Trade Secrets

by David Wishart

‘OK, pal,’ I said. ‘You’ll keep me informed like you said, just in case?’

  ‘Sure. No problem. So what’s this Tullius business? Trigemina Gate Street, you said?’

  ‘Yeah.’ I gave him the details. ‘I’m on my way over there now.’

  ‘That’s Gaius Memmius’s patch. He’s Watch Commander for the Aventine. A good lad, Memmius, and a good officer. He’ll help you if he can. Just mention my name.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I said. ‘I’ll do that.’ I would, too: as with everything in Rome, having a friend in common made things a lot easier, and not all Watch Commanders appreciated a civilian outsider poking his nose into Watch affairs. ‘You got time for a cup of wine somewhere? It’ll have to be a quick one, because I’m pushed this morning.’

  He laughed. ‘You kidding? I didn’t even have breakfast this morning, or any morning this month. I told you: I’m up to my eyeballs.’

  ‘Another time, then. Sorry I can’t help more.’

  ‘That’s OK. Offer’s open, and like I said I’ll send you word of any developments. Look after yourself, Marcus, and give my regards to the family.’

  I left.

  So; next stop the Thirteenth District Watch station on the Aventine, near the Temple of the Moon.

  I was lucky; not only did Watch Commander Memmius know Lippillus well, but he’d mentioned my name to him a couple of times in the past, which made things a lot easier: like I say, some commanders, particularly the ones who owe their jobs to the fact that they’re drinking cronies of the City Prefect, can be pretty snooty.

  I gave him the spiel, for what it was worth so far.

  ‘That’s right.’ He rested his elbows on the desk in front of him. ‘Tullius was found just after sunset four days ago at the Shrine of Melobosis in an alleyway off Trigemina Gate Street. Single stab to the heart. The bugger wouldn’t’ve known what hit him.’

  ‘Was the body hidden at all?’

  ‘No. That was odd, because it could’ve been, easily, because the shrine’s pretty overgrown. Whoever Melobosis was, she didn’t have all that many worshippers.’

  ‘One of the Daughters of Ocean. Or so my clever-clogs wife tells me.’

  ‘Is that right, now?’ He grinned. ‘You learn something new every day. Anyway, the guy was lying presumably where he fell, out in the open. The kid who found him had just taken his girlfriend inside for some privacy, and they tripped over the corpse in the darkness. A bit of a put-off, that, under the circumstances. Inconvenient, too. The youngsters had been using the shrine for their evening bouts of privacy for quite a while, and now the girl won’t go near the place.’

  ‘No one saw anything, I suppose? Saw the victim or the perp going in, I mean?’

  ‘No. Not that I’ve been able to find out. The alley’s a dead end, and most of the buildings in the area are offices that are only used during daylight hours. Also, of course, the fifteenth being Mercury’s festival, they’d’ve been closed all day anyway.’

  So barring a visit by a casual worshipper to the shrine itself – which seemed unlikely, from what Memmius was saying – the body could’ve lain undiscovered there since the previous night. Bugger!

  ‘You happen to know anything about two of the local residents? Or almost local. A Lucilius Festus and a Titus Vecilius.’

  Memmius frowned. ‘Why do you ask? You have a reason to think one of them did it?’

  ‘It’s a possibility. Just a possibility.’ I had to go careful here: Memmius was a nice guy, and what with the Lippillus connection he was amenable enough, but he was still official, and I’d no proof. ‘They had connections with the dead man, and they both have businesses on Trigemina Gate Street itself, that’s all. I’m just checking angles.’

  ‘Fair enough.’ He leaned back on his stool. ‘Me, I’d discount Festus. From what I know of him, which isn’t much, and that’s the point, he’s the quiet family type, solid citizen, never in any trouble that I’ve ever heard of. He married a young widow from out of town ten or twelve years back whose husband died leaving her with a two-year-old kid, and he can’t see past her. Vecilius, well, him I do know, professionally. He’s certainly got a temper, and he’s a bit too fond of the booze for his own good. Big lad. He’s crossed our path a few times, beat up a stevedore a couple of months back for making what he thought were suggestive advances. To his wife, not to him. But I don’t think he’d go the length of murder.’ He gave me a sharp look. ‘Of course, if his wife was involved that might be a different story. Was she?’

  ‘Yeah. Probably. Festus’s as well.’

  ‘Is that so, now?’ Memmius whistled between his teeth. ‘Both of them, eh? He must’ve been an active lad, our Tullius.’

  ‘So it would seem.’ I got up. ‘Anyway, thanks for your help. I appreciate it. You mind if I nose around a bit, ask a few questions, have a word with Festus and Vecilius?’

  ‘Go ahead. It’s a free city.’ We shook. ‘Just keep me posted, that’s all. And give my regards to Lippillus when you see him next.’

  ‘I will,’ I said, and left.

  OK. A quick visit to the scene of the crime, just to get the details clear in my own mind, then it was the two husbands. From what Memmius had said about his propensity for jealousy and violence things weren’t looking good for Vecilius, sure, but I was an old enough hand at this business by now to suspend judgement. The same applied to Festus: even solid citizens could lose the rag if the circumstances were right, and I knew from Poetelius that he’d lost it far enough to make at least verbal threats. We’d have to see how things went.

  The Shrine of Melobosis was more or less what I’d expected: a small, narrow enclosure twenty or so feet square halfway along the dead-end alley with a high wall in front, sandwiched between three-storey buildings to the sides and rear. No way in, in other words, except through the rusted iron gate in the alleyway itself. I pushed it open and went inside.

  It wasn’t quite as overgrown as I’d expected, particularly in the middle round the altar itself and at the sides which showed signs of at least sporadic attention, but there was a lot of dense cover at the back: plenty of self-seeded bushes and tall weeds that looked like they’d had everything their own way for years. Like Memmius had said, odd: if the killer had wanted to hide the body and delay its finding he could’ve done it easily; in fact, it was strange that he hadn’t and just left the guy lying there, given that he’d also probably had all the time in the world to tidy up after himself. Apart from that, it was the perfect place for a private rendezvous, as witness the courting couple’s choice of it as an evening venue: off the beaten track and tucked well away from things, completely hidden by its walls from the alleyway itself when the gate was closed, shut in on every other side by buildings, and from every indication almost totally unvisited; the little lamp in front of the central altar was dry as a bone, and there were no signs of any offerings, not so much as a withered flower.

  Chummie had been taking a bit of a risk, mind, all the same. Once inside the gate, he’d have no problems, sure, but the before and after of the murder were another thing entirely. The place’s very isolation could work against him, because despite the day being a public holiday and the area round about being pretty much deserted as a result, if there had been anyone to see him going in and out he might well’ve been remembered. Maybe in the event someone had seen him, at that; but, given that any potential witness would quite understandably have thought no more about it, the chances were we’d never know.

  I shivered. Some of these holy places – the ones that’ve been set aside as holy – have an atmosphere of calm cheerfulness about them that you can feel straight away as soon as you go in. This one didn’t: it was just sad. Sad, sunless, uncared for, and deserted. The atmosphere had nothing to do with the murder, either; that was just how things were. I wondered why the nymph was here in the first place – after all, we were well away from the coast, and she was a Daughter of Ocean – but no doubt whoever had been originally responsible for setting up her altar had had th
eir reasons. Still, it seemed a shame she’d come so far just to be ignored.

  There were a few wild flowers growing by one of the side walls. I picked them, laid them beside the oil lamp, and went back outside, closing the gate behind me.

  So. Time to interview the suspects. I came out of the alleyway onto the main drag and stopped the first guy I met, a slave wheeling a barrowful of sandals.

  ‘Excuse me, pal,’ I said. ‘You happen to know where I can find Lucilius Festus’s place? The pottery? Or failing that Titus Vecilius’s glassworks?’

  ‘Yes, sir, of course. Both.’ He grounded the barrow and pointed. ‘Festus has his yard up by the Gate, Vecilius’s is the other direction, halfway between here and the Emporium. Left-hand side, you can’t miss it.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘No problem.’ He trundled off.

  Not far away, then, either of them: the Trigemina Gate was only a couple of hundred yards to the right, while the Emporium was a scant half-mile further down the road. Six of one, half a dozen of the other. OK. We’d start with the least likely candidate. Festus.

  There was only one pottery on offer before the Gate, so that had to be the one. I negotiated my way through the stacked pots in the yard and went into the building behind it where a dozen or so slaves were working the wheels, turning out what looked like everyday low-grade tableware.

  ‘Any chance I can see the boss?’ I said to the nearest one.

  ‘Who wants him?’ A big guy in a tunic was coming towards me, wiping his hands on a towel. Festus, obviously.

  ‘Name’s Valerius Corvinus,’ I said.

  ‘Customer? Only we’re working on a big order at present, I’m afraid, so we’re fully committed. We may be able to supply you from stock, mind, if you’d like to take a look around. Depends on what you need.’

  ‘The order would be for Gaius Tullius, would it?’ I said.

  The hand-wiping stopped. Pause; definite pause, and the polite manner went down a notch.

  ‘For his partner,’ he said shortly. ‘Tullius is dead.’

  ‘Yeah, I know,’ I said easily. ‘That’s why I’m here. I’m representing the widow.’ I paused, myself. ‘So, ah, how come you do? Know that the guy’s dead, I mean.’

  He shrugged. ‘No big deal; it’s fairly common knowledge round here. Someone shoved a knife into him in Melobosis Alley, right?’

  Fair enough. At least we were through the preliminaries stage and I could go straight for the throat.

  ‘I understand you had a run-in with him the day before he died,’ I said.

  ‘Really? Then you understand wrong, friend. I never saw him, more’s the pity, not then, anyway. The last time I talked with that bastard was about a month ago. And that was about pots.’

  ‘You sure about that?’

  He glared at me. Then he grunted and turned away. ‘Come into the office,’ he said over his shoulder. ‘I don’t discuss my private business in front of the bought help.’

  ‘Office’ was dignifying things: the cubbyhole was even smaller than Poetelius’s, a few square yards of floor space at the rear of the shop separated off by lath-and-plaster walls and a curtain. Festus pulled it aside and stood back.

  ‘Sit down,’ he said. ‘I’ll stand.’

  I sat on the only stool next to the little folding table that served as a desk. He pulled the curtain shut behind him.

  ‘Now,’ he said. ‘If you’ve got any accusations to make you go ahead, make them to my face and I’ll spit in your eye.’

  ‘Calm down, pal,’ I said. ‘No one’s accusing you of anything. All I want is your side of the story.’

  ‘What you want and what you’ll get are two different things. Let’s have one thing clear from the start. Whoever killed Gaius Tullius did me and the rest of the world a favour.’

  ‘Yeah, that seems to be the general opinion, so no argument from me. And I’m including his wife in this.’

  That got me another long look – a surprised one, this time – and another grunt. ‘OK,’ he said at last. ‘I’m sorry. Maybe I was a bit sharp, and I’ve nothing to hide or be ashamed of. Ask away.’

  ‘First off. You went round to his office the day before the murder. How long had you known he was’ – I hesitated, but there was no way round this – ‘seeing your wife?’

  ‘I only found out that morning. There was a letter shoved under the door when I came down. It was addressed to her, but I didn’t know that until I opened it.’

  ‘A letter from who?’

  He shrugged. ‘It wasn’t signed. It just said that Tullius was dropping her and taking up with some woman called Hermia.’

  ‘Third person?’

  His face clouded. ‘Come again?’

  ‘I mean, the letter wasn’t from Tullius. Whoever wrote it said he was dropping her, not I am, and gave the guy’s name.’

  ‘Uh … yeah.’ There’d been a pause while he worked that one out; obviously not the sharpest knife in the box, Lucilius Festus. ‘Yeah, that’s right.’

  ‘OK.’ Well, unless Tullius was idiot enough to do his dumping in writing and deliver the note in a way that was just asking for trouble, the alternative explanation wouldn’t’ve made much sense, particularly since it named the other lady. Still, it was just as well to check. ‘You knew who Hermia was?’

  ‘No. I said. She was just a name.’

  ‘So what happened then?’

  ‘What do you think? I got Marcia downstairs and showed her the thing, let her read it for herself. There were … words. I told her I was going to see Tullius, and she’d better not be in the house when I got back. Then I left.’

  ‘She didn’t deny having an affair with the guy?’

  ‘She didn’t bother trying. The truth was plain on her face.’

  ‘So where is she now?’

  ‘Her mother has a cookshop by the Capenan Gate. She went there with the kids. At least, I assume she did.’

  ‘Uh-huh.’ Well, I could trace the lady later, if need be. Meanwhile: ‘What about the day of the murder itself? Tullius was in this part of town. You didn’t see him?’

  ‘You kidding? If I’d known he was sniffing around and seen him, I’d’ve broken the bastard’s face for him.’

  ‘So where were you, exactly?’

  ‘Where would I be? I told you: we’ve a big order to fill. I was here in the yard working.’

  ‘All day?’

  ‘Sure all day, barring a couple of hours in the afternoon when I went to pay my respects at the Temple of Mercury.’

  Oh, yeah; the festival. Mercury’s the god of business, so it’s usual on his feast day for anybody with commercial interests to visit his temple near the Circus, give the guy his annual pinch of incense, and offer up a prayer or two to keep him sweet for the coming year. Convenient. Festus could be lying, sure, but if so it was a plausible lie. Unfortunately, given that about half the working population of Rome were doing the same and Mercury’s temple was about as packed as the Circus itself on a race day, it was also virtually impossible to check. Bugger.

  Even so—

  ‘There anything else you can tell me?’ I said.

  ‘That’s it. That’s all there is.’

  I shrugged and got up. ‘Fair enough. Thanks for your help.’

  ‘You’re welcome.’ I turned to go. ‘Oh, and Corvinus, if that was your name. One last thing.’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Just so you’re absolutely sure where I stand. I hope Gaius Tullius is burning in hell.’

  SIX

  Vecilius’s glassworks was a low building that covered most of a short block, with a two-storey house taking up one of the corners. I glanced up at the window as I passed. A young woman’s face looked out for a moment, then just as quickly disappeared.

  Uh-huh.

  I went inside, and the heat hit me like a sledgehammer. Jupiter, how could people work in this? Even with the clerestory ventilation, it was like walking into an oven, with three or four open charcoal furnaces going full
blast and half a dozen slaves in sweat-soaked tunics doing complex things with lumps of molten glass stuck on the ends of long blowpipes. A guy carrying a tray of perfume bottles walked past me, and I stopped him and asked for the boss.

  ‘Over there, sir.’ He nodded towards the far corner of the room.

  I went across, being careful to keep well clear of the blowpipes. Vecilius – presumably – was working on a tall vase set on a revolving wheel, dipping a metal rod into a clay pot of molten glass on the brazier beside him and trailing a thin thread of green in a spiral down the vase’s length. I waited until he was finished and had set the rod down. Then I said:

  ‘Titus Vecilius?’

  He turned. He was a big guy, broad rather than tall, with huge hands, hairy arms and a good three days’ worth of black stubble.

  ‘That’s right.’

  I indicated the vase. ‘Nice. Delicate work like that must be tricky.’

  He shrugged. ‘It’s simple enough if you’ve a steady hand. What can I do for you?’

  ‘Name’s Valerius Corvinus. I’m looking into the death of Gaius Tullius, on behalf of his widow.’

  He gave me a long stare. Then he cleared his throat, spat, and took a drink of water from the cup beside him.

  ‘Is that so, now?’ he said.

  ‘You knew he’d been murdered?’

  ‘I’d heard. Three or four days ago, wasn’t it? It couldn’t’ve happened to a nicer guy.’

  That came out flat. Well, as with Festus I wasn’t unduly surprised; a murder practically on your doorstep doesn’t happen all that often. I was getting used to the reaction, too. ‘Look. Can we talk about this outside? It’s pretty hot in here.’

  ‘I’ve work to do. And I’ve no time to waste on Gaius fucking Tullius, dead or alive.’

  ‘You’d enough time for him the day before to go round to his office and threaten him through his partner, pal. Now do we talk, or do I draw my own conclusions? Your choice.’

  He swore under his breath and walked away from me towards the exit. I followed.

  It was blessedly cool in the open air. Vecilius had stopped just outside the door.