David Wishart - Solid Citizens

He took a deep breath. ‘OK, fair enough,’ he said. ‘Let’s say — just for argument’s sake — that most of the wool was already gone and what was in nine tenths of the bales was rags; that I may’ve suspected it, but I didn’t know for certain because I made damn sure that I didn’t; that I had nothing to do with the switch; and that you forget you were here talking to me. No names, no pointing fingers, and no comeback, right? I’m just a dumb watchman who doesn’t know zilch. That do you?’

‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘I’ll settle for that.’

‘Good. We have a deal.’ He went back to stirring the pot. ‘Mind you, putting me in the frame wasn’t nice. I don’t like that. The guy who had the wool contract. Name begins with “M”. You know who I’m talking about?’

‘Yeah. Yeah, I know.’

‘Well, he might be able to help with a few facts, too. I’m not saying he will, you understand, just that he might. Only a suggestion. Fair enough?’

‘Fair enough,’ I said. ‘Thanks, pal.’ I turned to go.

‘Not a word, right? And it stops here?’

‘Sure,’ I said. ‘Cross my heart. Thanks again.’

Well, I reckoned I’d got enough to be going on with. Back to the water trough by the Tiburtine Gate where I’d moored my horse, and then home for a think.

On my way along the main drag, I thought I spotted my pal the lounging freedman walking parallel to me on the opposite pavement. But he was only one face in a crowd, and I could’ve been wrong.

There again, there weren’t any flying pigs.

Bathyllus was waiting for me with a cup of wine when I got back. No sign of Lupercus. Oh, yeah; the demarcation arrangements. Silly, like I said, but there you went, that was the bought help for you; these guys aren’t on the same wavelength. Anything for a quiet life.

‘Truce still holding, pal?’ I said, taking the cup and handing him my wet cloak in exchange.

‘Yes, sir, thank you.’

‘See that it does, OK?’

‘Yes, sir. The family are having lunch in the dining room.’

I took the cup through.

‘You’re home early, dear,’ Perilla said when I’d kissed her.

‘Yeah.’ I settled down on the couch beside her. ‘No problems, I just thought I’d done enough for the day. And, like you said, we’re on holiday, so there’s no point in overdoing things, is there?’

Smarm, smarm.

‘So how are things going?’ Clarus asked.

I helped myself to cold pork, bread, olives and cheese (Euclidus didn’t take his cheffing duties as seriously as Meton did, at least where lunch was concerned, so as usual we were getting yesterday’s dinner leftovers padded out with sundries from the store cupboard) and gave them the usual run-down of the morning’s events.

‘There you are, Clarus,’ Marilla said with huge satisfaction. ‘I told you the fire was a scam.’

Clarus shrugged.

‘It looks like it, sure,’ I said, reaching for my wine cup. ‘But that’s not to say it’s connected with the murder. Whether or not Manlius — or his pal Canidius, or both of them together — would go to the lengths of killing Caesius just to stop an investigation and avoid a theft and arson charge is a moot point.’

‘I don’t agree at all, Marcus,’ Perilla said. ‘Not if they thought the investigation was a certainty and that the outcome was a foregone conclusion. The punishment for arson and theft on that scale would be relegation, or at least a crippling fine.’ She spooned a reheated chicken dumpling on to her plate. ‘In any case, you’re forgetting the social side of things. You know how people’s minds work in these small towns. If they were convicted, the disgrace would destroy them in Bovillae, socially and politically, and for men of their standing that would be far worse. No, dear, I’d say the motive was quite sufficient.’

‘Yeah. Maybe so.’ I took a swallow of the Alban; after the Arician I’d had in the wine shop it went past the tonsils like velvet. ‘Still, there’re plenty of other candidates with motives just as good or better.’

‘You’re getting very cautious in your old age.’

I nudged her in the ribs with my elbow. ‘Less of the old age, lady!’ Perilla’s got a clear eighteen months on me. ‘And I’m not being cautious, I’m being realistic. We haven’t touched opportunity. What Manlius and Canidius were doing at the time of the murder we don’t know yet, but at present where having the chance to belt Caesius as he was coming out of the brothel’s concerned, his brother and Quintus Roscius are the front runners, no doubt. Me, I’d put my money on Roscius. Losing his farm would hit him hard, and he’s a lot more physically capable of doing the murder than Lucius is.’

‘So how would it’ve worked in practice?’ Marilla was carefully putting together what was at least her third pork-and-pickle sandwich: the girl likes her food, always has done. ‘The murder itself, I mean.’

‘Marilla, dear,’ Perilla said. ‘I really don’t think you should get too much involved in all this. It isn’t proper.’ She turned to me. ‘And Marcus, you shouldn’t be encouraging her.’

Marilla paused in the sandwich-construction process long enough to stick out her tongue before reaching for a third slice of pork to add to the pile. I grinned: proper wasn’t exactly a word I’d ever have used in connection with our adopted daughter. We might not be related by blood, but there was a lot of me in the kid, and given her head she was a natural-born sleuth. As, indeed, was Perilla, if she’d only knuckle down and admit it.

Apropos of which …

‘Come on, lady!’ I said. ‘Give the girl a break!’

‘Very well, if you insist.’ Perilla sniffed. ‘Have it your own way, dear, as usual. But understand it’s under protest.’

‘Protest noted. For what it’s worth.’ I drained my cup and refilled it from the jug on the table. ‘OK. So, to the actual murder. No problems there, the scenario’s obvious. No premeditation, just sheer luck. Roscius comes out of the wine shop and sets off for home. He glances down the alleyway as he passes, sees Caesius coming out of the brothel at the far end, and decides to take the chance he’s offered. He hustles the guy back in and brains him.’ I took a swallow of wine. ‘Job done.’

‘What with?’ Clarus said absently, looking up from the olive he was dissecting.

I put the cup down. ‘How do you mean, what with , pal?’

‘Look.’ Clarus sighed. ‘He’d have had to use a weapon of some kind, yes?’

‘Yeah, well, naturally. So?’

‘So where did he get it from? Or do you think he was carrying a club on the off-chance?’

Bugger. There spoke the nit-picking wannabe forensics expert. ‘How the hell should I know?’ I said. ‘Maybe there was an iron bar or a loose tile or something lying around. Me, I can’t see that it matters all that much.’

‘Was there? And if so could he see it in the dark? There wasn’t much of a moon that night, and it was raining hard. Did he take it away with him, and if so why? And while we’re on the subject, given the general lighting and weather conditions, how did he know it was Caesius? Especially since it’s likely the man had his hood up.’

Jupiter bloody Best and Greatest, I didn’t believe this! And I’d thought Perilla was bad where splitting hairs was concerned! ‘Now look here …’ I said.

‘Actually, Clarus, he could’ve done it with his bare hands,’ Marilla said. ‘Oh, the recognition bit, you’re right, dear, that is a difficulty. But if he were a big man … is he, Corvinus?’

‘Uh, yeah.’ I frowned; things were slipping away from me rapidly here. ‘Pretty big.’

‘Fine. Then he could’ve picked Caesius up and smashed his head against the wall.’ She was still looking at Clarus. ‘That would’ve had the same result, wouldn’t it?’