If true, that meant no crime had been committed. We knew there really was a bear, which meant Antobius was permitted to make such a finding-technically.
“When Aposila told me this, I became desperate,” said Malixa, the mother of Ophelia. “I had thought that perhaps when Allike’s killer was found, it might bring us to my daughter. But if Antobius does nothing, then who will find the truth? Who will find my Ophelia?”
“If anyone can find your child, it’s my son,” Phaenarete said. “I promise you.”
My jaw dropped. It was the first time my mother had ever said a word about my investigation work, and she’d begun with a promise I wasn’t sure I could keep.
“What do you think?” Diotima asked Aposila. “What do you want to do?”
“What can I do?” Aposila said. “Tend the grave of my daughter and care for my family. I have two other children-sons-but I loved Allike best.” Aposila paused, took a deep breath, then said, “I am determined to divorce my husband.”
Diotima and Phaenarete gasped.
I asked, “Are you sure about this?”
Aposila said, “When I pressed him on the death of my daughter, he refused. Then, when I demanded that he do something, when I said I would go to the archons if he continued to do nothing, he struck me repeatedly.”
“What!”
I could barely believe it, but now that I looked at Aposila, I could see the bruising about her left eye-there was a dark tinge to her cheek beneath the white makeup.
I had only one question.
“What are the rules for getting divorced?” I asked. It wasn’t something I’d ever thought about.
“I don’t know,” Aposila said. “One hears of these cases, but no one ever talks about the details. I want you to find out,” said Aposila. “Act for me as my agent, Nicolaos.”
“Me?” I said, aghast.
“Yes. I’ll pay you.”
I scratched my head as I thought about it. “I don’t know,” I said. “This might be setting a bad precedent.”
“Please,” she begged. “My daughter is dead. My husband doesn’t care. You’re the only man who’ll help me.”
“Nico, we must help this woman,” Diotima said. She didn’t look at me as she spoke. She stared at the bruising beneath the skin of Aposila.
I didn’t see myself as the sort of investigator who would take on family cases, but it was impossible to say no to a lady who’d lost her only daughter. Especially one with a black eye.
“Very well, Aposila. I’ll do what I can.”
But first, Diotima and I would have to interview Antobius, to see if he’d had anything to do with his own daughter’s death.
CHAPTER TEN
Antobius, the father of Allike, lived in the deme of Phrearrhioi, which lies within the city walls in the southern part of Athens. Phrearrhioi was very much an upper-class neighborhood, and the house of Antobius was very much an upper-class house, as I could tell at once from the quality of the herm he’d placed by his front door. The bust of the god Hermes was made in bronze, in the latest fashion, and had been painted for realism. I marveled at the eyes, which seemed to watch me wherever I stood. In the case of Antobius, I thought it a pity the herm hadn’t protected his own daughter.
Aposila was out of sight when we arrived, whether by coincidence or because she knew we were coming to interview her husband, I didn’t know.
Antobius saw us in his courtyard, which was predictably populated with comfortable couches, had a well-paved floor of flat stones, and was surrounded by neatly painted columns in red and green. He was a thickset man in a chiton. I wondered if he’d done manual labor in his past, from the width of his forearms.
When I delicately approached the matter of taking a bag of money in the dead of night, I got a surprising answer.
“How do you know that?” he asked.
“You talked with the man out on the street. You were seen.”
Antobius watched me, clearly waiting for the name of his accuser. I silently held his gaze until he got the message that I wouldn’t be revealing the informant.
Antobius sighed. “A neighbor, no doubt. I hate nosy neighbors, particularly when they don’t understand what they’re seeing, and in this city, everyone talks. All right, I admit it,” said Antobius. “I was paid money that night.”
I gasped in shock.
“You took money to ignore the death of your own daughter?” Diotima said, her tone making it clear what she thought of that.
“Not at all,” Antobius said calmly. He seemed oblivious to the reaction he’d provoked. “I’d already decided that my daughter’s death was a misfortune sent upon her by the gods.”
“You can’t be serious,” I blurted.
“I am. Allike was killed by a bear. Such a thing must have been ordained by the gods, perhaps by Artemis herself, since the bear is her special servant. I don’t know what Allike did to deserve such a fate, but I for one am not going to take issue with the gods.”
Diotima asked, “Did you see her body?”
“She was cremated and her ashes returned to us. They lie in the cemetery at Ceramicus.”
“If you didn’t see the wounds, how do you know a bear killed her?” Diotima said.
“Because everyone who saw her says so.”
It was, unfortunately, a perfectly adequate answer. Even if I didn’t believe it for a moment. Privately, I gave Aposila a mark of approval for wanting to divorce this man. I made sure I kept my face expressionless, reminded myself not to glance up to the women’s quarters of the house, and asked, “Who was your visitor?”
“I rather thought it must be someone from the temple,” Antobius said.
“You didn’t ask his name?” I said.
“He didn’t offer it.”
“So when a man turned up, offering to pay you for the death of your daughter, you didn’t think to ask any questions?”
“I saw it more as a monetary consolation for our loss. It was all according to the law, I assure you.”
According to the law, my ass. I’d become a minor expert on homicide law, and I knew perfectly well it was illegal to accept blood money for a death. A man has an absolute obligation to prosecute the killer of any member of his family.
Antobius said to me. “I understand you act for the temple?”
“Yes.”
“Then perhaps you should ask them the name of the man who came to me. I’m sure someone there would know him. You may also tell the temple that I hold them blameless. I expect they’ll be relieved to hear it.”
Diotima staggered from the house in shock. “Nico, he took blood money.”
“I know that, and you know that, but can we prove it? Antobius will maintain the money was a gift. Did you notice he was clever enough to dispute the interpretation of what was seen, but not the veracity of the witness? He doesn’t know who saw him, so he had to admit to what some reputable citizen might have reported.”
“We have to help Aposila against him.”
“Yes,” I agreed.
“Why would someone pay to shut down an investigation?” Diotima said.
“Well, the murderer might have a vested interest,” I said. “If that was him, then we’re looking for a man.”
Diotima said, “Have you forgotten what Socrates pointed out on the road back from Brauron? We all agreed we’d left the killer behind at the sanctuary.”
“There’s no chance that someone could have passed us on the road,” I said, rubbing my chin in thought.
“And if someone was away long enough to bribe a father in Athens, their absence from the sanctuary would have been noted,” Diotima added.
“Then it wasn’t the murderer Antobius met,” I said.
“Or he has a friend. Or an agent. Can we force Antobius to name him?”
I said, “The one moment when I actually believed Antobius was when he said the murderer didn’t hand over his name along with the bribe money.”
“Good point,” Diotima said. “But Nico, we have to do something.”
Was it possible to prosecute Antobius for taking blood money? I didn’t know.