‘Not the Claudii? That’s the Anacrites verdict?’ I was angry. ‘Tiberius, my lad—this points us in the other direction much too obviously!’

‘Funny thing,’ murmured Fusculus. ‘That’s what Petronius Longus decided.’ He pretended to look impressed that we two could so swiftly come up with the same suggestion. ‘Mind you, he always likes to be a wild man over theories. If seven people say a cabbage-seller did it, the mighty Longus will arrest the baker. He’ll be right too. Clever bastard.’

Going on my way, when I reached the door I whipped back with a sudden last question. This was a trick to reserve for suspects, really, but Tiberius Fusculus was one person in the vigiles who appreciated stagecraft. ‘Have you discounted a copycat?’

‘Ah, Falco, there’s always that delight to cause confusion!’

Petro had been going to bed when I arrived, but he stayed up to gossip. We went out to the balcony. He closed the folding door. That was how he did things. Through the slats I could see Maia waggling her fingers at us and sticking out her tongue. Ma would have listened secretly. Helena would have dragged the door straight open again and brought a stool for herself.

He gave me further details. The Seventh Cohort, all halfwits in Petro’s opinion, had been first on the scene. The Via Triumphalis, which runs out of the city on the north-east side, was the Seventh’s beat; they had jurisdiction over the Ninth and Fourteenth districts, including any burial ground just outside the boundary. They consulted the Fourth Cohort. They knew Petronius had the Modestus case, though they had been unaware of the Anacrites complication. The Fourth’s tribune wanted to be a Praetorian Guard and spies were a Praetorian subdivision, so as it had a bearing on his own position Rubella stuck by the rules. He notified Anacrites of the new linked case so fast the hot wax seal burned the spy’s fingers. Anacrites had allowed the Seventh to continue with routine enquiries. Either they lacked the taint of association with Petronius and me, or he just thought they were too stupid to get in his way.

‘As they are,’ said Petro.

‘You’re tired.’

‘I’m right.’

‘Of course. So what do you think? Fusculus says the new official view is that the Triumphalis death indicates random killings on any road near Rome. It’s supposed to tell us the Modestus death was just a traveller’s unlucky accident.’

‘Yes, apparently that is a luminous truth.’

‘Modestus getting topped on his way into Rome has no relation to the Claudii but is pure coincidence?’

‘Wrong road, wrong time.’ Petro paused, as Maia came out with a dish of stuffed vine leaves, checking up that we were not enjoying ourselves too much without her.

‘He needs his rest, Marcus.’

‘We’ve nearly finished.’

‘I know you; you haven’t even started.’