David Wishart - Old Bones

'Yeah.' I swallowed; the guy was serious, deadly serious. But then I had the impression that Arruns was that sort of person. 'I understand.'

'Good. That's all I wanted to say.' He opened the coach door. Lysias pulled up. 'Thanks for the lift, but I think I'll walk after all.' He paused. 'Oh. One more thing. You might like to have a word with a man called Marcus Veluscius. You'll find him in Three Heroes Street near the Bronzeworkers' Guildhouse.'

'Yeah? And why would I want to do that?' I said; but he was already out and striding up the road like a thirty-year-old. He didn't look up as we passed, either.

I settled back to think.

So. It looked like turning out to be another busy morning. I'd got Aulus Bubo to see, then Gaius Aternius. Now for reasons of his own Arruns had added this guy Veluscius to the list.

The agreement with Perilla had been that I'd take the coach in, not ride around in it when I arrived or use it for the return trip, so I got Lysias to drop me in the main square and then sent him back to Vetuliscum. Hair-splitting, yeah, and on the shady side of sneaky, but I really hate using these things any more than I have to, and the lady knew it. Besides, the threat of rain had gone and it was too good a day not to walk.

With the help of a friendly local fruit seller I found Lampmakers' Street no bother: a long straight alley running north-west from the centre towards the walls. I'd gone about fifty yards down it when I met a funeral procession coming in the opposite direction. There ain't no way to beat one of these things. I squeezed as far as I could against the blank house-wall that edged the pavement and waited for it to pass.

Whoever was being burned may not have been from one of the top families -I couldn't see any magistrates' mantles among the fake ancestors escorting the stretcher – but they hadn't been short of a gold piece or two: there were a good half-dozen double flutes wailing away and the same number of bugles, and the masked professional mourners playing the ancestors weren't the half-drunk specimens you sometimes get if you try to cheese-pare. The dead guy himself was wrapped in a good quality mantle, and although for some reason the face was covered I caught the glint of gold on his arms. The surprise was the strength of the burial party: I'd've expected a real crowd at a top-notch funeral like this, but besides the widow – at least I assumed it was the widow, a big woman in a pricey mantle with a hatchet of a nose I could see even through her veil – there were only a handful of tough-looking guys who looked as out of place as nightclub bouncers in a ballet class.

I stayed respectfully still until the tail-enders had passed me and then carried on down the street. Another fifty yards on, the houses gave way to shops, mostly belonging to the lampmakers who gave the street its name. One of these, next to a place with the shutters up and the padlock on, had a guy lounging outside it, obviously the owner touting for trade. I went up to him.

'Excuse me,' I said. 'I'm looking for an Aulus Bubo.'

The guy gave me a strange look. 'Yeah?' he said.

Jupiter! All the tradesmen in Caere to choose from and I had to strike lucky! 'I was told he had a shop around here.'

'You were told right.' The man nodded at the shuttered counter. 'That's Bubo's. But you've just missed him.'

'Is that so, now? You think he'll be back soon?'

'It isn't likely.'

I kept hold of my temper. 'Then you think you could possibly tell me where I can find him, friend?'

The man grinned. 'You could try the cemetery on the other side of town. After that it's anyone's guess.'

Oh, shit; the penny dropped. I turned round to look at the retreating funeral, then back to Smiler. 'You mean that was him? He's dead?'

'Well, if he isn't he's due for a hell of a shock in an hour or so.' The grin widened. 'It'd serve the bastard right, too. Give him a taste of what's to come.'

Jupiter on a tightrope! What had happened to Of the dead, nothing but good ? I wasn't particularly superstitious, but I shivered and made the sign.

Smiler chuckled. 'Don't bother, Roman,' he said. 'Any god that's listening would agree. Bubo was a crook. He only got what he deserved.'

'Yeah?' I said. 'And what was that?'

'Some enterprising bugger dropped by a couple of nights back and flattened his head with a hammer.'

I stared at him, my jaw slack.

Oh, fuck.

'He was murdered?'

'Unless he managed to beat his own brains in and hide the weapon afterwards, sure.' Smiler was clearly enjoying himself. Either he was a complete bastard himself or Bubo had been a neighbour from hell. Probably both.

Gods! This I hadn't expected, and it was a real bummer. 'You care to tell me what happened exactly?' I said.

The man shrugged. 'I work normal hours, friend, and I wasn't here. All I know is that the shop was open when I turned up the next morning, which it shouldn't've been because Bubo didn't usually roll in until midday. Half way through the afternoon he had a customer and the guy came straight out gagging.'

'You didn't think to check earlier?'

'Why should I?'

Yeah, that added up: conscientious fellow-tradesman ever ready to keep a watchful eye on his neighbour's affairs this bugger wasn't. 'It might've saved you some embarrassing questions, pal. Like what was to stop you having slipped in sometime over the previous few hours and croaked the guy yourself.'

Instead of answering, Smiler stuck his head round the doorway of his shop and shouted: 'Roach!'

A thin kid with acne and a wall eye came out.

'Yeah, boss?' he said.

'Where was I two days ago, the morning after Bubo was killed?'

'Here, boss.'

'All the time?'

'Sure. We was stocktaking. Then the priest from the Temple of Hercules came in with the bulk order, and that woman who runs the brothel on Turms Street -'

'Right. That's fine.' The kid disappeared back into whatever limbo he had his existence in and Smiler turned back to me. 'Even if I didn't have Roach to alibi me there were plenty of other people around that time. The shop door wouldn't've been out of observation for two clear minutes after sunup. Besides, I'm secretary of the Guild and I've a reputation to lose. I wouldn't murder anyone if you paid me, not even Herminius Bubo.'

I sighed. 'Okay, pal. Forget the implied slur on your honesty. Now. What kind of business was Bubo in?' Some shops have signs above the door; Bubo's didn't. The dead man evidently believed in keeping a low profile.

'You name it, he did it.' Smiler grinned. 'I'm talking shady, you understand. But if you want to go by what he put on his citizen's papers you could call him a second hand goods dealer.'

I nodded; yeah, that would cover a multitude of sins, all right. Like 'import-export agent’ or ‘entertainer’. A fence, in other words. ‘And what particular brand of second-hand goods did he specialise in?’

‘Jewellery. Old statues. Silver tableware. That sort of thing.’

No surprises there either. Anything that was worth nicking and selling on, in other words. He must’ve been doing well, though, to judge by his funeral. ‘Wa anything missing from the shop?’

‘There certainly was,’ Smiler said smugly. ‘According to the militia the place was stripped. His wife had the shutters put up, but that was only for form. There's nothing left in there worth stealing.'

'His wife. That'd be the lady I saw in the procession with the nose like the business end of a warship.'

'That's right.'

'And where would I find her, when all this is over?'

For the first time the guy began to look suspicious. Me, I'd've smelled a rat long before this point, but he'd been so busy crowing and generally playing the smartass that he clearly hadn't wondered what the fancy Roman bastard's business with the dead man was. Now you could see the idea dawn.