Lindsey Davis - Time to Depart

Smiling, Petro passed one big hand over his brown hair. He seemed to have been having at styled more snappily. (Well, it was shorter; that was his barber's creative limit.) His other great paw lay lightly at his waist, where the staff of his office was stuck behind a wide, creased leather belt that I remembered him buying from a shifty Celt in Londinium. Otherwise, apart from the flash haircut, he did not trouble to preen himself up like a man of fashion. On duty it was better to be protected by a leather jerkin that might deflect a knife blade and a thick wool cloak which would shrug off the mud if he hurled himself to the pavement when tackling a runaway. His boots had come up hard on quite a few doorframes too by the looks of them.

'So who was the high-principled, public-minded citizen who squealed about Balbinus?' I asked.

'A donkey's turd called Nonnius.'

'Not Nonnius Albius? I thought he was a racketeer himself?'

'He had been. He actually worked with Balbinus, was his chief rent collector. That was what appealed to me.'

'Of course! You needed an insider.'

'No one else could have done it. Nonnius was ideal.'

'But he was a Balbinus boy. How did you sew him up?'

'A sad story.' Petro grinned. 'He's dying. His doctor had just put the frighteners on. Poor old Nonnius is suffering from terminal rot.'

'Something nasty that people don't talk about?'

'Same as his profession!' Petro snarled. Then he told me the story: 'Back in the spring, I just happened to learn that Nonnius had been given notice to quit by his pet medicine man – '

'Happened?' This seemed a nice coincidence.

Petro was in full flow and not to be sidetracked by my scepticism. 'Nonnius gets informed by some pet Aesculapius that he's finished, but the doctor sap he'll last longer if he takes care of himself – no worries, lots of pampering-'

'Expensive!' I was beginning to see Petro's reasoning.

'A life of luxury prescribed! So I get to him when he's just reeling from the bad news, I lend a sympathetic ear, then I put it to him he's spent his life running around for Balbinus while that rat lay on a reading couch counting his winnings – and for what? Now seems the time for a spot of levelling. Since Nonnius has to give up the low life, he soon settles on snatching at the high life to compensate. This appeals to the bastard: taking a litter through the Forum, giving orders to slaves through the window and greeting fawning admirers who are hoping for free gifts. Even more than that, suddenly he loves the idea of robbing Balbinus.'

I laughed shortly. 'The loyalty of thieves! So he was prepared to testify?'

'In return for the traditional reward.'

'You did a deal?'

'All legal. He appeared before Marponius and twittered like a happy song finch. In return, as a successful prosecutor he can seize a proportion of Balbinus' traceable assets. The only disincentive is that he has to help us trace them. But it's well worth his while to hire accountants. Having been on the money-collecting side himself he knows the occasional fellow with a dodgy abacus, imaginative enough to guess where the loot may be hidden.'

'I love it!' I was laughing. We both grabbed more wine, which now tasted almost palatable. 'But Petro, you must have needed to take great care framing the actual charge against Balbinus. What did you throw at him?'

'Murder. The only count that would have worked.'

'Of course. It had to be a capital offence.'

'Anything less and he would only end up with a fine – and however large, a fine wouldn't choke him. He could shed thousands and hardly feel a tickle.'

I didn't say it, but putting Balbinus in court on any charge that left him free in Rome afterwards would have placed Petro himself in a very dangerous position. There was no point dwelling on this feature. He knew all right.

'So who had been topped – and how did you nail Balbinus for the murder?' I didn't suppose he had actually stuck a dagger in someone personally. 'Getting blood spots on his own tunic was never his style.'

'Happy accident,' said Petro. 'It happened at Plato's Academy.' The brothel we had already mentioned. 'They specialise in fleecing foreign visitors. Some poor Lycian had been set up to lose his travelling pouch in the floor-creeping gag. While the girl was giving him the push-and-shove that he'd paid for, he made the mistake of noticing a rustle in the straw. Up he jumps, and discovers the whore's accomplice just reaching for his money. Instead of making a discreet complaint to the madam, then leaving the brothel with an apology and a wiser attitude, this fool puts up his fists and makes a fight of it. The snatcher was so surprised at the Lycian's unsporting behaviour that he knifed him on the spot.'

I whistled. 'Someone should hand out warnings to innocent travellers! But how did you prove it? Surely the brothel's mother hen was used to denying all knowledge of trouble?'

'Oh yes. Lalage's well up to it. I'd never have pinned her down, and I'm not sure I'd even have fancied tackling her… Thank Jupiter Plato's is on the Sixth Cohort's beat, and I don't normally have the problem.' I saw his point. The whores who crowded around the Circus Maximus were as fierce as lynxes, and Lalage, the madam at Plato's, had a phenomenal reputation. 'There was a witness,' Petro told me grimly. 'And for the first time in history it was a witness who managed not to yell at the scene of the crime. So instead of the usual turn-up where the witness gets stabbed too, he hid up in the rafters until he had a chance to run away.'

'Unbelievable.'

'Better yet, one of my men then found him wandering in shock up on the Hill. He blurted out his tale, and we went straight to Plato's. The Sixth were nowhere in sight – that's normal – so we handled it ourselves. We were able to jump from an alley just as two bouncers were dragging the corpse out through the back door. That pegged the crime to the brothel. So for a start, when we went into court half the Thirteenth-sector Watch had seen Plato's management towing the Lycian to a gutter by the boot-thongs, with Lalage herself holding a lamp. Next we had our witness to narrate the stabbing luridly. He was a second Lycian who had been smuggled in by the first one. The pair were hoping to slip the girl a copper and get a double spike half-price.'

I slapped the table. 'Disgraceful! How can you police the city when even the victims are crooks?'

'Falco, I'll live with it! I locked our witness in protective custody, lost the address until he was needed, then produced him at the Basilica in his best tunic to tell how he had trembled in his hiding place and seen all. He identified the prostitute, the madam, and the creeping snatch.'

'Do I know the snatch?'

'A weasel called Castus.'

It meant nothing. I didn't ask if I knew the prostitute, and Petro didn't bother to embarrass anyone by naming her. 'So what about your star witness? What about Nonnius?'

'We were well set up by the time our barrister called him. All Nonnius Albius had to do was to confess his own role as a Balbinus collector, and state that he knew the killer Castus was on the Balbinus payroll. He played his part very prettily – he even produced tallies to show the percentage Balbinus regularly took from stolen purses at the brothel.'

'Good value!'

'A prime witness. Our Lycian had come up with some joyful clinchers, like Castus exclaiming as he stabbed the dead man, "Teach him to argue with Balbinus!" Nonnius then told the juty that all the Balbinus henchmen are routinely ordered to slash if trouble threatens. He had frequently heard Balbinus give those instructions. So we had him for organised crime, profiteering, and conspiracy, resulting in actual death.'

'The jury bought it?'

'Marponius had explained to them that he needed their co-operation if he was to be seen as the judge who cleaned up Rome…'