Laeta had said, ‘the Caelian Hill mob’. What did he mean? I asked Faustus but he either did not know or chose not to tell me. I continued straight ahead on my own towards the Flavian Amphitheatre. I passed along the Sacred Way to a place where my father kept an advertising space on permanent hire. Since the Callistus sale was virtually over, I scrubbed its details from the wall, found the chalk we left behind a loose brick, and neatly wrote up a description, all we had, of the strongbox corpse. I appealed for information about the man’s identity. I gave my contact details, and promises of gratitude, although I stopped short of offering a reward. I could not face all the chancers who would turn up at the merest sniff of money. People would look. They might gossip initially. All too soon they would ignore the wall, taking no more notice of my appeal. Still, I might as well try. Occasionally someone responds. I do it myself. I had met Manlius Faustus when I answered a notice he had put up, asking for witnesses to a street accident.
