘He’d never!’ Zethus put the jug he’d poured from back on the shelf.

‘Want to bet?’ said Alcis. There was a murmur of agreement from the surrounding punters, and a low comment or two.

I took a mouthful of wine. ‘Uh…who are we talking about here?’

Alcis turned to face me. ‘Trebbio, of course,’ he said. ‘Who else could’ve done it?’

‘Come on, boy,’ Zethus said. ‘Trebbio wouldn’t hurt a fly.’

‘Flies maybe. Licinius Murena, now’ — Alcis grinned back at his circle of mates — ‘well, he’s another matter, isn’t he?’ One or two of the punters chuckled. ‘In here the night it happens, damning the bugger blue, then he goes out to check his lines not a hundred yards from Murena’s place. Pull the other one, Zethus, it’s got bells. Trebbio’s for the chop, you mark my words.’

‘Trebbio checks his lines every night,’ Zethus said. ‘And he may have a mouth on him but he’s no killer.’

Maybe it was time I stepped in here. ‘Trebbio didn’t do it, pal,’ I said to Alcis.

That got me the wide-eyed stare. ‘Yeah? How do you know?’

‘When I left myself I found him on the beach pissed as a newt and snoring. He wasn’t capable of walking five yards, let alone murdering anyone at the end of them. Besides, it doesn’t necessarily sound like murder to me. What’s wrong with the guy just falling in in the dark and drowning?’

Alcis laughed. ‘Oh, yeah! Murena knew these tanks like the back of his hand. And what’d he be doing up there that time of night?’

‘Talking to the fish,’ Zethus said. ‘The villa’s only a couple of hundred yards away. He always goes down there last thing for an hour or so. You know that, boy. Everybody knows that.’

Alcis scowled. ‘Yeah, well. Then that includes Trebbio, doesn’t it? The bastard only had to wait his chance.’ He turned round again. ‘Lucius. You walked back to town along the beach last night at closing time. You see anything of Trebbio?’

‘Uh-uh.’ One of the other punters shook his head. ‘Wasn’t there then.’

‘And that was — what? — an hour after you left, Corvinus?’ Alcis turned back to face me. ‘Anyway, what makes you the expert? Trebbio’s got a head on him like a block of oak. He could’ve done it, easy.’

‘Anyone could’ve done it.’ Zethus topped up a punter’s cup. ‘Or like Corvinus says it could’ve been an accident.’

‘Accident to hell.’ Alcis chuckled. ‘Got to hand it to the bugger, though. He’s paid Murena out nicely. Poetic justice. Pity he won’t get away with it for long.’ He drew his finger across his throat. ‘Psssst!’

Well, I couldn’t fault him there, anyway. If it was murder, and the family took it up — which they definitely would — then as the only suspect Trebbio’s neck was on the line, sure enough. And if he was found guilty then it meant a quick appointment with the public strangler.

I sipped my wine.

If…

That was what stuck in my throat. There were too many ifs. It could’ve been an accident, sure, whatever Alcis said. The guy made a habit of visiting his tanks after dark, these things weren’t fenced in and the walkways were pretty narrow. Slippery, too, maybe. And even if he had been murdered, the proof against Trebbio amounted to zilch. At best, he was in the wrong place at the wrong time, but there again like Zethus said that wasn’t unusual, he was out that way every night. And he might not have been there yesterday evening at all. I’d seen Trebbio myself, and I’d’ve said barring a short stagger home he was out of things for the duration. Suggesting that in his condition he’d walked half a mile up the beach, got into a fish farm that probably had a serious wall around it, negotiated a set of fish tanks and pushed a man into somewhere he didn’t want to go just didn’t add up.

‘So where is he now?’ I said.

‘No idea.’ Alcis grinned. ‘If the bugger’s got any sense, he’s half way to Neapolis. The town officer can’t tell his arse from his elbow, sure, but even he’ll see letting a prime murder suspect run around loose is — ’

He stopped. The door opened. A dozen pairs of eyes zeroed in on it and the only sound was a single cup being laid down on the bar.

‘Evening, lads,’ Trebbio said. ‘How’s it going?’ He hesitated when he saw the expressions. ‘Uh…lads?’

The frozen tableau broke up.

‘Grab him!’ That was Alcis, naturally, but the two punters nearest the door were off their stools before the words were out of his mouth. Not that it needed more than one. Trebbio wasn’t big, and with the physical condition he was in a seven-year-old kid could’ve taken him one-handed, easy. They slammed him back against the closed door with a beefy shoulder either side pinning him to the boards, and he hung there gasping.

Okay, that was it. I stood up.

‘That’s enough,’ I said. ‘Let him down.’

‘Corvinus, you just — !’ Alcis began.

‘You want to lose a couple of your shiny teeth, pal?’ I said quietly, without looking at him. Then to the two punters: ‘Let him down. You want to ask him questions, fine, go ahead, but to answer them he has to breathe. Door’s closed, he’s got nowhere to run. Let him down.’

They did, a bit sheepishly. One of them even pulled up a stool and got him on it while another uninvolved punter handed him a cup of wine. They weren’t bad lads in Zethus’s, most of them, and he was one of their own, after all.

Trebbio drank the wine in a oner and passed the back of his hand across his mouth. He was shaking.

‘What the hell’s going on?’ he said.

‘You killed Murena,’ Alcis said.

The guy’s jaw dropped. ‘I did what?’

‘Pushed him into a tank full of morays last night.’

Trebbio shook his head numbly. ‘I never! ’Course I never!’ He frowned. ‘Murena’s dead?’

Alcis grinned. ‘Come on, Trebbio! You know he’s fucking dead! By this time half Baiae knows.’