Wolf Whistle

Back in the office, Marcus Cornelius was leaning over the chest, red-faced and gasping for air. ‘I thought at one point you were trying to suffocate me,’ he said.

‘At one point,’ she replied prettily, ‘you were right.’

‘Statius?’ he grinned.

‘P. Leno Statius. It’s the name of the oculist down on the corner, the first name that entered my head.’

‘I wonder what the P stands for.’

‘Is it pertinent?’ she asked.

‘More likely Paulus, but that’s beside the point. You lied to me, Claudia Seferius. You’re not drowning in domestic trivia, you’re in your element.’

‘Suffocating, Marcus. I said I was suffocating. As a policeman, you should pay more attention to the cause of my imminent demise.’

‘Imminent demise my foot.’ He laughed. ‘Young lady, you positively thrive on danger-hang on! What did you say?’ He slammed one fist into the palm of his other hand. ‘Of course!’ In three quick strides he was across the debris, hooking one leg over the windowsill. ‘Claudia, you’re a genius.’

‘I know,’ she yelled. ‘But what about the mess in my office. Didn’t your mother teach you to tidy your toys?’

‘Later,’ he promised, racing down a path strewn with leaves and blossoms, and vaulting over the statuary toppled by Drusilla and the monkey. Cause of death. Pay more attention to the cause of my death, she’d said. ‘I need to see Zygia’s body before they cremate it.’ At the gate, he paused. ‘Do give me the name of your gardener.’

He grinned, and deftly ducked the inkwell which came whizzing past his ear.

*

Claudia surveyed the war zone that had once been an office, then aimed a kick at the trunk which she’d used to hide Supersnoop. Cedarwood, and therefore expensive, it normally took pride of place in the dining room, but something had to make way for that lifesize bronze Venus and where better than here to house the stack of silver plate she’d hired from the banker? Unfortunately the wretched banker turned up at the front door, not the back, where there was no Cypassis to mention the dreaded typhus. As a result, the chest now lay empty. Claudia slammed the lid open against the wall. Painfully empty, in fact, and the big question was: how to stop Larentia finding out? Once the old cat got wind of one borrowed hoard, she’d be off on the scent like a truffle hound. Claudia was still slumped over the trunk when Leonides hobbled in, his left foot resembling a swaddled infant, and said, ‘There’s a young lady in the atrium, asking for he coughed gently ‘-Marcus.’

‘What?’ Claudia jerked up so hard, she bumped her head on the lid of the chest. ‘I don’t suppose she happens to be rather well turned out?’

Leonides’ stick tapped a tattoo as he advanced across the ink-stained peacocks. ‘Indeed she is, madam, and jolly attractive with it, if I might say so.’

‘You might not.’ Claudia rubbed at the lump which was forming. ‘Just show Miss Fancypants Camilla off the premises-better still, I’ll do it myself.’ And should I leave a footprint on her pretty little bustle, so much the better. She swept past the debris, then paused. ‘What’s the matter with you?’

‘Eh? Oh, nothing, madam. Nothing at all.’

Claudia peered up at her lanky steward. ‘You have two choices, Leonides. Either I take this paper knife and cut off your earlobe, or you come clean.’

He smiled thinly. ‘My ankle’s troubling me, that’s all.’ Claudia picked up the knife. ‘Another earlobe for my collection, then.’

He gulped, but persisted with the ankle story. Perhaps it’s personal, she thought. None of her business. Then she saw the parchment protruding from a fold in his tunic. ‘Madam, no-’

‘Too late.’

The scroll was wrapped round a ball of stranded wool. Strange. Why should this make him…? Not a ball. It had shape. A head, and arms and legs. Claudia felt her skin crimple. Once upon a time, this had been a little girl’s dolly, knitted perhaps by her mother, with eyes and nose and a mouth sewn on. It would have had a tunic and some ribbons in its dark woollen hair. She would have taken it to bed with her, kissed it goodnight, it would have been the first thing the child saw in the morning. She would have talked to the dolly, whispered her secrets, fed it from toy cups and plates. Then someone had taken the dolly. Hacked at it with a knife, shredding the body and stabbing the face until only a vague shape remained.

The parchment crackled between Claudia’s trembling fingers. ‘ your mine understand you are mine ’. She looked into Leonides’ tortured eyes, ‘the next time we meet it shall be for eternity’.

As though both were contaminated, she dropped the doll and letter. ‘Can you, um-’ She waved an unsteady hand around the room. ‘Can you see to the mess, Leonides? I–I’ll sort our visitor out.’

‘Madam, I’m so sorry! You weren’t supposed to-’

Claudia forced her mouth to turn up at the corners. ‘Don’t be silly, they’re merely the ramblings of a madman. We shouldn’t take him seriously. Just…’ Her voice lost its power. ‘Just see to this. Please?’