Trade Secrets

TWENTY-ONE

So; a fairly short morning, but one full of incident. And if we had to do a drastic rethink where the overall picture of things was concerned, at least we’d got some of the dead wood cleared away.

I went back to the villa, where Bathyllus’s minions were just laying the outside table for lunch. Me, if I’m out and about, I usually settle for a quick snack at a wineshop counter, and because lunch is made up of cold leftovers from dinner the day before, Meton’s perfectly OK about that. Perilla, though, tends to go for the sit-down variety. When I came through onto the terrace she was ensconced in her favourite wickerwork chair with her book and a stiff pre-lunch barley-water and honey.

‘Back early again, Marcus,’ she said when I’d kissed her. ‘This is getting to be a habit.’

‘I’ve got news,’ I said. ‘The stabbing business is solved.’

She laid the book down on the side table. ‘Really? That’s marvellous! You’re certain?’

‘Hundred per cent cast-iron sure. I’ve seen the guy himself, our elusive Pullius, and he gave me the whole story.’ I told her about Gaius Vinnius. ‘So we can forget about that aspect of things. The shipping scam, though, that’s another matter. There’ve been developments there too. I called in at the harbour office and seemingly the Porpoise went down before it reached port.’

‘Did it, indeed?’ she said. ‘Interesting. You don’t think it was an accident?’

‘The jury’s out on that one, but my gut feeling says no. Absolutely, no. According to the clerk, the ship sank just short of the Corsican coast and all the crew made it safely ashore.’

‘Convenient.’

‘Right. The only problem – and it’s a clincher – is that if the sinking was done deliberately then it makes no sense.’

‘Why not?’

‘Come on, Perilla! Nigrinus owned the ship and Correllius owned the cargo. The whole cargo. When the Porpoise went down they’d both’ve lost out in spades, however you slice it. Nigrinus would’ve lost his ship and Correllius would be down the value of eight hundred amphoras’ worth of wine and oil. That’s no fleabite, however big a businessman you are.’ Something was niggling at the back of my mind; I reached for it, but it wouldn’t come. ‘Just the idea of it’s silly. As things stand, they’d be cutting their own noses off for no reason.’

‘So if they did do it, then why?’

I sighed. ‘Search me. Maybe the sky is full of flying pigs and it was a genuine accident after all. We’ll just have to-’

‘Hey, Corvinus. I was hoping I’d catch you.’

I looked round. Agron was coming through the peristyle opening towards us, Bathyllus hovering behind him.

‘Oh, hi, pal,’ I said. ‘Yeah, well, you have. Sit down, take the weight off your sandals. Bathyllus? The wine, little guy.’ He buttled out. ‘You staying for lunch?’

‘Sure.’ He pulled up another of the wicker chairs. ‘Hi, Perilla.’

‘This a social visit?’

‘Partly,’ he said. ‘I wanted to see for myself how the other half live.’ He looked around. ‘Nice place.’

‘Yeah, it is. Only partly?’

‘Uh-huh. You’ll be glad to know I’ve finally managed to trace your Gaius Siddius for you. The crane operator.’

I sat up straight. ‘Have you, indeed?’

‘Yeah. Turns out he’s working for one of the local stonemasons. Just along the road from my yard, as it happens, so I’m kicking myself I didn’t find him sooner.’

‘That’s OK.’ Great! Siddius was someone I really had to talk to. ‘Absolutely OK. If you give me directions, I’ll go and see him this afternoon.’

‘No problem. In fact, I’ll take you there myself when I go back. I left Sextus minding the store, but like I told you we’re pretty busy at present, so we’re working flat out.’

‘Right.’ Bathyllus came back with the wine, and two cups. I waited while he poured. ‘By the way, I should’ve thanked you for the babysitter. You were right; it could’ve been nasty.’

He shrugged. ‘Don’t mention it. Big Titus enjoyed the break. He said it made a change from hefting cement bags. And at least it meant that that bastard Nigrinus is off your back permanently.’

‘Yeah.’ I glanced at Perilla; she was looking pretty tight-lipped, but she didn’t say anything. ‘True.’

Agron took a sip of his wine. ‘So. How’s the case going?’

‘Not too badly. You interrupted a bit of head-scratching; we’re not there yet, not by a long chalk, but things are moving. And a chat with this Siddius character should help a lot, or I hope it will, anyway. At least quite a slice of the Correllius side of things has cleared itself up. Just this morning, in fact.’

His eyes widened. ‘Is that so, now? Turf war?’

‘No. Long-standing personal grudge.’ I gave him the details, while round about us the minions set the cold bits and bobs on the table and laid an extra place. ‘There was no point in taking things further, because in the event whatever the original plan was Vinnius didn’t kill the guy, and like I say the widow’s pretty blase about the whole thing. Ask me, she’s either happy enough on her own or she’s got another likely prospect already lined up.’

Perilla sniffed. ‘Marcus, that is pure unwarranted speculation,’ she said. ‘And it comes very close to muck-raking.’

Agron grinned.

‘Yeah, well, you haven’t met her, lady,’ I said. ‘She dresses to kill and she takes no prisoners.’ I refilled my wine-cup and offered the jug to Agron. ‘You want a top-up, pal?’ He shook his head. ‘Anyway, we thought – Perilla and me – that Mamilia might have a thing going with Publius Fundanius, business or pleasure or both, but that horse is a non-starter. Or I’m fairly sure it is.’

‘Glad to hear it,’ Agron said. ‘You’ve almost been knifed once in the past couple of days already. The less you mix yourself up with Fundanius the better.’ He reached for the plate of cheese and pickles. ‘I’ll tell you again: you want to stay clear of that guy.’

‘That might be tricky,’ I said. ‘Chances are, he’s still mixed up in things somewhere along the line. Where exactly or how deeply he’s involved I don’t know, but lily-white he isn’t, nor is Correllius’s erstwhile second, Publius Doccius. That crooked bastard’s in it up to his eyeballs, that’s for sure. I’d bet my sandal straps.’ I helped myself to some of the cold chicken stew. ‘Anyway, leave it for the present. Eat your lunch, I’ll give you the tour, and then you can-’ I stopped. ‘Shit!’

‘What is it, Marcus?’ Perilla said.

The niggle at the edge of my mind was back, and this time it’d had something to say for itself. I shook my head. ‘Nothing. Just an idea. Or half of one, if that. Forget it; it’ll wait until I’ve talked to our cack-handed crane operator.’

Fundanius and Publius Doccius, eh?

Hmm.

There was still plenty of the afternoon left when we arrived at the stonemason’s yard. Like Agron had said, it was just down the road a shade from his place, in the town’s top right-hand corner near the river, where a lot of the commercial enterprises are located: handy for trans-shipping the stone, and not all that far from the Roman Gate and the Appian Road beyond with its flanking line of roadside tombs where most of it would finally end up.

‘You need me any longer?’ Agron said.

‘No, that’s OK, pal.’ He was obviously anxious to get on, and unlike me he had a living to earn. ‘Thanks a lot. Dinner in a couple of days, all right? I’ll ask Meton to do fish.’

‘Great.’ He walked off, and I went through the yard gates.

Obviously a thriving business, this: there were at least half a dozen workmen busy on pieces of stonework in various shapes and sizes and a good few finished slabs and pillars waiting for delivery or purchase by the end-users’ heirs. Monumental sculptors’ yards have always seemed pretty sad places to me; your average concern is stocked with ready-made tombstones showing tradesmen or shopkeepers going about their everyday business or kids playing with their goat-carts, with an empty space underneath for the inscription to be added. The thing is, said tradesmen and kids are currently still alive and breathing, not knowing that their own personal tombstone is sitting there waiting for them.

Sad, like I say. Sad, and just a smidgeon eerie. The thought of it sends a shiver down my spine every time.

Still, the guys who work there don’t seem to mind. I buttonholed the nearest workman, who was chipping out the already-lined-in inscription on a tombstone showing a cutler standing in front of a rack of his wares. He was humming to himself while he did it; evidently a man happy in his work.

‘Excuse me, friend,’ I said. He stopped humming and looked up. ‘You happen to have a Gaius Siddius working here?’

‘Siddius?’ he said sourly. ‘Sure. If you can call it working. That’s him over there.’ He nodded in the direction of a weedy unshaven runt in a threadbare tunic who was sitting on a block of dressed stone drinking from a leather flask. ‘Skiving off like he usually does when the boss isn’t around.’

‘Thanks,’ I said. I went over. The guy looked up and lowered the flask.

‘Your name Siddius?’ I said to him.

He wiped his lips with the back of his hand. ‘What if it is?’ he said.

‘No hassle, pal. I just wanted to ask you a few questions.’

‘I’m on my break.’

I sighed. So, it was going to be like that, was it? I pulled out my purse, opened it, and took out a couple of silver pieces. His eyes followed every move, and he put the flask down.

‘OK,’ he said. ‘I’m Siddius. Questions about what?’

‘You used to work as a crane man at the docks, right? Until twelve or thirteen days back. Quay Twenty-five.’

‘Yeah, I did. So?’

I added another silver piece. ‘There was an accident the day before you left. You dropped a load of amphoras.’

He scowled. ‘What the hell is this?’ he said. ‘You from the port office? Because if you are, you can-’

‘No. I told you. No hassle. I’m just checking something out privately. Someone almost got hit. Name of Gaius Tullius.’

I was watching his expression. Wary; definitely wary, and his eyes flickered. Then he laughed. ‘Almost hit, nothing,’ he said. ‘The bastard was nowhere near me. He was a dozen yards up the quay.’

Uh-huh. ‘You’re sure?’

‘Sure I’m sure. The accident happened, no point in denying it, it’s no skin off my nose now, but if he’s a friend of yours trying it on with a claim then he’s lying through his teeth.’

‘The ship you were loading was the Porpoise. Master Titus Nigrinus.’ This time the flicker was unmistakable. ‘You know him?’

‘Yeah,’ he said grudgingly. ‘I know Nigrinus. He’s a regular. And it might’ve been the Porpoise right enough, for all I remember.’ His eyes went to the purse, and to the silver pieces I was holding in my other hand. I added another couple. ‘So what?’

‘So there’s one thing puzzling me, pal,’ I said. ‘According to the clerk in the harbour office the Porpoise’s cargo was oil and wine. Drop a few amphoras of that on the quay and it’d make quite a mess. Only I talked to the quay-master and he said there was no sign of one. And that there’d been no accident at all, at least none that was reported, either by you or by Nigrinus. You care to explain, maybe?’

Siddius licked his lips. He looked round nervously. ‘That depends,’ he said.

‘Depends on what?’ I tipped out more coins into my palm. One of them was a half gold piece. His eyes went to it and stayed there, and he licked his lips again.

‘No hassle, you say?’ he said.

‘None at all. Cross my heart.’ I jingled the coins absently. There was enough money there to keep him drunk for the rest of the month. Even so, he was hesitating, which, if my theory was right, made a lot of sense.

‘OK,’ I said. ‘I’ll make it easy for you. I’ll tell you what I think the explanation was. All you have to do is say whether I’m right or wrong, and we’ll take it from there. Deal?’

He swallowed. ‘Deal.’

‘There was no mess because there was nothing to make it. The amphoras were empty. Throw the broken bits over the side, and everything’s neat and tidy again. And Captain Nigrinus wasn’t likely to kick up a fuss with the authorities, was he, because he knew damn well that there was no oil or wine there to begin with.’

Another swallow. Then, slowly, Siddius nodded. ‘That’s more or less it, yeah,’ he said. ‘Not spot on, but more or less.’

Glory and trumpets! I kept my face straight.

‘Only,’ I said, ‘you’d’ve had to know that too, wouldn’t you? A load of empty amphoras hanging at the end of your crane-hook’d feel a lot different from a load of full ones.’

‘Yeah, they would.’ He grinned. ‘Only the buggers weren’t empty, were they? They’d been filled with water. So I didn’t know they was dodgy until they smashed, did I, clever Dick?’

Well, at least he was talking, and the precise detail didn’t matter much; in fact, if the amphoras had been full it made more sense. At any rate, the theory held good, in spades.

‘What about the water?’ I said. ‘Wouldn’t somebody notice that?’

He shrugged. ‘Been raining that morning, hadn’t it, so the quay was wet in any case. Nothing to notice, except if you were there at the time. I had that crooked bastard Nigrinus over a barrel. How he managed the switch or swung things in the first place, I don’t know and I don’t care, but it was a pretty good scam. Contract for a big consignment, swap the amphoras for ringers, load them onto a leaky tub like the Porpoise that’s long overdue for the breaker’s yard, stage a fake accident, and you’re laughing.’ He gave me a sharp look. ‘The Porpoise went down, didn’t she?’

‘Yeah. Just off the Corsican coast.’

‘And the crew got ashore safe?’

‘Yeah, they did.’

He nodded with satisfaction. ‘There you are, then. The perfect scam. No one’s crying but the guy who owned the original cargo, and you may be down one leaky old tub but you’re up eight hundred amphoras’ worth of oil and wine.’ He frowned. ‘Mind you, it’d take a lot of organizing. Just the shifting and storing would be a major job, big-time stuff. I wouldn’t’ve thought Nigrinus’d be up to that. You live and learn.’

Yeah, I’d agree. Still, I had my own thoughts on that score.

‘The cargo’s owner was Marcus Correllius, right?’ I said.

‘Yeah. He didn’t handle things himself, mind. Guy’s too ill to involve himself much with everyday business these days, or so I hear. He left the nitty-gritty to his manager, Publius Doccius. Now there’s a real hard bastard. If Nigrinus was putting one over on him then no wonder he was sweating when I dropped the load.’

Bullseye! ‘Doccius wasn’t there himself at the time?’

‘Nah. Saw the loading started, then buggered off to the nearest wineshop for a drink.’

‘The guys doing the loading. They were Correllius’s?’

‘Sure. Doccius always uses a company team. It’s cheaper that way.’ Yeah, Cispius had told me that was how it worked. ‘He would’ve used one of his own men for the crane, too, but he’d broken his wrist.’ He laughed. ‘Bad luck on Doccius’s part, of course, because then the accident might not’ve happened. I was pretty hungover that day.’

‘And none of the team – the loaders – noticed that there was something funny going on?’

‘Must’ve done. But they weren’t going to get involved, were they? That might just lead to trouble.

Uh-huh; Cispius again. He’d said that shoving your nose in and asking questions when you worked for Correllius was a bad idea. And given my suspicions – more than suspicions, now – where Doccius was concerned they’d probably have been right.

‘So,’ I said. ‘What happened then?’

‘I finished the loading, nice as pie, and then went to Nigrinus to put the bite on. Like I say, the guy was sweating. He grumbled, sure, but when I threatened to take the story straight to Correllius he paid up like a lamb. Five gold pieces I got from him for keeping my mouth shut, and cheap at the price. They came in handy, as well, because next day that bastard of a quay-master Arrius sacked me.’

Which had probably, in fact, saved his life: me, I wouldn’t’ve given a copper quadrans for it once he’d told Nigrinus what he’d seen. The sacking had been lucky for both of us.

‘The other guy who witnessed the accident. Gaius Tullius,’ I said. ‘You happen to know what he did then?’

‘Nah. Not a clue. I hardly even noticed him, and like I say he was nowhere near me when I dropped the load. Probably just went about his business.’

Yeah; that I’d believe. Only Tullius’s business, I’d bet, had comprised putting the bite on himself. Which, if I was right, was exactly why he’d ended up dead.

‘It doesn’t matter,’ I said. ‘Forget it.’ I handed over the coins. ‘Thanks, pal. That’s been a great help.’

He pocketed them. ‘Any time.’