It had been six months since the case I’d labelled the Jerusalem Caper for my memoirs and things were back to normal for me. A few jobs here and there and those were lousy. My office had me for company and I think it was considering suicide. I couldn’t blame it.

The scholars, priests, guards, and vendors were all hurrying through the downpour to wherever it was they were going. It didn’t look like any of them were hurrying to my office. The early evening had all the hallmarks of looking like another quiet one with my feet on the desk sipping fermented prune juice.

“Sam, there’s a Mister Hired Goon to see you.” That was Effie Perine of Judea, my loyal and long-suffering secretary. Maybe I’d drifted off for a few seconds because I hadn’t heard her come in. I was briefly annoyed. That’s the sort of thing that can get you killed in this line of business, not that I had much to fear lately. You don’t become the target of reprisals when you’re spending most of your time looking for missing cats.

There was a hulking great shadow in the doorway behind Effie. He pushed himself into the room.

“Let me guess,” I ventured dismissively. “You’re a Goliath lookalike and some runt called David is muscling in on your territory.”

Mister Hired Goon didn’t appreciate the humour and made for my desk brushing Effie out of the way. I didn’t appreciate the way he knocked her. We all have our limits. I reached for the Smith & Ishmael .22 Slingshot from the drawer but never had a chance.

Damn! He was fast.

“Damn! You’re fast!” I thought he deserved to hear what I was thinking. I thought the flattery might buy me some time too while I considered my position pushed up against the wall with my feet inches clear of the floor.

“Little Pee-Pee has a job you will be interested in.” His breath stank of garlic. I let him have the full force of prunes in return.

“He didn’t want to come here personally?” I asked.

“That’s not Little Pee-Pee’s way.” I was dropped to the ground. I made a mental note to buy sandals with more cushioning. A moment later and my offerer of employment had left. In my hand I held the small stone calling tablet he’d left. There was a name and address on it and, on the back, a date and time. Tomorrow night. I could have run. Effie too. Maybe set up in Bethlehem. I heard it rained there harder than here. That wasn’t my way though.

Tomorrow night rolled around right when I expected it to. It was raining all the way to the governor’s villa. I felt miserable but kept a professional sneer on my face. Nobody appreciated a professional sneer like a Roman.

Pontius Pilate. Little Pee-Pee. His dad was Big Pee-Pee. Peter Pilate. He’d set up most of the protection rackets in town when I was skipping school. Little Pee-Pee kept the family business ticking over these days. They said that Pilate Junior had been dropped on his head as a kid; that was why he didn’t object to his nickname. I didn’t know if he actually had a little pee-pee. I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t have taken a case to find out.

“The famous Samuel Spadius, here in my home!” Little Pee-Pee acted geuninely happy to see me. Or drunk as an Emperor. Seemed I wasn’t the only person buying fermented prune juice by the crate.

“I got your invitation governor. What’s the job?” It was the best growling I’d ever done. A good growl can make all the difference in negotiations. It helped that Goliath’s brother wasn’t around to make me feel insignificant.

“All business. I like that Mr Spadius. Very well, I’ll be all business too. I believe you’ve met the leader of this new group; Christians they call themselves.”

I told him I knew of the gentleman. Our meeting hadn’t taken long or involved swapping stories about our childhood and I didn’t want Little Pee-Pee to think we were best buddies. I had a feeling that this new and improved Jesus and the old and traditional Pilate probably weren’t going to be joining up for fireside chats anytime soon and I needed to be as unattached to either group as possible for my own safety.

“It seems that the followers of this Christ fellow aren’t as keen on Roman governance as the Consuls would like and there are rumours of forming a breakaway religion. Needless to say, that’s the sort of thing that could upset Jupiter and if Jupiter gets upset then the Consuls get upset and I get upset and, well, I think you can see how this sort of thing can escalate.”

I couldn’t. Jupiter had done very little in recent years as far as my sources knew and he sure as hell hadn’t intervened during the ongoing Praying Incessantly To Jupiter To Stop The Damn Rain Caper. If I was a god then I wouldn’t care about Jews and Romans starting a new religion. It would be premium prune juice all day and all night. Okay. Maybe Jupiter was different to me.

“I understand what you’re saying but where do I fit in?” I asked. I had a horrible feeling I knew anyway.

“You’re a resourceful man Mr Spadius. You’ve many contacts in the city and people who can help you achieve your aims quietly.” I liked the flattery but I’m not one of those people who fall for it. I sneered a little more to let him know I wasn’t buying the act. He carried on: “Taxes are what keeps the empire from crumbling and religions are tax-free. If this Christian sect caught on in a big way it could ruin the world. And who would hire a detective in a ruined world?”

He smiled and cocked his head. I wished he would just cut to the chase. And hand out a glass or two of whatever he’d been downing. My throat felt rough from the earlier growling.

“We want Mr Jesus … gone. Again, if you will.”

I knew it.

“I detect. It’s what I’m good at. I’m not a killer. And you must have people who can do the job anyway.”

“Indeed we do. Fast, large people, as you’re already well aware.” Goliath must produce detailed reports of his jobs. I liked that sort of dedication. There wasn’t enough of that sort of work ethic around in the world these days. “But this can’t come back to Rome in any way. The sestertius must stop with someone local. Someone resourceful yet also somewhat unpopular. In case of problems.”

I objected to that characterisation of me. I enjoyed my solitude. It gave me time to contemplate where all the rain came from. Effie, I liked, but people in general couldn’t be trusted. But I had bigger problems now. I had a nose for set-ups and this one had the scent of Roman laurel leaves about it.

I told Pilate I’d see what I could arrange. I figured that wouldn’t be enough so I hoped it was a surprise when I didn’t react to the parting comment of “The killing of a miracle man could cause a riot, but secretaries are on every corner lifting their dresses and showing their ankles. Who’d miss such a thing, really? Happy hunting Samuel Spadius!”

I’d been in bad situations before. The Beard Arsonist Caper almost cost me my lips and The Plague Of Scientologists Caper still inflicted mental pain on my body thetans. But Effie was a whole new problem.

I knew that I’d be watched so escape was out of the question. If I hadn’t already met Jesus mark 2 then I might have considered finding a new God and seeing if a miracle could protect me. As it was it boiled down to me and my slingshot. Just like old times. How it should be. I’d have felt better if I wasn’t soaked through from the rain.

I debated about what to say to my secretary. In the end I decided I couldn’t let Effie in on her perilous situation. Dames don’t take that sort of news well and there’d be no chance of learning her filing system before she disappeared outside the city walls.

That left the case and the after-effects to sort out. I’d killed people before, people who deserved it. Often when they were trying to kill me. Cold-blooded murder wasn’t my thing though. My so-called resourcefulness wasn’t popping up any names of trustworthy stooges to fob this job off on either. And if I succeeded some way, what then? I had nothing but despair along that train of thought.

Days passed and I’d finally decided to fake my own death in a Sea of Galilee fishing accident when a crumb of luck landed on my plate. The city was buzzing with news of a new record-breaking miracle attempt to take place during the upcoming weekend. One loaf, one fish, nine thousand people. Perfect. I watched the rain wash away the rest of the week.

“Who are you?” The grunted question came from a familiar face; one of the brothers who’d stopped me from seeing Jesus 2 before. I hoped I looked different enough to not be recognised. I’d bought new sandals, a great-looking hat, and combed my beard just for the occasion. No lice. That was the first pleasant surprise I’d had since the Someone’s Dropped A Gourd Caper.

“Guinness,” I replied. I told him I was at the record attempt to check everything was above board. You couldn’t get the record without independent adjudication. I thought the long words must have confused him because a few seconds later I’d been let through backstage at the event. Maybe the rain was getting through my skull and staring to dilute my brain. I should have known better than that.

For the second time in as many weeks I found myself up against a wall, feet dangling in the breeze.

“Samuel Spadius, we meet again.”

I tried to nod but the hands pinning my throat made that difficult. I managed to force a smile.

“Hello Abe. Good crowd for such a wet day,” I spluttered.

“I’d love to talk about it Sam but we’ve got a little problem to sort out first. The last time we met I warned you about causing trouble. And look what happens! You’re here. Causing trouble. What’s a religious icon like myself to do?”

The Apostle gang laughed. My instinct told me I was wasting my time but I tried the old innocent approach.

“What trouble Abe? I’m just trying to get the best view of the miracle.”

“You’re here to kill me detective man. Little Pee-Pee’s not best pleased with the business he’s losing and you’re the little man’s solution. If my brother was alive he’d turn in his tomb at such goings-on.”

I tried not to think about that last sentence too much. That’s the sort of thing that leads to headaches and I had enough problems. Somebody was feeding Jesus’ brother with a lot of good information. I had my suspicions who it was.

“Look, I came here to talk to you, that’s all,” I tried. “Pilate wants to get together and work out a solution, beneficial to both of you. I’m just a messenger.”

“You’re a liar Spadius and after I’ve transformed the food on stage into the food stolen from the warehouses in Nazareth I’m going to perform a very private transformation where you turn into a deceased detective. Slowly.”

It wasn’t unusual for me to find myself trapped and awaiting certain death on a case. The last time had been the Let’s See How Crumbly The Cliff Edge Really Is Caper. I suspected a passing albatross wasn’t about to come to my aid this time. There was little I could do, surrounded by three of the bulkiest of Abe’s men while the miracle man himself was on the hillside enchanting donations from the crowd so I thought about rain some more.

I was distracted by a sudden commotion among the thousands of people present. The gang were intrigued enough to ignore me too. I had a chance to make a break for it but something stopped me. Something very large and very fast. In a flurry of fists and feet I found myself standing over three comatose bodies, sheltered by the hulking mass that was the Goliath-a-like.

“It would appear that Mr Christ could not survive the miracle of the exploding fish,” I said, looking at the mushroom cloud rising into the air in the distance. “You tipped off Abe and his lot that I was coming so that you’d have a chance to switch fish. I was nothing more than bait.”

“Little Pee-Pee says to tell you that you’ve been a great help and that he gave a lot of consideration to reducing your tax burden for the coming year but decided not to so as not to arouse suspicion.”

Just great. I needed a drink. It’s not every day you get used as a pawn in some grand scheme despite what the peddlars of the various religions tell you. If you did you’d go stark-staring mad.

The rain couldn’t dampen the enthusiasm of the crowds streaming away from the exciting human fireball ascension to heaven they’d just witnessed but it was soaking into the extra cushioning on my sandals and squelching between my toes. That’s the sort of thing that sums up a caper quite nicely.

I’d made up my mind to leave when Effie Perine of Judea, my secretary, stepped inside and leaned her body against me.

“Samuel, there’s a woman outside,” she said, looking up into my face with her dark, oval eyes.

“A client? Or am I becoming attractive in my old age?” I asked.

“You’re the detective,” she quipped back. “Detect. And no, you’re not.” And she stepped back out again. I had a few seconds to brush out the creases in my tunic and make sure my sandals were on straight before she returned.

With Effie was a dark-haired beauty, a real looker. She had a face that would stop a runaway mule in its tracks and legs under her dress right up to under her chin. In my mind. I cleared my throat and tried to clear my mind.

“Samuel Spadius,” I introduced myself and pointed to the chair. “Won’t you take a seat Miss …?”

“Thank you Mr Spadius,” she said. “Magdalene. Mary Magdalene.”

I watched her sit down. She looked like full-bodied wine pouring slowly into place as she folded into the seat. I caught a glimpse of ankle as she crossed her feet and turned slightly away from me. I wouldn’t need to visit Matthias The Adult Stone Tablet Seller for a while. My money lender would be pleased. Effie too.

“That’ll be all Effie,” I said. I knew she was probably giving me a look as she turned and left but I couldn’t keep my eyes off the siren in my office. That was one lucky chair. I tried to snap out of it. “So what can I do for you Miss Magdalene?” All business. Business pays the bills.

“I’ve heard you’re good, Mr Spadius.” she said. Her voice was like silk from the East. I liked the way her lips pursed when she said “good”. Made me feel like behaving anything but.

“I’m not good.” I replied. “But I’m good at what I do.” That made her raise her eyebrows. “And my friends call me Sam.”

“And your enemies, Mr Spadius? What do they call you?”

“Anything they want dollface.” I kept my eyes locked on her, trying to read the broad. Maybe she was rich, her rich magistrate husband missing, presumed dead. Maybe she was lonely. Maybe she’d read some of the more positive comments scrawled about me on the walls downtown.

“Mr Spadius – Sam – do you know Jesus?”

I had a pretty good idea who she was talking about. You didn’t live in a big city doing the job I do without knowing what goes on but it never hurt to play it dumb. The more a client tells you the less chance there is of finding a gladius in your back and I didn’t want a gladius in my back.

“I know plenty of Jesuses,” I said. I wondered whether the plural was Jesi. “You got a Jesus in particular?”

She told me which Jesus it was. Yeah, it was the one who everyone had been talking about for the last couple of years. I’d done some checking into his background six months before for Pilate. He’d been crucified the other day. Read about it but I never attended those things. In my line of work you see a lot of death. Besides, I was involved in the Free Uncle Barrabas Caper at the time. I felt like pressing her in more ways than one but I settled on information. Once she started it all came spilling out. My intoxicating client and a couple of friends had gone to anoint the body of Jesus just this morning only to discover the tomb open and empty.

“And you want the body found?” I asked.

“No, Mr Spadius,” she replied. “I know where the body is. It’s in Galilee. And it’s walking and talking. And I want you to investigate how and why.”

That brought me up short. Investigating living people is easy, dead ones easier still. The living-dead was new to me. I wasn’t about to let so valuable a client know I was scared though.

“It’s five pieces of silver a day Miss Magdalene. And you pay the expenses too.” I said. Now I’d find out how rich she was.

She tossed over a small leather bag. I caught it on the third attempt and hoped I hadn’t looked like a floundering girl. Unless she liked that sort of thing. There was a lot of Greek influence in Jerusalem these days. Taramasalata I could do without. I was more accepting of other contributions though.

“There’s thirty there. That should be more than enough for someone as good as you say you are Mr Spadius. You can keep the change.”

I got the feeling it wasn’t her money but I didn’t care where she’d got it from. I told my new client I’d be in touch and told her to leave her contact details and those of any next-of-kin – plus anything else she thought might be pertinent – with Effie on the way out. I hoped she’d take the hint.

It was still raining in the morning when I walked down to Galilee. I was soaked through. It fitted my mood. The delectable Miss Magdalene hadn’t taken my hint. It wasn’t hard to find Jesus. Something about rising from the dead attracts a crowd. I decided to take the direct approach but a couple of goons – they looked like brothers – stepped in my way.

“I’m here to see Jesus,” I said. I flashed them my winning smile. I didn’t think it would work so I wasn’t disappointed when it didn’t.

“Mister Jesus is a very popular man right now,” said the older-looking of the two. “Maybe you should come back tomorrow.”

“Yeah.” That was his companion. These two weren’t in a discussing frame of mind. I turned and bowed slightly. I wanted them to think I was obeying but all I really wanted was to mask my movements. Quickly I spun back. In my hands I now had my trusty Smith & Ishmael .22 Slingshot, pulled back and fully loaded. I kept it pointed at Righty. Lefty froze too which was handy for both of us.

“Tell Mr Jesus that a friend of a friend is here to see him,” I instructed Lefty. “Tell him now or I’ll plug your pal here so full of pebbles you can take day trips to the beach in his stomach.” Lefty didn’t waste any time and disappeared into the mass of friends or well-wishers or tourists flocking to see this living miracle or whatever the hell they were. I kept my eyes peeled. Righty kept dead still. Smart move Righty.

“You can put that thing away now.” It was a voice from behind me. I turned and looked at the speaker. Fanned out behind him were ten slabs of men. Nice moves. I hadn’t seen them coming. Three had slingshots of their own pointed in my general direction so I pocketed mine. I’ve learned when to be polite.

“You’re Jesus then?”

“Who are you?” he asked. I told him, and I explained why I was there. I left out who my client was. You’ve got to protect your client or word gets out and business dries up.

“You want to investigate me?” he continued after I’d finished. “Okay, investigate away detective man. Tell me what you find.”

I looked him up and down. Tall guy. Long hair and beard. Followed the current fashion I saw. Smelled fresh, or as fresh as anyone ever got in Jerusalem. Didn’t look like he’d been dead any time recently in any case. The robe looked brand new, as did the sandals.

“You’re not how I imagined you’d be,” I said. “From the stories people tell I thought you’d be a little humbler.”

“What can I say?” he answered, arms spread wide, smiling. “Resurrection changes a man.” His henchmob laughed.

“Then I’ll be off,” I said.

“So soon? And just what are you going to tell your client?”

“The truth.” He smiled at that so I continued. “Six months ago I found out some interesting facts about the life and times of Jesus of Nazareth. This weekend Jesus’ twin brother Abe stole the body of his brother from the tomb so as to take his place. It’s a perfectly simple scam to cash in on someone else’s good name and these unemployed Apostles were only too happy to trade on their reputations for a taste of the good life too.”

The new and improved Jesus shrugged. “Well done gumshoe. Of course nobody’s going to believe you over us. In the meantime we’ve got a church to set up and money to start counting.”

I walked away heading up the hill on the road to Jerusalem once more. “Don’t start trouble Mr Spadius,” I heard shouted from behind me. “Or you’ll be reading about the miracle of the detective who couldn’t swim from the bottom of the Sea of Galilee.” They laughed. I thought Dead Sea might have been more appropriate.

It hadn’t stopped raining when I left or, indeed, when I got back to the office. I’d done what my client wanted and I’d been threatened. I told Effie and a few other people who I thought might care. They didn’t and I couldn’t blame them. Miss Magdalene wanted nothing to do with me – and I couldn’t blame her either – and in a month had started up a little business called Bible Publications on the outskirts of Nazareth. I learned she’d started seeing Abe soon after. Matthias The Adult Stone Tablet Seller ended up getting most of my hard-earned money after all.