Solid Citizens by David Wishart

me. I paid and poured, then held the jug poised. ‘You want some of this?’
    ‘If it’s going spare, sure. Mine’s dead.’
    I filled his cup. ‘Health,’ I said, and sipped from my own. Actually, maybe I’d misjudged the place, because it wasn’t bad stuff, certainly a lot better than I’d been expecting. Mind you, if you can’t get a decent house wine in the Alban Hills then where else can you get it? And Aricia wasn’t far away; the landlord probably had family connections with the vineyard.
    Lucius took a good long swallow and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
    ‘Mind if we talk?’ I said.
    ‘Suit yourself. You’re buying, and I’m not doing anything special.’
    I glanced behind me. There was one small table with a couple of stools, squeezed away in a corner. ‘Over there?’ I said. ‘It’s more private.’
    ‘I’ll be saying nothing that I’d be ashamed gets overheard,’ he said. But he picked up his cup, levered himself off the stool and walked carefully to the table. I followed and sat down opposite him. ‘Now. Talk away.’
    ‘You weren’t at the funeral,’ I said.
    His face with its three-day-old stubble split into something between a grin and a snarl. He wasn’t doing so well in the teeth department, either. I reckoned four or five, all told, but I might’ve been overgenerous. ‘Bugger that,’ he said. ‘I’d no truck with my brother when he was alive and I’ll have none with him now he’s dead.’ He drained his cup at a gulp and edged it over in my direction. Wordlessly, I refilled it. ‘Shock you, that, does it? Offend your nice Roman-patrician sensibilities? Well, disapprove all you like. I’m no hypocrite, and I don’t do platitudes.’ He must’ve noticed my expression, because he said, ‘Also, I’m a drunk by choice and inclination. That doesn’t mean I’m a monosyllabic oaf. So don’t patronize me either, right?’
    Jupiter! Talk about having a chip on your shoulder! The one this guy was carrying around was so big you could use it as a doorstop.
    ‘I wasn’t going to, pal,’ I said. ‘And no, it doesn’t shock me at all. Still, you’re his heir, aren’t you?’
    ‘Indeed I am, seemingly.’ He half-emptied his newly refilled cup and smacked his lips. ‘
The
Caesius now. The only living representative of the family. No surprises there, then.’
    ‘How do you mean?’
    ‘“Concerning the dead, nothing except good.” That how the old tag goes? Well, since I can’t in all honesty manage the qualifi-cation without gagging I’ll settle for the first option and say nothing. I can afford to, after all; I reckon I’m worth a good million plus now, thanks to dear brother Quintus, what with his own money and my late sister-in-law’s dowry, and if that means drawing a line under his sacred memory then so be it.’ He belched. ‘Pardon. He had his head beaten in, they tell me, coming out of our local knocking shop. That right?’
    ‘Yeah. More or less.’
    ‘Couldn’t’ve happened to a better person. And that fact in itself is a glittering wonder and marvel to all who knew and loved him. Or didn’t, as the case might be.’ He chuckled to himself and took another swallow of wine. I said nothing. ‘So. Rest his bones, whatever the truth of it.
Concerning the dead
and so on; I’ve no quarrel with him now. How’s your investigation going? If I’m allowed to ask?’
    I shrugged. ‘As well as can be expected. I’ve just started. As you say, I’m just doing the rounds of the suspects at present.’
    ‘That’s nice. I’ll tell you what.’ He struggled to his feet, swaying. ‘Put the interrogation on hold for a minute, will you, while I take a leak round the back. The old bladder’s not what it was. I promise I won’t run.’
    ‘Sure. No problem,’ I said.
    ‘You’ll excuse me, then?’
    I waited while he staggered out of the door and closed it behind him. Then I got up and went over to the bar.
    ‘Yes, sir,’ the barman said.