I stopped.
Old-fashioned, high-pukkah families.
‘Torquatus Senior is a very conventional man.’
I almost groaned. Oh, hell. Oh, no; it couldn’t be that straightforward. That was putting things way out of proportion, even if Catia was a complete snob.
Still, where ultra-pukkah was concerned, you didn’t get better than the Manlii Torquati. They might be broke nowadays, but they still had a pedigree that went back as far as you liked to go. And if push came to shove I could make a case which if it wasn’t sensible was at least rational.
Say Nerva’s interest in his sister-in-law had got beyond the starting line. Chlorus finds out. Being Chlorus and a real poker-up-the-rectum type, he confronts Catia and threatens divorce. Me, having seen both of them now, I’d bet Catia was the real social climber of the pair. Papa Torquatus, she knows, is not exactly going to be turning cartwheels when he hears his boy is marrying into a family where his future mother-in-law is in the process of getting the heave for adultery, and there’s a better-than-average chance that the old guy will decide to blow the whistle on the whole thing and look elsewhere. Having failed to dissuade Chlorus Catia goes to Nerva: can he, um, persuade his brother to see sense and leave things as they are? Maybe Nerva tries it; maybe he doesn’t bother because the two brothers hate each other like poison anyway. And - here was another point in the theory’s favour - if he had killed his father for money and control of the business, knocking off his brother wouldn’t be all that much of a step, and it’d net him - through his brother’s widow, if the grief-stricken lady should choose to remarry - twice his present share of the actual cash and no problems over future business policy...
Yeah; it worked, at least as a theory We’d definitely have to think a lot more carefully about Aulus Nerva.
I’d be going in the direction of the harbour anyway, on the way home. I might as well pay Chlorus’s brother a visit.
19
Nerva was closeted, so his major-domo told me, in the study with a business friend when I arrived, so I kicked my heels in the atrium until he was free. Nice decor, but flashy, like the guy himself - plenty of busty, long-legged nymphs in that transparent-drapery style you get among the statuary, and some of the wall paintings were straight out of that part of the pattern-book that the artists don’t show when they’re going through the options for staid matrons and the more poker-rectumed pillars of the community. I noticed, too, on a side table beside one of the couches a pricey Twelve Lines board, of cedarwood inlaid with ivory, set out for a game. Instead of the usual bone counters this one had gold and silver pieces. The guy evidently brought his love of gambling home with him. There was a small statuette next to it, of the Greek goddess Luck.
The door to the study opened, and Aquillius Florus came out, followed by Nerva. Nerva was wearing a mourning mantle, but like Catia he didn’t seem exactly upset. He didn’t seem all that pleased to see me, either.
‘Corvinus,’ he said. ‘What the hell are you doing here?’
‘Just dropped in on the way home,’ I said. ‘Hi, Florus.’
That got me a nervous nod. Florus slipped past me like I was suffering from something infectious and headed for the front door at speed.
‘We’ll talk again later, Sextus,’ Nerva called after him. Then he turned to me. ‘I’m sorry. I’m not myself today.’ He indicated the mourning mantle. ‘Had a bit of bad news this morning.’
‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘I know. My condolences.’
‘Thank you. It came as a –’
‘Great shock. To all the family.’ I couldn’t resist that, even if - as I’d known it would - it did put the bastard’s back up. ‘Right. I’ve just been talking to Catia, as a matter of fact, and she said the same. She’s as upset as you are.’
Was it my imagination, or had his eyes flickered when I mentioned Catia?
‘Of course she is,’ he said irritably. ‘It’s a terrible business. Terrible.’ He went over to a side table with a jug and wine cups on it. ‘Some wine?’
‘Yeah. That’d be great.’ I stood while he poured. ‘How did it happen, do you know?’
‘No idea. All I know is that Titus went out, yesterday evening, after dinner. His body was found in an alleyway near the Shrine of Mercury.’ He handed me a cup. ‘Catia sent a slave round with the news early this morning.’
I sipped. The wine was second-grade Falernian. ‘You have any thoughts on where he might’ve been going at the time?’
‘None. He didn’t say anything to Catia, but then he never does.’ He drank. ‘Sit down. Make yourself comfortable.’
I stretched out on one of the couches. Well, when in doubt go for the throat. ‘Word is, you sent him a note asking to meet,’ I said.
Nerva went very still. He put his cup down on the table with the gaming board and stared at me, his face expressionless.
‘Who told you that?’ he snapped.
‘Did you?’
‘Of course I didn’t!’
‘The note had your name on it.’
‘I never sent Titus any note. And if he got one supposed to be from me then it was a forgery. Or whoever gave you the information was lying.’
I chanced my arm. ‘Even if it was Catia?’
That stopped him. ‘Catia? Catia wouldn’t –’ His mouth shut with an almost-audible snap and he turned away. ‘That’s impossible. There wasn’t any note. Or if there was like I say it was a fake.’
‘Good enough to fool your brother?’
‘Maybe. But then why should he think it wasn’t the real thing in the first place?’
Fair point. The handwriting would have to be at least similar to Nerva’s, mind. Which, if I were inclined to give him the benefit of the doubt - which I wasn’t, particularly, at that juncture - was a point that needed following up.
‘So who do you think could’ve sent it?’ I said.
‘How the hell should I know?’ He sat down on the other couch, reached for his cup and swigged half the wine straight off. ‘Obviously someone who wanted to shift the blame for Titus’s murder onto me. My guess - for what it’s worth and if the thing existed in the first place, which I doubt - would be Gellia.’
I leaned back. ‘Yeah? Why her in particular?’
‘Come on, Corvinus! She hates my guts. She hated Titus’s guts. She killed my father because she hated his guts and wanted her freedom and her widow’s cut. She’s a cunning, conniving little bitch. Something like this would be just her style.’ He swallowed the rest of the wine at a gulp. ‘That do you?’
‘Okay. Only why should she want your brother dead, particularly?’
‘I don’t know. Maybe he found out something.’ He waved the empty cup. ‘Maybe he was blackmailing her. Titus wouldn’t be above a little blackmail on his own account, the hypocritical bastard. She couldn’t arrange a meeting under her own name - Titus wasn’t stupid - so she forges mine and uses that instead.’
‘And kills your brother herself?’
‘She’s got that fancy doctor friend of hers. They’ve already committed murder. She could’ve got him to do it.’
‘Diodotus isn’t Gellia’s lover.’
Nerva laughed. ‘He tell you that? Don’t believe him, Corvinus. She made a dead set at him from the very first, and unless he’s a boy-lover or a eunuch - and I wouldn’t bet on either - he’ll’ve caved in pretty quickly.’ He got up, walked over to the wine tray and lifted the jug. ‘Greeks are all liars. They’re proverbial for it.’
‘He couldn’t’ve murdered your father,’ I said. ‘He was over in Bauli at an all-night childbirth.’ No answer. ‘Okay. If we’re talking in terms of a murdering lover what about your pal Florus? Story is, he’s got a vested interest there as well.’
The hand holding the jug paused for an instant. ‘Sextus wouldn’t harm a fly,’ Nerva said. ‘Besides, he hasn’t got the brains to commit a murder.’
‘He wouldn’t need brains, just to be in the right place at the right time with a knife. He’d
’ve had all the thinking part done for him. If’ - I took another sip of my wine - ‘we’re talking about Gellia as the motive force, naturally.’
Nerva was frowning. ‘You leave Sextus alone. He may not be clever, but he’s a good friend of mine. And he knows where he is with women, at least, even if I don’t admire his taste. As far as that side of things goes, Gellia would be wasting her time.’
‘You sure?’ I said. ‘You like to bet on that, maybe?’ He didn’t answer, but the frown deepened. I shrugged. ‘Yeah, well, Gellia was your suggestion anyway. Leave her. You have any other ideas?’
‘No. Fuck off, Corvinus.’
I set my winecup on the table and stood up. He was rattled; seriously rattled. I could see that. ‘Fine,’ I said. ‘If you want to play it that way then it’s fine with me. Thanks for the drink. I’ll see you around, pal.’
I left.
So. That had been interesting. Nerva could’ve been telling the truth about the note, but I wouldn’t bet on it: the guy, like I say, had been seriously rattled, especially when I mentioned Catia as a possible source, and his swipe at Gellia had been pure knee-jerk reaction. The theory held good.
What really interested me, though, was Aquillius Florus. I’d’ve given a lot to know just what the two of them had been discussing when I turned up, and the look the guy had given me when he left - plus the scared-rabbit run - had me thinking. The lad had beans to spill, that was sure; the question was, what sort of beans? And why had Nerva warned me off him? Knee-jerk reaction or not, Nerva’s theory about Gellia being responsible for Chlorus’s - and Murena’s - deaths wasn’t all that far off the wall: she’d be capable of murder, sure, although in Chlorus’s case she’d definitely have needed an accomplice. Failing Diodotus - and I was pretty certain Nerva’s accusations in that quarter were prompted by pure malice - Florus was a prime candidate. Nerva, if he was innocent, must see that too: my shot about the guy not needing brains just to wield a knife had gone home. So where did Florus fit? Which side of the fence was he on, Nerva’s or Gellia’s? Because he sure as hell was on one of the two. I’d have to lean a little on Florus in the very near future and see which way he jumped. Plus find out more about his and Nerva’s business dealings
Nerva’s suggestion of blackmail on his brother’s part was a distinct possibility too, and it meshed with my third scenario. Not that it didn’t raise problems of its own. Whether Chlorus’s victim was Gellia, as Nerva suggested, or Nerva himself, like I’d thought, was a moot point: what I was missing, and what was central, was the reason for his death. We were back to the vital question of what Chlorus had known. Or what he had it in his power to do. Maybe we’d better think about that.
So let’s lay it out and see what we’d got, maybe take a back bearing. Before he’d been chopped, where had Chlorus fitted into the case? As one of the Murena family, sure, with all the petty jealousies, dislikes and not-so-petty mutual slaggings-off that went with the badge. But then we were looking for an actual hard motive here, and bad-mouthing a stepson or brother’s a long way from slitting his throat. The same went for murder by his wife’s lover: the cause just wasn’t strong enough for the effect. Or not as things stood, anyway.
Okay, scrub murder for family reasons pure and simple. Next there was the business side. Chlorus had been the company’s lawyer and accountant. That angle was the most promising, especially since if I didn’t miss my guess things were taking a distinctly financial turn. Chlorus could easily have been killed for something he knew about there, an irregularity or some kind of secret deal; in which case the finger naturally pointed at either Nerva or Florus or both. That, personally, would be my bet.
So what was left as a motive for stiffing Chlorus? For anyone stiffing Chlorus? Nothing much, barring the outside chance that he’d witnessed something to do with Murena’s murder itself, either hadn’t realised its importance or kept shtum for his own reasons, and finally made the mistake of tackling the murderer about it in private. Only that wasn’t likely, because Chlorus hadn’t been anywhere near the villa that night. He’d been the other side of town, discussing defaulting customers with –
I stopped.
Ligurius.
Now there was a guy who, given certain circumstances, had a prime motive for shutting Chlorus up. Alibis went two ways: if Ligurius had alibied Chlorus then it’d been the other way about as well. If Chlorus, for some purpose of his own, had originally fixed up a phoney alibi with the farm manager, not suspecting that Ligurius was the actual killer, and subsequently begun to smell a rat...
Gods. Sweet immortal gods. I hadn’t considered Ligurius at all, not since the start. Like Chlorus himself the guy had been off the hook for Murena’s murder simply because he couldn’t’ve been there at the time. Only maybe, now, he could’ve been. All I’d really got, when push came to shove, was his - and Chlorus’s - otherwise unsupported statements that they’d been together, at Ligurius’s house. And if Chlorus, for reasons best known to himself, was telling porkies and had got Ligurius to back him, not realising that he was the killer, then...
It was a possibility, sure it was. Certainly one that needed to be checked, because if the visit had never happened then it gave Ligurius at least the opportunity to kill Murena. Sure, the question of motive was something else again, and it was one I couldn’t answer. Ligurius hadn’t liked his boss, that was obvious, and he made no bones about it; but neither, from what I could see, had half of Baiae. There was the added fact of the nickname, of course; that may’ve rankled, but again it didn’t exactly provide him with a strong enough reason to stiff the bastard. On the other hand, how about a threat to his job? Ligurius had been Murena’s manager for years, and his father and grandfather before him. The job was part of his life. Say Murena, for some reason, had decided to fire him; maybe he’d caught him fiddling the accounts, or with this new hotel scheme he was planning changes to the existing fish farm arrangements that meant Ligurius was getting the heave. That might’ve done the trick, all right, especially with an unambitious stay-at-home type like Ligurius; and with Murena dead the chances were that his hotel plan would die with him. So Ligurius could’ve gone round after sunset when he knew his boss would be alone by the tanks, feeding the fish, and...
Oh, hell. Yeah, sure, it was all possible, but I was building sandcastles here. Given the opportunity Ligurius could’ve killed Murena, no question, and as far as Titus Chlorus was concerned he had as good a reason for wanting rid of him as any, if not a better one than most. He’d certainly have been able to forge Nerva’s signature, arrange delivery of the note and lie in wait. All of that, no argument.
Still, whether or not he was the actual villain was another matter. That in their infinite wisdom the gods alone knew, and the bastards weren’t dropping any hints.
Even so, this possible lack of alibi was another angle, and one I’d have to follow up. Catia had said Ligurius lived further up her way, near the edge of town, over a fuller’s shop. Not the best of directions, but it’d have to do. Tomorrow I’d take a walk over, see what I could find out on the ground and take it from there.
Tomorrow. Meanwhile, I was dead-beat and hungry. The sun was almost down: enough sleuthing for one day.
I went home.
I just made it in time - again - for dinner. Or almost in time. Mother, Priscus and Perilla were already couched round the table. I put down Bathyllus’s wecome-home drink beside my place, kissed Perilla and settled in beside her.
‘You’re late, Marcus,’ Mother snapped.
‘Uh...yeah.’ I reached for the bread: the cheese and olives at the wineshop near Chlorus’s house hadn’t gone far, and I was starving. ‘I’m sorry. I called in at Aulus Nerva’s on the way back.’
‘Phormio told us,’ Perilla said. ‘That Titus Chlorus had been murdered, I mean. It’s absolutely dreadful. Do you think –?’
‘Perilla, not at the table.’ Mother helped herself to some of Phormio’s seafood mousse. ‘Don’t indulge him.’
‘These
little crayfish are superb.’ Priscus was sucking the last of the meat from a shell. ‘Try one, Marcus.’
So the prodigal was allowed to join in the cut-and-thrust of dinnertime conversation again, was he? Still, Mother didn’t hold a grudge. Once she’d ripped your chitterlings out and fed you them in slices that was it. As long as Priscus didn’t reassume his evil dissolute ways he’d be as safe from first-degree sarcasm burns as the rest of us.
‘I trust, dear’ - Mother had turned back towards me - ‘that when you interviewed Aulus Nerva you introduced the subject of your stepfather’s fifteen gold pieces.’
Bugger; I’d completely forgotten about that. ‘No, actually I –’
‘They’re a simply appalling family. I’m not surprised that another of them has had the bad taste to have himself murdered. Why not?’
‘Ah…why not what?’ I said.
‘Why didn’t you ask for the return of the money? I would have thought even under the circumstances it was the ideal opportunity. You could’ve raised the matter tactfully in some way, I’m sure.’
Jupiter on skates! ‘Mother, I told you; Priscus lost the cash in a dice game. It was a legitimate gambling debt. I can’t just –’
‘And I told you, Marcus, that Titus, being Titus, was not responsible for his actions. Furthermore I suggested that you, to a great extent, were.’ She put the crust down. ‘Now. I suspect you may be indulging in a little shilly-shallying over your promise to me, and I feel justified in exerting some pressure on you to fulfil it.’
‘Look, it was a fu-’ - I stopped myself in time - ‘It was a dice game, all right? I can’t ask Nerva and Florus to hand back money they won fair and square.’ Especially under the present circumstances: Nerva for one didn’t owe me any favours. ‘You just don’t do things like that.’
‘It wasn’t fair and square. That is the point. They took advantage of Titus’s innocence, and they cheated.’
This was a new one on me. ‘How do you mean, “cheated”, Mother? Actually cheated, with rigged dice? Can you prove that?’
Food for the Fishes (Marcus Corvinus Book 10) Page 18
