Nemesis - Falco 20

by Lindsey Davis

  We told Apollonius to go into the back room and stay there, reading a long scroll of Socrates.

  ‘What if customers come?’

  ‘We’ll serve them for you.’

  ‘You can’t do that!’

  ‘My sister owns the joint.’ Wrong. I owned the joint now; Junia just managed it for me. A terrifying thought.

  ‘You mean you’ll send my customers packing!’

  ‘Relax. We’ll call you.’

  One or two latecomers did try to buy stuff. We told them we were hygiene inspectors and had to close the bar down. Then indeed we sent them packing.

  XLIX

  Even after his shift, Petronius was buoyant. ‘Let’s start with the gem-buyer. Marcus, my boy, you’ve done well.’

  ‘Persicus?’

  ‘Persicus! He meant nothing to me, but Fusculus recognised the name.’

  ‘Fusculus is a lad.’

  ‘He’s a sparkler. Too good, I’m afraid. Rubella will probably transfer him to another cohort for “career development”.’

  ‘How does he know about Persicus? We were not aware of him before, surely?’

  ‘We could have been. He never showed on a statement, but while the Seventh Cohort were formally telling Rubella and me about that murdered courier, a couple of troops waited outside; talking to Fusculus, they gave up extra details. Their written reports are as skimpy as a whore’s nightgown. I suspect their clerk can’t even write - one of their centurions’ halfwit cousins, who got the job as a favour …’ He calmed down when I grinned. ‘But their enquiry chief asked the right questions. The carter was forced to supply details of the courier’s package, in case it was relevant - - or the Seventh even found it.’

  ‘Have they?’

  ‘Don’t make me weep! The carter said the parcel was a load of cushion stuffing, sent by a client to his country estate.’

  ‘The client was Arrius Persicus?’

  ‘Correct. This is the good bit. He’s alive and well and has never mentioned losing any fabulous cameo.’

  I guffawed. ‘In case his wife finds out he has a girlfriend! Shouldn’t cushion stuffing go the other way? Wool, feathers, straw - they all come from the country into Rome.’

  ‘Exactly.’ Petro tried to winkle crumbs of the stale bread we were gnawing from between his teeth. The crumbs clung on resolutely. Junia must have Apollonius spread it with cow-heel glue as some new gourmet fashion. ‘The crucial parcel didn’t sound significant initially - which was a clever ploy. The Seventh thought they could forget about it. So let’s think: why dispatch a load of cheap stuffing via an expensive courier?’

  ‘Obvious: something costly was concealed inside.’

  ‘You bet.’

  We sat quiet for a beat, thinking.

  ‘Anyway - don’t let’s get too excited too fast. Fusculus has gone to ask the carter about it on the sly. We still have to pretend we’re not intervening in Anacrites’ case. If the cameo was in the courier’s parcel, then it’s a lead - but you and I need a long, hard think about the implications …’

  ‘I’ll start thinking too much now, unless you distract me. So, what about the teacher with the numerical sideline?’

  Petronius perked up. ‘Found him. Easy. The mathematicians list is one of the shortest: thank you, Jove. Volusius may have died eight years ago. At any rate, he vanished from our records - - which is hard to achieve, once we have a rascal in our blotted scroll.’

  I groaned. ‘Dead end?’

  ‘Not quite.’ Petronius gave up on Flora’s breakfast and threw what was left of his bread to a pigeon in the street. It flew off, affronted. He sniffed the acetic posca then dashed that into the gutter too. ‘He lived with his mother, off the Clivus Suburanus, close to the Porticus of Livia. I’m whacked and old dames don’t have enough verve to keep my eyes open. I’m going home to bed but you, being a layabout with time on your hands, may fancy a chat with her.’

  I said I was always available to do work the noble Lucius found too much for him. And while he could only chat up pretty things of twenty, I was more versatile and could charm even older women.

  Petronius let me get away with that, because he was bursting with one further fact. ‘While I had the old documents spread around the room, my eye fell on something.’ Calm by nature, he seemed excitable now: ‘I found one of the Claudii!’

  ‘Speak, oracle!’

  ‘I’m sure it’s him. Two years ago, a Claudius Virtus, newly arrived in Rome from Latium, appeared as a person of interest.’

  ‘What had he done? Joined a dodgy religion?’

  ‘Depends how you categorise cults, Marcus. We have him down as taking an interest in astrology.’

  ‘Stargazing?’

  ‘People-forecasting- wickedness. I hate that stuff. Life’s dire without finding out in advance what will be dumped on you by Fate.’

  ‘According to Anacrites, when he turned on me recently, when Fate gives you anything worth having, if you dare to enjoy your good fortune, remorseless Nemesis will fly up to snatch it away.’

  ‘Is he sniping at your legacy?’

  ‘You guessed. Is Virtus still living in the same place?’

  ‘Who knows? We don’t always update our records unless some name bobs up in a new offence.’

  I said that in addition to Volusius’ mother I would visit Virtus, but Petronius would not reveal the address. He would meet me for lunch after a few hours’ rest, then we could go together. I promised to round up one of the Camilli, or both, to accompany us. Lunch could be at my house; Flora’s had lost our custom.

  ‘We should go armed. These bastards collect spears. The Urbans carry swords and knives - - why don’t we ask Silvius for back-up?’

  Petronius Longus was a vigiles man and he would never change. Despite the supposed joint operation with Silvius, he assumed a vague expression. ‘Let’s you and I just take a quiet recce first.’ He was as keen on inter-cohort cooperation as a fifteen-year-old boy thinking about purity.

  ‘Fine. We’ll tiptoe up like cat burglars … I could knock on the door for a horoscope - but I don’t want Virtus to look into my future and see when he and his stinking brother Nobilis will be arrested.’

  ‘Don’t worry.’ Lucius Petronius had no faith in clairvoyance. ‘He won’t even be able to foresee what he’s getting for lunch.’

  ‘Right. What’s your star sign, by the way? You’re under the Virgin, aren’t you?’

  ‘Believe that, Marcus, if it gives pleasure to your childish mind.’

  L

  I sent a runner to tell Aulus and Quintus to come over for lunch.

  Meanwhile, I went alone to find the teacher’s last known address.

  It was a dismal mission. I found the apartment, in a tangle of narrow lanes on the way to the Esquiline Gate; indoors, as she generally must be, was the ancient, widowed mother. I guessed she had lost her husband young. Perhaps there had been a legacy; the rental where she lived - - where she had brought up her only son Volusius - - was cramped but just about tolerable. She was the proud kind, to whom poverty must be perpetually shameful. She had scrimped to get her boy an education, investing all her own hopes in his obvious potential. Although he became a teacher, because of his experience at Antium only disappointment followed. She was now half-blind, but taking in tunics to mend, to keep from starving.

  Volusius was dead. His mother said he had never recovered from his fright that day at Latium. It affected him so badly he could no longer teach. He lost his job at the local school, then failed to find other work. He moped around as a loser, became mentally disturbed and committed suicide - - threw himself in the river just after the second anniversary of being abducted.

  ‘Did he talk about what had happened?’

  ‘He could never bear to.’

  ‘You went there to fetch him home afterwards. Was he in a bad state?’

  ‘Terrible. He knew we had to pass the place where he had met those men. He froze at the memory. He was shaking so much when we tried
to set off home, the people at the villa had to give him a sleeping draught and send us in a cart. Once I got him home, he woke up in familiar surroundings and just broke down crying. He kept saying to me he was sorry - as if what happened was somehow his fault.’

  ‘I was hoping, if I could find him, he could describe the men who took him.’

  The mother shook her head. ‘Scum!’

  Such vehemence in the mouth of a civilised woman was ugly. The lasting effect on her was an extra consequence of the killings. This mother had not only lost her only son, too young, but all her own hopes. What happened to Volusius was on her mind daily. Now she lived alone, dwindling arthritically into fear and despair. There was no one left to take care of her. She was going to need looking after soon, and I could see she knew it.

  When I said that now we thought we knew who the abductors were, she just waved me away. It was too late to save her son, so it was too late for her.

  Angrily, I renewed my vow that this time we would find justice, for both Volusius and his mother.

  LI

  Peace in the home. What a wonderful thought. If only I had it. The Camilli had already arrived - - anything to get away from Minas of Karystos and their wives. Nux was chasing around the house, barking loudly. Slaves were pursuing her, unaware that this only aggravated the dog’s excitement. Albia would normally have waded in to sort this out, but she was shouting at Helena over me having invited Aulus. Julia and Favonia had picked up the idea of complaining and were wailing their heads off. As soon as I turned up, slaves began crying too; I could not see what that was about. Perhaps they were the ones I intended selling. I had not told them yet, but a list existed. They could have bribed Katutis to reveal it. Katutis was keeping out of sight, which clinched it.

  Lunch. Very pleasant. Rather tense, but that is what lunch at home exists for.

  No Albia. Helena had sent her on an errand to my mother. Ma would be taking me to task about the girl soon.

  No dog. Worn out, Nux had fallen asleep in her basket.

  No children. I had ordered them out of the room when Favonia threw a foodbowl on the floor and Julia giggled.

  No slaves. I was not yet ready to treat a crowd of feckless strangers as extended family, with more domestic privileges than I allowed to my own relatives. I would house them, feed them, express gratitude and affection on a moderate scale - - but no more. Nema, previously Pa’s bodyslave, commented that he was very surprised by my attitude.

  ‘We could have met at a bar,’ Quintus suggested.

  ‘Are you saying,’ demanded his sister in a voice like an ocean breaker as it stripped barnacles off rocks, ‘my house is badly run?’

  ‘No, Helena.’

  A meeting convened. Katutis appeared with a bunch of note-tablets and a hopeful expression; he was upset when I told him not to take minutes. ‘Why else, Marcus Didius, would a man hold a meeting, but to have its conclusions recorded?’

  ‘This is confidential.’

  ‘Then good recording practice is to write “Confidential” at the head of the scroll.’

  ‘So the next time Anacrites raids my house, he sees that and backs away bleating, Oh I am not allowed to look at this! In fact that’s a certain way to make him grab it.’

  Katutis slunk off, muttering like a malevolent priest.

  The big, comforting presence of Petronius Longus soothed those of us who remained. Helena, whose meal had been interrupted by the various ructions, was still chewing flatbread. Dabbing chickpea paste ferociously on to her bread, she had the look of a woman who knew she would soon have heartburn. ‘Oh don’t wait for me to finish!’ she scolded Petronius, in a tremolo of agitated bracelets.

  Petro cracked on smartly. ‘There is news. It’s good - though it will pose questions. Since Fusculus proved the link to Arrius Persicus, I let him call on the carter, and thump him until he squeaked -’

  ‘Can you not do anything without unnecessary violence?’ Not a good idea to remind Helena about our treatment of the agent.

  Petronius had the grace to look guilty. ‘The carter now admits his spendthrift, two-timing client was indeed posting off a secret love token - and not for the first time. It was a routine arrangement. She’s a lucky little pullet. This is why the carter panicked when his courier vanished - - he thought the newly-wed had gone bad now he had a wife to support, so he pinched the gem. Later the carter kept quiet about that, in a misguided attempt to protect his customer.’

  ‘Did the carter know what the hidden gift was?’ Helena asked.

  ‘A cameo on a chain. Persicus had bragged to him about it.’

  ‘The chain is news,’ I said. ‘It’s not been found. Who has got their sticky hands on that, I wonder? … Need we interview Persicus?’

  ‘Not at this stage. If we want a deposition for the Prefect later, Fusculus can go along and scare him shitless then.’

  ‘Back to basics then. The cameo comes from Antium, Persicus is sending it to his mistress. The gem is in some unconvincing wadding, in a parcel, in a pannier. The young bridegroom sets off on the donkey, no doubt whistling a jaunty measure and thinking about enthusiastic sex. Then what happened at the necropolis?’ I ticked off possibilities: ‘Better consider it: did the courier steal the gem?’

  ‘No,’ said Quintus. ‘He wouldn’t commit suicide and stuff himself in a shallow grave.’

  ‘So was he robbed by somebody who knew what he was carrying? Did the carter himself set it up, even?’

  ‘If so, he was foolish to report his courier missing.’ Quintus again. ‘And why would he kill his man?’

  ‘As for someone else knowing,’ Petronius said, ‘Fusculus heard they were always very discreet when they had valuables to transport.’

  ‘Models of good practice?’

  ‘Fusculus said the carter swears the lad was tried and trusted. Could be relied on to avoid attracting notice.’

  Aulus, who had been subdued since Albia had hysterics, recovered enough to add his thoughts: ‘So, did the young man just classically happen to be in the wrong place at the wrong moment? Was his murder random - - though then his attackers found our exquisite cameo in his donkey pannier and thought it was their lucky day?’

  ‘That seems right,’ I agreed. ‘Being chosen by a cruising killer was an accident.’

  ‘Someone who looked harmless, stopped him,’ said Petro. ‘Excuse me, what’s the way to Clusium? - - My pocket lodestone’s broken … I don’t suppose this time the lurer said, Do you want to look at my brother’s lovely spear collection? - - but we’ll never know.’

  Helena had calmed down. She tidied bowls into piles. ‘Now stop tiptoeing around the big question.’ We men sat quiet, our backs a little straighter, our faces grave. ‘How did someone in Anacrites’ house get their hands on the cameo?’

  Petronius drained his water cup. ‘As far as the Seventh Cohort know, the donkey and its pannier disappeared. Suppose later, while Anacrites and his men were investigating, they found the donkey wandering?’

  ‘Not right,’ I said. ‘He let the Seventh carry on with routine enquiries. Unlike you and the Fourth, he has no beef with the Seventh. Anyway if, for once, he actually found evidence, he would have boasted about it.’

  Helena scoffed too: ‘Even if his men had legitimately discovered the parcel, why did the cameo end up hidden in their luggage?’

  ‘Are his agents screwing Anacrites - pinching evidence to sell?’ Normally deadpan, Aulus looked cheery at the thought.

  ‘Has been known,’ Petro confirmed dourly. I knew the problem was endemic among the vigiles. House fires gave particular scope for pilfering from victims. ‘But Anacrites knew about the gem, didn’t he, Falco?’

  ‘No, in fact.’ I cast my mind back to the scene when the Camilli and I were pulling up the caterers for theft, with Anacrites watching us. ‘When he saw the cameo, he first denied knowledge. He took a moment to realise what it must be. Am I right, lads?’

  Both Camilli nodded. Aulus said, ‘He looked annoyed - but
he chose to protect the agents. Thinking fast, he came up with that limp story about a woman.’

  ‘He became very jumpy,’ added Quintus.

  ‘Yes -jumpy enough for you to think the cameo was significant, and to palm it!’

  ‘Ooh, naughty!’ said Petro, grinning.

  Helena frowned. ‘Why would Anacrites protect his men if they are corrupt? Wouldn’t he be livid that they stole evidence and jeopardised his chances of cracking the case?’

  Petronius thumped a clenched fist several times on the table. The beat was measured, the meaning grim. ‘You can have the wandering donkey theory - - though I think it’s bullocks’ bollocks. Try this: during the courier’s murder, one of his killers took the cameo. It was a trophy. It was secreted away to gloat over, the way killers’ trophies are.’

  I agreed: ‘And it never left the killer. He took it home and hid the thing in his room. When Anacrites saw what the caterers had found, it took him a moment, but he knew what it meant. Why? Because he already knew he had a killer in his house. Work the rest out, lads -’

  The Camilli made the connection immediately. Justinus said, ‘The so-called Melitans are the two Claudii who work in Rome. They are Pius and Virtus.’

  Helena sat back as it all made sense. ‘Anacrites himself is protecting the Claudii - and not just since Modestus died. He has actively been their patron for much longer.’

  I nodded. ‘I’m slow. As soon as he let slip that his agents were twins, it should have rung bells. Too much coincidence.’

  ‘It’s good. It was another bit of very simple concealment,’ said Aulus. ‘Once you know, however, the subterfuge leaps out. I don’t know how he thought he could get away with it for much longer.’

  ‘Arrogance. He believes he is untouchable.’ Petro claimed the big finish: ‘Two of the murdering Claudii actually go out to kill from the spy’s house. Anacrites himself has given the twins a base in Rome, providing them with a locale. He knows - but he still let them get away with it. So what is his game, Falco?’