David Wishart - No Cause for Concern

My brain was whirling. ‘That was pretty fast work,’ I said. ‘The word didn’t go out that Astrapton had done a runner until three days ago. So how did your brother know where he’d gone?’

‘He’s one of the clerks, sir. They got on together, him and Astrapton. They shared the same interests.’ She glanced up at me quickly under lowered lashes. ‘Girls. That sort of thing. You know? About a month ago, Astrapton mentioned one he’d found one in the Subura who worked as a dancer in a club called Cupid’s Bow.’

‘You have a name, maybe? For the girl, I mean.’

‘Lysidice. At least, I think that was it. He’d set her up in a flat of her own, in the tenement next door. Astrapton could afford that. He always had plenty of money.’

‘Okay. Go on.’

‘Alexander’s clever, sir. When Astrapton disappeared, he -’

‘Put two and two together. Right.’ Gods! ‘And he told Satrius all this, yes?’

‘As soon as he knew Astrapton was missing.’

Three days ago. Sure, it fitted: with a definite address in his pocket, Laughing George could’ve gone straight to the poor bastard and zeroed him before he had time to unpack. The only question – and it was the biggie – was why?

Unless he was working for Paetinius Senior, of course. And that opened a whole new can of worms.

Mind you, if that was the case then the guy was running a hell of a risk. If Eutacticus found out – which, now, he would, because I’d tell him myself assuming the girl’s story checked out; I couldn’t risk not doing it – then Satrius was crows’-meat. ‘Can I talk to your brother directly?’

She looked frightened. ‘ No! Please! ’

‘Why not?’

‘He saw me leaving the house. Satrius, I mean. This morning.’

‘So?’

‘He knows that Alexander knows. He knows he’s my brother. If he suspected anything, if he followed me, then -!’ Forget frightened; the kid was terrified. ‘Sir, I wouldn’t’ve come at all if the mistress hadn’t sent me! She made me come! Please! ’

I stood up. ‘Look,’ I said. ‘Your brother’s in no danger, right? Satrius isn’t a fool. If he hasn’t tried anything yet – which he hasn’t – then he wouldn’t dare do it now, not with me and your mistress both knowing the story. If the guy came to any harm as far as he’s concerned it’d only put the lid on things.’ Shit; Perilla’d be a lot better at this than I would. Reassurance wasn’t my bag. Where was the lady when I needed her? ‘Okay. Compromise. You get back. If Satrius should ask you where you’ve been, or even if he has followed you and knows you came here, you tell him that your mistress sent you to ask me whether I have any more news. The answer was no. Tell Sempronia from me she’ll have to confirm that if need be. You got that?’

She nodded dumbly.

‘Good. I’ll drop by later today and -’

‘No! ’

‘Cleia, listen. It’s no big deal. I’ve been to the house twice before, and I was meaning to come round today in any case. Talk it over with Sempronia and your brother. If he does decide to see me personally -’ She shivered and clutched herself. ‘ If he does, then we can work something out. In that case there’ll be no risk, none, I guarantee it. Now off you go. And thank you.’

She left, and I sat back down on the couch to think.

Okay. It made some kind of sense, and it fitted in with the theory so far. Where Astrapton’s death was concerned, it cleared up the problem of timing: Eutacticus’s organisation might’ve been efficient, but a scant two days between the guy walking out of the gate and being traced to a Suburan flat was pretty good going. I should’ve wondered about that at the time. Oh, sure, the theory held good where the actual murder was concerned: if Astrapton was working for Paetinius, which he was by the guy’s own admission, then it was well within the bounds of credibility that Paetinius would know where to find him, and if he was killed on Paetinius’s orders that part of things was cut and dried. But Eutacticus’s team was another matter. Without any firm leads to go on – and if there had been I’d never known what they were – it should’ve taken a lot longer than it did. The Subura’s a big place, and Rome itself’s a hell of a lot bigger.

It fitted in with the circumstances of young Luscius’s death, too. Pace what I’d said to Perilla, I’d never been quite happy with the explanation there: from what I’d seen of them both, neither of our two theoretical murderers quite came up to scratch: I didn’t know how the slave Lynchus weighed in, but Titus Luscius’s friend Bellarius had said the guy was no pushover where fighting went. You’d have to factor in the element of surprise, sure, and that might well be crucial, but neither Astrapton nor Paetinius were expert killers. Satrius was, in spades; if need be, I’d bet that he could’ve taken both Luscius and his slave easily. And if both he and Astrapton were working for the same boss then it was a partnership made in heaven. Or wherever.

It explained other things, too: Satrius’s reluctance, when we found Astrapton’s body, to let me talk to his girlfriend’s neighbours, and the missing cash; Eutacticus himself had said that it’d be second nature to any of his hit-men, or Paetinius’s, to liberate any pouches they found lying around.

Yeah. It added up. What precisely it added up to, I didn’t fully understand yet. But at least for once we were ahead of the game. So long as Satrius didn’t know he’d been rumbled. I just hoped, whatever assurances I’d given Cleia, that he didn’t.

Meanwhile, I’d got a name and a place: Lysidice, and the Cupid’s Bow club, next door to where we’d found the body. Even if I didn’t get to speak to Alexander, I could do a bit of independent checking. If it got me involved with the local Watch re Astrapton’s death, then tough: I’d just have to get Lippillus to put in a good word for me with his opposite number in the Fourth District. And if Eutacticus had any complaints he could go and screw himself.

Luckily Agron had arranged to see a man about a big cart-building contract that morning, and Cass had gone off with Perilla on one of their usual shop-until-you-drop binges where male company is positively discouraged, so I was free of the usual host obligations for the present. I walked over to the Subura and found the street where Satrius had taken me three days before. Sure enough, next to the tenement Astrapton had died in was a two-storey building with a plaque set into the wall beside the door showing Cupid taking aim at a lady wearing a smirk and not much else. At that range, and given the breadth of the target, the kid couldn’t miss. The door was locked, which was par for the course at this time of day. I knocked and kept on knocking until the grille opened.

‘Piss off,’ the guy behind it said. ‘We’re closed until sunset.’

The reaction wasn’t exactly unexpected. I didn’t have Laughing George with me this time, but I did have the magic words.

‘You want me to go back and tell Sempronius Eutacticus that?’ I said.

The door was opened with alacrity.

‘I’m sorry, sir,’ the slave said. ‘What can I do for you?’

‘The boss in?’

‘Yes, sir. Just go straight through.’

I did, into the main room of the club itself. Forget the Fleece; Cupid’s Bow was pretty basic, with nothing but a low stage, a bar area, some third-class murals on the wall that looked like they’d been painted by a particularly dirty-minded but talentless child of six, and a few unmatched tables and chairs that any self-respecting auction room in Rome would’ve sold off for scrap. This was the Subura, after all, and what the local punters were interested in was naked flesh and booze at rock-bottom prices, not flashy decor.