The Lydian Baker (Marcus Corvinus Book 4)

by David Wishart

  He was reading over some papers on his desk when we walked in. I was glad to see he smiled when he recognised me; with officials that doesn't happen too often.

  'Valerius Corvinus!' He put the papers to one side. 'You're far from home this morning.'

  'Yeah.' We shook hands Roman-style, and I switched to Greek: Chrysoulla wouldn't understand the Latin. 'It's business, I'm afraid.'

  'Really?' He looked at Chrysoulla. 'Nothing serious, I hope?'

  'You and me both, pal. This lady's name is Chrysoulla.' I thought his eyebrows lifted, but I may've been mistaken. Evil-minded bastard. 'Her husband's gone missing.'

  'Indeed?' He reached for a notepad and stylus. 'Which district?'

  'Not in the City. The Piraeus. Zea Harbour area, or possibly Mounychia. I was hoping you might give me a note for the guy in charge down there.'

  'Not a problem.' Still, I noticed he'd laid down the stylus: in Athens, like in Rome and everywhere else I've ever heard of, the City Watch is overstretched, and they've got enough on their own patch to keep them busy without worrying about anyone else's. The Piraeus guy could take his own notes. Also, although Callippus was too polite to say so, missing persons below City Magistrate level aren't the concern of Watch chiefs. We were filling in time here, although I appreciated that he was taking the trouble to go through the motions.

  'Your husband's name?' Callippus turned his attention to Chrysoulla.

  'Argaius, lord.' She sounded nervous as hell: probably like most Piraeans her contacts with Watch officials hadn't been exactly friendly up to now. 'We've an import-export business near the Shrine of Hyakinthos, behind the Serangeion.'

  Nerves or not, she'd said it with a shy pride that I found pretty touching, especially since I'd seen the place myself, but Callippus grunted and lowered his eyes. Callippus knew the Serangeion district and what 'import-export' was a euphemism for as well as I did.

  'And he's been missing since when?'

  I saw that he'd picked up the pen again; not because he was interested, I knew, but because he'd noticed that she'd noticed he wasn't taking notes. I had a lot of time for Callippus: Athens might claim to have invented democracy but as far as putting the lower orders in their place is concerned some of these guys from the old aristocratic families could've given the Tarquins lessons.

  'Since the night before last.' Chrysoulla's hands twisted together in her lap. 'He went out just before sunset.'

  'Physical description?'

  'What he looked like, you mean? Taller than me, but not much. Thirty. Dark curly hair.'

  'Distinguishing marks?' Callippus waited; nothing came. 'Scars? Blemishes? Birthmarks? Anything like that.'

  'Oh.' She blinked. 'Yes, I'm sorry. He had a long scar on his wrist. Under the thumb. From a dog bite.'

  Callippus looked up at her, his broad face expressionless. 'And which wrist would that be, now?'

  'The left one.'

  'I see.' Callippus laid the stylus down. 'Lady Chrysoulla, would you mind if I stepped outside with Valerius Corvinus for a moment?'

  Uh-oh.

  'No, lord. Of course not.' Her eyes were wide and scared.

  'Corvinus?' Callippus got up. I followed him outside and he closed the door carefully behind us and moved away from it. His face was grave.

  'He's dead, right?' I said quietly.

  He nodded. 'Very. The description matches, and the scar's a clincher. We'll need a formal identification, of course. You can do that?'

  'No. I never met the guy.'

  'That,' Callippus's mouth twisted, 'is a pity.'

  'Yeah? Why so?'

  'He's a mess; badly beaten, throat cut from ear to ear. I'd rather his wife didn't see him.' Jupiter! 'Is there anyone else we could ask? Anyone at all?'

  'No. Not that I know of. Where did you find him?'

  'Practically on our doorstep. On the Founders' plinth, with his back against the Ptolemy statue. My lads thought he was drunk and had jumped the barrier, got stuck and gone to sleep.'

  'This was two nights ago?'

  'No. First thing this morning.' He hesitated. 'The body's next door, as it happens.'

  'You want to tell her?'

  'Unless you'd care to do it.'

  'No way. You're the professional, pal.'

  'You think that makes it any easier?'

  Maybe not, but I took the coward's way out all the same. I stayed where I was while Callippus went back into his office and told Chrysoulla she could see her husband now.

  After Chrysoulla had identified Argaius we left her in charge of a motherly cleaner while I took a look at the corpse myself. Callippus was right: the poor bastard was no sight for anyone, never mind his wife. Whoever had beaten him up before slitting his throat had done a thorough job.

  'Was there any blood?' I asked.

  Callippus shook his head. 'Not by the plinth. Not anywhere else in the Market either, in the quantities that must've been involved. By the looks of things they used a crowbar.'

  'Uh-huh.' I felt sick. 'So he was killed first, then dumped.' Callippus said nothing. 'But why the hell murder him in the Piraeus and then bring the corpse five miles to Athens? And why leave it in the Market?'

  'You're assuming he was killed where he disappeared. He could've been brought to the City alive.'

  'Sure. But both Athens and the Piraeus are full of places where he might not be found for days. Maybe never. That doesn't answer my second question.'

  'No. But it might explain these.' Callippus pointed to four livid bruises on the corpse's wrists and ankles. 'Rope burns. He was tied, although when my lads found him the ropes had already been removed.'

  So. Rope marks. Signs of a thorough and systematic beating. The obvious inference was that the killer had been persuading Argaius to talk. No prizes what about, either.

  'Corvinus.' Callippus's voice was quiet, almost apologetic. 'I've been careful so far not to ask you where you come into this. Maybe you'd better explain now.'

  Well, that was fair. I told him all I knew, including what Chrysoulla had let slip about her husband's business activities and my own meeting with Prince Charming. He took down the guy's description without a word.

  'It doesn't ring any immediate bells,' he said. 'You could be right and the killing's a one-off, amateur stuff. On the other hand, running illegal antiquities, genuine or fake, is a profitable business locally. My guess is your friend had stepped on someone's toes. Someone a lot bigger than he was.'

  I nodded. 'Yeah. Yeah, that makes sense, I suppose.'

  'It would explain where the body was dumped, too.'

  'Is that right, now? You like to explain why?'

  'The Founders' plinth is used for notices; very official, very public. If Argaius was in the trade, or trying to break into it, then leaving his body there would act as a warning.'

  That was an angle I hadn't thought of. There wasn't much organised crime in Athens but as Callippus said the antiquities trade pulled in the cream. And these guys didn't encourage competition.

  'You think that's the answer?' I said.

  Callippus shrugged. 'Maybe. I'm guessing, of course, but it's an educated guess. In any case we'll look into the matter. For what it's worth.' He closed his pad. 'You've seen enough?'

  'Sure.' I frowned at Argaius, lying there on his wooden table like a big broken doll. 'One more thing. What about the funeral arrangements?'

  'Those are up to his wife, naturally. Once the body is identified it's released to the next of kin automatically.'

  'You know of anyone who'll take them on for her? A local undertaker, maybe?'

  'Of course. Lots of them. Cleiton in Knifemakers' Alley, Euphorbus at Three Springs...'

  'Send someone round to Cleiton's. Middle-of-the-road job, nothing too cheap, whatever he does most of. Get him to send the bill to me. And find a lawyer who handles property sales in the Piraeus.'

  Callippus looked at me curiously. 'You....ah...you're sure you've told me everything about this business, Corvinus?'
/>   'Yeah.' I had. 'Why?'

  'And this Chrysoulla. She's a friend of yours?'

  'In a way. You got a problem, pal?'

  'No. Just curious.'

  Sure. I'd bet he was. A nice guy, Callippus, but oversuspicious and a mind like a sewer. Still, I suppose that went with the job.

  I took Chrysoulla back home with me: I didn't want to risk another death and she wouldn't want to go to the Piraeus house now in any case. Which meant I had one more arrangement to make. While Perilla was settling her down in the guest room I sent Bathyllus to the nearest shipping agent's to book a passage on the first boat to Crete. I could get an address from her before she left, in case the Baker was on the level and she suddenly found herself an heiress. Not that that was likely, mind. Gods, what a mess!

  When Perilla came back into the sitting room I was drowning my sorrows in the jar of Samian Labrus had sent me. It was prime stuff, all right, pure liquid gold: that over-civilised bastard Melanthus might be able to hold his own at the sharp end of a Socratic elenchos, but as far as appreciating good wine was concerned the guy was whistling through his aristocratic ears.

  'How's Chrysoulla?' I asked, making space on the couch.

  'Sleeping, thank goodness. I gave her some poppy juice.' Perilla squeezed in beside me. 'So what exactly does Callippus think happened?'

  I told her. When I got to the part about the Founders' plinth and Callippus's theory of a gangland killing she frowned.

  'You're sure Callippus said that Argaius's body was found under the Ptolemy statue, Marcus? The Ptolemy statue?'

  'Yeah. As far as I can remember. So what?'

  'Maybe nothing.' She slipped off the couch. 'But if so then it may be significant. Let me just check a reference. I'll be back in a moment.'

  While she took herself off to her study I took a reflective swallow of wine. Jupiter knew what bee the lady had in her intellectual bonnet now. The Founders were the Founders: statues of the eponymous ancestors of the twelve Athenian tribes, plus the two honorary members that had been added later for services rendered to the state, Attalus of Pergamon and the Egyptian King Ptolemy. So much I knew, for what it was worth. Obviously Perilla knew a bit more; but knowing Perilla she'd got hold of an angle that I hadn't thought of. And that might be interesting.

  She was back in five minutes with a book scroll, and she was grinning like the cat who got the cream.

  'You find something?' I said.

  'I think so.' She lay back down beside me. 'It may be coincidence, of course, but Ptolemy had one of his brothers executed for treason. I'll give you one guess as to which.'

  'Come on, Perilla! You're the bookworm of the family! It's been a long day and I'm tired.'

  'Very well. The brother's name was Argaius.'

  Everything went very still. I sat back, the hairs on my neck prickling. Shit! Score one for the bookworms. Coincidences happen, sure they do; but I'd bet this wasn't the time. Real life just ain't that neat.

  So. Forget coincidence; and forget the gangland angle. Top-notch criminals have better things to do than indulge in esoteric historical puns when they choose where to dump their victims.

  The only problem was, what the hell did it mean?

  6.

  I spent the next morning thinking about what the next move should be. Scratch throwing in the towel, that wasn't the Roman way. I couldn't walk away from this, not until I knew for absolute certain that I was out of the game. Also if Mother ever found out she'd kill me.

  So. The obvious place to start was the cookshop where I'd had my run-in with Prince Charming. Cookshop owners as a rule may have all the social graces of a seriously constipated scorpion, but in districts like Zea where only one family in twenty cooks its own dinner they tend to know who's who locally. Argaius might not tell his wife much about his business, but I'd bet a used boil plaster to a gold piece the guy behind the counter would be able to give me chapter and verse. Not that I was looking forward to asking, mind.

  Ten miles there and back, plus the distance across town, was too far to walk, so I whistled up Lysias and took the coach. It was late afternoon before I arrived.

  Even as cookshops go, this was something special: the smell of old fat and frying dogmeat hit me before I'd even reached the door. I took a deep breath and went inside. Maybe I'd been too optimistic; the place wasn't exactly doing a roaring trade, in fact there was only one other customer, a huge guy with the build of a wrestler and a head like a pear small side up. Big jowls, tiny skull and a trail of spit down the side of his mouth. That figured: only an idiot would choose to eat in a place like this. Not that the guy was eating. He gave me an empty-eyed grin and went back to feeding his dog bits of sausage. I wondered about cannibalism.

  The owner was behind the counter, chopping a tired-looking lettuce he was using to garnish the meatballs. So the place still kept some culinary pretensions. He took a long look at my Roman purple stripe, turned away and spat carefully into the corner. Forget constipated scorpions. As far as friendliness went this guy wouldn't've measured up to an asp with a migraine.

  'Hi,' I said. 'Nice day, isn't it?'

  No answer. Ah, well. I brought out a silver piece and held it up. Silver and cookshop owners were just made for each other.

  'You serve wine, pal?' I said.

  'Sure.' He set the knife down. 'What kind you want?'

  'I'm not fussy. Just make it the best you've got.'

  Smiler fetched an earthenware cup from a shelf, gave it a wipe with a rag and poured from a chipped jug. I tasted the result. Jupiter! This was the best? What wasn't sediment was pure vinegar. Probably used for pickling cockroaches.

  'Who do you buy from?' I said, wiping my mouth. 'Peleus?'

  Peleus means 'Mud-man' in Greek. The guy wasn't amused. 'You don't like it,’ he said, ‘don't drink it.'

  Yeah, well, he had a point. I pushed the cup away but left the silver piece on the counter. 'You know a guy called Argaius? Import-export business, two doors down?'

  'Maybe.' I laid a second silver piece next to the first. His eyes narrowed. 'Yeah, I know Argaius.'

  'He work alone?'

  The guy looked pointedly at the two coins. Wordlessly, I added a third.

  'No. He has a partner.'

  Hey! Maybe we were on to something here after all. I took out a fourth coin but kept it between the tips of my fingers. 'You care to give me the guy's name?'

  He sucked on a tooth and eyed the fourth drach. I'd got him, sure I had: four silver pieces probably represented a good day's takings, probably more, given the state of the place.

  'This just curiosity,' he said at last, 'or have you got a reason for asking?'

  'We have some unfinished business, Argaius and me. Only he seems to have left town suddenly. A partner could help.'

  'Uh-huh.' The guy looked like he wanted to spit again, but this time he didn't: we were obviously getting somewhere, relationship-wise. I had the impression that he thought Argaius had swindled me somewhere along the line and he wasn't particularly surprised. Not particularly interested, either: smartass Romans were fair game in Zea. Anyone was. All of which was fine with me. 'Okay. Argaius's partner's name is Smaragdus. He boards at the third house along on the left after the Mother of the Gods.'

  Bull’s-eye! 'Gee, thanks, chum.' I put the fourth coin down and gave him my best smile. 'You've been very helpful.'

  That got me a grunt. He swept the coins into his palm, threw them into a drawer and picked up his lettuce knife.

  Just as I was turning to leave the pear-headed guy came up behind me and gibbered something. It wasn't Greek, and I'd've bet it wasn't any other language known to man either: there was spittle drooling out of one side of his mouth, and his eyes were shifting about like someone had cut the cords that fastened them in. The hairs on the back of my neck lifted. Insanity I can't take, and this guy was clearly not just two tiles short of a roof, he couldn't even have mustered the joists.

  'Fuck off, Tiny,' Smiler said. Not nastily, but
like it was part of an ongoing conversation. Maybe it was.

  The big guy held out a hand like a ham. He was still holding the dog. It was fat as a ball of lard.

  'I said fuck off.' Smiler turned away and banged a skillet down on the stove. 'One for free I don't mind. The next you pay for.'

  The hand never wavered. It was clear what the guy wanted. I reached into my purse and pulled out a few copper coins.

  'That's okay, pal,' I said. 'Have it on me.'

  Smiler glanced round, shrugged, pulled a sausage from the string above his head and handed it over. The big guy gave me a gibber and went back with the sausage to his table while Smiler scooped up the coins.

  'Don't encourage him,' he grunted. 'That bastard's always on the scrounge.'

  'It's my money, friend,' I said equably. 'One more thing before I go. You had a customer a couple of days back.' I described Prince Charming. 'He come in here much?'

  'Nah.' The guy picked up the rag he'd wiped my cup out with and moved it back and forward along the greasy countertop. Maybe getting rid of the idiot at the soft Roman's expense had put him in a talkative mood. 'First time. Never seen him before.'

  'You're sure?'

  He set the cloth down and turned his back. Talkative mood, nothing. Ah, well. It had been worth a try. And I had my lead; or at least I hoped I did. I gave the idiot a wave and set off for the Mother of the Gods.

  It wasn't far: a big sprawling place that'd seen better days but was still hanging on into the modern world, like the Mother herself. The third house along was a seedy tenement, maybe a rooming house but more probably a brothel. Not a prosperous brothel, either, from the look and smell of the entrance, but that was par for the district. I told Lysias to wait, climbed the stairs and knocked on the door of the first floor flat.

  The old woman who answered had three teeth. She could've kept a fair-sized cheap cosmetics factory going single-handed.

  'Yeah?' she mouthed.