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.
X
WORD HAD spread. The crime scene was almost inaccessible behind a large crowd of Aventine dead-enders who had suddenly developed an interest in reading. Their after-lunch entertainment was to present themselves at the scroll-shop like potential customers, browsing the book baskets and keeping their eyes peeled for excitement - preferably in the forin of blood.
Considering Petro's claims of undermanning, there was a commendable vigiles presence. The red tunics were here in force, mingling with the ghouls, always nosy about a new kind of location. It would not last. Once the investigation lost its novelty, it would be hard finding one of these lads for anything routine. They were mainly ex-slaves, short but wide or wiry, each handy in a fight and none of them men to cross. Joining the vigiles was a desperate measure. The work was dangerous, the community hostile, and those who escaped
'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.
X
WORD HAD spread. The crime scene was almost inaccessible behind a large crowd of Aventine dead-enders who had suddenly developed an interest in reading. Their after-lunch entertainment was to present themselves at the scroll-shop like potential customers, browsing the book baskets and keeping their eyes peeled for excitement - preferably in the forin of blood.
Considering Petro's claims of undermanning, there was a commendable vigiles presence. The red tunics were here in force, mingling with the ghouls, always nosy about a new kind of location. It would not last. Once the investigation lost its novelty, it would be hard finding one of these lads for anything routine. They were mainly ex-slaves, short but wide or wiry, each handy in a fight and none of them men to cross. Joining the vigiles was a desperate measure. The work was dangerous, the community hostile, and those who escaped
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