No Cause for Concern

by David Wishart

  ‘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.’

  ‘You think there could’ve been a leak on our side after all?’

  I shrugged. ‘I’m not taking any chances. But if I find the guy has unfortunately and coincidentally decided to slit his own throat in the interim as well, then I’ll know where to start asking questions. Right, Lucius?’

  The little clerk swallowed. ‘Sir, I wouldn’t!’ he said. ‘Honestly!’

  ‘See that you don’t, then,’ I said, and left.

  * * *

  It was too late in the day now for the long hike down to Circus Valley; besides, I reckoned we’d done pretty well. Publilius could wait for tomorrow.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Bric-a-brac was dignifying things. What Publilius sold was junk, or the next thing to it: iron bedframes with half their struts missing, cooking pots that were more patches than original metal, third-hand tunics, and a selection of miscellaneous items such as bronze letters for (or possibly prised from) inscriptions. Not, I knew, that what was on sale would be the mainstay of the business. That’d be the middleman service shopkeepers like Publilius provided linking the gentlemen who made sure certain items fell off the back of a delivery cart and the said items’ eventual end-users.

  I was examining a worm-eaten wooden leg that I’d seen leaning against a brazier with its grate burned out when the man himself oiled over.

  ‘Morning, sir,’ he said. ‘Anything I can do for you?’

 
‘Sure.’ I put the leg down where I’d found it. ‘Marble statues.’

  ‘Buying or selling?’

  ‘Just expressing an interest at present, pal,’ I said. ‘You deal in them?’

  ‘I might do.’ He was cautious. ‘That depends. Say you give me a such-as?’

  ‘Okay. Such as a crateful. Sent to you in the past couple of days by someone called Gaius Astrapton. Plus three other crates, contents miscellaneous, sender ditto. Ring any bells?’

  He looked blank, then angry. ‘Who the hell are you?’ he said. ‘And what’s this about?’

  ‘Just answer the question, friend.’

  ‘Then the answer’s no. I don’t know nothing about no crate of statues. Nor any other crates. And I don’t know no Gaius Astrapton, neither. Now push off. I’ve got a business to run.’

  I was puzzled; there hadn’t been a glimmer there, not a glint. If he was lying then he was damn good at it. Or he’d been warned I was coming.

  ‘How about Sempronius Eutacticus?’ I said. ‘You heard of him?’

  He blinked. ‘Yeah. I’ve heard of Eutacticus. So?’

  ‘He was the one gave me your name and asked me to drop round and see you,’ I said. ‘Astrapton was his accountant. Seemingly, he’s been going into business off his own bat, and Eutacticus is really, really keen to know the details. According to his records, he’s sent you four crates in all in the last eight months. Now stop fucking around, pal.’

  Publilius scowled. ‘I told you,’ he said. ‘I don’t know nothing about no statues, nor crates neither. You don’t believe me, you can look for yourself.’

  ‘I’ll just do that, if you don’t mind.’

  I went into the shop. It was bigger than I thought it would be: he’d knocked through the wall of the private building behind it and taken over one of the rooms. The rear section was separated off from the front by a curtain, which I pushed aside and went through. Publilius followed.

  ‘Look all you like,’ he said.

  There was plenty of stuff, sure, piled up wall to wall. Better stuff than he’d got on show outside, too: bales of cloth, furniture with all the bits attached, a wide selection of ornaments and a complete Corinthian dinner service. There was even a water-clock. Still, nothing that looked like it’d make a hole in two million sesterces, let alone the pile of cash itself filling a sizeable chest in the form of gold bricks. Because, with that amount of loot involved, that’s what it would mean. And no intact crates, singular or plural.

  ‘Satisfied?’ he said.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then that’s your hard luck. What you see is what you get.’

  I grabbed him by the neck of his tunic. He froze.

  ‘Listen carefully, pal,’ I said, ‘because I’m only going to say this once. Eutacticus is out two million sesterces through your friend Astrapton, and he is consequently not a happy bunny. Me, I couldn’t care less about the money, or about Eutacticus for that matter, and I’m the good guy. Talk to me now and I’ll say you co-operated right down the line, that you thought the whole thing was legit. Keep your mouth zipped and the next person to ask won’t do it so politely. In fact, considering that the next person will be a large and very unpleasant gentleman by the name of Satrius, politeness in any form will be right off the agenda. Understand?’

  I let him go. He was breathing heavily as he straightened his tunic.

  ‘Now you listen,’ he said. ‘I’m a small-time fence, right? Admitted, no argument, everyone’s got to live. You bring me a set of snail-spoons or a silver wine jug or even a fucking dinner table and I’ll pay you top rate without asking no questions. If you’re buying then I’ll cut you a good deal so long as you don’t ask for no bill of sale. But that’s as far as I go. I’ve heard of Eutacticus, sure, who hasn’t? But I don’t know no Astrapton, and I don’t know nothing about no fucking mystery crates. If Eutacticus himself wants to come and ask me I’ll tell him the same thing. So get off my back, right?’

  Hell. As far as sounding convincing went, you didn’t get much better. Maybe we’d been mistaken after all. Avenue closed. So what did I do now?

  The answer to that was easy. When all else fails, rattle some bars and see what jumps.

  It was time to have a word with Paetinius. Not the son; the father.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  If you made the usual allowances for artistic licence and flattery, the elder Patinius was a dead ringer for his portrait in the atrium: little, tubby, and smug. That is, until you looked at his eyes, which were ice-grey chips of marble.

  ‘I won’t pretend I don’t know why you’re here and who you represent, Corvinus,’ he said, putting his hands on the desk – we were in the study – and lacing the fingers together. ‘Or that you’re welcome in my house. Sestia told me all about your last visit. She also said that she practically threw you out. Can you give me a reason why I shouldn’t do the same?’

  I gave him my best smile. ‘Yes, I can, pal,’ I said. ‘It’s because you’re curious.’

  ‘Curious about what?’

  ‘What I know and don’t know. How far I’ve got. How safe you are. That sort of thing. Me, I’d like to know that too, because at the end of the day I think you’re in this up to your neck. So look on this as a trade.’

  The eyes rested on me for a moment. Then he grunted and got up.

  ‘Come with me,’ he said.

  He led me through to the atrium and up to the family shrine in the corner. There was a pan of incense smoking on it, in front of the little images of the household gods. He pointed to it.

  ‘Know what that’s for?’ he said.

  I shrugged. ‘No. Anything special?’

  ‘It’s a thank-you offering. For that bastard Eutacticus’s son and heir being dead. Potential son and heir.’ He reached over to the bowl of raw incense on the small table next to the shrine and added another pinch to the smoking pan. ‘That answer your question?’

  ‘You’re admitting it? That you had Titus Luscius killed?’

  ‘I’m admitting or denying nothing. Why should I make your job easier? Maybe I did, maybe I didn’t. But if I did, I’ve no regrets. No fears, either, because I’ve got people of my own, and if Publius Eutacticus wants to start something I can give as good as I can get. On the other hand, if I didn’t then whoever did has my blessing. That clear enough for you?’

  ‘Yeah. Clear, sure, but not particularly illuminating.’

  ‘Fine. Like I said, that’s your problem, not mine. So let’s go back into the study where we can talk in comfort until I decide to throw you out.’

  We did. Paetinius settled into his chair behind the desk. ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘I’m all ears. Make your pitch.’

  I sat down opposite him. ‘You had a deal going with Eutacticus’s accountant Astrapton, who was ripping off his employer. You paid off his gambling debt at the Golden Fleece and promised him a bolt-hole if things got difficult. In exchange, he supplied inside information on Eutacticus’s upcoming business deals and acted as facilitator and accomplice in your plans for getting rid of his stepson. You wanted Luscius out of the way because Eutacticus was planning to adopt him formally. Which would mean your own son – who might well be Eutacticus’s – would be out of the legal running if Eutacticus died without a clear male heir.’

  I paused for comment, but Paetinius didn’t respond, or even give an indication that he’d noticed. His face didn’t give anything away, either.

  ‘Astrapton set Luscius up; how he managed that I’m not exactly sure yet, but the details don’t matter. In any case, he decoyed him and his slave to the grotto at the back of the garden. Your son had come over the wall earlier – or it may not’ve been your son, just one of your “people”, again it doesn’t matter – and together they did the actual killing. Then they hid the bodies in the grotto, Astrapton pretended he’d seen the two of them leave, and that was that.’ I stopped again, and waited. Nothing. The guy’s face was still expressionless, and again he hadn’t moved. I could’ve been talkin
g to myself. ‘You care to comment, pal?’

  Paetinius grunted and shrugged. ‘It’s an interesting theory, I’ll give you that much,’ he said.

  ‘And?’

  ‘Where it falls down is that most of it’s a load of balls.’

  ‘Really? You care to tell me which bits aren’t, maybe?’

  ‘Certainly. I bought Astrapton, sure, you have that right, and he was cheap at the price. Best twenty-five thousand I ever spent, and would’ve been even if I hadn’t had a copper of it back just to know I was rubbing Eutacticus’s nose in the shit. As it is, from what I made out of information supplied I reckon I’m a good two or three million up on the deal, so I’m not complaining, especially if Eutacticus knows now that I’ve been responsible for shafting him. Same goes for giving Astrapton a new place. I can always use a smart young man with a good working knowledge of the business, and if he’s decided that it’s time for a career change then I’d be delighted to oblige.’ He smiled, but the marble-chip eyes didn’t change. ‘Particularly since it’ll mean pushing that bastard on the Pincian’s face just a little bit deeper down.’

  ‘Yeah, well, there’s a slight problem with that now, isn’t there?’

  The smile disappeared. ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘Astrapton’s dead. Someone cut his throat for him.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Don’t tell me. You didn’t know.’

  ‘Of course I didn’t. Why should I?’

  ‘If my theory’s right after all, pal, you’d have reason. The guy was an embarrassing loose end connecting you with young Luscius’s murder. Besides, he’d already served his purpose. His cover was blown, and if he’d cheated on one boss he could cheat on another. All in all, he’d be better off out of the way.’

  ‘You’re saying I killed him?’

  ‘It’d make sense. You or your son or your people, the details don’t matter. And you’d know where he was holed up, because if he was planning on that career change he’d’ve made sure you knew how to get in touch.’

  Paetinius laughed. ‘Corvinus, that’s pure garbage. I’d no idea where Astrapton was, I’d nothing to do with his death, and as sure as hell I wasn’t responsible for Luscius’s.’ He stood up. ‘Now piss off. Interview over.’