Ode to a Banker

IX

'Would that,' enquired Helena Justina in her most refined tones, 'be his Greek or his Latin library?'

'Greek.' Petro patiently matched her irony. Her eyes narrowed slightly, approving his parry.

I butted in: 'Was the bastard really so wealthy he could afford two libraries?'

'The bastard had two,' confirmed Petro. He looked gloomy. So did I.

'He got his money from fleecing his authors then,' I growled.

Helena remained calm, full of patrician snootiness, disdainful of Petro's suggestion that her chosen partner might have soiled his hands killing a foreigner who bought and sold goods. 'You had better know, Lucius Petronius, Marcus had words with this man today. Chrysippus had tried to commission work from him – he approached us, mind. Marcus had had no thought of placing his poems before the public gaze.'

'Well, he wouldn't, would he?' agreed Petro, making it an insult on principle.

Helena ignored the jibe. 'It turned out the offer was a cheat; Marcus was expected to pay to be published. Naturally Marcus expressed his views in the strongest of terms before he left.'

'I am glad you told me that,' Petro said gravely. He had probably already known.

'Always best to be honest' Helena smiled.

I myself would not have told Petronius anything, and he would not have expected it.

'Well, officer,' I declared instead. 'I hope you will try very hard to find out who committed this appalling crime.' I stopped simpering. My voice rasped. 'From the little I saw of the Chrysippus operation, it has the smell of a right rat's nest.'

Petronius Longus, my best friend, my army tent-mate, my drinking pal, drew himself up in a way he liked to do (it showed he was some inches taller than me). He folded his bare arms on his chest, to emphasise his breadth. He grinned. 'Ah, Marcus Didius, old mucker – I was hoping you would help us out.'

'Oh no!'

'But yes!'

'I'm a suspect.'

'I just cleared you.'

'Oh Hades! What's the game, Petro?'

'The Fourth Cohort has enough to do – work up to our lugholes. Half the squad is down with summer fever and the rest are decimated by wives telling the men to bunk off and repair their roof-tiles while the sun's out. We have no manpower to deal with this.'

'The Fourth is always overworked.' I was losing this dice-game.

'We really can't cope at present,' Petronius returned placidly.

'Your tribune won't wear it.'

'It's July.'

'So?'

'Darling Rubella is on leave.'

'His villa at Neapolis?' I scoffed.

'Positanum.' Petronius beamed. 'I'm covering for him. And I say we need to buy in expertise.'

Had Helena not been there, I might have accused him of wanting free time to pursue some new woman. There was little affection between the vigiles and private informers. They saw us as devious political sneaks; we knew they were incompetent thugs. They could put out fires. It was the real reason for their existence. They had only become involved with law and order because vigiles patrols out fire-watching at night had run across so many burglars in the dark streets. We possessed more sophisticated expertise. When civil crimes occurred, victims were advised to come to us, if they wanted their affairs handled with finesse.

'Well, thanks, friend; once I would have been glad of the money,' I admitted. 'But to investigate the killing of some millionaire exploitation-magnate sticks in my craw.'

'For one thing,' Helena supported me, 'there must be thwarted authors all over the city, any one of whom was bursting to shove the slug down a drain. What happened to him anyway?' she asked, rather late in the day. As a group, we were showing the publisher little sympathy.

'The first draft was rather crude – thrusting a scroll rod up his nose. Then whoever did it developed his theme more prettily.'

'Nice metaphors. You mean he was battered about?' I queried. Petro nodded. 'In various violent ways. Someone was exceedingly angry with this patron of the arts.'

'Don't tell me any more. I will not take an interest. I refuse to involve myself '

'Reconsider that, Falco. You would not want me to feel obliged to run your visit to the scriptorium past the loveable Marponius.'

'You would not!'

'Try me,' he leered.

It was blackmail. He knew perfectly well I had not crushed the life from Chrysippus – but he could make the situation difficult. Marponius, the homicide magistrate for this sector, would love a chance to get me. If I refused to assist, they might close the case in a way that was traditional for the vigiles: find a suspect; say he did it; and if he wants to get off, let him prove what really happened. Crude, but extremely efficient if they were keen on good clear-up figures and less keen on knowing who had actually bashed in a victim's brains.

Helena Justina looked at me. I sighed. 'I'm the obvious choice, love. The vigiles know me, and I'm already close to the case. I think,' I was now addressing both of them, 'this requires a drink. We need to talk about it -'

'None of your informing games.' Petronius smirked. 'I want a consultant who will solve this, not some layabout who hopes the Fourth will cover his exorbitant winebar bills.'

'So you do control a budget?'

'That's not your worry.'

'Oh, you don't have a budget. You're raiding the pension fund!' If Petronius was doing that – and I would not put it past him – he was vulnerable and I could apply a squeeze myself: 'Lucius, old friend, I shall need a free hand.'

'You'll take my orders.'

'Stuff that. I want my usual fees, plus expenses – plus a confession bonus if I make the killer cough.'

'Well, suit yourself – but keep a low profile.'

'Are you allowing me any back-up?'

'None to give you; that's the whole point, Falco.'

'I can bring my own support – if you can pay for it.'

'I'll pay for you; that's more than enough. I'm sure Fusculus will be happy to give you his usual tactful hints and tips, should I not be available when you require advice.'

'Don't insult my expertise!'

'Just don't get into any rucks, Falco.'

'Demand a contract,' Helena instructed me, not bothering to say it in an undertone.