hardly the glad place I knew in warmer days. No one walked for pleasure in Caesar's gardens, no one sat out on balconies shouting across to their neighbours, no one drowsed on stools in doorways, no one went to the theatre and filled the evening air with distant rumbles of applause. I heard no music. I saw no partygoers. The acrid smell of bathhouse smoke crawled sluggishly on the still air.
Lights began to be lit. It was time to be going somewhere positive, even if the somewhere was not home. Wandering aimlessly could attract the wrong attention. Besides, it makes a man depressed.
With nothing to lose, I had another go at Flora's.
This time there were no visible representatives of the watch. I had to be careful, since Petronius sometimes dropped in on his way home to dinner. I won't say he needed to strengthen his resolve before he faced his wife and their three raucous children, but Petro was a man of habit, and Flora's was one of his habitual haunts. I had a swift look round both outside and in before I let my feet come to a halt.
I had timed it just right. Petro's operative had done his job and reported back to the guardhouse. There were no other customers. The day's wastrels had drifted off. It was just too early for the evening trade. Flora's was all mine.
I leaned on the counter. Epimandos, the shabby waiter, had been scraping out bowls, but the minute he saw me he dropped his spatula.
'The usual?' he let out before he could stop himself, but then he froze in panic.
'Skip the food. I only have time for a half jug of house red.' I was keeping him on tenterhooks. For once he leapt into action. The jug appeared so rapidly I nearly put my palm in it as I turned back from a quick survey of the street behind. Still no sign of Petronius.
Epimandos was staring at me. He must be well aware I was chief suspect in the Censorinus case. He must have been amazed even to see me when the whole Aventine was waiting to hear I had been arrested.
Still stringing him along, I took a huge swig of wine like a man intent on getting horribly drunk. Epimandos was bursting to ask questions, yet petrified what I might say or do. I amused myself bitterly wondering how he would react if I had actually done the deed; if I did get drunk; if I sobbed on his welcoming shoulder and confessed my crime like an idiot. He ought to be grateful I was here, providing a scene to thrill the customers with when he told them about it afterwards. Mind you, saying 'Falco came in, drank a half-pitcher, then left quietly,' would hardly grab their attention.
I paid up, then made sure I had finished the wine, in case Petro appeared and I had to abscond hastily.
Fear that I might be leaving without providing any gossip must have helped the waiter find his tongue. 'People are saying you're going to be arrested.'
'People love to see someone else in trouble. I've done nothing.'
'The men from the watch told me you'll have a hard time getting out of it.'
'Then I'll be serving some slander writs.'
Epimandos tugged at my tunic urgently. 'But you're an investigator! You can prove you're innocent-' he had a touching faith in my skills.
I interrupted his agitated mutterings. 'Epimandos, how much to let me have a look at the room upstairs?'
'What room?' he gasped feebly.
'Why, just how many nasty secrets are you hiding at Flora's?' The waiter blenched. This place had certainly been used by antisocial characters more than once. 'Settle down. I'm not prying into the caupona's murky past.' He still looked terrified. 'I mean the room where your lodger signed off from the legions before his time.' Epimandos did not move or speak. I began more sternly: 'Epimandos, I want you to take me up to the room Censorinus hired.' I thought he was going to pass out. He had always been easily unnerved. It was one of the reasons I summed him up as a runaway slave.
'I can't!' he finally whispered desperately. 'They've roped it up. There was a guard here until ten minutes ago:' He seemed to be thinking up excuses.
'Oh Hercules! You're not telling me the body's still in your pigeon loft?' I glanced up expressively. 'That's a bit inconvenient. You'll be losing trade if blood starts dripping through the ceiling. ' The waiter looked more and more uncomfortable. 'Why can't they drag the corpse away on a cart?'
'It's because he was a soldier,' Epimandos croaked. 'Petronius Longus said the army had to be notified.'
That was rubbish. Most unlike my disrespectful friend Petronius. I frowned. Petro would always override what others regarded as proper formalities. I even wondered for a wild moment if he was stalling on the removal order so as to give me a chance for a squint:
'Got any oysters tonight?' I asked Epimandos.
'No.'
'I think I'll have some.'
He found a slight increase in confidence now I had stopped talking about corpses. 'We never have oysters, Falco.' He was used to dealing with people who were deaf or drunk or both. 'You'll get oysters at the Valerian.' The Valerian was the caupona on the opposite corner. It was neat and clean, but always empty. For no obvious reason the locals had decided to ignore the Valerian as steadfastly as they patronised Flora's, even though Flora's was overpriced and gave you gut-ache.
'I can't be bothered to shift. Epimandos, run over and get me a bowlful, will you?'
Whether he grasped the idea or not, Epimandos let himself be bullied into running over the road. I hoped he had the sense to dally for a long chat with the Valerian's waiter.
I nipped through the kitchen area and up the back stairs. I knew where lodgers were installed, because when Ma's Campania relations descended we sometimes bedded them out here. There were three rooms-two tiny cubicles over the kitchen and a larger one above the bar. Censorinus had had the biggest. I knew because its door was tied up.
Petronius had returned my knife after his inspection, so I already had it out to slice through the rope, which had been wound on to two large nails by his men. Their efforts were pretty feeble, however. The web of heavily stranded hemp looked impressive at first glance, but a pantomime dancer could have made a forced entry without breaking a fingernail. I managed to drag one knot right off, which meant I would be able to replace it intact when I left. If I was fast, I might be able to come and go undetected.
Without pausing to wonder any further about the pathetic attempt to deter entry, I opened the door gently on the room where the soldier's murder had taken place.
XVI
Don't ask me to describe it.
You never expect what you find. Sometimes-the lucky times-any evidence that a violent crime has occurred seems hardly noticeable. So little shows that quite a few crimes must entirely escape discovery. At other times, the violence is horrendously clear. You reel back, amazed that anyone could wreak such savagery on another human being. This was one of those.
This murder had been committed in a frenzy. Even my warning from Petronius had failed to prepare me. Petronius apparently believed in Greek understatement.
We had talked about villains 'making their mark', as if Censorinus's death might have been a syndicated killing ordered by some magnate in the underworld. As soon as I saw the room I gave up the idea. Whoever killed Censorinus Macer was acting under devastating stress.
It had to have been a man. Impassioned women can achieve vindictive damage, but this act had taken brute strength. Blow after crazy blow, long after death had occurred. The face, when I forced myself to look at it, was difficult to recognise. Petro was right: there was blood everywhere. Even the ceiling was splashed. To clean the room properly would entail dismantling the furniture and swabbing the surfaces several times. Olympus knows what the killer must have looked like when he left.
I felt reluctant to move around even now, after the gore had dried.
But there was no point in having come unless I used the opportunity. I forced myself into routine activity.
The place was roughly eight feet square. A small room. It had one small, high window, deeply recessed. A small bed. One blanket; no pillow. The only other furnishings were a cloak hook, beneath which a faded scarlet
