In at the Death (Marcus Corvinus Book 11)

by David Wishart

  I waited until the slave had handed me the cup and I’d taken a sip: Alban, and top-of-the-range Alban as well. Profit margins must be pretty generous in the loan-shark market. As if I didn’t know.

  ‘Actually no,’ I said. ‘I wanted to ask you about one of your customers. A young guy by the name of Sextus Papinius. He committed suicide three days ago.’

  Vestorius’s smile froze. ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘I’m representing his mother Rupilia and Minicius Natalis, the faction-master of the Greens. They want to know why he did it.’ I took another swallow of wine. ‘Story I’ve been told is that he’d taken out a sizeable loan from you some time previous. Can you confirm that? Just for the record.’

  The guy was staring at me. He cleared his throat. Finally, he said: ‘Yes, of course I can confirm it. The loan was indeed made.’

  ‘And how sizeable was sizeable?’

  ‘You mean you don’t already know?’ I didn’t answer. ‘Well, under the circumstances I think I can...the sum was fifty thousand sesterces.’

  I blinked: when I’d said to Perilla that Natalis could use my fee to pay back the loan I’d assumed he’d have some change back on the deal. ‘How much?’

  Vestorius stroked the emerald ring on his little finger. ‘Yes, indeed,’ he said. ‘A very respectable amount. Very respectable. But then the young man seemed reliable, from a good family. And if there is one thing I pride myself on it’s my ability to judge people.’

  Right. Sure. Only I’d bet, personally, that the smug bugger’s assessment of Papinius’s risk-rating hadn’t stopped him from adding a fairly swingeing interest clause to the contract. Quite the reverse. ‘When exactly did he borrow the money?’ I said. ‘If you don’t mind telling me?’

  ‘Not at all. It was just under a month ago.’

  ‘Did he happen to say what he needed it for?’

  ‘Valerius Corvinus, it is not my practice to discuss –’

  ‘Come on, pal! I told you, the kid’s dead and his family and friends want to know why he killed himself. This is no time for professional ethics. If that’s the phrase here.’

  That got me a long cool look, but finally Vestorius said: ‘Very well. The answer to your question is no. Papinius didn’t volunteer the information, nor did I enquire. Why should I? It was none of my business.’

  ‘Did he offer any security?’

  The guy hesitated. ‘As I said, and as you know, he came from a good family - a consular family, on his father’s side - and he’d just embarked on what would no doubt have been a long and successful political career. Under these circumstances, a security pledge is a mere formality.’

  Uh-huh; in other words, for swingeing interest read gutting: the kid must’ve been desperate. But fifty thousand! That was serious gravy for a nineteen-year-old’s gambling debts. ‘He was over the legal age, his mother didn’t know anything about the transaction, and as far as I know he’d no private source of income,’ I said carefully. ‘So now he’s dead how do you reclaim the principal?’

  Vestorius looked fazed for a moment, then he smiled. Now we were face to face at close range I noticed that two of his front teeth were wired-in gold, and I wondered if some customer in the past had knocked out the originals for him. If so I wouldn’t’ve blamed them. ‘Oh, that isn’t a problem,’ he said.

  ‘Is that so, now? And why not?’

  ‘Because the loan was repaid four days ago.’

  I stared at him, wine forgotten. ‘It was what?’

  ‘Yes, indeed.’

  ‘Who the hell by?’

  ‘By young Papinius himself, of course. In cash.’

  ‘The whole boiling? All fifty thousand?’

  ‘Plus the interest. Sixty thousand sesterces in total.’ Vestorius was still smiling. ‘I was as surprised as you seem to be, naturally - I’d understood it was to be a long-term arrangement - but that was his decision. And quite acceptable on my part.’

  ‘Where the fuck did a kid like that get sixty thousand silver pieces cash in hand?’

  He shrugged. ‘Again, I didn’t ask. It –’

  ‘– was none of your business. Got it.’ I’d had enough of this bastard. I stood up; Placita, too. ‘Thanks for your time, pal. Have a nice day.’

  ‘You also, Valerius Corvinus. And I’m sorry to hear about young Papinius’s death.’ He reached for the abacus.

  ‘Yeah. Sure you are,’ I said. Sixty thousand sesterces. This was getting complicated. ‘Come on, Placida. Heel.’

  But she’d ambled off into the far corner and was arching her back and straining. Vestorius’s eyes widened in disbelief as she deposited the evil-smelling remains of two pounds of tripe, six chops, three pork knuckles, the ox liver and a bowl of dripping. Plus the sausages...

  Oh, joy!

  I grinned and left Vestorius to his cleaning up. Maybe I could warm to Placida after all.

  . . .

  Okay; so what next? I might as well follow the original plan and drop in on Papinius’s boss, the aedile Laelius Balbus. If he was in. In any case, the aediles’ office wasn’t far, just the other side of Market Square.

  Where the fuck did an impecunious teenager like Sextus Papinius get his hands on sixty thousand sesterces? In cash and at short notice, too. Not from his mother, that was clear: even if she’d been covering up for some reason and lying six ways from nothing I’d bet the lady didn’t have that sort of loose change. The same went for Natalis as a source: he’d have the cash to hand, sure, no problem there, but he would’ve told me if he’d given it to Papinius, because money wasn’t something Natalis was coy about. The father Allenius was an obvious possibility, at least on the face of it, but I’d reckon from his past track record paying off an estranged son’s debts to that tune just wasn’t on; getting him his job with the fire commission had been favour enough.

  Getting him his job with the...

  I slowed down. Oh, shit. Oh, no.

  You’d be surprised what some chancers’ll try to get away with when there’s an imperial-backed compensation scheme up and running.

  Atratinus had said that. But surely Papinius wouldn’t’ve been such a bloody fool. And he just wasn’t the type.

  Or was he? It would explain how he came by the sixty thousand, certainly. And, given certain circumstances, it would explain the suicide, too.

  Bugger. Still, theorising could wait until I’d talked to Balbus. Not that I’d take Placida in with me this time: public officials get very intense about boarhounds crapping on the government’s tiling.

  One curious thing. As I left Julian Square I had the distinct feeling that I was being followed; nothing definite, and the few times I turned round didn’t provide any evidence for it. Even so, the feeling was there, and it wouldn’t go away.

  I was lucky: the aedile was in and free to see me. He was a big man my age, with heavy eyebrows and an even heavier gut that projected well over the desk as he stood up to shake hands.

  ‘I’ve been expecting you, Corvinus,’ he said. ‘Atratinus said you’d had a chat with him over lunch yesterday, and I thought I might be next. Have a seat.’

  The visitor’s chair had ivory inlay and small golden birds on the pillars of the back-piece. It went well with the rest of the office’s furnishings, which were a lot more upmarket than you usually find in a public-sector room. Still, with four deputy imperials fronting the commission that wasn’t surprising.

  ‘Now.’ Balbus settled into his own chair. ‘What can I tell you about young Papinius? Not much more than you’ve already heard, probably. He was with us practically from the start, he was good at his job and seemed to enjoy it, got on well with his colleagues and his superiors. A very, very likeable and promising young man.’ He spread his hands. ‘That’s about all, I’m afraid. His death - and especially the fact that it was self-inflicted - was a tragedy.’

  ‘You’ve no idea why he should want to kill himself?’ I said.

  ‘None.’

  ‘Because I was wondering - serious
ly wondering - if the kid wasn’t on the make.’

  Balbus...froze. There’s no other word for it. The guy simply went rigid, every muscle, like concrete setting.

  ‘I beg your pardon?’ he said at last.

  ‘Taking backhanders. Bribes. From the claimants he was responsible for interviewing.’

  We stared at each other, the silence lengthening. Finally Balbus said, quietly: ‘How did you know?’

  Bugger. Well, the odds that I was wrong hadn’t been all that good to start with. Even so... ‘I didn’t,’ I said. ‘Not as such. But making the connection doesn’t exactly take a huge leap of intuitive genius, pal. He was in debt to a money-lender up to his eyeballs, with no way out. Then suddenly he’s in the position to buy himself off. The job he’s in, the chances he has, the money had to come from bribes.’

  Balbus cleared his throat. He looked sick. ‘I had no proof,’ he said. ‘No real proof, that is. Not that it matters now, of course. The boy’s dead and there’s an end of it. Practically speaking, it makes no difference; we’ll double-check his assessments and if there are discrepancies they’ll be rectified. As far as the people who slipped him the cash are concerned...well, I don’t think we’ll be hearing any complaints from them.’

  ‘So,’ I said, leaning back in my chair. ‘How did you know?’

  ‘I told you. I didn’t either, not for certain. I still don’t. All my evidence was circumstantial and cumulative: a claim passed that seemed on the high side, but not suspicious enough to merit further investigation, a hint from one or two honest quarters that Papinius seemed to be angling for a back-hander - again, in a way that was ambiguous enough for him to deny convincingly. That sort of thing. I didn’t, of course, know anything about the debt aspect or I might’ve felt justified in taking more direct action.’

  ‘So how were you handling it?’

  ‘With very soft gloves. Like I said, he was a nice lad in himself, serious-minded, an ex-consul’s son and with a good, caring mother. Efficient and conscientious, too, prime future senior administrator material. If I’d reported the matter his career would’ve been finished, at the very least. Possibly he’d’ve been exiled, certainly he’d be disgraced for the rest of his days. I didn’t want to do that, Corvinus, especially since as I’ve said I’d no actual proof. One mistake and the boy’s whole life is ruined, and I wasn’t even certain he’d made the mistake. You understand me?’

  ‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘Yeah, I understand.’ Hell!

  ‘So I had a quiet word with him. Unofficially, off the record, in private. No one knew anything about it, about any of it. Not even my suspicions. I’d been careful over that from the start, and I told him I had. I didn’t make any accusations, just presented him with the facts. Such facts as I had. He...well, I think it registered. In fact, I’m sure it did.’

  ‘When was this?’

  ‘Three days ago. The morning of the day he died.’

  ‘Uh-huh.’ Shit. Well, then; that was that. A combination of guilt and the prospect of public disgrace and a ruined career, with no realistic way out. No wonder the poor sap had killed himself. Case solved, close the lid. What the hell I was going to tell Natalis, mind - let alone his mother - I didn’t know. Not the truth, certainly: it might not actually kill Rupilia but a truth like that she could do without. Still, that was my problem. I stood up. ‘Thanks, Balbus. You’ve been very helpful.’

  ‘Yes...well...’

  I turned to go. My hand was on the door-handle when he called out: ‘Corvinus!’

  I looked back. ‘Yeah?’

  Balbus must’ve read my mind. ‘Don’t tell Rupilia,’ he said. ‘She’s a good woman, and she loved her son. Like I say, it doesn’t matter any more. As far as Rome’s concerned, the thing’s over and done with.’

  I nodded, and left. Over and done with. Right.What I needed now was a drink.

  The fool! The bloody young fool!

  Only...

  On the way down the steps of the building to pick up Placida from where I’d left her tied to the general’s statue I met Marcus Atratinus coming up. I still felt sick, but when I saw him the niggle came back with a vengeance. Hell, I couldn’t just ignore it: I owed myself, and the dead kid, that much at least before we finally put the cap on things.

  ‘Hey, Atratinus,’ I said. ‘One question. Straight answer, under oath, no faffing. You up for that?’

  He gave me an uncertain grin. ‘Of course. Whatever you like.’

  ‘Was Sextus Papinius an honest man? Yes or no, no half measures. Go for it.’

  The grin faded and he looked at me like I’d grown an extra head. The look wasn’t too friendly, either. ‘Sextus Papinius,’ he said carefully, ‘never did a dishonest or a mean thing in his life.’ Then, turning towards the temple of Jupiter Stayer of the Host next door, he raised his hand. ‘You want your oath then you’ve got it: So help me, Jupiter.’

  I frowned: the niggle was there, full strength now. Hell. ‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘Yeah, thanks, pal. That was what I was afraid you’d say.’

  I left him staring, hand still raised. Complicated was right.

  9

  I found a wine-shop off the Sacred Way that didn’t mind dogs and settled down with a half jug to think.

  Oh, sure, the solution all made sense, every bit of it, and if Papinius hadn’t got his sixty thousand from bribes then where the hell had he got it from? I didn’t have an answer to that; I didn’t even have the ghost of an answer. Besides, if he was crooked and he knew he’d been rumbled then suicide was a logical way out. Not the only way, but an obvious one to a guy with Papinius’s background and character. No problems there. Everything fitted together like the stones of a good mosaic.

  Only...

  Only there was the niggle that just wouldn’t go away. I kept sticking on two things. One was Atratinus’s insistence - backed up by my own gut feeling - that Papinius was as straight as they come; the second was how the kid had died. Razor, knife, sword, poison even at a pinch, fair enough; but no aristocratic Roman, if he’s got a choice in how he’s going to kill himself, chooses to jump from a tenement window. That’s just not the way we do things. It’s just too bloody infra dig.

  Besides, from what Atratinus had told me Papinius hadn’t signalled it. And although I hadn’t asked Caepio direct, he hadn’t implied that the kid was unduly upset or preoccupied immediately beforehand, either. That wasn’t natural. Plus there was the absence of a suicide note...

  That Papinius had committed suicide out of guilt and the fear of exposure made sense, complete sense, sure, no argument. But it just didn’t...fucking...fit!

  I took a long swallow of wine. I hadn’t been in this place before, and I doubted that I’d bother to repeat the experience because the wine was over-priced and second-rate. No wonder the guy behind the bar hadn’t objected to a flatulent Gallic boarhound on his premises. Lucky for me, really, but then I was getting used to breathing through my mouth.

  Right. So let’s assume that the perfect, logical solution was a load of balls. Start with the assumption that Papinius wasn’t crooked, he wasn’t taking bribes, and - most important of all - he didn’t kill himself. Also, shelve the problem of the sixty thousand sesterces for the moment, plus the whole question of what did happen in that Aventine tenement.

  Where did that leave us?

  Either with Balbus lying through his teeth for reasons of his own, or with the whole business being a setup. That was where.

  The first scenario was about as likely as a flying pig. I didn’t know Balbus personally, but I knew him by reputation and the guy was lily white: good at his job, honest, trustworthy - as far as any career politician can be honest and trustworthy - and with no dirty laundry in the basket, at least any that gossip could pull out. And Roman gossip is pretty thorough. Besides, what would he gain by fingering young Papinius? He couldn’t be on the fiddle himself and trying, somehow, to cover his tracks through a subordinate; the commission had been set up by the Wart in person, Tiberius was no fool
where sniffing out peculation was concerned, and he got very serious about crooked government officials. The game just wasn’t worth the candle, and if Balbus was bucking for consul in a few years - which he would be, as aedile - then he’d be a fool to put his reputation on the line for a few thousand silver pieces, even if we did have a change of emperor by that time.

  So scratch that. Balbus wasn’t lying, at least not intentionally; he’d told me the truth as he saw it. Which meant we were left with the setup theory...

  Only that was flying-pigs country as well. If Papinius had been set up then why and for what? Who the hell would bother fitting a no-account, nineteen-year-old kid into a frame and then - presumably - faking his suicide?

  Shit; the whole boiling was one endless frustration: look at it one way and it made sense, only it didn’t; turn it round and the same thing happened. The hell with it. I took a deep breath, then another slug of wine, and tried to calm down...

  Okay. So forget logical theorising. We play it both ends against the middle, dig into the laundry basket at random and see what crawls out.

  I’d still got two names to talk to, Mucius Soranus and Papinius’s girlfriend Cluvia. It was still early, the Saepta wasn’t too far off and the Cipian Mount was on the way home. Sod the wine; if I hurried, and Placida co-operated, I could manage both and still be back in time for Meton’s fish.

  I reanimated the petomaniac dog and left.

  I hadn’t gone two hundred yards before I knew - for definite this time - that I was being followed. Oh, sure, Perilla would’ve pooh-poohed the feeling, because it wasn’t logical, but even with all the little practical distractions like discouraging Placida from mugging passing bag-ladies for their shopping, cleaning up after donkeys and shoving her nose against slow-moving strangers’ bottoms the back of my neck was prickling all the way, and that’s something I’ve learned not to ignore. Who was tailing me exactly I didn’t know; the area round the Square and the Sacred Way is one of the busiest in Rome, the narrow streets don’t help matters, and taking your eyes off an overenthusiastic boarhound even long enough to glance over your shoulder is not a good idea. Still, I’d’ve bet every coin I’d got left in my belt-pouch that someone was there. Which was strange. Who the hell would bother, and why?