The Ides of April: Falco: The New Generation (Falco: The Next Generation)

by Davis, Lindsey

  ‘Are you supposing a boyfriend made this attack on the maids, Albia?’

  ‘There is no evidence of that.’

  Footsteps sounded outside in the colonnade. By the time the damned runner entered, Andronicus and I were innocently sitting apart on separate stools.

  ‘You ditched the feeble disguise, I see,’ jeered Tiberius, nodding at my discarded stole. He had to let me know he really did see me earlier, in the Vicus Altus. I wondered if he then followed me here deliberately, to interrupt any fun with Andronicus. ‘When you two have stopped giving each other the glad eye … I presume that is your report? Shall I take it?’ He glared pointedly at Andronicus, who had to part with my scroll.

  ‘I pretty well covered everything,’ I intervened, trying to distract them from their mutual hostility. ‘I have still not spoken directly to the second maid, but a source told me she claims she saw nothing. Of course I want to check that. I will keep trying for a proper follow-up.’

  ‘Keep me informed.’

  I did not reprise my opinion about women and their lovers. Tiberius was not a man to joke.

  Tiberius left us, clutching my scroll, and took himself off somewhere else in the building.

  I mentioned to Andronicus how I had seen the runner patrolling the street where incidents had happened. ‘He seems obsessed.’

  ‘Of course, there could be another explanation,’ said Andronicus sombrely.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Does it never strike you that Tiberius is an odd character himself? A loner. A prowler. A cold, friendless, arrogant, unsocial person who cannot make anybody like him, even if he tries to − most times he does not bother to try. A man who has been given the task of moving among the public, exercising his judgement about their characters and their behaviour … So, might he have decided to impose a personal punishment on those he regards as being at fault?’

  ‘Go on.’ I felt unhappy with where this was leading, but I let him add his finale.

  ‘What a coincidence, Flavia Albia, if he turned out to be involved in what you are investigating! Suppose Tiberius is your villain.’

  26

  Romans were marinaded in suspicion these days. Our paranoid emperor had made us all too ready to distrust people. I said that I would think carefully about Andronicus’ suggestion. I meant it. Normally I like to exercise my own judgement. But this idea about the runner had struck me too.

  Tiberius had certainly known of Salvidia, because it was he who chalked up the advertisement for witnesses after her driver’s accident. I knew of no connection between him and the old woman, Celendina, nor was I aware that he had ever met the oyster boy, though it was by no means impossible. He certainly knew a lot about Laia Gratiana. Given the official links between the aediles’ office and the Temple of Ceres, which must include the cult, he probably knew her friend Marcia too. A trusted runner was not too disreputable to engage with such women, nor too lofty to have spoken to their maids.

  Roaming the streets on the excuse of looking for public misdemeanours, Tiberius was perfectly placed to make attacks on pedestrians. He looked shifty. I had always felt something about him was wrong.

  I began to discuss this with Andronicus, who was eager to share his own thoughts on the subject. We had to stop when Tiberius reappeared.

  ‘A good report,’ he commented. Although I had had the scroll addressed to the aedile personally, the uppity swine had taken it upon himself to open and read it. Then, to my surprise, he added, ‘I am meeting up with Morellus tonight to review a plan of action. You could join us.’

  I said I would. Immediately I noticed Andronicus signalling that I ought not to. Tiberius naturally noticed too; he waited, sneering, for me to do what the archivist said. If they thought I was likely to be influenced, they were both wrong. I asked what time to arrive at the station house and since the appointment coincided with the normal hour for dinner, I advised Tiberius to bring his own food. ‘The vigiles have a terrible habit of sending out to Xero’s for hot pies.’

  ‘Aren’t they famous?’

  ‘Legendary. Everyone goes to Xero’s, has done for years. If your master ever wants to set up a public health investigation of pie shops, he could prevent a lot of food poisoning.’

  Andronicus looked as if he wished I had not given Tiberius the warning.

  I saw no future in hanging around while the two of them locked horns. The runner had spoiled the moment for me and my friend. Giving Andronicus a polite goodbye kiss on the cheek, I managed to squeeze in close enough to whisper to him that the best way to monitor Tiberius was to watch what he was up to. Then I went home.

  That evening, after the baths, I walked to the vigiles’ local barracks. The last watch party was going out on patrol, so the building was silent and empty yet to me felt much safer than when the troops were there. I found Morellus in his interrogation room. This was the luxury suite at the station house − a grubby nook with a table that bore suspicious burn marks, a couple of three-legged stools that had had their fourth legs pulled off for hitting suspects, and an old cloak on a peg. The table was for Morellus to put his boots up on while he cleaned his nails with a knife he had once taken off a prisoner.

  Morellus seemed puzzled to see me, so as I fitted back a leg on one of the stools to make it usable, I explained I had an invitation.

  ‘Really? Has Tiberius taken a fancy to you, or something?’

  ‘No, he thinks I’m a useless amateur. I’ve no idea why I was favoured tonight – unless he knew I would come with a packet of garlic squids.’ I placed it on the table. Morellus immediately swung more upright so he could have a look. The vigiles respond to very simple stimuli.

  ‘I didn’t know it was a bring-an-amphora party.’ He need not have worried because in fact nobody did bring one.

  Since the runner had yet to arrive, I asked how well they knew each other. According to Morellus, he and Tiberius regularly shared information, and had done since Manlius Faustus took up his post in January.

  ‘I’m finding this runner a baleful presence,’ I commented.

  Morellus gave me a sharp look. ‘Oh, Tiberius is all right!’ Normally I found the enquiry officer quite astute, so this surprised me.

  We heard steps approaching across the yard outside and Tiberius turned up. ‘Quiet tonight!’

  ‘I’ve got them all out looking. Even the ones who are off-shift.’

  ‘On a bonus?’

  ‘No, I just promised not to punch their heads in.’ Morellus lowered his voice. ‘Funds are tight.’

  ‘I might be able to help?’ offered the runner, as he went through the routine of temporary repairs to a stool. Presumably he could ask to break into the aediles’ fines box for some petty cash.

  Morellus waved this away. ‘No, no. The devious Scaurus is putting together a budget. Maybe for once our tribune will make himself useful.’

  At that time of night in April, the room was already dark; Morellus lit pottery oil lamps, most with pornographic scenes, of course. We gathered round the table. We munched as we worked. Tiberius had brought a fancy little picnic basket containing bread rolls, enough for all of us, and cheese, which he said Metellus Nepos had supplied. I presumed this was a gift to the aedile but Tiberius had snaffled it.

  I grinned. ‘I suppose if you live in a large household, especially if it’s a bachelor den, there must be competition to snaffle titbits from the kitchen staff …’

  ‘I find appearing in person with a starved look generally works,’ Tiberius conceded.

  As I had feared, Morellus had equipped himself with a big rabbit pie, from Xero’s. With an obvious wrench, he offered it round. Tiberius took a sliver politely. I was tempted, but held back.

  Ignoring the danger of dripping gravy from the pie still in his hand, Morellus stretched out a crackly map skin of streets in our area. It looked decades old; I pointed out where parts were out of date.

  ‘Oh it gets us from Alpha to Omega,’ Morellus mumbled.

  ‘Well, maybe from
Alpha to Phi …’ suggested Tiberius, almost letting himself smile.

  I have to say that the next hour of three-way collaboration was an unusual session. It went better than I expected. The two men accepted me; I could work with them. Nevertheless, they seemed a slightly mismatched couple and it was unheard of for such men to consult with a woman. But we all approached the problem with the same level of seriousness.

  First we had a round-up of known facts. Morellus contributed surprisingly useful background: ‘I have found out this is happening in other districts of Rome, and the word is, in other parts of the Empire. That might mean a global conspiracy, if you like such theories. Myself, I don’t reckon to that. More likely, some pervert commits a rash of random street attacks in one place, then however much those at the top think they are in control, word gets out because the public are not fools.’

  ‘And a rumour gives some other madman the same idea?’ I put in.

  ‘Copycats?’ Apart from this question, Tiberius was letting Morellus lead, or at least he was so far. Somehow I failed to see Tiberius as a hang-back subordinate.

  ‘It’s a known phenomenon. Well, if we can catch ours, that will still leave the others, but to be frank, I just want to clean up my own patch. I really do think,’ Morellus said defensively, though at his most convincing in fact, ‘if we concentrate on our particular perp, if we apply sound procedure directly to him and do manage to cop him, it will be more useful than haring about pointlessly, trying to tackle a whole city-wide scare and, let’s face it, getting nowhere.’

  Tiberius nodded. As I watched him, I thought what an irony it would be if Andronicus was right and he was the killer. Andronicus had been lively and convincing about this, yet now it seemed a crazy idea. Tiberius looked up, perhaps saw I was considering him with a dark interest, and bit into a bread roll with his most unpleasant expression. This man could win the grimacing competition at the Olympic Games.

  We debated my theory that the Aventine killer was a local. I showed Morellus on his map the Y-shaped junction of the Vicus Altus and Vicus Loreti Minoris. The map skin was probably a valuable antique, but the vigiles investigator pulled out an inkpot and marked it up with incident spots. Morellus spent half his working life chasing after stolen property; it had left him with no respect for treasures.

  The other half of his time was given to victims of violence. I was unsure whether he had lost his respect for human life too, but tonight he theoretically paid it the right attention. ‘As far as we know,’ he pointed out, ‘all attacks have been in broad daylight.’

  ‘Wouldn’t it make more sense to use the hours of darkness?’ I asked. ‘Don’t most repeat killers do that?’

  ‘Yes, but there’s two things against it,’ Morellus mused. ‘Fewer people about, so less crowd-cover when he attacks. And once dusk falls, the streets are full of vigiles. He may get the squits at the thought of meeting up with us.’

  Tiberius and I for the first time joined forces, as we rolled our eyes at that idea.

  ‘He likes to go home for dinner,’ I decided. We were calling him a man, on the basis of Laia Gratiana’s possible sighting. ‘Perhaps he is obliged to go – can he have a bullying wife? She picks on him; he dares not stand up to her. He avenges himself by attacking members of the public, instead of dealing with the woman at home he’s scared of?’

  ‘Or he has a nagging mother,’ Morellus corrected me. ‘Two of his victims are not young.’

  ‘Doesn’t explain the oyster boy.’

  ‘If he is getting his thrills sexually, it doesn’t rule the boy out,’ Morellus answered, cynically. Tiberius looked uncomfortable.

  Although he had made no comment while Morellus and I were talking, he had been paying attention. The runner was quietly eating his cheese, cutting off thin slices and savouring the taste. He used the knife Morellus had been cleaning his nails with; I had seen Tiberius wipe it first very carefully on the hem of his tunic. The tunic was the scratchy one he wore a couple of days ago, though he had a softer-looking undertunic this time, showing beneath the bottom hem and sleeves: his layered look. Generals have it on their statues, to signify they can afford a big wardrobe.

  I found myself staring at that cheese. Without a word he cut several slices and put them within my reach. Its texture looked unpromising, but Metellus Nepos must have smoked it. The result was wonderful. I chewed slowly, showing that I liked it, while not extending myself to say thank you.

  My garlic squids had gone. They vanished early; it always was best to have them while some warmth remained, but between the three of us we had had a bit of a race to grab them.

  ‘He could be a slave,’ I said, still gently chewing.

  Morellus liked that. ‘Sent out on daily errands—?’

  ‘—And does something vindictive while he is out of the house.’

  Tiberius just listened in, but he pulled a face to agree it was plausible.

  With no more available evidence to help define our killer, the talk turned to measures for catching him. This degenerated into them planning manpower rotas, which I found boring. I merely sat, lolling forwards on the table. Tiberius and Morellus were exercised about the coming Cerialia Games. The Aventine would be taken over with seven days of public events, which could offer this man cover and new opportunities. Even if we broke the silence about the killings and warned locals to be careful, our district would be visited by many strangers who knew nothing about the warnings.

  At one point when we were taking a breather from hard thought, Morellus looked at me and exclaimed to Tiberius, ‘She loves this!’

  ‘Conspiring in dark little rooms full of lamp smoke? She does,’ agreed the runner. Although normally I would have kicked against two men discussing me that way, somehow it was neither exclusive nor patronising. We were all friends tonight.

  ‘Beats interviewing supercilious women,’ I said easily. ‘Persuading those ladies who run the cult of Ceres to tell me anything useful had all the attraction of scraping up vomit.’

  Morellus chortled. ‘Someone has to do it. Albia, some jobs are just too filthy for us men!’

  ‘Wimps. The trick is not to let them notice that I’m steering them into actually giving answers.’

  ‘She’s Falco’s daughter,’ Morellus mentioned to Tiberius, as if explaining my tradecraft. ‘Do you know him?’

  ‘I know who he is.’

  Morellus nodded. ‘She can hold her own.’ Tiberius must have been starting to get the traditional pain in the guts from his sliver of Xero’s rabbit pie; he must be distracted, because he too nodded. Morellus then asked, ‘What does your pa think, Albia?’

  ‘Oh don’t give me the old song, Morellus. I’ve been doing my job for twelve years now and I do not need you throwing out that stale line, “Should we ask someone more experienced – and male − to come in on this?” He keeps his head down nowadays, in case Domitian remembers they are enemies. Anyway, my whole family is entirely obsessed this month with the upcoming Viator auction.’

  Tiberius raised one eyebrow. He put down the knife. ‘That wouldn’t be Julius Viator? The fur importer?’

  I nodded. ‘It’s a huge estate being sold off by the heirs. Why − did you know the deceased?’

  ‘If it’s the same man, Tullius does business with him – did, I suppose I should say. Viator was even at our house once. He was young, younger than me certainly.’ Although it was hard to be exact with all that facial whisker, Tiberius looked in his middle thirties. ‘I am very surprised to hear you say he is dead, Albia. When did that happen?’

  ‘Must have been March. I first heard about the auction at a family party.’ Father’s birthday. That reminded me: mine was fast coming up.

  Tiberius was silent for a moment, then went on, ‘I didn’t take to him – he was one of those fellows who spends his whole day exercising … No conversation, unless you wanted to hear how many weights he had lifted, and a complete drag at dinner because he was so careful about his diet.’

  ‘Fit?’ as
ked Morellus – a throwaway comment, but he soon realised it could be significant. ‘Shit! Young and healthy?’

  Tiberius looked thoughtful. ‘Fittest man I ever met. Too fit to die! It looks as if I had better make discreet enquiries about this tomorrow.’

  Morellus and I caught each other’s gaze. Then we too fell quiet.

  The possibility that we might have accidentally noticed another death to count in made us all low-spirited. The meeting broke up.

  I gathered the remaining crumbs and remnants of piecrust into the packet I brought the squids in.

  ‘Midnight supper?’ jeered Morellus.

  ‘Stray dog.’ I was taking it to my foxes.

  In view of the hour, the investigator suggested that the runner should escort me home. I sensed what that was: a male hint that Tiberius might be in with a chance. Morellus himself was married with three young children; that would never have stopped him trying it on, but he knew I had met his wife. A nice woman. She had married a bum, though what choice did most women have? But if he played up, Morellus could expect Pullia to hear about it from me.

  Knowing that he himself was ruled out, Morellus was signalling to the runner that the track was clear for him. He would think he was being generous. I don’t know if the grubby matchmaker actually winked, but it was well implied. Tiberius looked unimpressed − thank you, Juno! I rejected the offer.

  I strode off alone from the station house, moving fast to make sure I shed the runner. I was making my way to the Armilustrium. There, Robigo must have been hungry. Almost as soon as I put down the food and stepped away, I sensed his presence. On top of the boundary wall I saw his head come up, ears pricked. Soon he came slipping down the wall and was nosing what I had brought him.

  I did not stay. I felt suddenly nervous, as if someone was watching me. Robigo, too, seemed to be listening more than usual.

  Luckily Fountain Court was near. I walked fast. When I reached home, Rodan had for once locked the grille. I knew how to pick the padlock, though it was tricky and always took some moments. Once I was inside and fumbling to relock it in a hurry, I looked out through the metalwork.