David Wishart - Last Rites

‘That is a problem, I grant you.’ The lady had on her prim expression. ‘However, we’ll leave it for the present. Very well. Cornelia goes out and Lepidus follows. She could, of course, still be unaware of his presence in the house but there is a possibility that by this stage she knows he’s there. In any event, they meet and talk. Lepidus leaves by the back door and Cornelia is murdered.’

I shifted on the couch. ‘No. that wouldn’t work. She would’ve bolted the door behind him. Unless -’ I stopped.

‘Unless?’

‘Unless they didn’t talk. Because Cornelia was already dead when Lepidus got to her.’

‘Hmm.’ Perilla looked thoughtful. ‘Would the murderer have had enough time?’

‘I don’t know. The two were seen leaving the room by different people. There could’ve been a gap, sure. But timing wouldn’t’ve been an issue. Remember, whoever the murderer was they wouldn’t know Lepidus was on his way.’ I took a swallow of wine. ‘Or rather I’m assuming they wouldn’t. Still, the theory would fit the facts. Also why Lepidus didn’t catch on right away when I said I was looking into the girl’s death. As far as he was concerned, there wouldn’t’ve been any murder; Cornelia had committed suicide. It’d explain his reaction when I accused him of being responsible for her death, too.’

‘What?’

‘Look at it from his side. Jupiter knows what the secret was that they shared, but it was obviously major league, and one gets you ten it was the reason why Lepidus gatecrashed the party. Maybe there’d been some last-minute development, something that couldn’t wait and he had to talk to her straight away. Only the murderer got in first. Sure the guy would feel responsible; he’d saddled her with the problem in the first place. And -’

‘Marcus, dear, you can’t have it both ways. You’ve just said that Lepidus thought Cornelia had committed suicide. Now you’re telling me he knew murder was a possibility.’

I sighed and rubbed my eyes again. ‘Look, I don’t know what I’m telling you, okay? This is all off-the-top-of-the-head stuff, and it may be a mare’s-nest anyway.’

‘There’s another thing.’

‘Yeah?’

‘We’re back to the problem of the murderer. If it wasn’t Lepidus – the “flutegirl” – then who was it?’

‘Someone in the house, obviously, who was at the party and -’ I stopped as the implication hit me. ‘Oh, Jupiter!’

‘Jupiter is right. One man in disguise at the ceremony is enough. If Lepidus wasn’t the killer then it must have been a woman after all.’

Someone coughed. I turned round. Bathyllus had oiled in on my blind side.

‘Yeah, little guy,’ I said. ‘What is it?’

‘The clock repairers are here, sir.’

Bugger; I’d forgotten about the clock. In the midst of life we are in domestic crisis.

‘Oh, good.’ Perilla got up. ‘Send them in, Bathyllus.’

‘Them’ was right, just: the smoothie foreman and Zosimus the Water-Carrier. Evidently call-out after installation didn’t rate the full five-star treatment.

‘Good morning, madam.’ The foreman ignored me and beamed at Perilla. ‘What seems to be the trouble?’

‘Your fancy clock decided to restructure the calendar and bypass half of yesterday,’ I said.

The smile wavered and I detected the slight gritting of professional teeth. He turned to me slowly. ‘That’s most unlikely, sir,’ he said. ‘Spontaneously, I mean.’

Uh-huh. This guy was beginning to annoy me. ‘Are you calling me a liar, friend?’

‘ Marcus! ’ That was Perilla.

‘Not at all, sir.’ Beam. ‘All I’m saying is that there are built-in safeguards to the mechanism which are normally idiot-proof, although of course they may be overridden should the id…’ – he coughed – ‘ah, should the owner be misguided enough to choose so to do. Sir.’

Hell. I didn’t need this; none of it. ‘Just fix the clock, pal, okay?’ I said.

‘Certainly. Zosimus?’ The other guy hefted the huge bag of tools he was carrying and followed him over to the clepsydra. ‘Ah. I see. As I thought. Tchtchtch. Well, sir, I would say the problem was obvious.’ He picked up the broken duck which I’d left on the pedestal. ‘Naturally you can’t expect a sensitive instrument like this to function if you go breaking bits off it. Aha-ha-ha.’

‘It wasn’t fucking functioning in the first place, sunshine! And if the fucking duck had been properly -’

‘Marcus, let me handle this, please.’ Perilla gave the man a brilliant smile. ‘What my husband means is that the malfunction preceded the damage to the valve and was quite unconnected to it. The clock certainly seemed to be going faster than it ought to have done. Considerably faster.’

‘Mmm. How fast is fast, madam?’

Perilla told him while I glowered.

‘Strange. Most unusual. It definitely sounds like a hardware problem.’

‘“Hardware”?’ Perilla said.

‘Forgive me, madam. A professional term. I meant a problem with the component parts of the machine as opposed to the hydraulics per se. Machine parts, being metal, are hard while water is – ah -

‘Soft,’ I said. ‘Yeah. Got you.’ Hell! Engineers!

‘Quite, sir.’ He bent down to examine the valve. ‘Zosimus, the Number Four probe, please.’

The hairy member of the team furkled around in his bag and brought out a small bronze instrument with a sickle-shaped end. His boss inserted it into the gap the duck had left and rotated it gently, then grunted.

‘There’s your trouble, madam,’ he said. ‘They’ve fitted an ASD valve instead of an Anaximandrian one.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes. Can you believe that? Bloody Greek cowboys, eh, Zosimus? Forgive my language.’

‘And that makes a difference, does it?’

The guy exchanged a quick look with Zosimus which involved two sets of raised eyes, a shrug and a quivering mouth.

‘Oh, yes, madam. Quite definitely. Aha-ha-ha. I’m not – aha-ha-ha – surprised you had problems. Wouldn’t you agree, Zosimus?’

‘Bound to, ma’am. An ASD valve in a clock like this is just asking for trouble.’

‘Oh-ha-ha-ha!’

‘Hoo-hoo-hoo!’

Jupiter! Whatever the joke was, it was a good one; they were both practically rolling. I gave them time for another few thigh-slaps then said. ‘Uh… you care to compose yourself and explain, pal?’

‘Of course, sir. I’m – oh-ha-ha-ha – I’m sorry. My sincere apologies.’ The foreman cleared his throat, wiped his eyes and straightened his face. Zosimus was still sniggering. ‘It’s quite straightforward. Your Athenian standard-day valve – ASD, that is, sir – is geared to the older six-hour day/night cycle instead of the Anaximandrian twelve. Accordingly it has a different thread ratio and input-output torque, so is not compatible with this machine, which was designed for the Roman market. Throws the whole delicate system out of kilter. Like one bit of the clock’s talking Greek while the rest speaks Latin. You understand?’

‘So all you have to do is change the valve?’ Perilla smiled. ‘Well, that is splendid!’

‘Er… I’m afraid it’s not that simple, madam.’

Snigger from Zosimus.

‘Ah.’

‘We’re talking cutting-edge technology here. The valve will have to be made specially. Normally that would not present a problem, but unfortunately our horological engineer is indisposed at present and won’t be back at work until after the Winter Festival.’

‘Oh.’

‘A poke in the eye with a breadstick at a niece’s fifth birthday party, I understand.’

‘I see.’

‘However I can do a patch job for the time being.’ He held out his hand. ‘Zosimus, the pliers.’