Food for the Fishes (Marcus Corvinus Book 10)

by David Wishart

  ‘What about his partner? A guy called Tattius?’

  ‘Not a name I’m familiar with either, Marcus. I’m sorry. I know nothing about the business side of things.’ She stood up. ‘Now, if you’ve finished with me I’m afraid I must be going. Titus promised to take me to one of the jewellers in Fountain Street this afternoon, then on for a chat with Cornelia Gemella, but since he seems to have forgotten all about it I shall go by myself. You really will have to have another word with him. He’s been behaving most peculiarly.’

  ‘Ah...right,’ I said. Bugger. ‘Yeah, I’ll do that. When I see him.’

  She sniffed. ‘That may not be for some time, on present showing. Goodness knows what he and that friend of his have to talk about all day. I’d’ve thought that even Siculan oil-lamps had a very limited conversational value.’

  We watched her go. Perilla was looking thoughtful.

  ‘It is strange,’ she said. ‘About Priscus. Vipsania’s right; he’s scarcely ever around at the moment. She’s right about the shiftiness, too, when he is here.’

  ‘Yeah, well.’ I grinned. ‘Me, I’d bet the old guy’s finally hit his teens head on sixty years down the line. Only for the gods’ sake don’t tell Mother.’

  She whipped round and stared at me open-mouthed. ‘He has what?’

  ‘Priscus has discovered the joys of booze and loose company. My guess is that he’s only using his oil-lamp pal as an excuse for bunking off to a wineshop somewhere. Or maybe something worse.’ I told her about the chat in Priscus and Mother’s bedroom.

  ‘Marcus, you are not serious!’ She was looking at me like I’d just told her the guy was screwing ducks. ‘You are serious! Holy Juno! Priscus?’

  ‘Call it a midlife crisis if you like, lady. Or in his case even that’s pushing things. The gods knows what triggered it, but there we are.’

  ‘What are you going to do about it?’

  Now it was my turn to stare. ‘Me? Why the hell should I do anything?’

  ‘You’re head of household. It’s your duty.’

  ‘Jupiter on bloody wheels, Perilla! The guy’s twice my age and in possession of all his marbles.’ I stopped; be fair, Corvinus. ‘Well, some of his marbles. If he wants to spend a little quality time in wineshops and so on then that’s his affair. Besides, I don’t know for sure that that’s what he’s doing. He may be round at his friend’s house discussing –’

  ‘Siculan oil-lamps. That’s nonsense and you know it.’

  I sighed. ‘Yeah. Maybe I do. Okay, I’ll talk to the old bugger. But if there’s any grounding to be done or strips to be torn off that’s Mother’s job. Leave it for now. What about my suspects list?’

  ‘What about your suspects list?’

  ‘Come on, Perilla! This is important!’

  ‘All right. Go ahead if you must.’

  Not exactly bouncing with enthusiasm, but you had to take what you got. And, as I say, the lady had a reputation for disinterest to keep up. I settled back. ‘Okay. My count to date is five. Which, coincidentally, is the number of people I’ve talked to today and doesn’t include the doctor. Call it six. With an option on this Florus guy. Seven.’

  ‘Marcus –’

  I ignored her. ‘Take Gellia first. The motive’s obvious, the oldest in the world. She’s half her husband’s age, she’s got an eye for the men and she’s on a reasonably tight leash financially. She could sit and wait for the old guy to pop his clogs, but she isn’t getting any younger and Baiae isn’t exactly a place that’s conducive to nurturing the old-fashioned wifely virtues.’

  ‘Your vocabulary is improving.’

  ‘Shut up, lady. She also has the means - that’s her doctor pal - and the opportunity.’

  ‘How is the doctor the means? That’s assuming, of course, that he’d have anything to do with it, which is a moot point in itself.’

  ‘Ligurius - that’s the manager - told me that Murena had been suffering from fainting fits recently. Gellia was pretty upset when I mentioned them and she tried to deny it, but Titus Chlorus confirmed. Okay; so let’s say Murena’s tame doctor, at Gellia’s suggestion, had been feeding him something that made him black out at times. All it’d take would be for one of the pair, Gellia or the doctor, to wait their opportunity to push him into the eel tank and blame it on an accident. Or maybe even simpler. The guy wasn’t subject to fits at all, they were a complete invention. Neither Ligurius nor his sons’ve ever seen him taking one of them, so the only proof would come from Gellia or the doctor. But they would provide a pretty good excuse subsequently for an unfortunate accident, wouldn’t they?’

  ‘Yes, but, Marcus, you said yourself that Gellia denied her husband had the fits. Surely if she had killed him she would’ve confirmed it.’

  ‘That’s fine so long as there’s no suspicion of murder. Only by the time I spoke to Gellia and company there was, and it was a whole new ballgame. Trebbio had been arrested for a start, and I’d sent round my letter from the town officer authorising me to investigate the death. Chlorus is a smart cookie, and he doesn’t like Gellia at all. As things were, her story about the fits, the way Murena died and the rumours linking her and the doctor would all combine to point the finger pretty convincingly. Gellia may’ve started out nurturing an “accident” verdict, but now she has to discount it for her own good; it wouldn’t be safe for her to do otherwise, not with her step-family out to see her nailed. And, naturally, if she did come down on the side of murder she’d have to finger someone else in her turn. Which brings me to Chlorus and Nerva.’

  ‘Hmm.’ Perilla was twisting a lock of hair. ‘Go on.’

  ‘Nerva’s the most likely prospect, barring Gellia. The evidence is circumstantial, sure, but he had a row with his father over money the day he died. At least, Gellia suggested it was over money, and he didn’t deny it. Chlorus’s motive’s the same. Gellia mentioned his daughter’s marriage too, and he’s obviously hard up for cash to meet the dowry. With Murena dead they’ll inherit a packet when they most need it; it’s as simple as that. As far as opportunity’s concerned either of them could’ve climbed over the wall at the beach end and killed the guy without anyone being any the wiser.’

  ‘Marcus, dear, I’m sorry, but this is all very thin.’

  She was telling me? ‘Yeah, I know that. We’re just on the nursery slopes here. Still, it’s a start. And you weren’t over at the villa, you didn’t see that crowd. There was a lot of nervousness about, and a lot of hatred. Murena wasn’t liked, not by his family, anyway. Don’t knock that for a motive, either.’

  ‘What about the daughter? Penelope, did you say?’ She frowned. ‘Why Penelope, incidentally?’

  ‘I didn’t ask. Maybe she just doesn’t like being called Licinia. That wouldn’t surprise me; she hated her father like poison.’

  Perilla glanced at me sharply. ‘How on earth do you know that?’

  ‘She told me straight out. Made quite a thing of it. It could’ve been a double bluff, sure, but it still puts her on the list.’

  ‘All right. That makes four. Five counting the doctor, and presumably you’d lump the phantom Florus in with Gellia. Who’s the seventh?’

  ‘Ligurius. He found the body.’

  ‘Oh, terrific! Motive? Means? Opportunity?’

  I shrugged. ‘None of them as yet. Apart, maybe, from a silly nickname Murena gave him. He seems to have had a quirk that way, the old man. Still, Ligurius is the fish farm manager, and Murena was killed at the fish farm. And he didn’t seem too cut up about losing his boss, either. I’ve got the rest down so why not Ligurius? Make it a full bag.’

  ‘That is not a reason to suspect him.’

  ‘Yeah, well, you can’t –’ I stopped. Bathyllus was bringing a man up the path: a tall guy in a Greek mantle. ‘Who’s that?’

  ‘I’ve no idea. One of Vipsania’s friends, perhaps.’

  ‘Mother’s in town. Bathyllus would’ve sent him away.’ Now the man was nearer I could see he was in his late twenties, maybe ear
ly thirties. Tall, well-built, olive skin, jet-black curly hair and a nose with a bridge so straight you could use it to draw lines. Greek, for sure; real Greek, not south-Italian-local, and good-looking enough to have modelled for a temple pediment Apollo.

  ‘Good afternoon, Valerius Corvinus,’ he said, holding out his hand. ‘I’m sorry to disturb you. My name’s Diodotus. I was Licinius Murena’s doctor.’

  7

  Well, for someone who’d just lost a patient Diodotus seemed pretty relaxed about things. Mind you, the responsibilities of the modern doctor stop short at dosing the customer against a sudden attack of moray eels, so giving him the benefit of the doubt for the present where murder was concerned I supposed that was fair enough.

  We shook.

  ‘Pull up a chair,’ I said. ‘This is my wife Perilla.’

  ‘A pleasure to meet you, madam.’ Soft-spoken, serious, not much of a smile - from the looks of him I didn’t think he’d smile very often - but perfectly friendly and completely at his ease. Good vowels, too; by his accent he could’ve passed in Rome for one of the top Five Hundred, easy. Mother had said he had a successful social practice in Baiae, and I wasn’t surprised. With these looks, that voice and that manner he’d have the wealthy matrons queuing up and panting. No wonder Gellia had been smitten.

  Bathyllus was still hovering. ‘You care for some wine?’ I said.

  ‘No, thank you. I scarcely touch it, and certainly not before sundown.’ He sat. ‘Please don’t let me stop you, though.’

  ‘Just the half jug, then, Bathyllus,’ I said. The little guy bowed and moved off. ‘Now.’

  ‘I thought you might like to talk to me, Valerius Corvinus.’

  ‘News travels fast.’

  ‘In Baiae, certainly.’ He shrugged; an elegant raising of the shoulder. ‘In any case, I was paying a professional call in the neighbourhood and it’ll save you a journey.’

  ‘You have a lot of patients? Besides Licinius Murena, I mean?’

  ‘Enough. Mostly minor digestive problems caused by an over-rich diet. Life in Baiae isn’t exactly conducive to a healthy regimen, so much of my work is correcting the effects of overindulgence. Or trying to correct it. Frequently the task is an uphill struggle.’

  ‘I was told Murena suffered from fainting fits.’

  I’d asked the question without signalling it just to see how he reacted. He didn’t blink, but he did lean back in his chair and take his time answering.

  ‘That’s so,’ he said cautiously.

  ‘How severe?’

  ‘Nothing to give serious cause for concern, and he was responding well to treatment, but all the same –’

  ‘What was the treatment exactly?’ Perilla said.

  He turned to her politely. ‘You have a knowledge of medicine, madam?’

  ‘No. Just an interest in it.’

  ‘I see.’ The slight flaring of the nostrils suggested that taking an interest in medicine wasn’t something the guy wholly approved of . Not where a layman was concerned, anyway. Laywoman, rather. I was glad it’d been Perilla who’d asked the question, not me. ‘Well, then. The problem arises, as does every illness, from a systemic imbalance; in this case, a superfluity of blood rushing into the brain at times and driving out the vital spirit, what we call the pneuma, which is the source of consciousness. A mild programme of regular bleeding is the most effective treatment, together with gentle exercise and a light diet of seafood and vegetables plus an avoidance of red meat and the heavier wines. That was what I prescribed.’

  ‘I see,’ Perilla said. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘You’re very welcome.’ Dry as a used mustard plaster.

  ‘Would it have been possible for Murena to have had one of these fits the night he died?’ I said.

  The grey eyes came back to me. ‘Yes. Of course. Perfectly possible. But as I said the fits were not serious; hardly more than a slight dizziness which would disappear after a few minutes’ rest. Murena would have had ample warning of an attack, certainly enough for him to find somewhere to sit or lie down in safety until the pneuma was restored.’

  ‘That’s not what Titus Chlorus said. Or implied, rather.’

  That got me a level stare, and the grey eyes had turned frosty. ‘Perhaps not, Corvinus,’ he said. ‘But there again, I’m not responsible for Chlorus’s opinions, or indeed those of any of the Murena family. They are not doctors, and they may have...other reasons for saying what they do. I’m simply giving you the medical facts which you can accept or not just as you please.’

  ‘Right. Right.’ I shifted on the chair. ‘And apart from the fits Murena was generally healthy, was he? For a man of his age?’

  ‘Moderately so. He had a slight tendency towards dyspepsia, but not a developed one. And as I say that complaint is endemic to Baiae.’

  ‘His widow said he was concerned about his health. More than usual, that is. Were you treating him for anything else?’

  The frostiness was still there. ‘Valerius Corvinus, I’ve already told you. I can’t answer for any statements except my own. And there is such a thing as patient confidentiality, even when the patient is dead.’ I waited. ‘In any case, the practical answer to your question is no, apart from a simple standard dyspepsia mixture to be taken as required. I don’t believe in treatment for treatment’s sake, even when the patient or one of his relatives suggests it. Barring administering the regimen I’ve already described I took no other action.’

  One of his relatives. Interesting expansion there. Maybe it meant nothing, but still...

  Bathyllus had arrived with the wine. ‘How about your relationship with the widow herself?’ I said as he poured.

  ‘How do you mean, “relationship”?’ Forget frosty; the look he was giving me was straight off an Alp.

  ‘You get on with her okay?’

  Pause; long pause. Well, he was a smart guy; he must’ve heard the rumours, even if there was nothing in them. ‘Gellia is...was...my patient’s wife,’ he said.

  ‘And?’

  I’d seriously annoyed him, I could see that. The eyes narrowed to slits and the nose lifted a good two inches. It was like being glared at down a ruler. Even so, he took his time answering. ‘And nothing!’ he snapped. ‘Let me make one thing very clear, Valerius Corvinus. A doctor - any doctor who merits the name - ascribes voluntarily to a code of conduct. This includes an oath not to procure poison or an abortion, to work solely for the good of his patient and to abstain from the seduction of anyone, slave or free, in his patient’s household. I am a doctor. Please remember the fact.’

  Well, that was me told. But at least it was out in the open, whatever the truth of the matter was. It was time to smooth down a few ruffled feathers. ‘Fair enough,’ I said. ‘Okay. Let’s leave the medical side of things. What about Murena himself?’

  ‘Again I have to ask you what you mean.’ His voice was still icily polite. ‘And to remind you what I said about confidentiality.’

  ‘Understood. But you’re local, I’m not, and you know the family. He was a businessman, right?’

  ‘He was.’

  ‘You know anything about the business side of things?’

  ‘No. I’m not a businessman myself, in the general sense of the word. Licinius Murena never discussed anything with me except for his health. And if you expect me to –’

  ‘No hassle, pal. I’m only interested in generalities. I could get them elsewhere, sure, but since you’re here maybe you can help fill in a few details. That be okay?’

  He gave a guarded nod. ‘Possibly.’

  ‘Great. Thanks.’ Jupiter! We’d a real touchy bugger here! ‘Murena had a partner, Tattius.’

  ‘Decimus Tattius, yes.’

  ‘He live locally?’

  ‘I think he has a villa on the main road, about a quarter mile inland from Murena’s.’

  ‘It’s a long-established partnership?’

  ‘Yes. As far as I know. I understand they were colleagues in Rome before Murena moved to Baia
e permanently twenty-odd years ago. Political colleagues.’ He was relaxing. Or at least the urbane politeness was back. I doubted if the guy ever let himself relax altogether; he had that uptight, preoccupied feel to him that you get with people who don’t look past their jobs. ‘He doesn’t take a very active part in the business, though. That’s largely a family concern.’

  ‘Did Licinius Murena have a nickname for him?’ That was Perilla. Odd question, but then I’d told her about Ligurius and the lady’s mind sometimes works in strange directions. I glanced at her curiously.

  So did Diodotus, and his eyebrows went up. ‘He did, as a matter of fact. He called him Oistrus. Why do you ask?’

  ‘No particular reason. It’s just that Marcus mentioned he had a habit of giving people nicknames and I just wondered. Thank you.’

  Oistrus. ‘Gadfly’ in Greek. ‘While we’re on the subject of nicknames,’ I said, ‘how about the others? His family, I mean?’

  ‘I don’t see what relevance –’

  ‘Just filling in background. Come on, pal, it can’t do any harm.’

  He was frowning. ‘Very well. Gellia was the Butterfly. For, ah, obvious reasons. Aulus Nerva was Agyrtes.’

  ‘“Scoundrel”?’ Perilla said.

  ‘“Vagabond” is better.’ His lips twisted. ‘Your Greek vocabulary is excellent, madam.’

  ‘What about Titus Chlorus?’

  He hesitated. I had the impression he might’ve balked if I’d asked the question, but Perilla was good at these things. ‘Scythrops.’

  Scowler. Good name for Chlorus. I grinned. ‘The daughter. Penelope. Was he responsible for that one as well?’

  ‘I couldn’t really say.’ Diodotus was still frowning. ‘I would hardly have thought so, or not in the way you mean. It’s not really a nickname as such, is it? But in any case we’re verging too much on the personal here, certainly beyond my professional capacity. If you’re finished I should be going.’

  ‘Murena was thinking of building a hotel,’ I said. ‘On the Juventius estate. You know anything about that?’

  ‘I told you. We didn’t discuss business.’