David Wishart - Parthian Shot

‘Thank you for your time, gentlemen,’ I said. ‘And your help.’ And fuck you all, all three of you.

We left.

The litter was still waiting for us outside. I let Vitellius get in first, then joined him. I was still fuming. Even so, I took the time to look left and right, up and down the road outside the house. Opposite, a blank wall stretched unbroken in both directions. There wasn’t any cover — no doorways or overhanging trees — on the house side, either. Interesting.

‘Bastards!’ I said as the litter guys headed off.

‘They’re Parthians,’ Vitellius said equably. ‘Even Callion, for all he’s a Greek. Of course they’re bastards.’

‘I’ve met straighter snakes.’

‘You were warned.’ He settled back among the cushions. ‘Well?’

‘That business with the door. You didn’t know it was open?’

‘No.’ Vitellius was frowning.

‘And you’re sure your men were on duty?’

He stirred uncomfortably. ‘Not from personal knowledge. Corvinus, what are you getting at?’

It was just an idea, and I hated peaching, but we had to cover all the angles here. ‘I was just thinking,’ I said. ‘These guys are only human, like the rest of us. We had a rip-snorter of a rainstorm last night. There isn’t any shelter anywhere near the door. I just checked.’

Vitellius’s little piggy eyes skewered me like knives. ‘Ah,’ he said. Just that: like I say, the guy was a lot smarter than he looked, although that wouldn’t be hard. ‘Good point, boy. I’ll pass it on and get an answer for you. But I can tell you now, if the bugger out front wasn’t in place then Isidorus will personally string him up somewhere high by his wollocks until he drops off.’

‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘Yeah, that’ll be really useful, pal. Shutting the stable door isn’t in it.’

‘It would certainly broaden the options, though.’

‘Uh-huh.’ I was looking out between the curtains. ‘That’s what I’m afraid of. Three more questions.’

‘Go ahead.’

‘One: Zariadres’s death. How does it affect the negotiations?’

‘How do you mean?’

‘He was the delegation leader. Now he’s gone, what authority do the others have to negotiate?’

‘The murder doesn’t change anything at all. Zariadres was the leader, but he was first among equals. The delegation’s principals gave all four of them carte blanche.’

‘Yeah. Yeah, that’s what I thought. Still, Osroes steps into Zariadres’s shoes as prime dickerer, doesn’t he? And Osroes is a different kettle of fish from Zariadres. The two didn’t get on, to put it mildly. Or at least that’s the impression I got. And he isn’t too sweet on Phraates, either.’

Vitellius was looking at me for the first time with something approaching respect. ‘You might have a bit of the diplomat in you after all, Corvinus,’ he said slowly. ‘No, you’re right; he doesn’t. Not that that changes things either.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because Phraates is Rome’s choice for Great King. Osroes’s personal feelings are neither here nor there.’

‘But — ’ I stopped. Okay; leave it. There was the beginnings of an idea there, but it was no more than that. I wasn’t going to go out on no theoretical limbs, certainly not with Lucius Vitellius.

‘But what?’

‘Nothing. That was question two. Third question.’

‘You’ve got the floor.’

‘Peucestas. He’s the only one of the three I didn’t meet before Zariadres’s death. How did he get on with the guy?’

‘Ah.’ Vitellius leaned back. ‘Peucestas is…rather a complicated man. In some ways, anyway. As far as I can tell — and that’s not going far, because the bugger’s not all that forthcoming — he’d nothing against him. Certainly he’s no Osroes.’

‘He’s capable of killing, though.’

Vitellius shot me a look. ‘Now why would you think that?’

‘Because he’s the quiet, solid type. Osroes is all mouth and no action. Not any action that would threaten him personally, anyway. Callion thinks too much, and if he killed someone he’d plan it better. Eunuch or not, Peucestas is a soldier. If he thought Zariadres ought to die, for whatever reason, then he’d kill him. No fancy plans, just a death. And we’ve only his word for it that Zariadres was dead when he found him.’

‘Peucestas swore he didn’t kill him.’

‘So?’

‘He’s a Zoroastrian. A good one, as far as I can tell, or if not then he’s a bloody superb actor. That may not mean much to you, but believe me it’s a clincher. Zoroastrians don’t take oaths lightly, especially if they offer them freely with no arm-twisting. Breaking an oath is the worst thing they can do. Take it from me, whoever killed Zariadres it wasn’t Peucestas.’

‘Then who did kill him?’

Vitellius grinned. ‘Shit knows.’

A fair assessment of the situation as it currently stood. ‘Yeah,’ I sighed. ‘Yeah, right.’

Perilla was waiting for me.

‘Well?’ she said.

I unlimbered the mantle and settled down on the atrium couch with Bathyllus’s cup of wine. ‘We’ve got our corpse,’ I said. ‘Not Phraates after all. Zariadres.’

‘ Who is Zariadres?’

Oh; right; I’d forgotten she didn’t know anything about this business yet, barring in its wider features. That we would have to remedy. The hell with Isidorus’s strictures on confidentiality: I’d need the lady’s not inconsiderable brain in on this one p.d.q. She’s a lot more devious than me, for a start, and deviousness, I’d reckon, was going to be an important quality in this case.

I gave her a quick guide to the turf and generally filled her in on the background. Such of it as there was. I thought she’d be upset we were back to the gory nasties, but she was relieved rather than not.

‘It was like waiting for the second boot to drop,’ she said. ‘At least it’s a normal murder now. You know where you are with bodies. Or at least you do, dear.’

I glanced at her sideways. Strange woman, Perilla, sometimes. Me, I blame the reading.

‘So.’ She straightened a fold on her mantle: Perilla doesn’t lounge around the house like I do, and in what she was wearing she could’ve received the Chief Priestess of Juno. ‘What are your thoughts so far?’

‘On who did it? One of the three of them, at least I hope so. Currently I’d bet on the Magian, but that’s just because he’s the only one to have even the sniff of a motive and I don’t like the bugger. It doesn’t mean zilch.’

‘But if the front door was open — ’

‘Yeah. Right. That’s the puzzler. I can think of three possibilities, but there might be more.’

‘Go on.’

‘The first’s the obvious one: that the killer was an outsider.’ She opened her mouth to say something, and I held up my hand. ‘Lady, I know! The door had to be unbolted from inside, there was supposed to be a watchman in the street all night, and Isidorus had all the entrances and exits to the place stitched up tighter than a Vestal’s winter drawers. I’ve thought of all that.’

‘Oh, good.’

‘First of all, we don’t know for sure about the watchman; the guy should’ve been there, granted, but Vitellius is checking for me, and if he wasn’t then given other circumstances an outsider is a distinct possibility.’

‘The door would still have to be open.’

‘Perilla, will you wait? I said “given other circumstances”! Gods!’

She smiled and ducked her head. ‘All right, dear. But you’re not doing too well at present.’

I scowled into my wine-cup. ‘As far as an outside killer’s lying doggo’s concerned there’s no hassle. If he did manage to get in somehow it could’ve been at any time. Osroes showed me round and the place has enough unused rooms and cubby-holes for a dozen murderers. He could just have stayed hidden and waited his chance.’