Poseidon_s Gold

IX

I groaned. Not too loudly; a murder suspect needs to beware of bad acting.

'Lucius Petronius, I can hardly believe I'm hearing this…' I believed it all too easily. From the moment my brother's business life had become an issue yet again, I had expected deep trouble on the next throw of the dice. This was the worst yet, however.

'Believe it!' Petronius advised.

'Oh gods, Petro, I'm standing on a real midden heap of shit. You know Marponius hates informers. Now my name's written on a tablet in the denouncing jar! Just the chance he needs to interfere with my free movement and slander me at Pincian Hill dinner parties. Still!' I cheered up. 'Since you're the investigating officer, Marponius doesn't need to know.'

'Wrong, Falco!'

'Don't worry about it. I'll help you track the killer down.'

Petro sighed. 'Marponius knows already. He's having one of his "social responsibility" fits. Every five minutes he wants me to show him round a brothel or introduce him to a professional gambling cheat. I was with him discussing another case when they turned up to fetch me to Flora's. Coming along to have a squint at a genuine body was the highlight of the judge's year. Well,' he added reminiscently, 'it was until he actually set eyes on the mess.'

'I get it.' I had gathered this was a murder that would deeply affect a judge's shockable mind. 'Having seen the gore, and thrown up his breakfast on the doorstep of the action, His Honour feels personally involved in the whole damned enquiry? You'd better tell me everything. I suppose all the hangers-on at Flora's who normally wouldn't pass the time of day with their own lice, couldn't wait to talk with the great man?'

'Exactly. Your name took about three seconds to surface. We hadn't even forced a passage through the throng. I was still trying to get upstairs to inspect the remains.'

'This looks bad.'

'Smart, Falco!'

I knew Marponius was the impetuous type who would expect the first suspect he heard about to be condemned. Much neater than complicating life with other possibilities. He was probably already drawing up a jury list for my trial in the Basilica. Assuming he reckoned I rated the Basilica.

'So what's the situation, Petro? I'm a wanted man; Marponius thinks you're looking for me. Have you found me now, or do I get leeway to search for evidence myself?'

Petronius Longus gave me the straight look he normally kept for women; it meant he had no intention of being straight. 'Marponius wants this tied up speedily. I told him I couldn't find you at your apartment. I may have forgotten to mention I might be seeing you later on here.'

'How much to go on forgetting?'

'I'm sure you'll manage to persuade me!' There was nothing corrupt in Petronius. On the other hand, he would reckon any favours he notched up voluntarily ought to be accounted for in kind at a later date.

'Thanks.'

'You'll have to move fast. I can't keep it up for ever.'

'How long?'

'I can probably bluff for a day.' I thought I would be able to stretch him to three. We were pretty close friends. Besides, Petro hated Marponius too much to give an inch to his requests for speed. Watch captains are elected by the populace; Petronius took his authority from the plebeian electorate.

That said, he liked the work, he enjoyed his local status, and with a smart wife and three young daughters to keep he needed his public salary. Upsetting a judge would be a bad idea. Not even I could expect that of him; if it came to dilemma-time, I wouldn't even ask.

Petronius excused himself; discord always went to his bladder. While he was otherwise occupied I spotted his note tablet lying alongside his cloak on the table. Like everything he owned, it was solid and heavy, four or five reusable waxed boards bound with a criss-cross of leather thongs between two square wooden protectors. I had seen him use it on numerous occasions, unobtrusively scratching details about some luckless suspect, often at the same time as he talked to them. The tablet had a substantial, well-aged look that made it appear reliable. Produced in court, to be read from in his sombre tones, Petro's memory-jogger had secured many a conviction. I had never expected to be listed there myself among the reprobates. It gave me a feeling I didn't like.

I flipped the top cover and found he had been assembling a timetable of my own movements that day. Suppressing my indignation, I inserted the missing events for him in a neat, bitter script.