David Wishart - Trade Secrets

He grinned. ‘Agron thought you’d need a babysitter after all,’ he said.

‘Just as well.’ I held the wound closed against my tunic. Bathyllus was going to have a fit: bloodstains were hell to get out, and the tunic was practically new. Not to mention Perilla, when she saw it. The lady gets quite upset when I’m beaten up or similar during a case. ‘My mistake.’

Maybe I hadn’t been as disingenuous with Fundanius as I thought I’d been. Unless, of course, he was one of Mamilia’s boys. I looked down at him.

The hood had slipped back early in the struggle. He wasn’t Fundanius’s, or Mamilia’s, as far as I knew, or not as such, anyway. He was Sextus Nigrinus. Had been, rather: from the looks of the damage to his head, and the way he was lying, he was definitely an ex.

Fuck.

The big guy didn’t look too concerned. He lifted what was left of Nigrinus, hefted him across his shoulder, carried him into the bushes at the side of the road, and dumped him.

‘You should be OK now,’ he said. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll bring a cart along after dark and get rid of him properly.’

‘Right. Right.’ I was feeling just a tad light-headed. Well, this was Ostia. Maybe they did things a bit different here from in Rome.

‘Who was he? Do you know?’

‘Yeah. A guy by the name of Sextus Nigrinus. We’ve crossed paths before.’

He grunted. ‘Fine. I’ll be getting back. Have a nice day.’

And he started off up the road towards town.

Fair enough. There wasn’t any point in hanging around here with only an embarrassingly dead body in the bushes for company. I took a quick glance around to check that our little fracas hadn’t been observed – no one in the offing apart from a very phlegmatic goat who’d obviously decided to take a constitutional of its own and was watching me with its jaws going – and carried on towards the villa.

Perilla was sitting on the terrace with a book unrolled in her lap. She looked up when I came over.

‘Marcus! You’re back very early,’ she said.

‘Yeah, I-’

‘What’ve you done to your hand?’

‘Ah. Right. Well, it was like this-’

She set the book down, stood up, took hold of my wrist, and turned the hand over. The cut had stopped bleeding, sure, but it was still pretty noticeable, and the part of the tunic I’d been holding it against wasn’t looking too healthy, either.

‘Oh, Marcus !’

‘Just a slight brush on the way back with Sextus Nigrinus, lady. Nothing to be concerned about.’

‘Damn that. What happened?’

I told her.

‘And Nigrinus?’

‘Uh … he didn’t make it. Agron’s pal left his body in the bushes. He said he’d clear up later.’

‘He said what ? Marcus, a man has been killed. You have to report it.’

‘He started it. And the other guy just punched him. The rest was pure accident.’ The lady didn’t look convinced. ‘Come on, Perilla! It could’ve been me lying in those bushes.’

‘Yes, I know. Do you think that makes it any better?’

‘Yeah, I’d say so. From where I’m standing, anyhow.’

She turned aside, and sat down again.

‘One of these days, dear,’ she said quietly, ‘it will be you lying in the bushes. You understand that, don’t you?’ I didn’t answer. ‘Very well. There’s no point in talking to you, is there? I don’t think it needs stitching. Just go inside, get cleaned up, and have Bathyllus bathe it in vinegar and put a bandage on.’

I did. When I came back out again she was a bit more like herself. She hadn’t picked up the book, though.

‘So,’ she said. ‘Sextus Nigrinus.’

‘Yeah, well, he was persistent, anyway.’ I sat down and took a mouthful from the full wine-cup that Bathyllus had poured for me after doing his patch-up job. ‘And it’s a reminder. If I needed one, which I didn’t.’

‘A reminder of what?’

‘That the key to all this – to Tullius’s murder, at least – is Nigrinus’s brother’s ship. The Porpoise . Oh, it’s obvious there’s some sort of trading scam involved, no mystery there; the details don’t particularly matter, and I’m no expert where these things go, but it’s pretty clear that the Nigrini brothers were in it with Correllius: they provided the ship, he provided the merchandise, and whatever the set-up was or is it was important enough for Sextus to be seriously interested in taking out anyone who shows unwelcome curiosity.’

‘You think he could have been the original killer? Tullius’s, I mean?’

‘He fits the maid’s description as well as Doccius does. And we don’t know the full circumstances of what happened that day at the quay, when Tullius was almost beaned by the falling amphoras.’

‘Marcus, you do realize that, as things stand, none of this makes any kind of sense, don’t you?’

‘How so?’

‘First of all, you can’t have it both ways: either the accident on the quayside was a deliberate attempt to kill Tullius or it was just that, an accident. If it was the former, then there must have been a prior reason. Can you think of one?’

I shook my head. ‘Uh-uh. Not offhand, certainly. But then I don’t have to.’

She looked at me in surprise. ‘Why not?’

‘Because I think it was just an accident, pure and simple. Oh, sure, if it’d been someone at the Rome end of things who killed him – his partner Poetelius, or his wife, or her brother, individually or in any combination you like – then the earlier shot would square: any of the three of them could’ve known he’d be on that particular quayside that particular morning, and they’d’ve had plenty of time to set the thing up, no problem. If – and it’s a major point, because it’s a big “if” – they could find a suitably venal crane operator. Which I’ll grant you they might’ve done, because Agron hasn’t traced our elusive Siddius yet. Only it looks like the reason Tullius died is connected with whatever scam the two Nigrini and Correllius were involved in, and we’re looking for a killer at the Ostian end. Tullius had no interest in the Porpoise at the time; it just happened to be berthed at the same quay as the boat he’d arranged his own shipment for. Pure fluke. My bet is that, as a result of the accident, Tullius suspected that something screwy was going on and decided there was money to be made.’

‘Blackmail, you mean?’ Perilla was twisting a lock of her hair.

‘Yeah. Or something like it. Again, the details aren’t important, but I think that’s a fair assumption. Remember what Annia said: when he told her about the accident and she responded that he might’ve been killed, Tullius laughed the thing off and said he’d just been lucky. Strange thing to say, right? Particularly the way she told it. The guy sounded actually pleased about what had happened.’

‘Hmm. Yes.’ She was looking thoughtful. ‘Yes, it is strange, at that.’

‘OK. So the theory is that after the accident Tullius made enquiries and put the bite on. Or he may even have put the bite on there and then, if Nigrinus Senior was on board. Whichever it was, it got him stiffed, PDQ; Agron’s right, these are not boys to fool around with.’

‘The actual killer being Nigrinus?’

‘Yeah; my money would be on him rather than Doccius, if only because he’s already shown form. And if so then Nigrinus would’ve been a natural for the phantom Pullius too, always assuming Correllius himself had never met the guy. Which is a distinct possibility if he’d run to type and left the piddling day-to-day admin details such as contracting hitmen to his subordinate.’ I took a smug mouthful of the wine. ‘So. What other aspect of the case are you having problems with, lady?’