In at the Death

8

Lugging the bloated Placida behind me, I took the hike back to the centre and Julian Square. Bankers and money-lenders tend to keep fairly self-indulgent hours, but the sun was half way through the morning now and the chances were that if Vestorius was anywhere to be got then I’d get the bastard now.

Sure enough, the Shark was In: a tall, spare, elderly North Italian with a sharp well-starched mantle, a wispy goatee beard and an air that left him somewhere between a professor of rhetoric and any kid’s ideal of a cuddly grandpa. When I shoved my head round the door of his booth — really, a small room done up like an office — he was slaving over a hot abacus with added ledgers.

‘Publius Vestorius?’ I said.

‘That’s right.’ I got the full hundred-candelabra smile as he took in the purple stripe on my mantle. Nice teeth, but then loan-sharks, like professional politicians, tend to look after them if they can. A good smile is one of these bastards’ most important assets. ‘Come in, sir.’

‘You mind if I bring my dog with me? Only if I leave her tied up outside she’s liable to get bored and eat people.’

The smile wavered. ‘I beg your pardon?’

‘Joke. In you come, Placida.’ I moved aside to let her past, and the smile disappeared altogether. ‘Don’t worry, pal, she’s got a lovely nature.’

‘Ah…yes.’ He rallied visibly. ‘Fine animal. Very fine. Do have a seat. You’ll find that chair quite comfortable.’

Yeah, I’d bet it was, because the whole room was designed to put the customer at his ease and keep him there while he got rooked. The chair was padded with crimson wool-stuffed cushions. I sat, and sank a good two inches before I stopped. ‘The name’s Corvinus,’ I said. ‘Valerius Corvinus. Settle, Placida.’

Amazingly, she did, albeit with a single prolonged belch. I wondered what the odds were in favour of her crapping on the guy’s fancy polished wooden floor. Pretty good, I’d imagine, considering how much she’d eaten and her total lack of the social graces. Not that I’d mind, myself. Quite the reverse.

‘I’m delighted to meet you.’ Vestorius moved the abacus aside. ‘Such unpleasant weather this time of year, isn’t it? Still, we can’t complain, we had quite a moderate summer. Some wine?’

‘Yeah. Yeah, sure.’ Me, I never pass up a free cup of wine, and if the bugger wanted to think I was a punter that was his affair.

There was a slave hovering. Vestorius snapped his fingers and the guy oozed across to the wine-jug and cups on the small table to one side of his desk. ‘Now,’ he said, and the smile was back in spades, ‘how exactly can I be of help? Presumably you need a loan. I can assure you here and now that there will be no difficulties on that score.’

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 — seriously 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.