Trade Secrets

by David Wishart

  ‘For just over a year. Gods, I was stupid! I told you, Lucilius is a good man, he loves me and he loves the children. I should never have allowed it to start.’

  ‘So why did you?’

  ‘Because I was bored and wanted a bit of excitement. Because Gaius was rich and good-looking, and a good talker. Eventually, because he was good in bed. Everything Lucilius isn’t. And like I say, because I was stupid.’

  I thought of Annia. Yeah, barring some aspects the same story. Tullius may have been a bastard, but clearly where women were concerned he was an attractive bastard. ‘You knew he was married?’

  ‘Yes. But I also knew he didn’t get on with his wife, and that she wouldn’t care what he got up to because she’d a lover of her own.’

  ‘Oh?’ I said. ‘And who would that be?’

  ‘Gaius’s partner. Publius Poetelius.’

  Shit. My spine went cold. ‘He told you that? Tullius himself?’

  ‘Yes. Right at the start. It was a loveless marriage on both sides, he said, but a divorce wasn’t possible because his wife controlled the purse strings, and in any case they had their separate lives. That suited me. I wouldn’t’ve wanted anything permanent anyway. All I wanted was a bit of excitement.’ She sounded bitter as hell. ‘Stupid, you see?’

  I didn’t comment. ‘So who do you think sent the letter?’

  She shrugged. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘OK. One more thing. You said that when your husband went round to Tullius’s office he didn’t actually see him. How do you know that? I mean, if the last time you saw him was when he walked out the door on his way there—’

  Her face clouded. ‘But it wasn’t. Of course it wasn’t. You’ve talked to Lucilius, you must’ve done or you wouldn’t’ve known where to find me.’

  ‘You’ve seen him since?’

  ‘Of course I have. He came round here the next day. In the afternoon.’

  ‘He did what?’

  ‘He wanted to make sure that I was all right. Me and the kids.’ There were tears in her eyes. ‘Just that. I thought he might ask me to come back, but he didn’t. I wanted to, but he said it was too soon, he needed time to think things over. Didn’t he tell you that?’

  So Festus had an alibi for the whole day of the murder after all. Or on the face of it he did anyway, because the Capenan Gate and Trigemina Gate Street were on opposite sides of the city, and if he’d come all the way across here, he wouldn’t’ve had time in a couple of hours to have done the murder as well. ‘No,’ I said. ‘He didn’t tell me. He said he’d gone to pay his respects at the Temple of Mercury. Now why the hell would he lie about that?’

  She looked away. ‘Because he’s a proud man whose wife’s been unfaithful to him for no reason at all,’ she said. ‘What cuckolded husband would admit going all the way across Rome just to make sure his wife was safely with her mother the day after he’s told her to get out of the house and not come back? Of course he lied to you. He’d’ve lied to anyone.’

  Yeah, well; I supposed it made sense, or some sort of sense, anyway. And at least, barring Vecilius as being responsible, I could draw a line through Festus as the killer.

  ‘Fine, lady,’ I said. ‘Thanks for your help. It’s been very useful.’

  I turned to go.

  ‘Corvinus?’

  I turned back. ‘Yeah?’

  ‘If you see Lucilius, tell him I’m sorry. Just that.’

  ‘I’ll tell him,’ I said, and left.

  Gods! There’d been a couple of eye-openers there, and no mistake. Particularly the business about Annia and Poetelius. That opened a whole new can of worms, and it needed thinking about.

  I set off towards Trigemina Gate Street and a possible interview with Hermia.

  When I knocked on the door of the house next to the glass workshop I was keeping a leery eye out: judging by what had happened the last time our paths had crossed, Vecilius wouldn’t exactly be overjoyed if he found me paying a visit to his wife, and I valued my teeth too much to take any risks. Eventually, the door was opened by a woman about Marcia’s age. The gossipy owner of the wineshop hadn’t been exaggerating, because she was a honey: small, plump, curvy, with jet-black hair and a heart-shaped face, currently disfigured by a beaut of a shiner the colour of an overripe plum.

  ‘Yes?’ she said.

  I was staring at her eye. ‘Uh … my name’s Corvinus,’ I said. ‘Could I have a word with you, do you think? It’s about Gaius Tullius.’

  ‘Tullius is dead.’ She made to shut the door.

  I put out my hand to stop it closing. ‘Yeah, I know. That’s the point. I’m representing his widow, and I need to ask you a few questions. No hassle. It won’t take long.’

  For an instant, she looked frightened. She glanced past me towards the door of the workshop, hesitated, then shrugged and stepped back.

  ‘Please yourself,’ she murmured. ‘Come in.’

  I followed her inside: another two-up, two-down property with the public rooms either side of a central corridor. She opened one of the doors.

  ‘In here. Make yourself comfortable.’

  There were a couple of couches, two or three stools, and a dresser with crockery on it, plus a scattering of ornaments and a small family altar in the corner. Not exactly tidy, in fact the dresser and the altar showed distinct traces of dust. Clearly not the house-proud type, sweet little Hermia. I pulled up one of the stools and sat down, while she sat on one of the couches.

  ‘All right,’ she said. ‘Let’s have the questions.’

  Cool enough, but her hands were clasped tightly together in her lap. I noticed they were trembling.

  ‘You were having an affair with him, right?’ I said.

  ‘“Affair” is the wrong word. We were seeing each other, yes, but it hadn’t gone beyond that.’

  ‘OK. So when did things start?’

  ‘Just under a month ago.’ Black eye aside, she looked and sounded like a schoolgirl reciting a lesson to the teacher. ‘Gaius had been at the workshop on business. When he came out, I was unlocking the house door. I was carrying some vegetables from the market, and I dropped a cabbage on the doorstep. He picked it up and brought it inside for me, so I asked him if he’d like a cup of wine before he went back to his office. Just politeness, you know?’

  I nodded, but said nothing.

  ‘Anyway, we chatted for about an hour, and the next day he came round again. To see me, not Titus, he made that clear at the start. The third time, a few days later, he was back, this time with a present – nothing big, just a trinket – and … well … he kissed me when he left. The fourth time—’ she hesitated and lowered her eyes demurely – ‘the fourth time he suggested we go to bed together. I refused point blank, of course, he apologized, and that was that. At least, I thought it was.’ She raised her eyes again and gave me a straight look. ‘In any case, that’s all that ever happened between us as far as I was concerned. I swear it.’

  ‘Fine.’ Yeah, well, whatever the truth of it – and, oath or not, I wouldn’t’ve trusted this little lady to give me the right time of day – the modus operandi fitted: bored young housewife left on her own, good-looking admirer from a couple of notches above her in the social scale with a smooth line in chat that left the husband nowhere. Tullius had had it all worked out. ‘The day before he died. You had a spat with his actual mistress, Marcia, right?’

  She nodded. ‘It was horrible. I’ve known Marcia for years, practically since she moved here, but I didn’t know she was involved with Gaius. She came round to the house that morning and accused me of stealing him off her. Then Titus walked in. We had a blazing row after she left.’ She lowered her eyes. ‘I managed to convince him there was nothing to it, that Gaius had only been trying it on, but I couldn’t stop him going to the office to have things out. In the event he never saw him, because Gaius was away on business, so he came straight back.’

  ‘So what happened the next day? The day of the murder?’ I waited, but there was no a
nswer. ‘Come on, lady,’ I said finally. ‘If you don’t tell me I’ll just get it eventually from elsewhere. And playing coy might not be too hot an idea at this stage.’

  She took a deep breath. ‘We’d … Titus hadn’t spoken a word to me since he got back from Gaius’s office. When I woke up the next morning he’d already gone out. I had breakfast, then did the shopping. Titus usually comes home for lunch at midday, but that day he didn’t, so I thought I’d make a special effort for dinner. Stuffed vegetables in a wine and onion sauce. They’re his favourite. Anyway, I’d done the vegetables and I was just putting the pot on the stove when Gaius walked into the kitchen.’

  I blinked, but said nothing.

  ‘I never thought he’d come back. I wasn’t expecting him, I swear it. The front door was open as usual, and he’d just let himself in. Before I could say or do anything, he grabbed me and started … pulling at my tunic, trying to kiss me. I was fighting him off when Titus came in, reeling drunk. He pulled Gaius away, and Gaius ran for the door. Titus started after him, but he tripped over a stool. I went to help him up and he hit me.’ She touched her eye. ‘Then he ran out after Gaius. That was the last I saw of him until two of his wineshop cronies carried him in drunk just before sunset.’

  ‘And this was when, exactly?’

  ‘Mid-afternoon, or thereabouts.’

  Yeah, well, the timing and circumstantial details matched what the wineshop owner had told me. Sure, as far as the faithful housewife stuff and the accident with the stool were concerned the jury was still out and liable to stay that way, but in the main it all rang true. And it wasn’t too difficult to reconstruct probable subsequent events, either. Still, whether Tullius had come back by invitation or off his own bat the guy had been a complete fool to take the risk. Personally, I reckoned he’d deserved all he got.

  Not that that let Vecilius off the hook, mind: murder’s murder, however you slice it.

  ‘Your husband tell you anything about what had happened in the interim? When he sobered up, I mean?’ I said.

  ‘He claimed that Gaius had given him the slip. He looked for him but he couldn’t find him, so he went back to the wineshop.’

  ‘“Claimed”? You don’t believe him?’

  ‘I don’t know! You’ve no idea what life’s been like these past few days. We haven’t exchanged more than a few words. It’s like living with a stranger.’ She lowered her eyes again, then said in a quiet, demure voice: ‘If there was somewhere I could go for a while, away from Titus, someone I could stay with, who’d look after me—’

  I stood up. ‘Yeah. Right,’ I said. ‘Me, I wouldn’t be too worried. No doubt it’ll all blow over in time. Anyway, thanks for your help, lady.’

  She gave me a glare. But I was already heading for the door.

  Well, I reckoned that just about put the lid on it. As far as the attempted seduction itself was concerned, whether Hermia had told the complete truth or given me the expurgated version wasn’t important, and no business of mine; the odds were we’d got our killer.

  Or at least we probably had. Or, there again, possibly not …

  I frowned. Shit; Perilla had been right, it was all too pat. There was still too much that needed thinking about, too many loose ends. I glanced up at the sun. Well into its third quarter; just time to drop in at my gabby wineshop owner’s for a cup of wine before I set off for the long walk back to the Caelian and dinner.

  I wasn’t the only punter in evidence this time; there were a couple of tunics propping up the bar, obviously locals. They gave me an incurious stare and a nod and went back to their wine-cups.

  ‘Afternoon, sir. Nice to see you again.’ The wineshop owner reached for an empty jug. ‘Graviscan, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Yeah. Well remembered,’ I said. ‘Just a cup this time, though, pal.’

  He replaced the jug, set a cup on the counter, and filled it from one of the jars on the shelf. ‘You’ll be having more business with Vecilius, then?’ he said.

  ‘Yeah, as it happens.’ I reached for my purse and took out a silver piece.

  ‘Only no offence but I was just wondering a bit more after you left yesterday whether it mightn’t have to do with something other than glass. Seeing you were so interested in the man himself and all. I said so at the time, if you remember?’ He gave me my change and pursed his lips. ‘Terrible thing, that murder in Melobosis Alley, wasn’t it?’

  Subtle as a brick, and the casual tone wouldn’t’ve fooled a mentally slow six-year-old. The two punters at the other end of the bar pricked up their ears and turned round. I sighed. Ah, well, it didn’t make any odds, cosmically speaking. And I didn’t owe Vecilius any favours.

  ‘The name’s Valerius Corvinus,’ I said. ‘I’m looking into Tullius’s death.’

  ‘There, now! That’s just what I thought!’ The owner slapped the counter and beamed at the two other customers. ‘Didn’t I tell you, lads?’ He turned back to me. ‘So Vecilius caught him messing around with his wife and knifed him, did he, sir? Well, I’m not surprised. Not that I blame him, poor devil, he probably had enough encouragement. She’s always been a fast little piece, that one, and his temper being what it is—’

  ‘Look, pal,’ I said quickly, ‘that’s just one possibility. There’re plenty of others.’

  ‘Oh, you can’t fool me, sir! He’s your man, all right, no doubt at all about that. Although I don’t blame you for being cautious about saying so outright to strangers, very laudable, that is. Prejudicial to the conduct of the investigation, that the legal phrase?’

  ‘More or less,’ I said. ‘It’ll do.’

  ‘He’ll get the chop, more than likely,’ one of the punters said. ‘Bound to, for killing a nob, whatever excuse he had.’

  ‘Good news for somebody, anyhow,’ the other punter said meditatively. ‘That’s a nice little business he’s got there, a real money-spinner, and it’ll all go to his widow.’ He grinned and winked. ‘Not that I’d mind a bit of Hermia myself, come to that, even without the money.’

  Jupiter! Tried, convicted and buried inside two minutes! There spoke the vox pop. Still, I’d done my best, and like I said they were probably right about him having done it because it was the obvious answer. I took a swig of the Graviscan.

  ‘Incidentally, what would those other possibilities you mentioned be, now, sir?’ That was my muck-raking pal behind the bar, of course, angling predictably for extra scandal. ‘If you don’t mind me asking. Just idle curiosity, you understand. Between you and us and the doorpost, naturally. It won’t go any further.’

  I shrugged and took another sip of the wine.

  ‘’Course, in situations like these it’s often the wife,’ said the more ruminative of the two barflies. ‘Hell hath no fury and so on. Little woman finds out that her hubby’s getting a bit on the side, picks up a kitchen knife, and stiffs the bugger.’

  His friend gave him a sideways look. ‘Nah,’ he said. ‘This Tullius was a nob. Nobs’ wives don’t do that sort of thing. And she’s probably never been inside of a kitchen.’

  ‘No, not personally, sure; I don’t mean personally. Nobs’ wives would have somebody do it for them, wouldn’t they? Stands to reason. Some man or other. Having it done for them’s a different thing entirely. More respectable, like. That’s how nobs work.’ He turned to me. ‘You keep the wife in mind, sir. If it wasn’t Vecilius did it after all then I reckon the wife’s your best bet, myself.’

  ‘Thanks, pal,’ I said. ‘I’ll do that.’ I meant it, too. The guy had a valid point, and I was remembering what Marcia had told me about Annia being involved with Poetelius. Apropos of which … ‘Uh, incidentally. Tullius had a partner. A man called Publius Poetelius. Ring any bells?’ Blank faces all round; well, fair enough, the name on its own wasn’t likely to mean anything. ‘Tullius was the usual go-between where business was concerned, sure, so you might know him by sight, at least, but there’s a chance his partner subbed for him on occasion, when he was out of town. Youngish, mid-thirties.�
� I described him. ‘You happen to’ve seen him around here at all recently?’

  ‘Could have,’ the wineshop owner said cautiously. He sucked on a tooth. ‘Might have done. Looks like a bit of a pen-pusher, right? Lost out of reach of an abacus?’

  ‘Yeah.’ Jupiter! ‘Yeah, that’s him.’

  ‘Ah.’ He nodded, reached for an empty cup, filled it, and took a slow, contemplative sip. He was enjoying this, I could tell. ‘Then I’ve seen him right enough, sir, in this very bar, standing just where you are now. Day of the murder, it was, too. About the middle of the afternoon. Yes, it must’ve been, because I’d just got shot of that bastard Vecilius.’

  Hey! ‘You get talking at all?’

  ‘Nah, he wasn’t the talkative type.’ He grinned. ‘Well, well! So that was the dead man’s partner, was it? Interesting! Now why would he—?’

  ‘Thanks, pal.’ I swigged the rest of my wine and set the empty cup down on the counter. ‘I’ll see you around.’

  Interesting was right, and in spades, to boot, because taken together with Marcia’s claim that Poetelius and Annia were an item it put the guy squarely in a frame of his own as far as motive and opportunity were concerned. Clearly, Vecilius wasn’t the only game in town after all.

  I left them goggling and headed back to the Caelian.

  NINE

  Bathyllus opened the front door for me as I mounted the steps.

  ‘Hi, pal,’ I said. ‘Not late for dinner, am I?’ I’d cut it fine, I knew: the sun was just on the point of setting, and where Meton was concerned that practically constituted a dinner gong.

  He handed me the obligatory cup of wine. ‘Not at all, sir. In fact, dinner will be slightly later this evening.’

  ‘Oh? Why’s that?’ I took my first restorative swallow.

  He cleared his throat. ‘We had a little fracas, sir, which has somewhat disrupted the domestic arrangements.’

  Oh, shit. ‘Don’t tell me,’ I said. ‘Involving next door, right?’

  ‘Indeed, sir. The mistress will explain. She’s in the atrium.’