David Wishart - Old Bones

This could be tricky. Having been away from the political scene for so long – and I'd never been part of it in any case – I wasn't sure how things were going to go. If I was lucky, I'd find that the relevant praetorian official was one of my old cronies. That, at least, was a distinct possibility: most of them would be in pretty senior positions by now, and they were the guys I needed, especially if they had a pedigree you could measure by the yard. Prominent Italian provincial families like the Cominii might still not have the clout of the Junii Silani or the Aemilii Lepidi, but things in the social world were changing fast and you couldn't be sure any more who was related to who. And unless your bastard was a bigger bastard with better connections than the bastard you were trying to nail you might as well go home and grow radishes.

That's how the world works. You can knock it, sure, but you can't change it. Not even Augustus could do that.

I found the praetor's office and waited for the guy on the desk to finish picking his nose and ask what I wanted.

'Caere?' he said. 'That's part of the Latium district. The rep's office is third corridor, second on your left.'

'Who is the rep, pal?' I said. 'You know?'

'Search me. I only know the offices. These buggers come and go like punters in a cat-house.' And he went back to bursting his boils.

I made my way down the corridor, found the door and knocked.

'Come in.'

My heart sank. Shit. I knew that voice. Forget lucky; forget persuading the guy to mount an investigation, too. I might as well try whistling Pindar's Second Pythian through my left ear.

I pushed the door open.

'Hi, Crispus,' I said.

If anyone is ever nicked for pissing on my grave after I've gone it'll be Caelius Crispus. Not that it's my fault, I've got no particular down on the guy; it's just that whatever evil-minded god or goddess arranges these things has managed to bring me into contact with the oily little bastard more than either of us have liked, and it's invariably led to tears. His, mostly, but like I say that isn't my fault. Call it fate.

The clang of his jaw hitting the desk when he saw me had been almost audible. Now he was looking at me like I'd just taken my head off and waved it at him.

'Oh, gods,' he said. 'Marcus bloody Corvinus.'

I closed the door behind me, pulled up a chair, sat down, and grinned at him across the desk. 'How are you, Crispus?' I said.

No answer; he was still in shock. I tried another angle. 'This is a surprise. I thought you worked in the Treasury.'

A muscle beside his right eye twitched. He was still staring like if he did it long enough I'd fade into philosophical atoms.

'I moved,' he said.

'So I see.' I looked round. 'Nice office. I like your taste in dadoes.'

'You still married to that Perilla female?'

'Last time I looked.' I don't know what Crispus has against Perilla. Sure, she was largely responsible for getting him chucked out of the Happy Bachelors' Club when we gatecrashed their tutu evening on the Pincian, but you can only hold a grudge for so long. And she didn't mean it.

Well, not really.

Well…

'What the hell are you doing back in Rome?' The guy was slowly getting some of his bottle back. He looked a better colour, too. 'I thought you'd settled permanently in Athens.'

Good; we'd got past the social niceties stage and down to business. I gave him my best smile.

'Actually,' I said, 'that's why I'm here. We're holidaying with my mother and stepfather at a place called Vetuliscum. Near Caere.'

Crispus frowned. 'Vetuliscum? That rings a bell.'

'It should. We had a couple of murders there and you'll be trying the case in five days' time.' That was another total bummer; with Crispus on the bench and me defending Papatius had about as much chance of staying alive as a fly in a meat-grinder. Still, the effort had to be made. 'I thought you might be interested to know that the guy they nailed didn't do it.'

'Is that so?' He puffed up like a Calabrian doughnut. 'Don't you think that as the judge I'm the best person to decide that?'

Uh-huh. Same old Crispus, right in with both feet. Yeah, well, some openings are too tempting to ignore, however polite you're trying to be.

'You want a straight answer to that?' I said. 'And with or without the colourful language?'

'I'm the praetor's representative, dammit!' he snapped.

'Only because you've got something on him he wouldn't want made public when he runs for consul.'

It was a shot in the dark, sure, but I was fairly certain it would hit the target. Crispus and I went back a long way. He might be well on the sunny side of respectable these days, but I'd bet his modus operandi hadn't changed since I'd saved his balls for him – literally – ten years before. Crispus lived and thrived by knowing things about important people, things that in most cases if they came out would get the buggers the Rock, or at least make animal lovers everywhere seriously displeased. From Treasury clerk – disgraced Treasury clerk, thanks to me – to praetor's rep for a whole district was quite a hike, but a praetor makes his own appointments. Whatever seedy hold the guy had over his boss it must've been a beaut.

Hit the target it did. Crispus went white, and then puce. He opened his mouth to say something but no sound came out. I smiled at him and waited.

'All right,' he said. 'Who do you think did it?'

'A guy called Aternius.'

'That name's familiar as well.'

'He's the investigating officer.'

There was a long silence.

'He is what? ' Crispus's eyes were bulging. If he'd been an older man I'd've thought he was having an apoplectic seizure.

'The investigating officer. The bastard in charge of the case. His uncle's the Caeretan mayor. One gets you ten he's mixed up in it too.'

There was another long silence. Only this one was longer than the first, and you could've used it for pickling walnuts. When it had finished, Crispus said quietly: 'Get the fuck out of my office. And don't come back until hell freezes over, if then. You understand?'

I sighed. Ah, well. It had been a thought. But I'd known as soon as I walked in the door I was onto a loser. I stood up.

'Right,' I said. 'Thanks, pal. I'll see you around.'

'Not if I see you first.'

I was on my way out when he said: 'Corvinus! Wait a minute!'

I turned. 'Yeah?'

'What makes you think this Aternius is responsible?'

'He and his uncle are involved in a property scam. Then there's the possibility that-' I stopped. Maybe it was the gleam in his eye that warned me, but I suddenly decided baring my soul to the praetor's rep wasn't such a hot idea after all. Not if the rep was Caelius Crispus. 'Never mind. Thanks for your time.'

'Don't mention it. Just go away and don't come back.' He was already shuffling memo tablets like a good administrator should. 'And tell that bitch of a wife of yours to keep her distance.'

I left him to his dadoes.

It wasn't quite noon when I came down the Capitol steps and pushed my way through the Market Place crowds. An hour before I was due to meet Lippillus. Hardly worth going anywhere: I'd've liked a stroll through the Subura, but I'd no sooner have got there than I'd've had to come back. Also my stomach was rumbling. I took a right down Tuscan and headed for the cookshop.

It was busy already, and most of the tables were full: a good sign, because cookshops where you're liable to end up with gut-rot half an hour after you've eaten tend to be pretty empty, even if they are in the city centre. That's if they manage to hang onto their licences at all: a couple of stonemasons or a pig-herder knocked off their perches by a stew that glows in the dark might slip by unremarked in the wilds of the Thirteenth District, but when you've got punters from the Public Health and Sanitation Department up the hill among your customers that kind of thing gets noticed. I parked myself at a table by the door and followed Lippillus's advice by ordering up a jug of Setinian, plus a plate of cheese and olives to keep me going until it was time for the tripe.