‘She’s done this before, then?’
‘No. I can’t say that she has.’ Celer banged the wax tablets down hard. ‘But I tell you this, she won’t do it again. Not after I’ve finished with her.’
‘Yeah. Right.’ Well, there was no point hanging around this little ray of sympathy, that was sure. I might drop in on Aegle again, though, while I was in the neighbourhood, see if she had any information she wasn’t passing on to head office. ‘The arrangement stands, okay? She turns up, you send her along.’
‘Of course.’
‘Good.’ My hand was on the door when another thought hit me. ‘By the way, Celer, you haven’t had anyone else asking about the girls, have you? Especially what girls were playing at the Good Goddess rite?’
‘We have enquiries all the time, sir. Naturally enough. Although I can say categorically that no one – apart from the consul’s wife herself, of course – asked about which had been selected for the ceremony.’
‘The consul’s wife? Aemilia?’
‘Naturally. She organised the non-religious side, sir, as the hostess of the rites always does. I provided her with a list of names in advance. Simply a matter of form, of course, since they would mean nothing to her.’
‘Is that so, now?’ We could be on to something here; my scalp was tingling. ‘Would that include the update? With Thalia’s name on it?’
‘Oh, yes. In fact that would be the only one she’d have. I don’t send it until the day before the ceremony, unless of course the lady requires it.’
‘Uh-huh.’ Interesting. So; Aemilia had had a list of flutegirls ahead of time, had she? That little nugget of information might not be particularly significant at the moment, but you never knew what the future would bring. I filed it away for future use. ‘One last thing. One of your general questioners wouldn’t be a Marcus Aemilius Lepidus, would he? Young guy, early twenties –’
Celer was smiling. ‘Oh, yes, sir. You needn’t go on. I know the young gentleman very well. He’s a regular customer, in fact.’
‘Is that right?’ Yeah, well, I suppose it was inevitable, given the kid’s lifestyle. And I didn’t take Lepida’s jibe about him being a pathic too seriously; that had been dislike speaking, to put it at its mildest. ‘Did he ever ask for Thalia, incidentally? By name, I mean?’
Celer’s smile broadened. ‘Most of the young men ask for Thalia, sir, at one time or another. Aemilius Lepidus is no different.’
‘Uh-huh.’ Well, that was that; the missing link, so obvious it was laughable. In its circumstantial details the case was falling into place like the stones in a good mosaic. Maybe Lepidus had been the killer after all. ‘Thanks, Celer,’ I said. ‘If Thalia shows up send her round, okay?’
Aegle wasn’t at home either but a neighbour pointed me to a cookshop where she often went for lunch, and there she was, sitting in a corner, tucking into a couple of small rissoles and a big plate of winter greens. She glanced up as I caught her eye, then looked away quickly. It would seem that I wasn’t flavour of the month today with flutegirls, either.
Breakfast had been a long time ago and I was starving. I ran an assessing eye over the place; always a good idea with cookshops you don’t know, especially in areas like the Subura. This one looked okay. It was full, for a start, and that was a plus: establishments where customers are carried out green and groaning tend to lose their regular clientele pretty rapidly, one way or another. The food looked the right side of edible, too, and none of it had that tell-tale crust you get when the dish of the day was also the dish of yesterday and, if you’re really unlucky, special offer of the month. I ordered a sausage, a bowl of beans and bread and a cup of their best wine and carried it over to Aegle’s table.
‘Hi,’ I said, sitting down opposite her.
Her eyes were fixed on her plate; rabbit food, but I supposed she’d need to think about her figure. She didn’t look up. ‘What do you want now, Corvinus?’
Well, at least she remembered my name. ‘I’m still looking for Thalia. You know where she could be?’
‘No. Ask Celer.’
‘I’ve asked. He’s chewing the tiles because she hasn’t reported in for days.’
‘I know.’ She’d condescended to make eye contact now. I noticed she hadn’t put any make-up over the strawberry birthmark. Probably because make-up was too expensive to use off duty. Or maybe she just couldn’t be bothered. ‘I did a slot for her a couple of days back. Celer’s just lucky it’s the slow season.’
I started in on the bread and beans and sausage. ‘Slow season?’ I said. ‘That wasn’t the impression he gave me, sister.’
‘He wouldn’t. Celer’s a natural moaner. First half of December there isn’t much happening religion-wise barring the Good Goddess and the Agonalia. The wedding and dinner party market’s pretty quiet as well.’
‘What about funerals?’
That got me the almost-half-smile. ‘Oh, there’re always funerals. Death’s a nice steady earner. What’s your business with Thalia, anyway?’
Good question. At the start I’d been looking for an elusive flutegirl, but now apart from the mechanics of how Lepidus had worked things there couldn’t be much she could tell me that I didn’t know. Maybe it was just the fact that I couldn’t talk with her that kept me looking. Also a touch of coldness in the pit of my stomach when I wondered about why that was. ‘I just want a few words,’ I said. ‘Check up on the information I’ve already got. And I must admit I’m curious about where she’s disappeared to.’
‘Yeah.’ Aegle frowned and spooned in some of the chopped-up winter greens. ‘It’s not like her, I’ll give you that. Apart from losing out on the work she isn’t exactly making herself popular with the other girls. No one minds covering, but if you know you’ll miss a slot you’re careful to give notice.’
‘You don’t think she could be in some kind of trouble?’
Aegle hesitated, then set down her spoon. ‘This time yesterday I’d’ve said no; but four days, that’s a long time. Now I’d have to say maybe.’
‘Uh-huh.’ The cold feeling got worse. I took a careful sip of the wine. ‘Okay. So where else do we look before we blow the whistle?’
‘Her flat, certainly. Then there’s Valgius.’
‘Valgius?’
‘Her boyfriend. Or at least her fallback boyfriend. He’s a clerk at the citizen registration office.’
That was in the Temple of Saturn, across Capitol Incline from the Treasury and a stone’s throw from the House of the Vestals. Back where I’d started out from this morning, in other words. And Thalia’s flat, of course, was down beyond the Circus, the far side of Public Ponds, near the Capenan Gate. Well, I was certainly getting my share of walking today. If this was lunch then I’d better finish it. I took a bite of the sausage and chewed. Not bad, but they’d overdone the cumin. ‘You ever play for a client called Marcus Aemilius Lepidus, by the way?’ I asked.
‘The son or the father?’
‘The son.’
She picked up her spoon and began eating again. ‘Yes. Just the once. A dinner party in the Lepidus house.’
‘Just the once?’
‘My face didn’t fit. Literally. Or almost literally.’ Like it had been the last time she’d referred to her birthmark her voice was matter-of-fact. ‘“Dinner party”’s the wrong phrase. There wasn’t much food; not much conversation, either. Aemilius Lepidus’s friends aren’t the talking type.’ She shrugged. ‘It paid well, though.’
‘When was this?’
‘Three months ago? Four? I can’t remember.’
‘Was Thalia there?’
She gave me a suspicious look over her rissole. ‘What’s this about, Corvinus? I mean, seriously.’
‘Nothing. Just making conversation.’ I was; I already knew Lepidus had a connection with Thalia, and I’ve never enjoyed eating in silence.
‘Uh-huh.’ She bit into the rissole. ‘Okay, yes, Thalia was there. She went with young Lepidus, in fact. We were one for each
of them. Only mine decided he’d have one of the servants instead.’
‘Girl?’
‘Boy.’
‘Ah.’ I took a spoonful of beans. ‘You know Lepidus played the flute?’
She spat out a fragment of stone. You have to be careful with cookshop rissoles; the silicate content tends to be pretty high and an incautious chew can lose you half a molar. ‘Yeah. He favoured us with a tootle or two before he and his pals got stuck in. To coin a phrase.’
‘“Tootle”?’
‘That’s the word. Oh, don’t get me wrong; he wasn’t bad for an amateur, especially a purple-striper amateur. Not bad at all. You could see he’d been well taught. But he was a counter, not a natural. He could hold a tune but he’d no real flair.’
Something cold was brushing the nape of my neck. ‘You’re sure?’
‘Sure I’m sure. The guy was drunk at the time, but that wouldn’t’ve mattered, it would’ve made for a bum note or two, that’s all. His phrasing was rubbish, and I don’t just mean now and again. Any professional would’ve curled up and died.’ She frowned. ‘Hold on. You said “played”.’
‘What?’ My brain had gone numb and taken my ears with it.
‘“Played.” Past tense, not present. You asked if Lepidus played the flute. You mean he’s dead?’
Jupiter! The girl was smart! ‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘He’s dead. As of last night. He killed himself.’
She set down her spoon again. ‘But that’s terrible! Why?’
I hesitated. ‘He thought he was responsible for the death of the Vestal.’
‘Why should he think that?’
‘He’d arranged to meet her. In the Galba house, after the rite.’
She was staring at me. ‘But that’s impossible! He wouldn’t’ve been allowed in! The house was sealed until dawn!’
‘Lepidus was your substitute flutegirl. The one who took Thalia’s place.’
Aegle’s mouth opened. Then she laughed. ‘You think… Flora, Corvinus, you’re serious? You’re actually serious?’
‘Sure I’m serious.’
‘But that’s crazy! I told you before, that girl could play! And you think I could sit next to Aemilius Lepidus and not recognise him?’
‘Uh…’ Oh, Jupiter Best and Greatest!
‘Corvinus, you are really something, you know that? I’m not blind. The girl could’ve been a man, sure, easy, no problem at all, she was butch enough. But whoever the guy was, he wasn’t Aemilius Lepidus.’
15.
I left the cookshop and headed down Suburan Street towards the Argiletum and Market Square. It was beginning to rain, and the city looked as miserable as I felt. So. We were back almost where we’d started, with X being both the phoney flutegirl and the murderer. I didn’t doubt what Aegle had said: she might’ve missed Lepidus under all that make-up, sure, especially if she wasn’t expecting a man in disguise and she’d only seen him once, but she wouldn’t’ve made a mistake about the playing. When a real professional gives you their opinion, you listen, and the girl was professional to her henna’d fingertips.
So where did that leave us? As far as I could see, up the creek without a paddle. If the guy had been the killer but hadn’t been Aemilius Lepidus then who the hell was he? Why the hell was he? And why, if he hadn’t gatecrashed the rites, did Lepidus still feel responsible enough for Cornelia’s death to stick a sword between his ribs? The ‘secret’, sure, but I was no further forward with finding out what that had been than I was with anything else. Two things were certain: one, the murderer was as much a professional as Aegle, which meant scratch the disguised purple-striper theory; and two, Thalia was still the key. Our fluteplayer had used her name, and the two had obviously been connected in some way. And I had a bad feeling about Thalia.
There are some crimes worse than murder. That was something to think about as well.
I ran up the steps of the Temple of Saturn and went into the citizen registration office adjoining it. The place was pretty quiet that time of day, and in the entrance hall I stopped a thin clerk with an armful of wax tablets and a preoccupied expression.
‘Where can I find Valgius, pal?’ I said.
‘Publius Valgius?’ The clerk nodded towards one of the side rooms. ‘He’s H to N. In there.’
The room had half a dozen clerks. The first pointed me towards a tubby little plain-mantler in the corner who was busy transferring names from tablet to roll. I went over and he looked up.
‘You Publius Valgius?’ I said.
‘Yes. That’s me. How can I help you, sir?’ Jupiter! Standby boyfriend was right; the guy must’ve been forty if he was a day, and he could’ve doubled for an ink-stained pigeon in moult.
‘You know a flutegirl called Thalia?’
His eyes took on a guarded look. ‘We see each other on and off, yes.’
‘That include the last few days?’
‘Wait a moment, sir.’ He set his pen down on the desk. ‘Exactly who are you, and what’s this about?’
I gave him my name; all four bits, because that might distract him from pushing too hard for an answer to his second question. ‘I’ve been trying to get in touch with her, that’s all. One of her colleagues said you might be able to help me.’
‘Uh-huh.’ The guarded look increased. ‘This would be a – uh – professional matter, would it? In which case, I’d suggest you call in at the guildhouse and talk to Celer. There’re plenty of other girls on his books.’
‘Not professional.’ I was grinning internally; I recognised jealousy when I saw it, and the guy was practically green. I’d the distinct impression that I wasn’t the first to make enquiries about sweet little Thalia, and that Valgius wasn’t too keen on agenting, especially with purple-striper clients. ‘Not in any sense. No hassle, pal. I just want some information about the night of the Good Goddess rite.’
He relaxed. ‘Then I can’t help you, Valerius Corvinus. I don’t know anything about Thalia’s professional life. Try Celer.’
‘I’ve already done that. She hasn’t been around recently.’
‘But if she was at the Good Goddess rite then –’
‘She didn’t turn up. I was hoping you might be able to tell me why.’
He looked blank. ‘She didn’t? But that’s –’ He stopped. ‘She was looking forward to it. It’s the slot of the year. You’re sure?’
‘She sent a substitute. You didn’t know?’
‘I haven’t seen Thalia since the end of last month. What substitute?’
‘That’s what I’m trying to find out. Not one of the usual girls. Someone she knew.’ I hesitated. ‘Maybe a man.’
‘At the rites?’ His eyes opened in shock.
‘Yeah. You wouldn’t have any notion who he could be, would you?’
He shook his head numbly. ‘No. But Thalia wouldn’t do that. It’d be more than her reputation was worth, and if anyone found out it’d finish her.’
‘Uh-huh.’ That made sense, and it didn’t leave me feeling any happier, either. ‘Okay. So what about in general terms. She have any fluteplayer friends – male friends – that you know of?’
‘One or two.’ He pigeon-pouted; either he didn’t see the ‘friends’ as being much of a threat in the sexual sense or he dismissed them as competition. Which was fair enough: for a girl like Thalia even a plain-mantle clerk as a regular boyfriend was quite a catch.
‘You have any names?’
‘No. Celer might know. He doesn’t have anything to do with the male members of the profession himself, but he may be able to lay his hands on a few for you.’
Not a very felicitous way of putting it, but the guy didn’t seem to notice and I didn’t bat an eyelid. ‘Yeah. Right.’ Well, that was something I could check later. ‘What about Thalia herself? You any idea where she may have got to?’
The guarded look came back. ‘She’s a popular girl. We… go out together now and again, but she’s very independent. Not to say close-mouthed. We have what you might call a fle
xible relationship.’
Someone sniggered behind me. I looked round. The other five clerks had stopped work and were following the conversation with interest. Valgius glared at the nearest and he bent back over his tablets.
‘So you can’t give me any names there either?’ I said.
‘I’m afraid not.’ He was on his dignity now, and he lowered his voice. ‘Also I have a considerable amount of work to get through today, so unless I can help you further…’
The standard brush-off. We were flogging a dead horse here, obviously. ‘Okay, friend,’ I said. ‘One last question. You been to the girl’s flat recently, checked if she’s around there?’
‘Certainly not. Public Ponds is a most undesirable district. We meet at a friend’s house in the Argiletum.’
‘Not at your own house?’
He stared at me. ‘Why would I do that? She’s only a flutegirl. Besides, my wife wouldn’t like it at all.’
I left him to his cross-referencing. Okay; so it had to be the flat, for what that was worth. The rain was coming down in sheets by the time I reached it, and Public Ponds was living up to its name. I thought of calling in at Watch headquarters to see if Lippillus was around and waiting for the weather to clear, but after walking half across Rome I was soaked in any case, and it would’ve meant a detour. Sure, I could’ve taken a litter, but I don’t like these things, and anyway the ranks were empty.
I climbed the stairs to Thalia’s floor. Someone was boiling cabbage, and the smell got stronger all the way up. Probably Thalia’s domestic neighbour: tenement dwellers don’t go in for home cooking much, braziers being braziers and these places being regular firetraps. Like the last time I’d been there the door looked seriously closed, but I knocked anyway. No answer.
Not from the Thalia side of the hall, at least. As I thought it might, old Grandma Charybdis’s door opened and there she was, with the same kid in attendance. This time he’d got a boiled pig’s trotter in his fist and he was sucking on it. I’d been right about the cabbage, too; if the smell had been bad on the staircase now it practically knocked me down.
Last Rites (Marcus Corvinus Book 6) Page 12
