David Wishart - No Cause for Concern

‘Yeah. There was no purse with the body, and no cash in the guy’s pack. Just like your stepson.’

‘Maybe he didn’t have time to get any money together before he left.’

‘He’d time to go to his room and pick up a spare tunic and fresh underwear. Not to mention the pack itself. And he didn’t strike me as the sort of guy who wouldn’t keep a silver piece or two stashed away for emergencies. Also, what about his office? He have any cash there?’

‘Of course he did. That was part of his job, taking care of minor payments. There was a safe built into the desk, with a float of a couple of hundred kept in it, and apart from me he had the only key. He could’ve taken that easy.’ Eutacticus was scowling. ‘Hell! You’re right, it has to be murder.’

‘So who knew? Where he was, I mean?’

‘From my side, whoever traced him, obviously. I’ll find that out. But I’m telling you now, Corvinus; none of my lads would’ve killed him. They knew I wanted him alive. And they wouldn’t’ve put off reporting his whereabouts or spreading it around, either, so there’s no danger of a leak. When was it done, do you know?’

‘Uh-uh. Some time during the morning, obviously, after the girlfriend had left. If your two tame gorillas had been less eager to get back here and bring me with them I might’ve been able to find something out from the neighbours. I still might, if I try again later.’

‘Then you be careful, because the last thing I want is the Watch muscling in on this. As far as they’re concerned – as far as anyone’s concerned – this was a straightforward suicide, right?’

Oh, bugger. ‘Ah…that might be a bit of a moot issue,’ I said.

‘How so?’

‘I, uh, disturbed the scene of the crime a bit.’

‘You did what?’

I told him about the mattress. ‘I needed to be sure he hadn’t squirrelled the cash away somewhere in the room, and the bed was the obvious place.’

‘Fuck!’ He shook his head. ‘Well, it’s done, and you’d no choice. I’ll see what I can do to smooth things over. The girl was nothing special, by all accounts, she can be bought. But you stay clear, Corvinus, and hope nothing comes of it. You hear me?’

Yeah. Well, I supposed that was fair enough, under the circumstances; we’d just have to explore other avenues. I didn’t regret it, though; like I’d said, we had to know for sure. ‘At least it looks like the accomplice theory is working out,’ I said. ‘If Astrapton was murdered, which he was, and it wasn’t your boys who killed him then it must’ve been someone on his side of the fence.’

‘The Paetinii?’

‘Sure. It’s a viable hypothesis, anyway, if there was a connection. And making sure he wasn’t around to talk would make sense. The only thing that’s bugging me is why they would take the money. That wasn’t smart, particularly because like I say it points the finger directly at murder where it could conceivably have been suicide.’

‘No mystery there. Paetinius is like me, he wouldn’t get his own hands dirty, or his son’s; he’s got people like my Satrius to do his killing for him, and smart is one thing these guys aren’t. Not that kind of smart, anyway. Unless they were given strict instructions not to touch it they’d see a purseful of silver pieces as a bonus.’

Yeah, well, given Perilla’s theory held good – and I didn’t have a better one at present – me, I wasn’t so sure the Paetinii weren’t involved in person, particularly the son, who hadn’t struck me as all that gifted in the forward thinking department: from their point of view, the fewer people who knew of the connection with Astrapton the better. Still, we were on Eutacticus’s home ground here; where engineering killings went, he was the expert.

‘Right,’ I said. ‘So the next step is to -’

There was a knock on the door and a little dapper guy came in clutching an armful of writing tablets. I recognised him as the clerk from the office next to Astrapton’s who’d told Sempronia and me that Astrapton was in a meeting with the boss.

‘Yes, Lucius, what is it?’ Eutacticus said.

‘We’ve found some definite anomalies, sir.’ The guy laid the tablets on the desk. ‘Quite a few of them, I’m afraid. The total here comes to something just under two million.’

Eutacticus stared at him. ‘Two fucking million? ’

‘Spread over the past eighteen months. And we haven’t finished checking yet. There may be a good deal more. He was clever, sir. Double entries, false payments that don’t work out, inflated outgoings, that sort of thing. A steady, constant drain. But you’d never know unless you looked. I mean, really looked.’

‘Shit!’ Eutacticus’s fist hit the desk, dislodging the pile. Writing tablets slid to the floor. ‘So where’s the money?’

‘I don’t know, sir. There’d be far too much to hide, even in gold, and we’ve had his office and his room torn apart. Literally, sir, floorboards, ceiling panels, everything. There’s nothing, nothing at all.’

‘I want it fucking found!’

‘We’re trying, sir. We think he must’ve set up some sort of transfer arrangement. A private account with a banker, probably using another name -’

‘The hell with that! We’re talking millions here! There isn’t an honest banker in the city who wouldn’t know there was something screwy about a freedman with no identifiable business connections making regular deposits on that scale, and start asking questions. And any dishonest one who knew what he’d be getting into wouldn’t touch the bastard with a bargepole, because he’d also know that when I found out – which I would, eventually – I’d be down on him like a ton of fucking bricks.’

‘There is one thing, sir.’ The guy reached down nervously and picked up one of the fallen tablets. ‘It’s a very recent entry, made only yesterday, in fact. On the face of it, it’s quite innocuous, but…well, judge for yourself.’ He opened the tablet and handed it over. ‘The one on the fifth line.’

Eutacticus took the tablet and scanned the entries.

‘“ One crate marble statues to Larus”,’ he said. ‘So?’

‘We’ve looked, sir. We can find no record of a corresponding order from anyone by that name. As a customer, he just doesn’t exist. The point is, there are entries for single crates going to the same person at roughly two-monthly intervals over the past eight months. That’s four in all, including the latest one. Not always statues, sir, but always a crate. And none of the entries tie in with any order received. As I say, it could be nothing, but -’

‘So who is this Larus?’

‘We don’t know, sir. At least, like I said, he’s not in our records as a customer. But I did ask a friend in the…in one of your other departments, the one concerned with the more, ah, clandestine side of the business.’ He glanced sideways at me, but I was playing selectively blind and deaf.

‘And?’ Eutacticus said.

‘There is a small-time operator by that name. Publius Publilius. Larus is his nickname, “Seagull”. I can give you his address, if you want it.’

‘You’ve done well, Lucius.’ Eutacticus turned to me. ‘What d’you think, Corvinus? Worth checking?’

‘Sure,’ I said. ‘Lucius, where can I find this guy?’

‘He has a bric-a-brac shop south of the Circus, sir. Near the Temple of Aesculapius.’

‘Fine.’ I got up. ‘Right, I can see you two have matters of business to discuss. I’ll get in touch, Eutacticus, if I’ve any news.’

‘You don’t want Satrius or one of the lads to go with you?’

‘No. Not this time. And me, I’d keep this quiet for the time being. We’ve already lost one lead. If this Publilius is involved then we don’t want him to go the same way if we can avoid it.’