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.
‘OK,’ he said. ‘Five minutes. What do you want to know?’
‘How you knew that your wife was having an affair with Tullius, for a start.’
‘My wife wasn’t having no affair with no one!’
‘Fine. Suppose you tell me what the real situation was.’
‘Look. I leave the house after breakfast that morning and come in here as usual, right? Only half an hour later I realize that I’ve left a customer’s instructions for a one-off set of table glassware at home. So I go back for them. I find this crazy bitch laying into my wife, Hermia, claiming that she’s pinched her boyfriend, Tullius, and threatening to scratch her eyes out. So I grab her by the waist, bundle her outside, and shut the door. That’s it, that’s the whole story.’
‘So what did your wife say?’
‘That Tullius had been sniffing around, sure, trying it on. But that she’d told him to get lost.’
‘And you believed her?’
He gave me an ugly look. ‘You saying I’d any reason not to?’
‘Uh-uh.’ I shook my head. ‘I don’t know anything about it one way or the other. Who was the woman? You know her?’
‘I didn’t at the time, but I do now. A friend of Hermia’s, or she had been up till then. Name of Marcia. Slut!’
‘So you went round to Tullius’s office to, ah, discuss things.’
‘Damn right! If I’d found the bastard I would’ve punched his lights out, but I didn’t. As it was I told his partner, Poetelius, straight that if he showed his nose around here again they’d have to cart him off on a stretcher. They would’ve done, too.’
‘And did he? That you know of?’
‘No.’
He was lying, I’d’ve given good odds on that, but I valued my teeth too much to say so straight out; in his present mood the guy would’ve clobbered me.
‘So where were you the next day, the day of the murder?’
‘Here, in the workshop.’
‘All day?’
‘Of course, all day. Sunrise to sunset. I’ve a business to run.’
I shrugged. ‘OK, pal, keep your hair on. No problems. Thanks for your help.’ I turned away, then as if I’d just thought of it I turned back and said, ‘Can I speak with your wife, maybe?’
‘She’s out.’
‘That’s a pity.’ I glanced up at the window where I’d seen the woman’s face. ‘That your house, by the way?’
‘Yeah. So?’
‘Handy. Living just next to the shop, I mean.’
‘Yeah, it is. Now fuck off. That’s all you’re getting.’
‘Sure. Thanks again. You’ve been really, really helpful.’
He didn’t answer. I walked on down the road, in the direction of the Emporium. When I turned to look back, he was still watching me.
OK. So we’d just have to leave Hermia for another time. It was getting on for noon. I still had Poetelius’s disgruntled ex-supplier Vibius to see, but before that I thought I’d check out the local wineshop situation. I reckoned I deserved it.
I found one just short of the Emporium itself, where Trigemina Gate Street takes a bend past the Aemilian Porch. Not a particularly upmarket establishment, but then it wouldn’t be in this part of town, where the clientele would be mostly workmen and stevedores from the wharves. The place was empty at present. Bad sign, but maybe we hadn’t quite hit the lunchtime spot.
‘Morning, sir,’ the guy behind the bar said. ‘What can I get you?’
I glanced up at the board. ‘A half jug of the Graviscan would do nicely, pal. And some cheese and olives, if you’ve got them.’
‘No problem.’ He busied himself with pouring from one of the big jars in the rack beside the counter. ‘Down here on business, are you?’
I knew an opening and a talkative barman when I saw one, but I waited until he’d set the jug and cup with a plateful of cheese, olives, and bread in front of me and taken the money before I said, ‘More or less. At the Vecilius glassworks.’ I took a tentative sip of the Graviscan. Not bad, but a long way from the best I’d ever tasted. ‘You know him? Vecilius, I mean?’
‘Sure. He’s one of my regulars. Too much of a regular at times, although I shouldn’t be complaining about that.’
‘Likes his wine, does he?’
‘He can sink a fair bit of an evening, but it’s more what comes out of his mouth than what goes into it.’
‘A bit of a troublemaker, you mean?’
The guy chuckled. ‘He’s that, all right. Touchy as a bear. You wouldn’t want to get the wrong side of him, sir, particularly where his wife’s concerned.’
‘That so, now?’ I took another sip and a bit of the cheese.