Trade Secrets

by David Wishart

  It was my turn to shrug. ‘Nothing.’

  He looked at me in surprise. ‘Nothing?’

  ‘Not as far as I’m concerned. I told you: there’s been no crime, you’re no murderer, I’ve got no authority anyway, and the Watch in Rome couldn’t care less.’ A slur on my pal Watch Commander Decimus, but I was sure he’d understand if I told him. Which, just in case, I’d no intention of doing. ‘So nothing. What had you got planned yourself?’

  ‘Go back home, taking Vinnia with me. Like I said.’

  ‘Fine with me, pal.’ I finished my own wine and stood up. ‘Safe journey, and have a good life. Give my regards to your sister.’

  I held out my hand, and he shook it, automatically. Then I walked out, leaving him staring.

  Well, so much for that aspect of the case. Rubrius would be disappointed, mind.

  So. Onward and upward. We’d cleared up the Correllius side of things, at least where the stabbing was concerned, although naturally there was still the far more important matter of the scam. Over to the harbour offices for my chat with the clerk re the Porpoise and her captain.

  I’d have to fit in another visit to Mamilia as well, of course. Not that I’d blow the whistle on Gaius Vinnius; there was no point, because for one reason or another the lady clearly couldn’t care less who’d stuck the knife into her husband, and I reckoned I didn’t owe her anything along those lines. But however she figured otherwise in this case – and she wasn’t off the hook yet, let alone Doccius and Fundanius, not by a long chalk – I owed her a mental apology: in part, at least, the theory about what was going on was out the window.

  I carried on up Tiber Gate Road and through the gate itself to the main docks and the harbour office. The same freedman clerk I’d talked to on the other two occasions was on duty behind the desk. He gave me a rather strained smile.

  ‘Ah,’ he said. ‘The gentleman who was asking about the Porpoise.’

  ‘Yeah. You’ve got a good memory, pal.’

  ‘Never forget a face, sir.’ The brittle cheerfulness in his voice suggested that he’d gladly forget mine, given the chance. ‘How can I help you this time?’

  ‘Same subject, really. She back in port from Corsica yet?’

  ‘No. Nor likely to be. She went down just off Palla, in the south of the island.’

  I stared at him. ‘She did what?’

  ‘Sank, sir. The crew, I understand, all managed to reach land safely, but the ship herself was lost. It happens, even at the best time of the sailing year.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘Another ship calling in at Aleria brought the news a few days ago. I forget the name. Faces, yes; names, no.’

  Gods! ‘What about the captain? Titus Nigrinus?’

  ‘I told you, sir.’ The clerk was getting just a little tetchy. ‘He made it to shore along with the rest of the crew. I’d imagine that he’s still in Corsica, because he’d have to notify whoever was taking delivery of the cargo and make his own report. No doubt he’ll get passage on another ship when he’s completed the formalities at that end, if he hasn’t already done so, but that’s his own affair. I have and would have no knowledge of the matter.’

  ‘Those are all the details you have?’

  ‘For the present, yes. But as I say it’s no business of mine.’

  ‘You have an address for him? Just in case he is back?’

  ‘No, sir. That’s not information that we keep on record. I’m sorry.’

  Jupiter on wheels! ‘Fine,’ I said. ‘Thanks for your trouble.’

  ‘No trouble, sir. Any time.’

  I left. So, that was that. The question was, was the sinking part of the scam, or was it a genuine accident? Like the man had said, these things happen, and I didn’t know enough about the ins and outs of the shipping trade or the dangers involved in that part of the Med to know how likely an accident was. The fact that the entire crew had escaped drowning, mind, was more than a tad suspicious: a lot of sailors, I knew, made a point of not learning to swim, because then if their ship went down at least they’d die quickly.

  Complication on complication. It meant that I wasn’t going to be having my little talk with Titus Nigrinus in the near future, anyway.

  So. Since there didn’t seem to be all that many options available I might as well pay my call on Mamilia. I retraced my steps to Tiber Gate and the centre of town.

  The big bouncer was still on door duty at the house.

  ‘The mistress at home, pal? I said.

  ‘Yeah. You want to see her?’

  ‘That’s the general idea, yes.’

  ‘What was the name again?’

  ‘Corvinus. Valerius Corvinus.’ Then, as he turned to go in: ‘Hang on a minute. Publius Fundanius. He been round again since I was here last?’

  He gave me a look like he was a septuagenarian spinster I’d shown a dirty picture to. ‘No. Orders from the mistress was if the bastard showed his face I was to laugh in it and tell him to piss off.’

  Interesting. And it didn’t sit well with what was left of the theory, either. I was getting the distinct impression that we’d been ploughing the wrong furrow here altogether. ‘Fair enough,’ I said.

  ‘Business, was it?’

  ‘Business’ll do.’

  ‘OK. Wait there.’

  I waited there. Five minutes later, he came back out.

  ‘The mistress’ll see you,’ he said, and stepped aside.

  She was sitting in the atrium. Not quite so dolled up this time, but still wearing a mantle that was the height of fashion.

  ‘Well, Valerius Corvinus,’ she said. You could’ve used the tone to pickle eggs. ‘You’re still here, I see.’

  ‘Yeah. Evidently. In fact, we’re thinking of taking the let of a villa of our own along the coast. The Rusticellius place. You know it?’

  ‘Not offhand, no.’ She didn’t sound exactly thrilled with the prospect.

  ‘Your friend Fundanius recommended it to me when I dropped in on him yesterday morning,’ I said.

  That got me a glare. ‘Publius Fundanius is no friend of mine,’ she snapped. Forget the pickled eggs; make that mummies, with an extra dose of natron thrown in for good measure.

  ‘Business associate, then.’

  ‘Not that either. And if he told you, or implied, any differently then it was an outright lie.’

  Hmm. That came across as genuine, particularly after what I’d heard from the Last of the Titans at the front door. Either she was playing a very close game really, really well or the theory – what poor ragged tatters were left of it – was definitely up the creek. ‘Strange,’ I said. ‘I could’ve sworn I saw your man Doccius on the premises as I was leaving. I wondered if you’d maybe sent him over there for some reason.

  Her face … set. That was the only word for it. The expression on it was pure concrete. ‘Publius Doccius,’ she said, ‘is no longer in my employ, or a member of this household. You may well have seen him at Fundanius’s, since I know nothing of his whereabouts. He may just as well be there as anywhere else.’

  I tried not to let the surprise show on my face. ‘Your doing, or his?’ I said.

  Another glare, hundred-candelabra strength. ‘Valerius Corvinus, that is absolutely none of your business,’ she said. ‘But since you ask, at mine. I found that he had been … not strictly honest.’ I had to stop a smile. ‘Over a considerable period.’

  ‘You care to give me some examples?’

  ‘I most certainly would not. I told you, it is no business of yours. However, it involved the company’s finances.’ She straightened her mantle with a savage jerk of her hand. ‘Apropos of which. Why exactly are you here? I said: my husband was not murdered, and I regard the matter of his stabbing as closed. I can’t see what other business you’d have with me.’

  Couldn’t she? Well, maybe not after all; that news about Doccius leaving had been a facer, and no mistake. At the very least, it needed thinking about.

  Unless, of course, he h
adn’t left at all, as such, and she was still playing games …

  ‘Actually, Mamilia, I came to tell you just that,’ I said mildly. ‘I know now who stabbed your husband and why.’

  She was rocked, I could see that. And, despite herself, curious.

  ‘Tell me,’ she snapped.

  ‘Uh-uh.’ I shook my head. ‘That wasn’t part of the deal. Quite the reverse. But I didn’t think it was altogether fair just to go back to Rome and leave you thinking the mystery was unsolved.’

  ‘Was it Fundanius?’ Then, when I shook my head: ‘Doccius?’

  Interesting again; she was no fool, this lady. And it suggested that she’d been up front about the bastard having been got rid of. I added it to my list of things to think about.

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘Believe me, you wouldn’t know the guy, or even recognize his name, so that side of things isn’t important. Like you keep saying, there was no murder, your husband was dead already. All I’ll tell you is that, yes, the man thought at the time he’d murdered him, he even thought so when I faced him with it, but it wasn’t a killing for … well, call them for the sake of argument business reasons.’ She had the grace to blink. ‘It was purely personal. He did it out of revenge. Not for something that your husband did to him but on behalf of one of his family.’

  I’d used the feminine form, of course, and she was staring at me.

  ‘A woman?’ she said.

  ‘Uh … yeah,’ I said cautiously. ‘His sister, as it happens. But it wasn’t what—’

  Completely unexpectedly, Mamilia laughed, and she went on laughing. All I could do was look on amazed until she finally stopped.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said when she’d finished and dried her eyes with her mantle. ‘That was quite unforgivable. But Marcus? You never knew my husband, Corvinus, so you won’t see how funny it is. I never knew he had it in him. And there was always such a lot of Marcus for something to be in. Such a terrible lot, even when he was younger.’ She giggled again; it was like watching a caryatid have hysterics. ‘I am so glad you told me. That is possibly the first laugh I’ve had out of the man since I married him. Thank you.’

  ‘Uh … you’re welcome,’ I said, getting up. Strange woman, Mamilia. Well, if she got a kick – in whatever form – out of the thought that her husband had been a philanderer and been murdered, or practically murdered, as a result, then who was I to disillusion her?

  On the other side – the black side – she must’ve really hated the guy. Or no, not hated; hated was too positive. Despised came close, but I wondered if even that was too strong. I suspected that Mamilia hadn’t been totally conscious of her husband’s existence as part of her life. Which was sad, but it explained a lot. It explained everything, really.

  Mamilia had stood up too. ‘So you’re off back to Rome?’ she said; she was almost chatty now.

  ‘No, not straight away,’ I said cautiously. ‘I’ve got one or two other things to see to before that happens.’

  ‘Oh, yes, the villa. Of course. I hope you find it suits. And naturally, if you do find yourself an Ostian resident, albeit a part-time one, you must let me know. I think we might come to like each other.’

  ‘I’ll do that,’ I lied; caryatids have never been my bag, particularly ones prone to sudden giggling fits or bouts of hysteria. And I still wasn’t hundred per cent certain of Mamilia’s bona fides where the case was concerned. Eighty per cent, sure, but still.

  She saw me out.

  TWENTY-ONE

  So; a fairly short morning, but one full of incident. And if we had to do a drastic rethink where the overall picture of things was concerned, at least we’d got some of the dead wood cleared away.

  I went back to the villa, where Bathyllus’s minions were just laying the outside table for lunch. Me, if I’m out and about, I usually settle for a quick snack at a wineshop counter, and because lunch is made up of cold leftovers from dinner the day before, Meton’s perfectly OK about that. Perilla, though, tends to go for the sit-down variety. When I came through onto the terrace she was ensconced in her favourite wickerwork chair with her book and a stiff pre-lunch barley-water and honey.

  ‘Back early again, Marcus,’ she said when I’d kissed her. ‘This is getting to be a habit.’

  ‘I’ve got news,’ I said. ‘The stabbing business is solved.’

  She laid the book down on the side table. ‘Really? That’s marvellous! You’re certain?’

  ‘Hundred per cent cast-iron sure. I’ve seen the guy himself, our elusive Pullius, and he gave me the whole story.’ I told her about Gaius Vinnius. ‘So we can forget about that aspect of things. The shipping scam, though, that’s another matter. There’ve been developments there too. I called in at the harbour office and seemingly the Porpoise went down before it reached port.’

  ‘Did it, indeed?’ she said. ‘Interesting. You don’t think it was an accident?’

  ‘The jury’s out on that one, but my gut feeling says no. Absolutely, no. According to the clerk, the ship sank just short of the Corsican coast and all the crew made it safely ashore.’

  ‘Convenient.’

  ‘Right. The only problem – and it’s a clincher – is that if the sinking was done deliberately then it makes no sense.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Come on, Perilla! Nigrinus owned the ship and Correllius owned the cargo. The whole cargo. When the Porpoise went down they’d both’ve lost out in spades, however you slice it. Nigrinus would’ve lost his ship and Correllius would be down the value of eight hundred amphoras’ worth of wine and oil. That’s no fleabite, however big a businessman you are.’ Something was niggling at the back of my mind; I reached for it, but it wouldn’t come. ‘Just the idea of it’s silly. As things stand, they’d be cutting their own noses off for no reason.’

  ‘So if they did do it, then why?’

  I sighed. ‘Search me. Maybe the sky is full of flying pigs and it was a genuine accident after all. We’ll just have to—’

  ‘Hey, Corvinus. I was hoping I’d catch you.’

  I looked round. Agron was coming through the peristyle opening towards us, Bathyllus hovering behind him.

  ‘Oh, hi, pal,’ I said. ‘Yeah, well, you have. Sit down, take the weight off your sandals. Bathyllus? The wine, little guy.’ He buttled out. ‘You staying for lunch?’

  ‘Sure.’ He pulled up another of the wicker chairs. ‘Hi, Perilla.’

  ‘This a social visit?’

  ‘Partly,’ he said. ‘I wanted to see for myself how the other half live.’ He looked around. ‘Nice place.’

  ‘Yeah, it is. Only partly?’

  ‘Uh-huh. You’ll be glad to know I’ve finally managed to trace your Gaius Siddius for you. The crane operator.’

  I sat up straight. ‘Have you, indeed?’

  ‘Yeah. Turns out he’s working for one of the local stonemasons. Just along the road from my yard, as it happens, so I’m kicking myself I didn’t find him sooner.’

  ‘That’s OK.’ Great! Siddius was someone I really had to talk to. ‘Absolutely OK. If you give me directions, I’ll go and see him this afternoon.’

  ‘No problem. In fact, I’ll take you there myself when I go back. I left Sextus minding the store, but like I told you we’re pretty busy at present, so we’re working flat out.’

  ‘Right.’ Bathyllus came back with the wine, and two cups. I waited while he poured. ‘By the way, I should’ve thanked you for the babysitter. You were right; it could’ve been nasty.’

  He shrugged. ‘Don’t mention it. Big Titus enjoyed the break. He said it made a change from hefting cement bags. And at least it meant that that bastard Nigrinus is off your back permanently.’

  ‘Yeah.’ I glanced at Perilla; she was looking pretty tight-lipped, but she didn’t say anything. ‘True.’

  Agron took a sip of his wine. ‘So. How’s the case going?’

  ‘Not too badly. You interrupted a bit of head-scratching; we’re not there yet, not by a long chalk, but things are
moving. And a chat with this Siddius character should help a lot, or I hope it will, anyway. At least quite a slice of the Correllius side of things has cleared itself up. Just this morning, in fact.’

  His eyes widened. ‘Is that so, now? Turf war?’

  ‘No. Long-standing personal grudge.’ I gave him the details, while round about us the minions set the cold bits and bobs on the table and laid an extra place. ‘There was no point in taking things further, because in the event whatever the original plan was Vinnius didn’t kill the guy, and like I say the widow’s pretty blasé about the whole thing. Ask me, she’s either happy enough on her own or she’s got another likely prospect already lined up.’

  Perilla sniffed. ‘Marcus, that is pure unwarranted speculation,’ she said. ‘And it comes very close to muck-raking.’

  Agron grinned.

  ‘Yeah, well, you haven’t met her, lady,’ I said. ‘She dresses to kill and she takes no prisoners.’ I refilled my wine-cup and offered the jug to Agron. ‘You want a top-up, pal?’ He shook his head. ‘Anyway, we thought – Perilla and me – that Mamilia might have a thing going with Publius Fundanius, business or pleasure or both, but that horse is a non-starter. Or I’m fairly sure it is.’

  ‘Glad to hear it,’ Agron said. ‘You’ve almost been knifed once in the past couple of days already. The less you mix yourself up with Fundanius the better.’ He reached for the plate of cheese and pickles. ‘I’ll tell you again: you want to stay clear of that guy.’

  ‘That might be tricky,’ I said. ‘Chances are, he’s still mixed up in things somewhere along the line. Where exactly or how deeply he’s involved I don’t know, but lily-white he isn’t, nor is Correllius’s erstwhile second, Publius Doccius. That crooked bastard’s in it up to his eyeballs, that’s for sure. I’d bet my sandal straps.’ I helped myself to some of the cold chicken stew. ‘Anyway, leave it for the present. Eat your lunch, I’ll give you the tour, and then you can—’ I stopped. ‘Shit!’