There were plenty of problems with the boy's story. A barrister would tear it to shreds. Nonnius had been taken away not by Flaccida herself, but by a group of men, none of whom we could yet identify. The slave boy could give no descriptions. Petronius was in no position to make arrests. But for our own purposes, although we could not prove Flaccida had been involved in anything, at least we knew: Nonnius Albius had been murdered at her house. Work on the case had begun to simplify at last.
`So what are you going to do?' I asked Petro as we walked back towards the patrol house. `Interview Flaccida?'
`You said you did that, Falco.'
`I wasn't able to make her sweat. It was before we had a lead on the Nonnius death. I couldn't frighten her with a witness.' `Neither can I.' Petronius was a realist.
`So you leave her bust up on its pedestal?'
He stopped on a street corner, stretching his neck. He rubbed one hand all around inside the neck of his tunic, as if the hem was causing a rash. What irritated Petro was something else. He hated to see criminals getting away with a crime.
`The bust can keep its station – but I'll chuck a few stones at it. Flaccida's the one to work on, though we need something indirect. Forget Nonnius. I'll nail Flaccida for him one day. And I'll nail her for Alexander too, though as yet don't ask me how.' I could see he had made up his mind. `We've made an advance on the murders. Let's go back to the Emporium and Saepta thefts, Falco. Let's see if we can trace your father's pretty Syrian glass.'
I had known him long enough to recognise which approach he was planning. `You reckon our brothel prank is now safely forgotten and you can drag me off on some new escapade.'
`Exactly. Comb your hair for once, Falco. You and I are going to spend the afternoon chatting like dangerous degenerates with lovely little Milvia!'
XLVII
MILVIA WAS AT home. This confirmed my previous impression that she led a lonely life. It seemed she rarely went out. Still, staying in this afternoon had brought the lucky girl the pair of us.
`I'm getting too old for this,' I joked as Petro and I waited for her to be told her good fortune. No doubt she wanted to jump into her nicest frock.
`You've forgotten how. Just follow my lead.'
We sat up and tried looking like sober citizens as Milvia tripped through the door.
She seemed delighted to see us. When she rushed in, all pleated white stoles and dainty ribbons, I had forgotten quite what a pretty girl she was. This was certainly more pleasant than exchanging barbs with that hard nut her mother. Of course we did not place too much faith in Milvia; in our time, Petronius and I had been flattered then dumped in a midden by plenty of round-eyed, honest-looking girls.
When we asked her again about the glass flagon, she told the same tale: a present from someone to Florius. Petronius demanded a sight of her household shelves. `But you have looked at them!' Milvia cried wonderingly.
`I'd like to look again.' Petronius Longus could manage to sound as, stern as if he were inspecting an unauthorised standpipe on an aqueduct, yet with a subtle hint of approving comment on a woman's physique. What a dog.
Milvia was worried. This was good. Milvia would complain to her mother; Flaccida, not having been here, would find that very disconcerting. Flaccida would wonder why Milvia had been singled out for an extra visit, and what dangerous hints Milvia might have given away.
`Falco is going to take a look with me this time.'
`Oh you're the nice one!' Milvia obviously remembered me. Petronius gave me a cheesy grin, then dug me sharply in the small of the back as we marched to the kitchen.
For about an hour we gravely surveyed miles of expensive tableware on shelves, in cupboards, displayed formally on buffets, or tucked tidily into niches. Redware and lead glaze, glass and gilded metalware. It was all in sets, and the sets were meant for civic banquets of fifty people or so. It made a poor comparison with the wonky shelf of bowls Helena and I owned at Fountain Court – barely enough for a quiet one-course supper for two people, especially if they were entertaining a foundling. and a hungry new dog.
There was no glass that I recognised. Since the house had already been searched by the Fourth Cohort, I expected no surprises. I gave Petro the headshake several times, but he seemed in no hurry to leave. He smiled at Milvia, who had been showing off the household goods herself. `Let's return to the salon and get some details straight…'
We trooped back and sat down. It was a decorous room in whites, greens and blues, but I hate Egyptian summerhouse furniture that looks so light the legs may snap if you wriggle. Its pert young owner was not my kind of girl either. Once I had liked the ones who smile a lot and look admiring, but I had grown up since then. I was starting to feel alone in this sophisticated attitude.
Petro had on his stubborn look. Milvia was unreliable, but just the kind of bright-eyed puppet Petro always wanted to discuss the weather with. The whole situation took me back ten years. It was like trying to drag him out of a British meadmaker's hovel once the biddy in charge had swung her golden plaits at him. As always I was at a loss how to deal with it. When he was in this mood tutting and mentioning other social engagements would only make him linger. I had already dragged his wife into the conversation, in some forced context to do with tureens. Any more would just make me sound like a surly prude…
I would not have minded, but as an informer I was the one who had always had to fight off a reputation for chasing women.
`Nice room!' smiled Petronius, glancing around. He was very relaxed. He spoke in a kindly, reassuring tone, and Milvia smiled back at him.
`Watch out,' I muttered. `He'll try to sell you mediocre frescoes if you show an interest.'
Milvia giggled at me. `You two are not like law officers at all!' `Is that right?'
Petronius smirked at me, then set about some genuine work. `So. Let's just get this straight. The flagon you gave to Didius Falco -'
`I gave it to his charming colleague, actually. Is the glass flagon what your enquiries have all been about?'
`Charming colleague, Falco?' Petro asked. `Helena,' I owned up. Well, it wiped off his smirk.
`After all, I had been talking to her mostly,' Milvia carried on. `Had you really?'
`We all have our methods,' I told Petro.
`The flagon,' Petro began again with Milvia, looking dangerous. `Was brought home by my husband.'
`Was brought home by Florius. Florius had it from?' `From somebody he knows.'
`A mysterious benefactor. Have you asked him who?' `Why should I? He seemed rather vague.' `Does Florius keep things to himself?'
`Not particularly.'
`Do you and your husband discuss his daily business?'
`No, not much.' Milvia glanced down at her lap, aware how her answer could be interpreted.
`That's very sad,' Petronius Longus commented sombrely. `Don't be snide,' I said.
`It was a straight comment.'
`There's nothing wrong!' Milvia cried defensively.
`But you're not close,' Petro decided, looking pleased about it. `We are perfect friends.'
`And some other friend of Florius gives him expensive gifts.' There was a small pause.
Milvia looked from Petronius to me and back again. `You are proper law officers.'
`If you're honest that won't worry you. Was it a woman?' I enquired. There was no point now being soft on her. It was possible, if her marriage mattered to her, that we had just destroyed it in a couple of suggestive remarks. Even if Florius was as chaste as dew we might have ruined the relationship. Suspicion is an evil ingredient in any match.
`Could your husband be taking gifts from a woman?' I pressed Milvia again.