David Wishart: Food for the Fishes

‘Not me. I been out in the boat. Fishing.’ Trebbio jerked his head the direction the beach would be in. ‘’S down on the shore now. Been out all day, since first light, and just got back.’ He raised a pair of eyes like blood-cracked poached eggs. ‘Zethus, you tell them to cut this out! They’re having me on, right? A joke’s a joke, but this isn’t funny!’

Zethus said nothing. I noticed, though, that when the rumpus started he’d reached under the bar for the heavy stick all bartenders keep there in case a customer needs placating. He was still holding it. A nice guy, Zethus.

‘You go and check your lines last night, Trebbio?’ Alcis said.

‘Sure I checked my lines! I do it every night! You know that!’

Alcis shot me a triumphant look. Shit. Well, if he’d managed that in the state I’d left him a head like a block of oak was right. Still, he’d admitted it straight off, and taking the rest into account that impressed me. If it was acting then he was wasted as a beach bum.

Zethus’s silence must’ve registered. Suddenly, without warning, Trebbio slumped. If one of the guys standing behind him hadn’t caught him in time he’d’ve been off the stool. ‘You’re not having me on?’ he mumbled. ‘Murena’s dead?’

‘Pork-dead.’ Alcis grinned again. ‘So when you went — ’

‘You see anything, Trebbio?’ I cut in. ‘Last night, when you checked your lines? Over by the fish farm?’ He goggled at me. ‘Valerius Corvinus. The Roman. You remember me?’

‘Yeah. Right.’ He pulled his hand across his mouth again and shuddered. ‘Someone give me another drink. Oh, bugger!’

One of the punters handed him a full cup and he drank it down, holding the cup in both hands. Even then he spilt half of it.

‘Answer the man, Trebbio,’ Zethus said quietly.

‘Yeah. I saw a light. Two, in fact,’ he muttered. ‘’S not unusual. The old man goes down nights to talk to the fish, and he takes a lamp. They come up to the light. Or maybe I’m wrong, maybe that was another night.’ He raised his eyes. ‘It could’ve been.’ He drank the last dregs of the wine, tipping the cup back to get the last trickle, then licked his wine-soaked hand. ‘I can’t…fucking…remember, okay?’

‘So you checked your lines,’ I said. ‘Then?’

‘I went home and went to bed. What else would I do?’

‘You didn’t see anyone? On the beach, by the fish farm?’

‘Who’d be out there at that time of night? Nah, I didn’t see a soul.’ He looked, suddenly, frightened. ‘I didn’t kill him, right? Never laid a finger on him. I wouldn’t, not ever. I just went home.’

Alcis glanced at me. ‘You finished, Corvinus?’ he said sourly.

I shrugged. ‘Yeah. More or less.’

‘Right. Then we’ll get this bugger down to the town officer’s. Lucius! Philo!’

The two guys behind Trebbio leaned forward and took his arms. They were gentle enough this time, sure, but they weren’t having any arguments. Trebbio didn’t even struggle.

At the door, he turned and looked directly at me. The two cups of wine seemed to have settled him, if anything, because his eyes were steady and he didn’t mumble. ‘I never done nothing, Corvinus,’ he said. ‘I swear it. You’ll help me, right? You’re a Roman purple-striper, they’ll listen to you. Whoever killed the bastard it wasn’t me.’

‘Come on, Trebbio,’ Alcis said. ‘You can tell that to the town officer.’

The three of them hustled him out.

After they’d gone the bar was pretty quiet. There was plenty of conversation, sure, but it wasn’t loud, and the punters kept their backs to me. Maybe they felt a bit ashamed. I hoped so, anyway: even if Trebbio had committed a murder the guy was obviously in a total funk. It’d been like kicking a puppy.

I finished my wine, dropped a handful of coins on the counter, and turned to leave.

‘’Night all,’ I said. ‘Somebody look after his boat.’

Jupiter!

Perilla was still up and around when I got back, sitting out on the terrace overlooking the sea. There was no sign of Mother or Priscus. I just hoped the old bugger wasn’t out on his own somewhere painting the town red.

‘You’re back early, Marcus,’ she said.

‘Yeah.’ I kissed her and lay down on the next couch. Bathyllus oozed over with the homecoming cup of wine.

‘Nice evening?’

‘Interesting.’

‘Oh?’

I told her. About half way through, her lips set in a line and stayed set. The rest of her wasn’t exactly radiating joy and delight, either.

‘Corvinus, we’re on holiday,’ she said when I’d finished. ‘You are not getting involved.’

‘Ah…who said anything about — ?’

‘And don’t try to tell me you’re not thinking about it, because I won’t believe you. Not unless I spot a few flying pigs first.’

‘Yeah, well.’ I cleared my throat. ‘Actually there is the patron-client aspect of things to consider, lady.’

‘What patron-client aspect? Come off it, Marcus! This man Trebbio is not your client! You don’t know him and have no connection with or obligation to him whatsoever!’

I sighed. Oh, yes I did. I wasn’t flannelling there; I’d thought the thing out on the way back, and there was no getting round it: I was clean-gaffed, caught by the obligatories. Not that I was too upset about that, mind, but then the lady didn’t have to know everything. ‘Look, Perilla,’ I said. ‘If the punters in Zethus’s represent local opinion, which I suspect they do, then Trebbio’s a dead man walking, and I’d swear he didn’t murder anyone. And he asked me directly to help him. I can’t buck that.’

‘Help him how?’

‘I don’t know. But for a start I thought I might go and see the town officer. Explain the situation. According to Alcis at Zethus’s, the guy isn’t altogether on top of his job. If I can get him to see the potential problem here and how it might affect him then maybe we can exert a little pressure.’

Perilla was staring at me. ‘What potential problem?’ she said. ‘And what kind of pressure? Corvinus, if you’re intending to — ’

‘No big deal, lady,’ I said. ‘And at the end of the day it’s in everyone’s interests. I was just going to point out to the guy that, pace Toothy Alcis, there’s about as much proof at present that Trebbio murdered Murena as wouldn’t fill a salt spoon, that I was aware of the fact, and that if he let things go as they were going and the result was that Trebbio got himself bowstringed I would be having serious words with my very good friend in the praetor’s office at Rome. After which the bugger would be lucky if he ended up running the urine collection service from the public latrines. Little truths like that.’

‘What friend? Marcus, you don’t have any friends in — ’

‘Sure I do. Caelius Crispus.’

‘Crispus? He wouldn’t do you that size of a favour!’

‘Yeah. I know that and you know that. But the town officer doesn’t know that, does he? And I’m betting that he’ll be too shit-scared to check.’

‘Corvinus, this is ridiculous! It’s also pure naked blackmail, and totally unjustified! Why should you — ?’

‘It’s the easiest, quickest way.’

‘To do what? You are going to interfere, aren’t you? Really interfere.’ I said nothing. ‘I wish for once you’d just — ’

‘Look, lady. Believe me, if I don’t get involved here then Trebbio’s dead meat, and I know that whoever killed Murena — if anyone did kill him — it wasn’t that poor sod. Only I could be wrong, and that’d be okay too, because then I’d know for sure I was wrong. You see? Now. All I need is the authority to gather evidence, right? One way or another, for or against, it doesn’t matter so long as it’s hard proof.’ She was still frowning. ‘You want me to forget the whole thing and spend the time instead strolling along the front looking at the yachts and ogling the girls, or can we just save a man’s life here?’