‘And this was when, exactly?’
‘Mid-afternoon, or thereabouts.’
Yeah, well, the timing and circumstantial details matched what the wineshop owner had told me. Sure, as far as the faithful housewife stuff and the accident with the stool were concerned the jury was still out and liable to stay that way, but in the main it all rang true. And it wasn’t too difficult to reconstruct probable subsequent events, either. Still, whether Tullius had come back by invitation or off his own bat the guy had been a complete fool to take the risk. Personally, I reckoned he’d deserved all he got.
Not that that let Vecilius off the hook, mind: murder’s murder, however you slice it.
‘Your husband tell you anything about what had happened in the interim? When he sobered up, I mean?’ I said.
‘He claimed that Gaius had given him the slip. He looked for him but he couldn’t find him, so he went back to the wineshop.’
‘“Claimed”? You don’t believe him?’
‘I don’t know! You’ve no idea what life’s been like these past few days. We haven’t exchanged more than a few words. It’s like living with a stranger.’ She lowered her eyes again, then said in a quiet, demure voice: ‘If there was somewhere I could go for a while, away from Titus, someone I could stay with, who’d look after me-’
I stood up. ‘Yeah. Right,’ I said. ‘Me, I wouldn’t be too worried. No doubt it’ll all blow over in time. Anyway, thanks for your help, lady.’
She gave me a glare. But I was already heading for the door.
Well, I reckoned that just about put the lid on it. As far as the attempted seduction itself was concerned, whether Hermia had told the complete truth or given me the expurgated version wasn’t important, and no business of mine; the odds were we’d got our killer.
Or at least we probably had. Or, there again, possibly not …
I frowned. Shit; Perilla had been right, it was all too pat. There was still too much that needed thinking about, too many loose ends. I glanced up at the sun. Well into its third quarter; just time to drop in at my gabby wineshop owner’s for a cup of wine before I set off for the long walk back to the Caelian and dinner.
I wasn’t the only punter in evidence this time; there were a couple of tunics propping up the bar, obviously locals. They gave me an incurious stare and a nod and went back to their wine-cups.
‘Afternoon, sir. Nice to see you again.’ The wineshop owner reached for an empty jug. ‘Graviscan, wasn’t it?’
‘Yeah. Well remembered,’ I said. ‘Just a cup this time, though, pal.’
He replaced the jug, set a cup on the counter, and filled it from one of the jars on the shelf. ‘You’ll be having more business with Vecilius, then?’ he said.
‘Yeah, as it happens.’ I reached for my purse and took out a silver piece.
‘Only no offence but I was just wondering a bit more after you left yesterday whether it mightn’t have to do with something other than glass. Seeing you were so interested in the man himself and all. I said so at the time, if you remember?’ He gave me my change and pursed his lips. ‘Terrible thing, that murder in Melobosis Alley, wasn’t it?’
Subtle as a brick, and the casual tone wouldn’t’ve fooled a mentally slow six-year-old. The two punters at the other end of the bar pricked up their ears and turned round. I sighed. Ah, well, it didn’t make any odds, cosmically speaking. And I didn’t owe Vecilius any favours.
‘The name’s Valerius Corvinus,’ I said. ‘I’m looking into Tullius’s death.’
‘There, now! That’s just what I thought!’ The owner slapped the counter and beamed at the two other customers. ‘Didn’t I tell you, lads?’ He turned back to me. ‘So Vecilius caught him messing around with his wife and knifed him, did he, sir? Well, I’m not surprised. Not that I blame him, poor devil, he probably had enough encouragement. She’s always been a fast little piece, that one, and his temper being what it is-’
‘Look, pal,’ I said quickly, ‘that’s just one possibility. There’re plenty of others.’
‘Oh, you can’t fool me, sir! He’s your man, all right, no doubt at all about that. Although I don’t blame you for being cautious about saying so outright to strangers, very laudable, that is. Prejudicial to the conduct of the investigation, that the legal phrase?’
‘More or less,’ I said. ‘It’ll do.’
‘He’ll get the chop, more than likely,’ one of the punters said. ‘Bound to, for killing a nob, whatever excuse he had.’
‘Good news for somebody, anyhow,’ the other punter said meditatively. ‘That’s a nice little business he’s got there, a real money-spinner, and it’ll all go to his widow.’ He grinned and winked. ‘Not that I’d mind a bit of Hermia myself, come to that, even without the money.’
Jupiter! Tried, convicted and buried inside two minutes! There spoke the vox pop. Still, I’d done my best, and like I said they were probably right about him having done it because it was the obvious answer. I took a swig of the Graviscan.
‘Incidentally, what would those other possibilities you mentioned be, now, sir?’ That was my muck-raking pal behind the bar, of course, angling predictably for extra scandal. ‘If you don’t mind me asking. Just idle curiosity, you understand. Between you and us and the doorpost, naturally. It won’t go any further.’
I shrugged and took another sip of the wine.
‘’Course, in situations like these it’s often the wife,’ said the more ruminative of the two barflies. ‘Hell hath no fury and so on. Little woman finds out that her hubby’s getting a bit on the side, picks up a kitchen knife, and stiffs the bugger.’
His friend gave him a sideways look. ‘Nah,’ he said. ‘This Tullius was a nob. Nobs’ wives don’t do that sort of thing. And she’s probably never been inside of a kitchen.’
‘No, not personally, sure; I don’t mean personally. Nobs’ wives would have somebody do it for them, wouldn’t they? Stands to reason. Some man or other. Having it done for them’s a different thing entirely. More respectable, like. That’s how nobs work.’ He turned to me. ‘You keep the wife in mind, sir. If it wasn’t Vecilius did it after all then I reckon the wife’s your best bet, myself.’
‘Thanks, pal,’ I said. ‘I’ll do that.’ I meant it, too. The guy had a valid point, and I was remembering what Marcia had told me about Annia being involved with Poetelius. Apropos of which … ‘Uh, incidentally. Tullius had a partner. A man called Publius Poetelius. Ring any bells?’ Blank faces all round; well, fair enough, the name on its own wasn’t likely to mean anything. ‘Tullius was the usual go-between where business was concerned, sure, so you might know him by sight, at least, but there’s a chance his partner subbed for him on occasion, when he was out of town. Youngish, mid-thirties.’ I described him. ‘You happen to’ve seen him around here at all recently?’
‘Could have,’ the wineshop owner said cautiously. He sucked on a tooth. ‘Might have done. Looks like a bit of a pen-pusher, right? Lost out of reach of an abacus?’
‘Yeah.’ Jupiter! ‘Yeah, that’s him.’
‘Ah.’ He nodded, reached for an empty cup, filled it, and took a slow, contemplative sip. He was enjoying this, I could tell. ‘Then I’ve seen him right enough, sir, in this very bar, standing just where you are now. Day of the murder, it was, too. About the middle of the afternoon. Yes, it must’ve been, because I’d just got shot of that bastard Vecilius.’
Hey! ‘You get talking at all?’
‘Nah, he wasn’t the talkative type.’ He grinned. ‘Well, well! So that was the dead man’s partner, was it? Interesting! Now why would he-?’
‘Thanks, pal.’ I swigged the rest of my wine and set the empty cup down on the counter. ‘I’ll see you around.’