David Wishart: White Murder

The other thing about X was that for reasons already given he must’ve known his victim. The fact that Pegasus was a public figure blurred the issue here, sure, because it meant it wasn’t necessarily mutual; like I said, the racing game attracts some real weirdos among the fans, and it wasn’t beyond the bounds of possibility that he’d been stalked by one of these nuts who breathe, eat and sleep the factions and was nursing some kind of grudge. On the other hand, he’d been expecting someone, that I’d bet on, because in the time he’d been sitting in the wineshop his eyes had never been far from the door. And if the killing had been a set-up then the other guy was a prime candidate for X.

I took a last look round. Yeah, well; there wasn’t any more I could do here, and I didn’t particularly want to be caught crouching over the body when Rome’s finest eventually showed up. Some of these Watch guys have very limited imaginations. I walked back to the head of the alley where Renatius was fending off the ghouls. There were quite a few of these by now – Jupiter knows how these bastards click on to the existence of even an invisible corpse, but they do; instinct, maybe – and they were craning their necks like so many silent vultures.

‘Everything okay, pal?’ I said.

Renatius was looking a better colour. Happy, even: he’d had time to think, a murder in your side alley does wonders for business, and although he was a nice enough guy he still had a living to make. ‘Sure,’ he said. ‘More or less. Lucius has gone for the Watch and Charax is looking after the store.’

‘Charax?’ Oh, hell. ‘You think that’s wise?’

‘No. But then again I’m not paying for all the wine these bastards get through while we’re stuck out here and Lucius is up at the Square talking to Valgius.’

Ouch. I hadn’t thought about that aspect of things at the time. With Charax filling the jugs I’d bet this business was already costing me an arm and a leg. Still, it was too late to worry now, the damage had been done. I glanced across the street.

Yeah; I’d remembered right. Facing the wineshop door was the entrance to a tenement screened by scaffolding and building materials. Perfect cover for someone who wanted to keep an eye on the comings and goings of Renatius’s customers, especially since I couldn’t see any workmen. Which come to think of it was odd, with so much daylight left.

Unless…

I groaned. Oh, bugger! Thank you, Jupiter! Thank you so bloody much! I’d bet; I would just bet..!

‘Ah…’ I pointed. ‘That wouldn’t be where Charax and his pals are working at present, would it?’

Renatius followed my pointing finger. ‘Yeah, it would, as a matter of fact. Although I wouldn’t use the word “working” myself.’

Never a truer word was spoken; I wouldn’t either, on reflection. In fact, I doubted that, unexpectedly rich though it was, Charax’s vocabulary included any terms in the category “work”. Whoever had given these three deadbeats the job of doing the place up needed his head examined.

‘Uh-huh,’ I said.

‘It belongs to old Atellius over on Tuscan Street.’ Renatius was still grinning. ‘The Buildings Officer threatened to have it condemned unless he fixed it up and Charax made him an offer the cheapskate sod couldn’t refuse. Sure, he and his mates’re just plastering over the cracks but a greased palm or two’ll do the rest. Me – well, let’s just say I wouldn’t spend any more than five minutes in there even with my hardest hat on.’

Yeah; that made sense. Still, one got you ten that our friendly neighbourhood knifeman had done just that, and stayed a lot longer than Renatius’s five minutes. Cool was right: he couldn’t have known that Charax and his pals were the most unconscientious builders in the history of domestic architecture, and with their local wineshop open and serving just across the road the chances of them coming back this side of tomorrow’s breakfast were about equal to seeing the college of priests do a choreographed striptease on Mars Field. No doubt, though, he’d’ve had a story ready. I was beginning to have a real respect for X.

The vultures, give or take the odd try-on, were being pretty well-behaved, which was all the more understandable because there were two or three respectable mantles among them pretending they were just hanging around passing the time of day. Most of the pack had been content just to stand and gawp at the brickwork. Now, suddenly, they parted and three big guys with a couple of slaves in tow carrying a rolled-up stretcher pushed their way through.

The Watch had arrived.

Not Valgius himself, though: these guys were definitely tunics, and not too friendly tunics at that. I introduced myself and got a concerted glare like I’d just proposed a four-way orgy.

‘So where’s the corpse?’ the biggest guy, definitely the leader, growled. Yeah, right; so much for the amenities. I gave him my best smile and stepped aside.

Wordlessly, Renatius jerked a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the wineshop’s vertical privy. The guy grunted, made a sign to the stretcher-bearers and headed off for what was left of Pegasus, accompanied by his mates.

‘Cheerful bugger, isn’t he?’ I said.

‘That’s Titus Delicatus.’ Renatius didn’t smile. ‘You’re lucky. This must be one of his good days.’

‘Yeah?’ Mind you, it was no concern of mine. Now the professionals had arrived I could head on back to Perilla and – hopefully – a poet-free house with the easy conscience of a citizen who’s done his duty to the Senate and people of Rome. After I’d paid through the nose for the wine that Charax and his pals had sunk in my absence, of course. Speaking of which… ‘I think we can go in now,’ I said. ‘Quickly.’

We left the future supervision of the vultures to the Eighth District Wonders and joined the party inside. Which was more or less what it was. Evidently Charax had taken the opportunity to round up a few of his local cronies, because there were more customers than there had been, and the Spoletian was flowing free. In both senses of the word.

Charax was behind the bar. ‘No problem, consul,’ he said cheerfully. ‘I’ve kept count. I make it five jugs, plus the cheese and olives. Oh, and I grilled Annius here a sausage.’

A small squat guy with ears that stuck out like the handles of an amphora grinned at me and raised the sausage in question in salute. Bastard. I pulled out my purse and tipped most of the contents onto the counter. Then I poured myself a large one from my own interrupted jug and sank it at a gulp.

Young Lucius was dithering on the sidelines. I called him over.

‘You didn’t see Valgius himself, then?’ I asked him.

‘Oh, yes, sir.’ The kid was looking a lot brighter now. Obviously he was beginning to enjoy the situation. ‘Only he was too busy. He sent Delicatus instead.’

I frowned. Odd. Me, I’d’ve thought a well-known figure like Pegasus would’ve merited the boss’s personal attention. ‘You told him who the dead man was?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘And?’

Lucius shuffled his feet. ‘He just laughed and said “Is it really?” ’

Jupiter on wheels! This was a Watch commander? ‘He said what? ’

The boy was blushing again. ‘“Is it really?”, Valerius Corvinus.’ A conscientious kid, Lucius, and for all his literalness no bad mimic: I could hear the total lack of interest in the guy’s voice even at second hand. ‘Then he said, “Well, well!” Sort of dry, like, you know?’

‘Didn’t he ask..?’ I stopped. The door had opened and the Three Graces came in. These guys were fast workers. Too fast, to my mind.

Maybe Renatius thought the same, because he frowned and said: ‘You boys finished already?’