As an informal gesture to the fact that it was after business hours, Laeta had a singer intoning an epode. The musician was heavily emphasising the iambic trimeters and dimeters in a long, slow, lugubrious piece that used the style aficionados call affected archaism. It was music you could never dance to, nor would it lull you to sleep, raise your spirits or encourage a fine-featured woman to sleep with you. Laeta had one finger placed against his brow to indicate subconscious delight. I wondered why men who listen to such torture always think themselves so superior.

The Dorian dirge subsided. Laeta had made an almost imperceptible gesture, so the singer left. Going voluntarily saved him having me drag him outside and bind him by his tasselled wristbands to a fast-moving cart.

‘I’m glad you dropped by, Falco.’ Always a bad start.

Laeta then told me that Anacrites was back from whatever mission the Emperor had let him loose to ruin. Instead of waiting for more orders, the Chief Spy had taken it upon himself to follow up the Modestus case. ‘I have informed Marcus Rubella he can drop the investigation,’ said Laeta, barely looking up from his deskful of documents.

‘That stinks!’

‘It’s a done deal, Falco.’

‘You think Anacrites is fit for this?’ I demanded.

‘Of course not.’ At this point, Laeta did look up and meet my eyes. His were clear, cynical and unlikely to be swayed by protests. ‘Think yourself lucky, Falco. Tell your vigiles friend too. This case may go very mouldy before it’s over. If the spy thinks he wants the job, that’s typical of his misjudgement—but let him go ahead and bungle it. We can all watch Anacrites get nasty black squid ink down one of those barley-coloured tunics he insists on wearing.’

Laeta always wore white. Classic. Expensive and aristocratic. By implication incorruptible—though I had always assumed he was very corrupt indeed.

I dropped my voice. ‘What’s going on, Laeta?’

He laid down his pen and leaned his chin on his hands. ‘Nothing, Falco.’

I folded my arms. ‘I can spot official lying. You can tell me the truth. I have the Emperor’s confidence. I thought you and I worked from the same order sheet.’

‘I am sure we do.’ Claudius Laeta gave me the look some bureaucrats use. It made no denial of a cover-up and seemed to assume I knew everything he did. I felt I could see distaste for whatever game Anacrites was playing.

‘I thought this was a confidential enquiry. How did Anacrites even find out about it?’

‘Your crony Petronius put in a claim for a replacement ox and cart. An auditor strolled up the corridor and mentioned it to the spy.’

‘Oh no! I wonder what that was worth? I do see the Treasury will quibble—but the adjudicators are perfectly capable of turning down expenses without bringing in Anacrites. It’s nothing to do with him.’