`And he was, there all last night?' asked Frontinus, yearning to hear something which would implicate the driver.

`All night,' Petro gloomily confirmed.

`So that exonerates Damon?'

`Only for last night.'

`Damon should not be your killer,' Helena reminded us quietly. `Damon is said to remain at the Porta Metrovia in case his mistress requires her carriage. Whoever, killed Asinia abducted her in Rome yet threw her hand, into the Anio within a matter of days – and then he drove back here to dispose of her head and torso at the end of the Games. If he follows the same pattern during these Games, maybe the vigiles can catch; him among the traffic through the Tiburtina Gate – though at a fatal price for some poor

woman, I'm afraid.'

`Only commercial traffic left last night,' Frontinus assured her. He must have really dragged details out of the Prefect of Vigiles.

`Can't the killer be a commercial driver of some sort – one who just happens to come from Tibur?'

`He's a private driver. He is delivering somebody for the festivals, then fetching them home again afterwards,' I said, convinced of it. `That's why he makes two trips.'

`But not Aurelia Maesia, apparently,' Petro added with a grunt.

`No. Helena's right. We're letting ourselves be distracted by Aurelia and Damon. We're too desperate; if we aren't careful we'll miss something.'

`This morning when I was waiting for you to wake up,' Helena said, `I had a thought. I knew from the quiet way you came in that nothing could have, happened last night. Yet it – was the opening of the Games, and you had been certain that that would be when he struck.'

`So, my love?'

`I wondered what was different. I was thinking about the black day. Some people might, as you say, travel to Rome early for these Games, to avoid a bad luck day. Last month the Ludi Romani started three days after the Kalends not two, so it didn't arise. That time the killer struck on the opening day of the Games, and you're assuming that's significant; But suppose whoever he brings is not particularly bothered about the grand parade? If they didn't want to travel on a bad luck day, they might just come up a day later.'

`You mean, he's not here yet!'

`Well, it's a thought. While you were all outside the Circus waiting for an attack last night, he might just have been arriving in Rome.'

I glanced at Petronius, who nodded glumly. `It's all to do again tonight, Petro.'

`I wasn't intending to relax.''

I meant to say we ought to look through the lists of vehicles that came in last night from Tibur, but the conversation, sheered off in a slightly different direction. `We need a strategy in case the killer does strike,' Julius Frontinus put in., `Of course we all hope he will be observed just before or during an abduction… But let's be realistic that would take a great deal of luck. If we miss it, and if he sets off with his victim, there may have to be a pursuit.'

'If he leaves the city boundary, the vigiles have no jurisdiction.'

Frontinus' gave me a look. `It's up to you two then. You won't lack support I have made some arrangements. The crimes are being committed in Rome, so if a pursuit is needed men can be allocated from the Urban Cohorts -'

Petronius, who loathed the Urbans, muffled a groan. `I have a whole cohort on the alert at the Praetorian Camp, with a fleet of horses saddled up. The magistrate who will hear the case if it comes to court will have to provide a chit for the Urban Prefect. It's all set up, but we need a name, for the arrest warrant-'

`Which magistrate?' asked Petro.

`One called Marponius. Have you come across him?'

`We know Marponius.' Petro loathed him too. He glanced at me. If, we had a chance to apprehend the killer, we would do it ourselves, in Rome or out of the city then politely request a warrant afterwards.

`I want this all carried out correctly,' Frontinus warned, sensing our rebellion.

`Of course,' we assured him.

Helena Justina bent over the cradle so the ex-Consul could not see her smile.

After Frontinus had gone, Petronius told me where he had been earlier. `Up the Via Lata – halfway to the Altar of Peace. Very smart. Very select. Big houses with big money

living in them, all the way out along the Via Flaminia.' 'What took you out there?'

`Checking that Aurelia Maesia really was there- with her sister.'

`I thought we were now regarding the Damon line of enquiry as defunct?'

`Nobody had told me then! Dear gods, working in the vigiles has its problems, but nothing like the frustrations of working outside them: Look!' He chopped the side of his

hand on the table. `Lying low isn't working -'

`So you wanted to put pressure on?' `Pressure's what I believe in, Falco.'

I knew he did. But. I believed in lying low. `Well, was old Aurelia there?'

`Both sisters were. Grata is even more short-sighted and decrepit than Maesia, but apparently that doesn't stop them both wobbling off to their seats at the Games every day. In

the evening they have friends in to dinner. They can't go out; there's a father who also comes for the family party and he's too feeble to take elsewhere. Jupiter knows how old he is!' `Did you see him?'

`No, the poor duck was asleep.'

`Lucky him!' I was feeling rough. And there; were nine days of the Augustales to go yet.

In the early evening I pulled on my best working boots. I wore wrist straps, which I rarely bothered with, and two thick tunics. I had a cloak, my knife in one boot, a purse for bribes. I bathed and lightly exercised, then had a shave to fill in an hour and warm me up cursing the barber's clumsiness;

Petronius would be wasting time in tedious confabulations with his colleagues in the vigiles. I let him go on ahead; to get it over with. With nothing better to do myself, I walked over by way of the Via Appia to the Porta Metrovia: I wanted to meet Damon. The indications were that he was not our killer, but he might know something useful about his fellow drivers from the Tibur area. I, had decided it was time, to question Damon directly.

The stables where Aurelia Maesia kept her carriage while she visited her sister were the usual crowded hovels with large rats sitting up and grinning in: the mangers, while thin cats ran away in fear. Donkeys, mules and horses risked hoof rot while dowdy grooms committed sodomy on unturned straw. There were conveyances for hire at inflated prices, and relays of better-quality horses acquired at public expense for use by the Imperial post. Graffiti advertised a farrier-cum-blacksmith, but his anvil looked cold and his booth lay empty. Next door stood an off-putting tavern with rooms for rent, waitresses who could probably be hired to complete your suite, and a drinks list that proved price regulation was an ancient myth.

I could find neither Damon the gingery driver nor the member of the vigiles who had been assigned to watch and tail him. A waitress whose scowl declared she had reason to

remember told me they had both gone out.