David Wishart - Food for the Fishes

‘Who’s Tattius?’

‘The master’s partner, sir.’

‘Uh-huh.’ I filed the name for future reference. ‘Ligurius live on site?’

‘No, sir. In the town.’

‘There isn’t a night-watchman?’

‘Not necessary, sir. There’s one up at the villa, but we’ve never had no trouble, and the villa being so close the place is safe enough.’

‘Fine. Thanks, friend.’

I went in. It was more or less what I’d expected. To the right — between me and the sea — were most of the tanks, with here and there a slave walking along the berms with a long netted pole. As I watched, one of them slipped the net end of the pole carefully into the water then lifted it with a kicking fish trapped in the mesh. He laid the fish on the ground, checked the side of its head, measured it against a length of cord he kept round his waist, then put it gently back into the water.

Ahead and to the left, the gate slave had said. Sure enough, set against the high boxwood hedge that probably screened the farm off from the villa gardens behind was what had to be the office building, open-fronted and with a stretch of stone counter, a bit like a free-standing shop. There were two guys inside, a tunic and a mantle, with their backs to me, talking. The mantle was wearing mourning. I went over, and when they heard me coming they turned round.

‘Ah…I was looking for the manager,’ I said. ‘Guy called Ligurius?’

The tunic gave me a very careful once-over. ‘I’m Ligurius,’ he said quietly. Which, by the look of him, was his normal tone of voice. ‘How can I help you?’

‘The name’s Marcus Valerius Corvinus,’ I said. ‘I’ve got an appointment with the Lady Gellia.’

The mantle — mid- forties, long-jowled and po-faced — had been giving me a once-over of his own, not a very friendly one, either. ‘Oh, yes,’ he said. He stretched out a reluctant hand. ‘Titus Licinius Chlorus. Murena was my father, and I’m also the business’s accountant.’

I shook. The hand was thin and parchment-dry with fingers like leather-wrapped bones. ‘I’m, uh, sorry about the circumstances,’ I said.

‘So are we all.’ That came out dry too, but there was something in the tone that jarred. Sarcasm, maybe. A cold bugger, this, and he was watching me closely, like I was a specimen. ‘You asked for Ligurius. No doubt you wanted to know the background details to my father’s death before you talked to us.’ I didn’t answer, but that didn’t matter because he’d already turned to the manager. ‘You won’t need me for that. Apua, bring Valerius Corvinus up to the house when he’s finished, will you?’

‘Certainly,’ Ligurius said. I glanced at him. Interesting: the voice had been quiet like before, but there was no forelock-tugging tone to it and no ‘sir’ tacked on the end. The guy wasn’t wearing a freedman’s cap, either. Freeborn, then, and careful that people knew it. And what was this ‘Apua’? I doubted if someone like Ligurius merited the three names, and in any case Apua was one I hadn’t heard before. The word meant ‘anchovy’. Maybe it was a nickname.

‘We’ll see you later, Corvinus,’ Chlorus said.

‘Sure.’

He left. Ligurius and I stood looking at each other. He was about the same age as Chlorus, but a good head shorter: no more than five four, spindly as a hazel stick and balding. Not the sort of guy who stood out in a crowd.

‘Now,’ he said. ‘You’ll want to see where it happened. Follow me.’

We walked towards the top line of tanks, then for twenty or thirty yards along the curve of the first row. Finally, Ligurius stopped.

‘This is it,’ he said.

I looked down into the water, and the hairs rose on my neck…

There must’ve been dozens of the brutes, five feet long if they were an inch and the thickness of my thigh, stacked under the water to within a foot of the surface like rolls of cloth in a draper’s shop. As I watched, the one nearest me moved, sliding his long belly across the tops of his pals like he and they were greased. I caught the glint of a wicked eye and a flash of teeth bigger than belonged by rights on any fish.

‘Almost fully-grown,’ Ligurius said. ‘Another month or so and they’ll be ready.’

My gut turned. ‘You’re still going to sell them?’

He shrugged. ‘It’s not my decision, but why not? There’s a lot of money tied up in these beauties.’

Yeah, and I’d bet that the fact they’d breakfasted on their erstwhile owner wouldn’t harm the sale price, either. You’d think covering that up would be the natural thing to do, but you’d be wrong: like I say, where morays that’ve eaten human flesh are concerned there’s always some weirdo who’s prepared to pay extra for quality.

Ligurius moved so he was standing beside me, looking down; like we were next to a grave, which in a way I suppose we were. ‘I found him in the tank when I did my morning check,’ he said. ‘Or what was left of him. I wouldn’t’ve known at all but for the mantle.’

Jupiter, the guy was calm enough! That might just be how he was made, sure, but I had the distinct impression that losing his boss even under these circumstances hadn’t cracked him up unduly. Which was interesting.

‘What time do you pack in for the day?’ I asked.

‘Sunset. I lock the gate behind me when I go. The farm’s still accessible from the villa, though, of course. The perimeter wall goes round both.’

‘I understand Murena made a habit of coming down here alone of an evening.’

‘That’s right. With a bag of scraps from dinner. He liked to watch them feed.’

Gods! I shut that image out of my mind. ‘Could it have been an accident?’

He sucked on a tooth for a long time before replying. ‘It’s possible. Never mind the fish, once he was in the tank it would’ve been difficult for him to get out. He couldn’t swim, and there was no one around that time of the evening to hear him shouting. If he shouted at all.’

‘Why shouldn’t he?’

‘He’d been getting fainting fits recently. He could’ve been unconscious when he hit the water.’

I felt my eyebrows rise. ‘Fainting fits?’

‘So I believe, although I can’t vouch for it personally. He always looked fit enough to me. You’d have to ask his doctor.’

Was I wrong, or was there a certain woodenness of expression there? More than usual, that is. And Toothy Alcis had mentioned a doctor…

‘Who would that be, now?’ I said.

‘His name’s Diodotus. He has a practice in town.’

‘Okay.’ I very carefully didn’t look at him. ‘So what about…not an accident?’

Pause; long pause. ‘That I wouldn’t care to comment on,’ he said at last. ‘Perhaps you’d better talk to the family.’

Yeah; right. And the woodenness was still there, with bells on. There were things the guy was obviously not saying, even by implication, and I was beginning to get a prickle at the top of my spine. ‘They would be who, exactly, now?’ I said. ‘I’ve got names for the Lady Gellia and the son who just left, Titus Chlorus. Who else is there?’

‘The younger son’s Nerva. Aulus Nerva. Then there’s a daughter. Real name’s Licinia, naturally, but she’s always been called Penelope.’

‘Any of them Gellia’s kids?’

He almost smiled, but not quite; no more than a twitch of the lips. ‘No. Gellia’s younger than any of them. The boss married her after his first wife died.’

Had there been just a smidgeon of hesitation before the last word? I wouldn’t’ve put serious money on it, mind, but that’s how it came across. And I was still getting the poker face.

‘How about the partner?’ I said. ‘What was his name? Tattius?’

But Ligurius had already turned and was walking back towards the office. ‘I’m just the hired help, Corvinus,’ he said over his shoulder. ‘If you want any more information you’ll have to get it from the family. If you’re done with me — and I can’t really tell you anything else — then I’ll take you up there now.’