by Marilyn Todd
There was no need to look at him to know the answer. Somewhere a water clock dripped with infuriating regularity.
Marcus pulled up a chair and took her hands in his. ‘You’d better tell me everything that happened up there, Claudia—and I mean everything.’
Grim-faced he listened. By the end of her narrative, Claudia was sure she’d missed nothing out and she stretched awkwardly in her chair. The sky had passed the blush stage, the air was now alive with birdsong, and the scents of crushed mint and oregano grew stronger by the minute. There was nothing in the garden to suggest a young girl had existed, much less been butchered, and Claudia resolved to grow tall spikes of hollyhocks against that wall. Or maybe a hibiscus. Plus a statue of a nymph with flowing hair.
‘There has to be a connection,’ Marcus said. ‘There has to be. Except Arbil’s people wouldn’t cover up a heinous crime like that—’
‘Wrong.’ Claudia shook her head so firmly, a hairpin fell out. ‘They’re so fiercely loyal, closing ranks is second nature. Right from Day One they’re taught that, but for Arbil, they’d be dead.’
‘Does wonders for one’s self-esteem.’ Orbilio leaned down and picked up the hairpin. ‘Brainwashing on that scale.’
‘You have to be there to understand.’ Claudia puffed out her cheeks. ‘The whole complex is so claustrophobic in its foreignness, that even when the children leave, it’s Rome which feels alien to them. Arbil’s slave farm represents security, and they look back on their childhood with fondness and affection. Is this getting us anywhere?’
Orbilio rolled the pin round and round between his fingers. ‘We’ve got five major suspects, suppose we run through the list, starting with Tryphon?’
‘I’m pretty sure that if the Captain wanted to kill someone, he’d stick them like a pig, not slice them slowly to ribbons.’ That man was a born soldier.
‘All right, then. Dino. He slopes off when he visits Rome, according to your gossip.’
Claudia smiled a slanting smile. ‘Dinocrates appears to live the high life, but peer closer, my friend, and you’ll see it’s the same few shirts he wears, the same old boots, and he never touches the women they go out with.’ She paused for impact. ‘He saves it all to support his wife and tiny son.’
‘So-o?’
‘The woman is a Persian—and you don’t need too powerful an imagination to picture Arbil’s vengeance, were he to discover the man he raised as a son has not only committed himself in marriage to one of Babylon’s sworn enemies, he’s fathered a child to boot. The Persians, remember, did a Trojan Horse on Babylon by sneaking up the Euphrates to capture the city and wounds like that never heal. Arbil’s barbaric bronze laws would have Dino flayed alive as a traitor.’
Marcus tossed the pin up in the air and caught it. ‘Any time you want a job in the Security Police, Mistress Seferius, I’ll resign to make way for you.’ He jabbed the pin into a cushion. ‘Arbil, then. What do you make of those trips to Rome, the blackouts?’
Claudia swivelled sideways in her chair and swung her knees over an armrest carved in the shape of a sphinx. ‘What trips to Rome?’ she said, folding her hands behind her head. ‘On whose word do these phantom journeys hinge? Who, exactly, verifies their authenticity? Arbil is many things. He’s shrewd and ruthless and obsessed with himself, he’s organized and religious and partial to date liqueur. Have you ever tasted date liqueur, by the way?’ Marcus shook his head, more in bewilderment than the negative.
‘Well, don’t. That’s my advice. It’s thick and strong and peels layers off your tongue, but boy, can you slip things in it without the imbiber being any the wiser.’
He stiffened and leaned forward. ‘Such as?’
‘Conjuring tricks rely on distracting the eye and creating illusions. One sees what one is led to see, believes what has been fed you. In Arbil’s case, it was the floppy, pouchy skin. Are you with me so far?’
‘Not even close. What you describe are classic products of a dissolute lifestyle, and that ties in with Arbil.’
‘On whose say-so?’ The truth had come to her when she awoke in Arbil’s guest room. ‘A few dirty pictures, a leggy young wife, a tipple of liquor of dates. Does that smack of degeneracy? Or a normal middle-aged man with a healthy sex drive and a regular bowel? Suppose, instead,’ she flashed a grin, ‘Arbil’s skin sags from an administered substance?’
Orbilio’s mouth moved up at one corner. ‘Such as?’
‘In the Indus Valley the oleander shrub is known as “the horse killer” because it’s so potent. Did I ever mention Angel—’
‘—is Indian? Once or twice.’
‘Then we have our old friend, thorn apple,’ she smiled. No wonder the girl looked so shaken when Claudia burst into her bedroom and saw those white, trumpet-shaped flowers! ‘Depending on the strength, it can make a man excitable, act out of character—making amorous lunges at his house guest, for example. A stronger dosage, he’ll start having delusions, hallucinations—and I can only guess at the cocktail which brought on the blackouts. All it needs is a tinksy bit of help, and one can get away with…murder.’
Orbilio leaned back, crossed his legs and for the first time in hours, began to relax. ‘Naturally, you have no idea who Angel’s helpmate might be?’
‘Funny you should ask.’ Claudia kicked off her sandals. ‘There’s a young groom name of Lugal—he’s the one who’s supposed to drive his master to Rome, yet no one else has ever seen them leave, and you know, it’s a strange thing about Lugal. The lad never takes his eyes off the master’s pretty wife.’
Well, I’ve warned her. It’s up to Angel now, and if they have one ounce of common sense, those two, they’ll be half way to the Adriatic by now, and not stopping to look over their shoulder. When Claudia upended that jug of date liqueur over Arbil, she had unwittingly set his detox in motion. First he’ll attribute his clear thinking to having exorcised Lamashtu, the demon, but Arbil’s a clever man. It won’t be long before he sees his wife’s hand in his behavioural changes and blackouts—and when that happens, Lugal and Angel will be tied face to face and thrown in the river to drown. You don’t mess with us Babylonians.
‘That’s three of our five suspects demolished.’ Orbilio stroked his jaw. ‘What about Shannu?’
‘The obvious candidate,’ Claudia said. ‘Unfortunately he has a watertight alibi, that room is locked at all times, repeat all times, which is a pity, because Shannu has the perfect temperament for this crime.’
‘You think so?’ Marcus frowned. ‘These are sophisticated killings, carefully planned and thought through, and I can see Shannu being bright enough and cunning enough to carry them out, but it’s the control aspect that doesn’t fit in.’
She pretended to be surprised. ‘Control?’
‘The binding of the ankles and the wrists,’ he explained. ‘Not easy with just one hand, and it suggests a need to dominate the victims, show who’s boss, and the longer it takes, the better. So then.’ Orbilio closed his eyes. ‘Suppose you tell me why you know it isn’t Sargon.’
The lids were shut, but you could still see the sparkle. He knew. Goddammit, he knew she didn’t think Sargon was the killer, he’d been stringing her along all the time! How the hell could he have guessed? Claudia’s fingernails drummed against the woodwork. Of course. If she’d suspected for a second that any of those men had been a butcher, she’d have contacted him straight away, instead of waiting for him to come to her. He knew she would not have risked another tattooed life.
‘I don’t know it isn’t Sargon,’ she said, with no attempt to disguise the petulance in her voice. ‘The wolf, the whistle—whit, whit, whit. He comes in on a market day, sneaks away from Dino and the Captain, and yes of course he has a secret. All men do.’
One lazy lid opened and slowly closed again.
‘Sargon,’ Claudia continued, ‘intends to wrest the reins from Arbil and operate from Rome, there are letters in his chest to that effect. Unfortunately, he intends to change his father’s mor
al strictures.’ She tossed across the two folded documents, the contract and the invoice, she’d purloined from Sargon’s satchel. ‘This is merely a sample.’
Orbilio’s breath came out in a hiss and he moved across to scrutinize the papers by the ever brightening sky. ‘The bastard plans to sell children into brothels! He’s drawn up a pricing structure, for gods’ sake.’
That’s the trouble with peace, thought Claudia, remembering all too clearly Sargon’s tariffs for brothels the length and breadth of the country. Peacetime brings boredom, boredom breeds hedonism and hedonism clearly pays handsome. Suddenly there was a nasty taste in her mouth.
‘I’ll bloody put paid to that,’ Orbilio was saying. ‘I’ll send soldiers right now to arrest him, and even then, we’d probably be doing him a favour. Janus knows what retribution Arbil would extract.’
I dread to think.
‘I just wish we had a motive for the slaughter,’ he said, tucking into his belt the evidence which would shortly sink Sargon. ‘Annia can’t recall any incident which might have triggered—where is she, by the way?’
‘Search me,’ Claudia shrugged.
‘Gladly,’ he grinned. ‘Can we start now?’
But all he got was a look that would have burnt holes in cobblestones.
He stared across the garden, where bees buzzed round the fan-trained peach and blizzards of apple blossom cascaded on to the path as a small boy climbed the branches. The first of the slaves were up, laying out breakfast, stoking the furnace, putting out crumbs for the birds. Had it not been for the dim light of the peristyle, the killer would have seen Severina had no tattoo and instead he’d have run Annia to ground. A sharp pain ran through Orbilio’s gut. Maybe the bastard already had…
‘Think carefully, Claudia. Think really carefully. Severina was killed here on purpose, a message to you—and they don’t come much clearer than that.’ She heard the rasp where he scratched at his stubble. ‘Is there no one else you can think of who has a connection with Arbil?’
A mental picture flashed across Claudia’s vision. One man talking earnestly with two others in a cool and shaded courtyard. A man who was surprised to see her there. A man who likes to control…
‘No,’ she said irritably. ‘I’ve told you everything I know.’
Around now, bakers would be cooling their first batches of the day, cats and dogs would stretch and scratch their fleas. Canopies would be unfolding under which tribunes would sit to hear petitions. Temple priests around the city would kindle up their sacred, aromatic fires.
Claudia feigned a yawn.
‘I’m sorry.’ Marcus jumped out of the chair and held open the door of the office. ‘I ought not have kept you up all night.’
She fluttered a grateful feminine smile and shuffled wearily into her sandals. Once in the hall, however, those same shoes barely touched the floor as she dived into the bustling street.
Claudia did not believe those tales about werewolves who lusted after human blood.
But she believed in men who did.
XXX
‘I know he’s in there.’ Claudia pounded her fist against the heavy, holm-oak door. ‘Dammit, Tucca, open up!’ Heads poked out of windows, doves took flight, dogs barked. This was a respectable suburb on the Quirinal, the residents were unused to disturbances. A small child began to bawl. Claudia continued to batter.
Click, clunk, graunch. Finally, the door swung open a hand’s span.
‘Where is he?’ Claudia shoved her weight behind the timber and sent the mute reeling. ‘I know you’re here, Kaeso. Come on out!’
Tucca picked herself up and stumbled after the intruder, gargling and gesticulating with her raw, red hands that Kaeso didn’t live here, please go now. Undeterred, Claudia swept down the atrium, her magenta wrap flapping like batwings as she flung aside curtains, doors and shutters and peered into every dismal, empty room along the way. Nothing. She marched into the peristyle, still deep in shadow where the sun had not yet risen above the surrounding apartment blocks, and swore. The garden, if possible, looked gloomier than ever. No brindle dog to cheer it up, no puffs of white narcissus or scented squills, and the room of curios was strangely silent, too. The grate had been swept clean and only a lingering hint of woodsmoke suggested a fire had ever danced here. The collection of carved animals—rearing horses, diving dolphins, licking cats—seemed static somehow, lifeless, and the gap where the leaping billygoats had stood glared mournfully back at her.
The vitality of the room, she realized with an irregular thump of her heart, had been generated solely by Kaeso.
Tucca stood beside the polished cypress door, hands on solid hips as though to say I-told-you-so. Claudia’s eyes narrowed as she slowly retraced her steps to the atrium. The doors she’d flung open Tucca hadn’t bothered to close. Another smack in the face for her visitor. He was here, though. Goddammit, he was here…
Methodically she cast her eye over the atrium decor. Unimaginative was the word, that geometric mosaic, those boring blocks of colour on the walls, that mean little pool. Claudia looked up at the neutral stuccoed ceiling. Janus, the silence in this house was creepy! Then she remembered how Kaeso was predisposed towards tricks. Aha! With a judicious shove, two concealed doors in the far wall gave way, exposing a hidden room washed with blues, greens and silvers, sparkling with the reflections from a polished silver mirror. A shrine to an unfamiliar figure filled the far corner, although she recognized the Babylonian cherubs that were clinging to the ceiling.
‘Now tell me what were you doing at Arbil’s,’ she demanded.
And still there was nothing straightforward about Kaeso. The linen of his tunic was neither green nor blue, yet it could pass for either, and in the early morning light, his shaggy mane shone silver. Even in the privacy of his well concealed bedroom, it transpired, Kaeso resorted to camouflage.
He hadn’t so much as blinked. ‘Don’t you want to know about Magic?’ he asked, sweeping his arm to indicate the chair.
‘No.’ Claudia remained standing. ‘His tirade of filth has stopped.’ There had been nothing for two days. Perhaps she’d killed him, after all?
Kaeso straightened a marble bust which stood upon a podium by the wall. There was a Greekness about it, suggesting great antiquity.
‘I am here,’ she said, ‘to talk about Arbil, and why, when you were engaged in a game of cat-and-mouse involving Magic, and doubtless several other commissions besides, you felt obliged to look up a few old friends half a day’s ride out of town.’
‘And just what business might that be of yours?’ he asked, so quietly she had to strain to catch the words.
Well…now you ask. None actually.
‘Furthermore, what gives you the right to barge into my house then root me out like a truffle?’ He padded across the room and his grey eyes bored into hers, but he couldn’t quite hold back the amusement which danced in them. ‘But most importantly, Claudia Seferius, how the bloody hell did you find out about this room?’
He’d been washing, she decided, when she’d burst into the house. There were splashes of water round the bowl and on the floor, and the towel was soaking wet.
‘Your conjuring tricks.’ Against her will, she smiled back. And that was why Kaeso was dangerous. ‘I spent a long time waiting in your atrium—’ (was it really only eight days ago?) and I had a feeling then I was being watched.’ In fact, I suspect the peephole is behind the statue you’ve just straightened. ‘Also, that story you spun about Tucca, something didn’t quite ring true. Is she your mother?’
‘Commendably close.’ He adjusted the buckle on his belt, reinforcing the notion of recent and hasty dressing. ‘She worked as a nursemaid for Arbil, we grew close and as you’ve already guessed, it’s me and not some fictitious daughter who looks after her. But,’ he gave a twisted grin, ‘the part about her husband is the truth. His bones do lie in the garden, and I should know, because I buried him myself.’
Between the bay tree and the yew, if I recall…Cl
audia turned to examine a painting on the wall. It was a rustic scene, shepherds on some hills, the sea calm and blue beyond, but nowhere that she recognized.
‘A girl was killed in my garden.’ Straight to the point, atta girl. ‘Her name was Annia, she was raised by Arbil, and she’s the latest in a number of similar attacks.’ Why mention that the killer mistook Severina for his intended victim?
Kaeso’s brow furrowed only slightly, but his answer was a long time coming. Finally he sat down on the bed and leaned his weight back upon one elbow. ‘The Market Day Murders. I see.’
She did not appear to have rattled him, but then a man who hides within his own house has long learned to curb emotions.
‘Arbil knows certain of his girls are being picked off one by one,’ he said, looking up at her. ‘Since tracking was what he trained me for, I volunteered to help.’
The bed he lay across was a combination of Roman frame and Babylonian springing, though from the badly ruffled counterpane and sheets, it would appear Kaeso suffered badly from insomnia. Or else had company.
‘Plausible,’ Claudia smiled. ‘I’d give you seven out of ten for quick thinking.’
Kaeso laughed, and the sound was by no means unpleasant. ‘Then before you pull my toenails out to get the truth, I’d better come clean about the urgency—and incidentally the secrecy—for that visit.’ He drew a deep breath. ‘The thing is, Claudia, Sargon feels his father’s mental frailties are sufficient to warrant not only a takeover, but a huge expansion in the industry.’
The word industry was not lost on her. ‘Has he divulged his new policies?’ she asked innocently. A trail of drips led from the washbasin to a wall covered by a large tapestry, where a puddle was starting to form round brown protruding toes.
‘Only that the financial rewards will be huge and my skills will be required on a permanent basis. With Arbil’s rapid deterioration in health, he intends to move quickly and asked me up there because he wanted to know whether I was in or not.’
