David Wishart - White Murder

Perilla got back half an hour later. She was carrying a pile of solid-looking book-rolls.

‘Oh, hello, Marcus,’ she said. ‘I didn’t realise you were in.’ She leaned down for the welcome-home kiss. ‘Have a good day?’

‘Not so’s you’d notice.’ I hefted the jug that I’d finally got Bathyllus to bring me and topped up my wine-cup. ‘Book shopping?’

‘That’s right. Critias in the Argiletum sent round to say he’d acquired a full copy of Ephorus of Cyme’s Universal History.’ I shuddered. Yeah, well; like I say, to each his bag. ‘Why’s Bathyllus looking so cheerful?’

‘We had a talk.’

She set the books down on the table. ‘Ah.’

‘“Ah” is right, lady. The air is cleared. And I’ve seen Tyndaris.’

‘Really? What’s she like?’

‘Large.’

‘Marcus -’

‘You haven’t seen her, I have. The word is apt and comprehensive. She’s also got a thing about paintings. That’s where you come in.’

‘Marcus, dear, I’m sorry but you are not making sense.’

I explained. ‘Tyndaris likes calling in at the porches when she does her shopping for the pigs’ trotters. I’ve suggested to Bathyllus that you give him a sort of crash course on what’s what and where it is, and the next time she goes he tags along and impresses the pants off her.’

Perilla smiled. ‘Not literally, I hope.’

I grinned. ‘Yeah, well, maybe not. But it’s a start. What do you think?’

‘I think it’s brilliant.’ She kissed me again and lay down on her couch. ‘I’ll start making a list right after dinner. Now. How is the case going?’

‘The plot thickens.’ I took a swallow of wine and told her about my interviews with Uranius, Laomedon and Cario. Also with the choirmaster Silvius.

‘You think either of them could’ve done it?’ she said. ‘Laomedon or Uranius, I mean?’

‘They’re both possibles, sure. For different reasons.’

‘No more than possibles?’

‘Perilla, I don’t know. Not yet. Characterwise, between the two I’d put my money on Laomedon. He checks out perfect all round: he hated the guy’s guts, he was jealous as hell of him for all sorts of reasons, he’s capable of murder, at least the physical side of it, and for all I know he had the opportunity. On the other hand I get the impression the bastard’s too thick and too arrogant to carry a plan through off his own bat without tripping himself up or boasting about it later. He’s got beans to spill, sure, he may even know who the killer was, but I wouldn’t like to bet he’d have the nous to do it himself.’

‘Unless he was working with someone else. Someone with more brains.’

‘Right. That’s a possibility. There again, I could be underestimating the guy completely. Under that beefcake exterior may pulse the brains of a criminal Aristotle.’

‘Brains don’t pulse.’

‘Whatever.’

‘Very well. What about Uranius?’

‘Uranius is the opposite. He thinks too much. Sure, he lost out to Pegasus even more than Laomedon did, but he hasn’t got the killing feel to him. That’s the impression I got, and that’s what everybody’s been telling me. A nice, quiet guy, wouldn’t say boo to a mouse.’

‘Quiet men can commit murder, given the proper incentives. And he did lie about where he was the day Pegasus was killed.’

‘No argument, lady. On either count. For that matter, though, I’d say Cammius’s son was lying too, and that’s just as strange because at the time he had no need to.’

‘Hmm.’ She put her chin on her hand. ‘It could’ve been an instinctive defence mechanism.’

‘A which?’

‘He was simply responding to what he subconsciously assessed as an implicit accusation.’

‘Uh…yeah. Yeah, right.’ Jupiter! That was Latin? ‘Anyway, although he was open about disliking the dead guy he was pretty cagey over some of the details.’

‘What kind of details?’

‘That I’m not sure of. He clammed up too soon. Something to do with how Pegasus behaved in the team.’

‘In that case we could be back to the bribery and corruption theory here, with Cammius and his son conspiring at the murder.’

‘It’s possible.’ I sighed and took a long swig of wine. ‘Everything’s possible. You ever get the feeling you’re swimming through porridge?’

Perilla smiled quietly. ‘Oh, you’ll get there in the end,’ she said. ‘I have every confidence.’

Before I could answer, Bathyllus soft-footed in. Perilla had been right: the little guy looked a lot more like his old self.

‘That’s the dinner gong, is it, sunshine?’ I said.

‘Not yet, sir. But Alexis is back from Ostia, if you wanted to see him.’

I sat up. Hell; so much had been going on that I’d forgotten I’d sent him over that morning to check on Sopilys. ‘Sure,’ I said. ‘Tell him to come straight in.’

Our sharp gardener looked pretty whacked, which was understandable: it’s a long way to Ostia, even on horseback and with a good road. I held up the wine jug and raised an eyebrow, but Alexis shook his head. Par for the course: Alexis isn’t one for wine, even when he is knackered.

‘So. How did you get on?’ I said.

‘I saw your friend Agron, sir, and we went over to the docks together and asked around. No problem. Sopilys was working as a stevedore on the main wharf. If you want to meet him tomorrow, late morning or early afternoon, he’ll be delighted to talk with you.’

‘“Delighted”?’

‘His own word, sir.’ Alexis hesitated. ‘I don’t think he liked the dead man very much. He doesn’t have much time for the master of the Green faction, either.’

‘Is that right, now?’ Well, it wasn’t too surprising, if the guy had been fired. And a disgruntled Green eager and willing to talk his heart out was just what I needed. ‘You ask Agron if he had time to split a jar?’

‘Yes, sir. He’d be happy to. He suggests you go to his flat first thing and he’ll take you to Sopilys himself.’

‘Great.’ Well, that was tomorrow taken care of. I still had Uranius to talk to, mind, but that could wait a couple of days. And it would be good to see Agron again. ‘You’ve done marvels, pal. Thanks a lot.’

‘Don’t mention it, sir.’

‘By the way, you may’ve noticed that Project Bathyllus is off and running. And I’ve met the Tyndaris female.’

‘Really?’

‘Yeah.’ I kept my voice neutral. ‘Matters are in hand involving the mistress and a guide to Rome’s artistic treasures.’ I glanced at Perilla and she grinned back. ‘Only talking to the little guy I get the impression that where women are concerned he could do with a bit of preliminary coaching in basic conversational skills. Like stringing two consecutive words together and not grinning all the time like a demented chimp. Maybe you could handle that side of things for me, before we turn lover-boy loose on an unsuspecting world.’

‘Lysias would be better, sir. He’s…he has the experience.’

‘Fine. Tell him not to overdo it, though. We don’t want to create a monster.’

‘No, sir.’

– at which point the little bald-head himself padded in and announced dinner. Cheerful was right; he was practically whistling. Ah, well; it was spring, after all, and tastes vary.

All the same, as I carried my wine-cup through to the dining-room I tried very hard not to think of the physical practicalities. It wouldn’t’ve been fair to Meton’s cooking.

I’m no horseman. I can ride okay, but being on top of a horse isn’t exactly my idea of a great time, and I travel slow for preference; so even setting off just after dawn when the roads were quiet it took me a good three hours to get to Ostia.