David Wishart - White Murder

I took another swig of wine. ‘Not necessarily. From what Uranius said he was seriously panicked. That argues some involvement, for a start. And he could’ve been hanging around in a blue funk before he decided to go back to the stables.’

‘At a run?’

‘Why not?’

‘Corvinus, that isn’t very likely, is it? Either he’d take to his heels at once – in, as you say, panic – or he’d have had sufficient time to recover and would walk back sensibly. And if the killing was premeditated, as you said you believed it to be, then for the murderer to draw attention to himself by running when there was no need would make even less sense.’

I thought about that for a moment. Yeah. Right. The lady had a point. Two points. ‘Even so, he must’ve been involved somewhere along the line, Perilla. Innocent men don’t run away when they see a corpse being carried out of an alley. Besides, he knew the guy. If he’d asked one of the ghouls who it was and been told Pegasus – which he would’ve been – he’d surely have made himself known to the Watch. And the clincher, naturally, is that he told me categorically and unsolicitedly that he’d been at the stables when the murder happened.’

‘There’s no such word as unsolicitedly .’

‘Whatever. You know what I mean. Killer or not, the bastard’s in it to his eyeballs.’

‘Oh, I agree. He’s certainly a prime candidate for the person whom Pegasus was waiting to meet. In fact, that would explain why he ran.’

Yeah; I’d been thinking much the same myself. If I’d had a secret appointment with someone and turned up for it only to find the guy had been stiffed by a person or persons unknown half an hour before then I’d be pretty jittery too. Especially if -.

I stopped.

‘Hey. Perilla,’ I said. ‘Pegasus was the Whites’ driver, Cario’s the Whites’ boss’s son, right?’

‘Yes. So?’

‘We’ve been round this way before, with Uranius. If one of them wanted to talk to the other one then why the hell not do it at the stables? Why this complicated cloak-and-dagger shit with a non-faction wineshop?’

She had on her prim look. ‘I don’t know, Corvinus. You tell me. And please don’t use bad language where it isn’t necessary.’

Well, that was an improvement on her usual blanket prohibition, anyway. ‘Because whatever the purpose of the meeting was it was strictly under the rose. Where the Whites were concerned, I mean. They wanted privacy, they didn’t want to be seen talking, and they certainly didn’t want to risk being overheard by their faction mates. That suggests a conspiracy of some kind involving the faction. When he drove for the Greens Pegasus was selling races, and leopards don’t change their spots. One gets you ten he was set to work the same scam with the Whites, and Cario was involved.’

‘Marcus, Cario is the son of the Whites’ faction master!’

‘Sure he is. All the same, I know Cario’s sort. Jupiter, I used to be one. Young tearaways who run around with the fast crowd get through money like it was going out of fashion so they’re always broke. What’s the odds that Cario and Pegasus were cooking up a scam between them for the Megalenses?’

She was frowning. ‘Such as what?’

‘Gods alive, Perilla, I don’t know exactly! Probably Pegasus was going to throw his race, let Cario clean up on the outside bets and split the profits.’

‘You really think that’s likely?’

‘Why not? And it would explain the wineshop.’

‘Not altogether. It was still a very public place, and Pegasus, at least, would be sure to be recognised. As indeed he was. If what they were discussing was connected with racing then surely they would have chosen a safer venue.’

‘There may have been reasons. I wouldn’t dismiss the possibility out of hand just because of that, and it’s the natural assumption to make.’

‘Very well.’ She tugged absently at her ear-lobe. ‘Let’s say they were planning what you suggest. You’ve met Cario, I haven’t. Do you think he’s capable of something like that?’

I was on a roll here, and I had my mouth open to say yes. Then my brain finally kicked in ahead of it and I stopped.

The honest answer was no. I’d been spouting pure moonshine, and I knew it. The guy might be a sharp-dressing blade-about-town, but he was a racing man like his father and a White to the bone. Cario wouldn’t throw a race for cash, and he wouldn’t do down the Whites; no way, never, it just wasn’t in him. Also unless he was the best actor I’d ever come across he’d genuinely hated Pegasus, and hate doesn’t fit well with partnership. Last, the Megalenses would’ve been Pegasus’s first drive for the faction. Even if the guy was a crook – and there was no argument there – he would’ve wanted to settle in, establish his faction street-cred, especially having just come down the ladder from the Greens. He wouldn’t’ve thrown his first race even if he could be almost sure of not being caught, not just for the sake of a few side bets. The game wasn’t worth the candle.

She was right about Renatius’s being too public a place to discuss a racing scam, too. That put the lid on it. The scam theory was all wrong. There were just too many negatives for it to be tenable.

‘No,’ I said. ‘No, maybe not.’

‘Then why the meeting? If it was Cario?’

I took another swig of wine. ‘Search me. Sure, I’m ninety-nine percent certain that Cario’s our boy there, but that’s as far as I go. The rest’ll have to wait until I…’

‘Good afternoon, sir.’

I turned round in surprise. Our wandering major-domo had finally returned to the fold, and he’d done his usual trick of pussyfooting in on my blind side. ‘Hey, Bathyllus! How’s the lad?’

‘Very well indeed, sir,’ he said. ‘Madam.’

I could believe it. The little bald-head radiated health, goodwill and smugness. He was almost – shock, horror! – smiling. ‘Okay,’ I said. ‘Unbutton your lip and give! How did things go with Tyndaris?’

‘Absolutely splendidly, sir. And the mistress’s little vade-mecum was invaluable.’

‘So let’s have the blow-by-blow account. Where did you go?’

‘We bought some pork chops, sir, in the meat market. Pork is very reasonable at present, seemingly. Then we went to the vegetable market and purchased -’

‘Bathyllus.’

‘Yes, sir?’

‘No preliminaries, please. Just the salacious bits.’

‘There were no salacious bits, sir.’

Yeah, well; I hadn’t really believed there would be. Just checking. ‘Okay, sunshine. Whatever. But skip the shopping list, right?’

Bathyllus sniffed. Great! I hadn’t heard a real one of these for days! The little bugger was on the mend, right enough! ‘If you insist, sir. The lady had only recently been to the Octavian Porch so she suggested we visit Apollo’s temple on the Palatine. The Danaids and their husbands, sir. Sculpture rather than painting, of course, but she expressed a liking for art in the round. Fortunately the mistress’s booklet came up trumps and I was able to hold my own in a most stimulating conversation.’

‘Uh…stimulating?’

‘Yes, sir. Extremely so’

Jupiter on wheels, what had we unleashed? On both sides. And the Temple of Apollo, for the gods’ sakes! If you were to name just one venue in Rome that was favourite for sexual assignations, the Danaid Porch in Apollo’s temple would be the lad. Maybe it was that long line of scantily-clothed female and unclothed male figures that did it – forty-nine of them, if the artist had followed the myth; I’d never counted myself – but the place acted on the male-female libidos like a barrel of oysters and a bushel of asparagus. Which raised interesting questions about Tyndaris’s own motives. If she’d been the driving force, as it were, then Bathyllus was home and dry; any female who took a male companion round the Danaid Porch was sending a message so clear you could read it in the dark with your fingertips. ‘You care to go into details, pal?’