I wrote a report for Faustus. I first outlined the reasons why the case had seemed to be dying on us. After that, much of my news concerned Polycarpus, but I did slide in a mention that Titianus had agreed to make further contact with the gang. I did not say I was going with him. I sent Dromo off, then spent a quiet evening by myself before an early night.

I should have realised Faustus would guess what I was up to. So next morning who should come breezing into the apartment but my client. He was dressed not in his aedile’s purple stripes, but the street clothes he wore for going undercover.

He did not trouble to chastise me. He acted as if his presence was a lucky coincidence. But he stuck there until Titianus turned up, then he came out with us. I acted as if I was perfectly happy to have Manlius Faustus do that. No choice really.

Titianus looked wary. Annoyed, I saw that he thought I had deliberately sent for Faustus who, in his eyes, was tainted by visiting the tribune. Even with the aedile disguised as an unshaven lout in a shabby brown tunic, Titianus was never going to like him. This busted up his and my relationship as cronies, jeopardising Titianus’ willingness to be frank. Well, thank you, aedile!

Faustus, who noticed a lot, gave no sign that he had noticed any of this, but I knew he would have done.

Titianus led us first back to the Galatea. The sour fixer Gallo was not there; maybe he only turned up for his free lunch. Instead, as we scrutinised the bar from across the street, Titianus said he could see Roscius. He was laughing and joking with two other men, gang members our guide recognised. We had agreed the ideal was to corner Roscius by himself, when he might be easier to work on. So we stayed put outside, watching.

When I say ‘we’ agreed a plan, Titianus and I did that while Faustus, in one of his introverted moods, merely listened and made no objection. I was trying to rebuild the investigator’s trust, so I was pally with him and ignored the aedile. If Faustus felt left out, it was his fault for interfering. I did not need a nursemaid if I was staking out a suspect with a vigiles expert. In my opinion, I did not need a minder ever.

Titianus pointed out Roscius. He was about twenty-five, short-legged but good looking in a way that would not last past thirty. He thought himself a wonderful beast, with a ripped-neck tunic worn one-armed, in order to show off his well-oiled pectorals. Inevitably, a medallion of dubious metal with twinkly red glass inserts nestled among his curly chest hair. This jewel probably cost a packet (assuming he’d bought it, not stolen it); the deal must have made some lying, cheating jeweller extremely happy.