Nemesis

'Ooh, naughty!' said Petro, grinning.

Helena frowned. 'Why would Anacrites protect his men if they are corrupt? Wouldn't he be livid that they stole evidence and jeopardised his chances of cracking the case?'

Petronius thumped a clenched fist several times on the table. The beat was measured, the meaning grim. 'You can have the wandering donkey theory – - though I think it's bullocks' bollocks. Try this: during the courier's murder, one of his killers took the cameo. It was a trophy. It was secreted away to gloat over, the way killers' trophies are.'

I agreed: 'And it never left the killer. He took it home and hid the thing in his room. When Anacrites saw what the caterers had found, it took him a moment, but he knew what it meant. Why? Because he already knew he had a killer in his house. Work the rest out, lads -'

The Camilli made the connection immediately. Justinus said, 'The so-called Melitans are the two Claudii who work in Rome. They are Pius and Virtus.'

Helena sat back as it all made sense. 'Anacrites himself is protecting the Claudii – and not just since Modestus died. He has actively been their patron for much longer.'

I nodded. 'I'm slow. As soon as he let slip that his agents were twins, it should have rung bells. Too much coincidence.'

'It's good. It was another bit of very simple concealment,' said Aulus. 'Once you know, however, the subterfuge leaps out. I don't know how he thought he could get away with it for much longer.'

'Arrogance. He believes he is untouchable.' Petro claimed the big finish: 'Two of the murdering Claudii actually go out to kill from the spy's house. Anacrites himself has given the twins a base in Rome, providing them with a locale. He knows – but he still let them get away with it. So what is his game, Falco?'

Baffled by the spy's stupidity, I shook my head. 'He is crazy. I suppose he may be struggling to contain them. On an off-day, he may even stupidly have told them to provide a corpse north of the Tiber to distract attention from the Modestus killing on the other side of Rome.'

Helena had been thinking fast. 'Anacrites cannot have known originally what these men were. He must have taken them on to work for him – which we think was a couple of years ago -' That was what Pius or Virtus, whichever we had held captive, had told Petro and me, though I did not remind her of the circumstances. 'He found out later. Then he may have been attracted by a hint of danger attached to them. You know how he is; he would never admit that he made a mistake in hiring them.'

I agreed. 'When he learned the truth, he would simply convince himself he had chosen ideal staff. He would think having a colourful background made them just right for his work's "special nature".'

Justinus barked with laughter. 'So, being perverted murderers equates with "special intelligence skills", does it?'

Aelianus had once been a recruitment target; he knew the spy's sales patter: 'Anacrites maintains that spying is a little over the edge of legality. That's exciting. He sees himself as cunning and dangerous. He gloats that he can get away with using assassins "for the good of the state" – - well, think about Perella.'

I thought it a good diagnosis: 'He would tell himself he could control them. But when he came back from Istria and discovered the Modestus murder had drawn attention to the Claudii, faced with them getting out of hand, he tried to take personal control.'

'Marcus, I'm afraid your involvement must have made it all worse for him,' Helena told me ruefully.

'Too right. Not only must he bury the problem before the Claudii are exposed, he has to distract me.'

Justinus blew his cheeks out. 'And there's no chance for us to expose his position, you know. He will only accuse us of interfering in some covert operation, endangering the Empire.'

'We are stuffed,' said Aelianus. He was young. He gave up easily.

I was older. I knew how the world worked. I was starting to think he had the right idea.

Petronius let out a grim laugh. 'Well, one of the twins is dealt with. Either Pius or Virtus has been removed from society – - without us even realising who he was.'

I myself would not have mentioned that again. Helena glowered. The Camilli sensed awkwardness and did not ask what Petro meant.

Of course it explained why Pius or Virtus would never admit his name to us – and why Anacrites also glossed over his men's identity. It also explained why the agent – - child of a cold, controlling father and a remote, neglectful mother, growing up with sadistic brothers – had managed to resist our interrogation.

And it explained the knives he carried. I tried not to look at Helena Justina as we both grasped that I had brought a perverted killer right into our house. I felt queasy remembering we had kept him here, in the same building as my wife and children.

Petronius may have picked up what Helena and I were thinking. He lowered his voice. 'So, Marcus Didius, my old tentmate, who volunteers to confront Anacrites?'

'Not us – not yet,' I answered.

Ever cautious, Petro nodded too.

LII

Claudius Virtus lived in the Transtiberina. Petronius had found the address in the vigiles' lists. This was the Fourteenth District, a hike across the Tiber, an area I had always distrusted. It had a long history as a haunt of immigrants and outsiders, which gave it a reputation as a refuge for low-grade hustlers. Officially part of Rome for several generations, it retained a tang of the alien. Its dank air was imbued with murky hints of cumin and rue; alive with harsh, foreign voices, its dark, narrow lanes were populated with people in exotic cloaks who kept strange birds in cages up above on their windowsills. Carts here regularly tried to ignore the curfew. The vigiles, whose station house was just off the Via Aurelia, rarely made their presence felt, even to tackle the soft option of traffic nuisance. This area was attached to Rome, yet kept from full participation by more than the yellow-grey loop of the Tiber. The Transtib would always stay separate.

As I walked with Petro, Aulus and Quintus, I was still remembering that night at the spy's house. 'I saw someone else. Just a glimpse. I think he had been with the two agents. Could it have been Nobilis? Nobody we've questioned seems to have spotted him, though the chef did say Pius and Virtus asked for double portions with their meal – - that could have been a cover for their brother. I certainly saw enough used dishes for three.'

'Description?'

'No good. He was too far away, and in a gloomy corridor. It was after dark by then, and Anacrites is mean with lamps.'

'So who do you think it was, Falco?'

'I don't know – but don't let's forget him. According to the caterer's chef, the third man was the one with the cameo.'

Virtus rented a room above a row of crumbling shops. It was in the same building as the bar we chose when we arrived, immediately above us. If he had been there, he could have jumped through a window and landed right on Quintus. But there was a fifty-fifty chance he had gone away, and would not be coming back.

The barman, who knew him, said Virtus had not lived there full-time for six months. He kept the place on, and had been coming back to check his stuff once a week. Not just lately, however.

'Sounds as though he's living in with a girlfriend? Keeping up with his rent because he thinks she's going to throw him out. Or he may want to dump her?'

'Not as far as I know. He's married, I believe.' That did not rule out Petro's girlfriend theory. 'Working in Rome to earn some cash, but he goes home.'

'Where would "home" be?'

'No idea, sorry.' We knew: the Pontine Marshes. The wife's name was Plotia. I had even met her. Petronius had searched the rustic shack where Virtus left her. Not much cash seemed to find its way back there.

'Where else might he go?'

'He mentioned a brother.'