Deadly Election

37

Most people who knew me would have expected me to give that dog a home. Wrong! I liked dogs, and generally I felt for the abandoned and unloved, but despite my personal history, or even because of it, I would not rescue strays. I’ve had enough fleas for one lifetime. I had no scope to devote myself to orphans, and I would never live with any creature that frightened me. Consul was more than a handful – he was so big he would always be dangerous. So, I was not stupid.

At first light I roused Rodan. ‘Bloody hell, I need some sleep!’ he moaned.

‘Don’t worry. He’s going home today. I shall need you to help.’

We collected the dog; Rodan was strong enough to hold him – and, to a dog, he smelt very interesting. I had the address, so we went straight to the house of Trebonius Fulvo. We dumped Consul. He was theirs to dispose of as they chose. Maybe they would send him to a farm as Faustus had suggested. If not, I didn’t want to know.

Rodan went home. I stayed and insisted on being granted an interview. Fortunately candidates rose early.

Trebonius breezed into the room where I had been helpfully picking dog-hairs off the couch cushions. I had built up a pile on the bronze arm of the furniture.

He had evidently taken breakfast and forgotten I might be peckish after babysitting his mastiff through a long night. Trebonius was thickset and muscular, with a large, almost shaved head and broad hook-nosed face, where your attention was gripped by that squinting eye with its opaque iris. Had he been leaner he could have passed for an old-time republican senator, but he lacked the experience-lines and gobble-neck. He was a pampered, modern go-getter. The gold rings said it.

‘Trebonius Fulvo, your dog has been barking all night and I am too tired to be polite. I want to know one thing. Why does Callistus Primus think you killed his father?’

Trebonius did not waver. He was very sure of himself, ideal political material: my judgement, right or wrong. ‘Is that what he meant yesterday? I was unaware his father died. However, I am not responsible.’ He lowered his voice slightly. ‘Are you telling me his old man was that corpse you found?’

‘The first one? We don’t know. Primus seems to think so. The only witness who could have confirmed it one way or the other is the second victim, the man who tumbled out of the same chest yesterday.’

‘Neat coincidence! Is that why he was killed?’

‘Seems possible.’

‘I heard the first had rotted.’

‘As you say.’

‘You saw it?’ People love the macabre.

‘Unfortunately.’

‘So why are you here asking questions, instead of the authorities?’ Trebonius demanded bluntly.

I managed not to bridle. ‘I dare say officials will trot along here in their own time. I won’t wait. Two bodies have been found in the course of an auction run by our family business. That makes it my concern.’

‘You’re hooked up with Manlius Faustus, aren’t you?’ This man was as nosy about the living as the dead.

‘I know him. Back to the point, please. Can you shed light on why Callistus Primus suspects you?’

Trebonius sniffed. ‘Isn’t it clear? My colleague and I – Arulenus and I – are campaign front-runners. This is on merit. Primus and his family bankrupted themselves on a failed effort to elect Volusius Firmus. Primus’s accusation of me is based on raw jealousy. This may be understandable, but it’s not a viable position. We had no need to attack his family, nor would we do it. There is no evidence, of course?’ Trebonius barely allowed time for me to answer. ‘Forget it. The poor man believes he has lost his father; in his grief, he is morbid and reckless.’

I sighed. We did not even know that the first corpse really was Callistus Valens. Even if so, nothing connected his dead body to Trebonius or Arulenus. In fact, nothing connected that body to anyone.

Blackening the Callistus name even more, Trebonius added, ‘Primus and company threatened us with violence.’

‘Care to elaborate?’

‘Anonymous letters told us to withdraw or we would be harmed, killed even.’

This was new. ‘Do you have those letters?’

‘We burned them.’

Why are intimidation victims always so obtuse? ‘What made you think the writer was one of the Callisti?’

‘Firmus was still standing then. He always was a no-hoper. He needed any help his ridiculous backers could provide.’

‘I see. You did not consider that Dillius, Ennius, Gratus or Vibius Marinus could be issuing such threats?’

Trebonius let out a full-chested, derisive laugh. ‘A drunk, a wimp, a prig and a human grain bag?’

‘Right! One more thing. Have you ever worked with the agent who has also died, Titus Niger?’

‘Never.’ By now Trebonius could see I had run out of questions and was giving up. With the pressure lifted, he became more reasonable, even helpful. ‘I know of him. I can probably find out for you the names of people who have employed him. Get some of them to talk to you.’

I smiled wryly. ‘I hope this isn’t simply an election promise!’ He passed it off, openly accepting that those were empty vows. ‘That would be very helpful. Thank you, Trebonius.’

‘I’m a reasonable man. Please assure Callistus I hope he finds his old father holed up safely at Crustumerium, just too busy screwing a pretty little goat-girl to write home.’

I would keep the goat-girl comment to myself, lest it inflame the situation further. I was jaded. Otherwise I might not have felt so grateful for his cooperation, nor so reassured by his bland offer to deliver names.

I learned to distrust Trebonius Fulvo as soon as I left. Two men who clearly worked for him were in the street outside with mops and buckets, washing down the carrying chair that must have been used by Trebonius’s wife when she travelled around the city. Perhaps they were her bearers: they were sufficiently well built. Close to, the biggest looked as if he could pick up a bacon pig one-handed. The other was not small.

I recognised them. They were the two lark-about loafers who had parked themselves next to the strongbox when I was selling it on the first day of the auction.