This is my unofficial post for the August Blog-Chain, a story using the prompt "August-as in majestic" there were moments when I wondered if I could get a story that came somewhere near the prompt.  The Christian link is tenuous though, I have found two references one to Caesar in Matt 22:21 and the Census decree that was sent out by Caesar Augustus in Luke 2:1.

This year in Australia the 9th August was our Census night so I thought that some sort of Roman theme was going to be the basis for my story, hope you enjoy.  

A BUSTED CASE.

'You don't mind that he painted the wall that way?' asked Detective Peter Warner.

'John was a good artist,' said Diana Talbot.

Wattle

That was true John Kyne was brilliant.  Majestic in the sense of an old master, you came in from the outside to the outside.  The window had an archway painted around it, and around the archway twisted a deep red rose.  As the window was only a half wall type, John had painted a path underneath the bottom of the window.

The path meandered through a garden.  On the edges of the path were gladiolus, poppies, violets, marigolds, daffodils, pansies, snapdragons and other flowers Peter didn't know the names of.  Flowers rioted in blues, reds, purples, pinks and oranges.  The brilliant yellow of wattle trees flanked the edge of the garden in the mural.  Peter had never seen these plants flower together but in this bedroom garden they worked

'That's new,' said Diana.  She pointed to a plinth with a head on it.

'Suits the garden,' said Peter.  'What do you know about John's movements on the weekend?'

'Not a lot, I wasn't here, went to Ocean Grove with some friends on Thursday, we caught some awesome surf at Bells.  That’s why I only got back this morning.  I found out something was wrong when you called.'

'I've been trying to get you since Friday.'

'Phone went flat, forgot to pack my charger, only plugged the phone in just before you rang,' said Diana.

'You haven't checked your calls then.'

'Why?  Most of them were from you, weren’t they, and besides, I don't usually answer numbers I don't know.'

'John rang you at 10.32am Friday.  What was the call about?' asked Peter.

Diana was surprised that the Detective knew about her phone calls.  She said

'It wasn't really a phone call.  John left me a message, to let me know that he had emailed me some pictures of his Pompeii room.  He wanted me to print them off as photos, he really was good, the room he did, was a replica of a Roman Villa.  He copied the mosaic floors and walls that have been found in Pompeii, that’s what the client wanted.'

'You don't know who he did that room for do you?'

'I think it was a friend of his father's.  I was not happy about the job, but John wanted to try to make peace with his father.  And it wasn't a good idea for John to do the job.  It took him eight months, being round his father….He came back here two weeks ago on anti-depressants.'

'John didn't get on with his father?'

'No, some people just shouldn't be parents.  They mess their kids up.  I think there was a problem with being paid; John's father is not poor, being a Theologian and Historian something at one of the Universities in town.  You'd think that…all I know is that John had an argument with is dad about it, I just didn't think it messed him that bad,' said Diana who was visibly upset thinking about John and his father.

'You liked John.'

Diana nodded, and said.

'We have been friends since High School, sometimes hope and waiting are just not enough.'

'Have you got a copy of the pictures that John sent you?'

'Yes, I'll print you a set, but they won't be on photo paper.'

Peter did not mind, he was curious to see what the last project had been.  Diana bought the file up, pressed print and after a few minutes handed Peter the pictures.  Rich burnt red walls leapt out at Peter, not a colour I would want to come home to, he thought.

A square spiral border painted in white with gold shading topped the mural, which started thirty centimetres below the join of the wall and ceiling.  Underneath this border was a man dressed in a toga, sitting on a stone seat, Peter thought it looked like a throne, but he didn't think it was supposed to be.  Women dressed in long tops over pleated skirts seemed to be walking past the man as if the he was inspecting them for some reason.

Another panel had a group of men sitting in a garden, from their postures you got the impression that the men were in serious discussion with each other.  Another panel had pictures of animals and birds interwoven with flowers.  One picture caught Peter's attention.  On the wall a throne was painted, there was no doubt about that chair.  It was most definitely a throne.  In front of the throne was a plinth with a bust, the same bust John had painted on his wall.

Peter walked over to the picture of the bust in John's bedroom and looked closely at it.  Then back to the photo of the Pompeii room, in that picture the bust was not a painting but a statue.  A copy, or could someone afford the real thing, Peter wondered.

'You notice that the head sits on a tag, see the name on the tag, Augustus,' said Diana

Peter looked closer the bedroom wall.  The bust was sitting on a tag, only it wasn’t a tag.  Peter had seen plenty of those tickets, and he knew where it came from.  The question is, he thought, why is the bust, in the bedroom picture sitting on a pawn ticket?

'So where is this Pompeii room located?' asked Peter.

'I don't know, John would not say when he came back here, something or someone twisted his life, I didn't think he was bad enough to kill himself though,' said Diana.

'Perhaps he didn't,' said Peter.  'Might just have misjudged the effect that alcohol and anti-depressant medication had, when taken together.  We know that he was drinking heavily at the Octagon Club with some of his friends from University; he was with them when he collapsed.'

'His father is responsible,' said Diana.

Peter sighed, Diana Talbot was probably right, she sensed something was amiss, so did he, but what did he have, an argument with a father, an upset child who goes out drinking with his friends, disregards medication warnings.  The autopsy had not picked up anything to say otherwise, everything was explained, and yet…….

Peter could hear his Boss; write it off as an accident, feelings are not evidence of a murder.  Remember I have a budget to control, and when a maniac decides to kill two constables on the 15th of March and it takes my detectives working too many hours till the 10th of August to get a result…don't go playing TV cop, it was a bad mistake, leave it at that.

'I'm sorry,' Peter said.  'John's father probably had something to do with his son's death, but as far as I know, I can't charge the man with being a difficult parent.  I haven't any evidence to suggest that John's death was anything more than misadventure.  I'm sorry John is dead, he was a most brilliant artist.  Anyone who sees these bedroom walls will miss him.'

Peter stood in silence for a minute mourning the loss, then he left, he could do nothing more for Diana Talbot.

 FREEDOM

 I apologise for getting this up late, there are many reasons for this, mid winter holidays with all the family members home was the biggest distraction, computer problems, now sorted, was another, so please consider this as 28th July,

 My thoughts on the Christian Writers theme for July expressed in a fiction story

'This,' said Tracey pointing to the uneaten pile of chocolate biscuits and bars in the middle of Rebecca's bed, 'is not one of our better ideas, I feel awful.'  Tracey picked up a cushion and tossed it onto the top of the uneaten chocolates.  'I can't eat any more, if I do….'

'Yeah I'm about the same,' said Rebecca.

The two girls heard a knock on the door, they watched as the door opened, 'Just thought I'd offer you two girls a cup of hot chocolate.'

'We're okay mum' said Rebecca.

'Okay, if you're sure.'

'We're sure mum.'

Rebecca rolled her eyes, 'I don't have any freedom around here, I feel that I'm being watched all the time.'

'I know what you mean, but I would have said yes to a hot chocolate if I hadn't eaten so much chocolate.  I like your mum's hot chocolate,' said Tracey.

Rebecca agreed, her mum did make a mean hot chocolate, but the thought of more chocolate only made her feel worse.  She had been convinced that their chocolate purchases would not be enough for the sleepover feast; now not even half way through what they had bought, Rebecca was thinking that someone should have said something about too much chocolate.

'I wish we had hired a film instead of buying all that chocolate,' said Tracey.

'Yeah, but we planned a chocolate feast.'

'We need some sort of guide, to protect us from us,' said Tracey.  'Being allowed to choose what you want doesn't come with a manual does it?'

'I think mum hoped that we would buy clothes,' said Rebecca.  'Maybe doing something because you can is not a very good reason to do it.'

'Freedom has rules?' said Tracey

'Maybe it does.'

The two girls were silent for a while thinking about what they had said.  Feeling sick because you ate too much of a good thing wasn't good.  Buying a lot of chocolate wasn't bad if you were going to share it with your friends or brothers and sisters.

'If freedom has rules, we need to make some so we know how to work freedom?' as Rebecca.

'How about we start with the Ten Commandments?' said Tracey

'We can't do that.'

'Why not,' asked Tracey.

'Because that sounds like my mum,' said Rebecca.

'It does; scary thought to sound like a mum.'

'Maybe that's the secret, that a mum's freedom or anyone's freedom has limits'.

'Oooh I hope not, what's the point of getting older if you don't have freedom?' asked Tracey.

'We won't have a choice about getting older,' said Rebecca.  'But we do have a choice about what we do, maybe that is what freedom is, not doing something but choosing to do something or not to do something.'

'And you can make a good choice or a bad choice, we still need that manual,' said Tracey.  She grabbed a handful of eaten chocolate wrappers and said while she held them, 'was a bad choice, this many, we didn't need.'