In at the Death (Marcus Corvinus Book 11)

by David Wishart

  ‘What was his name again? Caepio, wasn’t it?’

  ‘That’s right. Lucceius Caepio.’

  ‘You happen to know the actual owner?’

  Atratinus frowned. ‘No. There I can’t help you, not off-hand, anyway. I could check up, if you like. It’ll be on record.’

  ‘No, that’s okay. I’ll be talking to Caepio shortly myself.’ Going through the motions. I took another gulp of Massic, but it didn’t help. ‘Uh...one last thing, pal. Did Papinius tell anyone he was visiting that particular tenement at that particular time?’

  I don’t know why I asked the question; maybe it was my suspicious nature, maybe it was because throwing yourself out of a tenement window wasn’t exactly the preferred method of suicide for someone with Papinius’s background. In any case, although I’d kept my voice neutral the kid was no fool. He glanced up quickly from his meatballs.

  ‘No one at the office, anyway,’ he said. ‘Or not unless he volunteered the information himself. That’s not how we work it.’

  ‘So how do you work it?’

  ‘We’ve each got our own list, and we take it how we want, when we want. Oh, sure, if Sextus was interviewing Caepio then he’d’ve arranged the meeting with him in advance. Naturally he would. But only he and Caepio would know.’

  ‘Unless Caepio himself told the owner.’

  ‘Yes. Yes, that’s true. But no one else would be involved.’

  I topped up both our cups. ‘What about the actual, uh, death. You know anything about that?’

  He swallowed: a sensitive soul, Marcus Atratinus, despite the haircut and the beard. ‘No. Nothing at all. Barring the broad details of where, when and how.’

  ‘Were you expecting it at all?’

  ‘No!’ That came out so short and sharp that I jumped. I noticed a few heads turn, and Placida shifted against my foot and growled. Atratinus smiled; or almost did. ‘I’m sorry, Corvinus,’ he said. ‘But no, I wasn’t expecting it. Why should I? I saw Sextus the morning of the day it happened. We talked about the party that evening, at Vettia Gemella’s - she’s my fiancée, it was her birthday. He was looking forward to it.’

  ‘Was he bringing Cluvia?’

  ‘No, actually, he wasn’t.’

  ‘Any reason?’

  ‘She wasn’t well. Or so he said.’

  Uh-huh. ‘So when did you find out? That he’d killed himself, I mean?’

  ‘The next day. It was all over the office.’ He looked at his hands. ‘I still can’t believe it.’

  ‘That he’s dead? Or that he killed himself?’

  He looked me straight in the eyes. ‘Both,’ he said.

  Yeah, well, I’d got a lot here to think about, but the kid had done okay and I couldn’t complain...

  Down at my feet there was a hssss, and a faint malodorous tendril of something that definitely wasn’t scent drifted up from floor-level. Oh, bugger. Speaking of complaints, I reckoned we were about due a whole roomful any second now. Time to be going; past time.

  I stood up. ‘Head for the door, pal. Quick as you can.’

  ‘What?’ Atratinus was staring. Placida’s contribution to the proceedings obviously hadn’t reached him yet, but heads at the table behind me had begun to turn. It was all a question, as it were, of the prevailing wind...

  ‘Trust me,’ I said, lugging Placida to her feet.

  A stool at my back shifted. Someone muttered: ‘Jupiter bloody hell!’

  I turned. ‘Ah...sorry, pal. It’s the dog.’ Well, at least I’d already paid the bill, and Atratinus could always come back in after we’d gone. If I hadn’t got the poor bastard barred for life, that was. Upmarket chichi places are pretty sensitive about these things.

  I dragged the offending brute towards the exit before she could reach second-strike mode.

  Once we were out in the open air I turned to Atratinus. ‘Thanks, pal. You’ve been very helpful.’

  ‘Don’t mention it.’ He was still looking fazed. ‘Any time.’

  I took a good grip on the leash in case of ballistic cats and...

  ‘Uh...Corvinus?’

  I looked back. ‘Yeah?’

  ‘We talked about Sextus’s gambling debts. He, uh, took out a loan from a money-lender to clear them. Quite a big one, I think. The man’s name was Vestorius, Publius Vestorius. He has an office in Julian Square.’

  I nodded; he hadn’t been going to tell me that - dealings with money-lenders were another definite no-go subject where lad-about-town solidarity was concerned - but he’d obviously thought better of it. A nice kid, Atratinus. Sextus Papinius had been lucky with one of his friends, anyway.

  ‘Thanks, pal,’ I said. ‘Much appreciated.’

  The rain that had been threatening all day - October’s always a very unsettled month - had started down in earnest. I threw the hood of my cloak over my head and let Placida pull me back along Iugarius towards Saturn’s temple. Julian Square’s just off Market Square itself, and I was going there in any case to lodge Natalis’s draft with my banker. I might as well drop in on this Vestorius now, and get it over with.

  Shit; a money-lender, eh? And ‘quite a big’ loan. That gave the affair a pretty ominous slant, as if it hadn’t already had one: you don’t put yourself in these guys’ hands, not if you’re a nineteen-year-old kid on a slim allowance, because the interest will be crippling, they collect on the nail every month or add what’s missing to the principal, and that’s a vicious spiral that only ever gets worse.

  If I wanted a reason for young Papinius’s suicide, trying to service a sizeable loan from a money-lender would provide it in spades. Bugger. I felt depressed as hell. It looked as though Minicius Natalis wasn’t going to have to wait all that long for an answer to his question after all.

  5

  I was out of luck: when I found it, Vestorius’s office was closed. Too early to shut up shop for the afternoon, so this looked bad. Damn. I shoved my head round the door of the silversmith’s next booth along where a little bald-headed guy was doing delicate things to a bracelet with a pair of pliers.

  ‘Excuse me, pal,’ I said.

  The guy glanced up. When he saw Placida the pliers slipped and he winced.

  ‘Uh...I was looking for Publius Vestorius,’ I said.

  He was staring at the dog and sucking the back of his hand where the pliers had caught him. ‘Then you’ve just missed him. He left half an hour ago.’

  Bugger. ‘You happen to know when he’ll be back?’

  ‘Not today. He said he had business in Ostia. You could try again tomorrow, but I can’t guarantee it.’ He was still staring. ‘What is that thing?’

  ‘Gallic boarhound.’ Shakeshakeshake. Splattersplattersplatter. ‘Ah...sorry, friend. She forgets herself sometimes.’

  ‘That so, now?’ He reached for a piece of rag and wiped himself off, glaring. I beat a hasty retreat.

  Hell. Well, for what it was worth - not a lot, to tell the truth - I’d got plenty to be going on with, and Vestorius, like Balbus at the aediles’ office, could wait for another time. In any case, the rain had slackened off and I might just make it back to the Caelian before Jupiter decided on another cloudburst. I called in at my banker’s to lodge Natalis’s draft, feeling guilty as hell in the process - the case, if you can call it that, was practically stitched up already, and it had been money for jam - and then headed for home.

  Perilla was in her study indexing her book collection, and the place looked like the Pollio library on a bad hair day. Me, I can’t see the point in filling your study up with books - these things only sit there sneering at you - but the lady has some queer ideas about what constitutes comfort and entertainment. Ah, well. It takes all sorts.

  ‘Oh, hello, Marcus,’ she said, turning round. ‘You’re back. Where’s Placida?’

  ‘In the garden moored to the fountain. Unless she’s half way to Ostia dragging it behind her.’

  ‘Did you have a nice walk?’

  I threw myself onto the couch. ‘Lady, wa
tch my lips. That is the last time I take that fucking brute anywhere.’

  ‘Nonsense, dear.’ She kissed me, tasting of ink and gum. ‘She just needs a little getting used to, that’s all.’

  ‘Believe it.’ I took a slug of the wine Bathyllus had given me.

  She finished tying a tag to a book’s roller, made a note on the sheet of paper on the desk, and slipped the book itself into a cubby. ‘So. How’s the case coming? Do you know yet why Papinius killed himself?’

  ‘No. But I’d guess the usual. Money, or lack of it, rather. Gambling debts. He’d got himself mixed up with Mucius Soranus.’

  ‘Oh, Marcus!’ Perilla looked at me with wide eyes. She’d heard of Soranus too: we don’t go in for gossip, Perilla and me, but you pick up the occasional nugget here and there, and Mucius Soranus was one of the nastier lumps.

  ‘According to his friend Atratinus he’d borrowed from a loans shark to pay Soranus off.’

  ‘How much?’

  I shrugged. ‘Exactly, I don’t know, but Atratinus said it was a lot. Too much for him, that’s for sure.’

  ‘He hadn’t told his parents?’

  ‘They’re divorced. There’s just the mother, practically speaking, and although she seems okay financially I get the impression that actual cash is pretty tight. Certainly she knew nothing about the loan, or she’d’ve mentioned it when we talked. Natalis neither. My guess is Papinius was too embarrassed to tell anyone at the time and just let the thing get on top of him. You know how kids’ minds work at that age.’

  Perilla bit her lip. ‘The silly, silly boy!’ She sat down. ‘He didn’t leave a note? A suicide note, I mean.’

  ‘No; not that I’m aware of. But again if he had Rupilia - that’s the mother - would’ve mentioned it. Her or Natalis.’

  ‘Don’t you think that’s strange?’

  ‘Not necessarily. He didn’t kill himself at home, so it could’ve been a snap decision.’

  ‘What was he doing in an Aventine tenement in the first place?’

  ‘Interviewing the factor. At least, I assume that was the reason. He worked with the fire commission investigating damage claims, remember.’

  ‘So he’d probably have had a set of tablets and a stylus with him. To take notes if necessary.’

  ‘Uh...yeah.’ I hadn’t thought of that. ‘Yeah, I suppose he would.’

  ‘How about the work aspect of things? As a reason for suicide?’

  I shifted on the couch. ‘That seems okay. Atratinus was a colleague as well as a friend, and he says Papinius was well up to the job. I’ve still to talk to the aedile in charge, but there don’t seem to be any problems there.’

  ‘So it comes down to money, pure and simple.’

  ‘Uh-huh. He had a girlfriend, too. Not a real gold-digger, according to Atratinus, but a pretty fast model all the same. Paying her running costs can’t’ve helped.’ Shit; this was depressing. I’d seen it before, a thousand times: kid from a good family gets into a fast lifestyle, finds he can’t afford to pick up all the tabs and gets into debt, then before he knows where he is he’s out of his depth and struggling to keep his head above water. In most cases, when things get really bad he forgets his pride and bawls for help; at which point daddy steps in, pays the creditors and tears enough strips off the son and heir to make him think twice, if he has any sense, about making the same mistake again. It’s a lesson in life nine-tenths of the blue bloods in Rome go through, and have been doing since Romulus ploughed the first furrow. Only with Papinius it hadn’t happened that way, had it?

  Bugger!

  ‘So what do you do now?’ Perilla said.

  ‘Hmm?’ I sank another quarter-pint of wine. ‘Go through the motions. I owe Natalis that much, at least. Talk to Lippillus down at Public Pond, clear up that side of things. Have a word with that bastard Soranus, check how much was involved. Not that I’d bet he’ll give a toss because if Papinius borrowed the cash from a money-lender the debt’ll’ve been paid already. Cross-reference with the money-lender himself, maybe drop in on Papinius’s boss at the aediles’ office just for form’s sake. Then - well - report back to Rupilia and Natalis. I don’t reckon I’ve earned that fifty thousand, anyway. Natalis can use it to pay back the loan.’

  ‘You’re absolutely certain? That it was suicide, and for financial reasons?’ Perilla was watching me closely. ‘Marcus, you aren’t, are you?’

  ‘Sure I am.’

  ‘Then why are you scowling?’

  ‘I’m not. It had to be suicide. I told you.’ She was right, though: something was niggling, and in spite of all the facts it wouldn’t let go. ‘Okay, Aristotle. I won’t say they’re actually points against - they aren’t, because I could explain them away myself - but some things don’t add up.’

  ‘Namely?’

  ‘First off, Papinius doesn’t sound the suicidal type. Sure, he was moody at times, but show me the teenager who isn’t. And Atratinus couldn’t believe he’d killed himself when he heard. The last time they saw each other - the morning of the day it happened - Papinius was completely normal and making plans to go to a birthday party.’

  ‘There’s the lack of a suicide note, too. I would’ve expected one, even if it had been unpremeditated. And as I said he probably had a tablet and pen with him.’

  ‘Yeah.’ I took a swallow of wine. ‘Second, the debt. Natalis said he was no gambler. Add to that, from what Atratinus and his mother told me about him he wasn’t your usual fast set cheese-brained idiot. Oh, sure, Soranus might’ve rooked him, but I’d bet he was too sensible to lose much more than he could afford. Unless he was drunk, and from what Atratinus said that doesn’t seem too likely either.’

  ‘But he did borrow money from that money-lender. What was his name?’

  ‘Vestorius. Yeah.’ I sighed. ‘Perilla, I know, all right? It’s stupid. I’m playing devil’s advocate here against my own theories. And Atratinus said, quote, that he’d borrowed “quite a lot”. If that doesn’t square up completely then I’m sorry, it’s the best I can do. Besides, I can check with Vestorius himself. In a way, the amount’s the clincher. No one from Papinius’s bracket commits suicide over a debt of a few thousand silver pieces, unless there’re reasons over and above, and if that’s all it was then sure, there’d be a chance we might be into a completely different ball-game, but on present evidence that doesn’t seem all that likely.’

  ‘Also, if –’ Perilla stopped, and shook her head. ‘No. I’m sorry, Marcus; you’re quite right, this is pointless. All the same, dear, there’s no sense in jumping to a single conclusion this early on, even if it is the obvious one. Get your proof first. You’ll feel much better if you can go to Minicius Natalis with your mind completely at rest about things.’

  Yeah. I reached over and topped up my wine-cup. Putting minds at rest. That was the nub of the business: Natalis’s mind, Rupilia’s, Atratinus’s and now mine. No one was asking for anything more, no one was suggesting anything more, and on the face of it the simplest explanation was also the most likely. Papinius had topped himself. Full stop, end of story, close the book.

  So why the niggle? Because - and I had to admit it - niggle there was...

  Hell. Leave it for now. Tomorrow I’d do the rounds, like Perilla had said drum up the proof that I knew would be there. Sextus Papinius had died because of a gambling debt he couldn’t pay and had borrowed over the score to cover. Sure he had.

  Maybe.

  ‘So how was your..?’ I began.

  ‘OW-OOO! OWOO-WOO-WOO!’

  ‘Oh, shit!’ I jumped up and ran to the window, spilling my wine. Perilla was about two seconds behind me.

  Down below in the garden things were happening, largely involving a ballistic Gallic boarhound, a streak of white fur and what had up until five minutes ago been our gardener Alexis’s prized rose-trellis.

  ‘It’s next-door’s Alcestis!’ Perilla screamed. ‘Marcus, I thought you told me you’d tied Placida up!’

  ‘I did.’ Hell, the kno
t must’ve slipped, or maybe she’d broken the rope. In any case it was trailing behind her. As I watched she clambered up the ruins of the trellis ladder and disappeared after the fleeing cat into our neighbour’s garden. ‘Fuck, she’s gone over the wall!’

  We raced each other for the stairs. This was serious. We got on okay with old Titus Petillius, sure, but largely because our household and his avoided each other like each had a separate and very contagious disease; a situation that dated back two years or so to when Mrs Petillius had been the guy’s housekeeper and - the thought still made me shudder - the love of our Bathyllus’s life. Petillius and Tyndaris didn’t have kids. What they had was Alcestis: a pure-bred silky-haired green-eyed puffball bought at enormous expense from a Damascene trader and hand-reared to a pampered life of fully-indulged luxury.

  A situation which, judging by Placida’s single-minded pursuit of the beast, was shortly to be revised.

  I hit the ground-floor tiles at a run, heading for the front door with Perilla a good second. No sign of Bathyllus, but then this was a job for the master of the house in person: grovelling would be called for, at the very least. I just hoped we weren’t too late and Placida had moved Alcestis into the fur mittens category.

  We could hear the screaming even before we reached next door’s porch. And several loud thumps.

  ‘Oh, bugger!’ I turned the doorhandle.

  ‘Shouldn’t you knock, dear?’ Perilla said. ‘It isn’t very polite just to –’

  ‘Look, lady,’ I snapped. ‘I’d say the household was pretty preoccupied at the moment, wouldn’t you?’ Hell. Locked. I’d have to knock after all. I hammered away on Petillius’s chichi Egyptian-cat knocker.

  Eventually, the door was opened by the major-domo. I didn’t know his name - he postdated the wedding - but the guy gave me a stare right off a Riphaean glacier.

  ‘Yes, sir? Madam?’

  ‘Uh...can we have our dog back, please?’ I said.

  ‘Marcus!’

  He stepped aside; Bathyllus couldn’t’ve done it better. ‘Come in. The mistress is expecting you, she’s having hysterics in the atrium. If you’d care to follow me?’