She stared at me. Then she laughed. ‘Who on earth said that, for goodness’ sake?’
‘It isn’t true?’
‘Of course it’s not true! We’re friends. Just friends, and always have been. Again: who told you?’
‘Lucilius Festus’s wife, Marcia. She got it from your husband.’
‘But that’s ridiculous! Gaius would never have thought that!’
I shrugged. ‘I’m only repeating what she said. And why should she make it up?’
Now it was Annia’s turn to hesitate. She glanced at her brother, then looked back at me. ‘Actually, she might have had a reason,’ she said. ‘A good one. To her mind, at least.’
‘What would that be, now?’
‘I said I didn’t have any embarrassing secrets. That wasn’t quite true, although the secret isn’t a major one. The anonymous letter Marcia got, about Gaius taking up with a new girlfriend.’
‘You wrote it?’
She nodded. ‘I sent Timon over to deliver it late the previous evening. After she and her husband had gone to bed.’
Well, it came as no surprise; the chances were the letter had to have come from her or Poetelius. What was surprising was that she’d come straight out and admitted it.
‘You care to tell me why?’ I said.
‘I thought it might stir things up a bit. Precipitate matters. Perhaps push Gaius into agreeing to a divorce. A silly thing to do, I know that now in retrospect, but there you are. All I can say is that it seemed a good idea at the time.’
Stir things up a bit. Certainly it’d done that, with a vengeance. And knowing for sure that Annia was responsible opened up a whole new line of possibilities. ‘So what you’re saying is that Marcia guessed who was responsible and was getting back at you?’
‘It would seem reasonable, wouldn’t it? In any event, it’s the only explanation.’
I wouldn’t go quite that far myself. And I could think of at least one other purpose to the letter that was a lot less innocent. ‘Yeah. Yeah, fair enough,’ I said. I swallowed the rest of my wine and stood up. ‘Thanks, lady. I won’t take up any more of your time.’
‘But you haven’t told us how the investigation’s going! Surely you must’ve learned something concrete by now.’
There wasn’t any reason not to tell her, quite the contrary, because if there was something screwy somewhere – and the feeling in my bones told me there was – starting up a decoy hare wouldn’t go amiss. ‘The chances are that Titus Vecilius did it,’ I said. ‘Hermia’s husband. Certainly he had the best motive and opportunity.’ I was watching her face for a telltale sign of relief. Not a flicker. But there again she’d taken the accusation of an affair with Poetelius in her stride, so that might mean nothing.
‘There you are,’ Annius said. ‘I told you, dear. An open-and-shut case.’
‘Uh-uh.’ I shook my head. ‘There’s the little matter of proof. Not to mention a few loose ends flapping around.’
‘Such as what?’ Annius again, and it was snapped.
Such as the possibility that he, or his sister, or Poetelius was responsible, or any combination thereof. Not that I could say that out loud, of course. I went for safer ground. ‘The business in Ostia, for a start. Oh, sure, the chances are that it was a straightforward accident, but-’
Annius was giving me a blank look. ‘What business in Ostia?’ he said.
‘I didn’t tell you, Quintus,’ Annia said. ‘It happened on the quayside three days before Gaius died. A crane dropped its load when he was practically underneath it.’
Her brother grunted. ‘It doesn’t sound too suspicious to me,’ he said. ‘Accidents like that do happen occasionally at the docks, and it’s not always the stevedore who’s at fault. Gaius was probably just not looking where he was going.’
‘Yeah. Yeah, right,’ I said. ‘Still, as I say, it’s a loose end to be checked.’
‘Surely that’s not necessary now,’ Annia said. ‘After all, if you’re practically certain that Gaius’s mistress’s husband killed him then-’
I shrugged. ‘Maybe not. But me, I like to tick all the boxes.’ I set the empty wine-cup on the chair. ‘Thanks again, lady. I’ll keep in touch.’
My brain was buzzing as I left. I’d planned to take the long hike to the Emporium straight away to check Poetelius’s story with Titus Vibius, but first a stopoff at a convenient wineshop for a leisurely think seemed in order. I found a new one I hadn’t tried before near the Temple of Honour and Virtue – trendy, with a suspiciously pricey wine list and a chichi snack menu, but there you went – ordered a cup of Massic, and settled down at one of the outside tables.
OK. Annia. As a suspect, the cool, calm, and collected widow was definitely showing form. If she and Poetelius were an item, which despite the lady’s protestations and his was still a possibility, then they had motive in spades, plus – now that I knew that Poetelius had been in the neighbourhood the day of the murder – opportunity as well. The big problem was if, because possibility or not they’d both struck me as pretty much on the leveclass="underline" both had seemed genuinely surprised at the suggestion and denied the relationship flat, Poetelius had been inches away from handing me my teeth in a bag, and Annia had just laughed it off. Sure, it could’ve been an act – when a husband gets stiffed, the obvious first suspects are the wife and a lover, and they’d know that – but if so it was a damn good one. On the other hand, conditions for an affair developing were ideal. On Poetelius’s side, as far as I knew he was unattached, he’d obviously been in the running as a possible fiance, and the chances were that his feelings for Annia still went way past friendship. Added to which, he clearly had no liking or respect for his partner either on a personal or a business level. On her side, she was locked in a loveless marriage with no exit clause and an unfaithful husband who wouldn’t care what the hell she got up to so long as she paid the bills at the end of the month.
The other tick in the credit column for an affair existing – despite Annia’s claim to the contrary – was Marcia. Like I’d said, she’d no reason to make the story up; she’d told me – and I believed her – that she didn’t know who’d sent the anonymous letter, and I’d got the impression that she didn’t care, either. Certainly, she’d no spiteful feelings against Tullius’s wife; the only person she blamed was herself for getting involved with the guy in the first place. And Annia’s confession was just too slick. The letter might’ve prompted Marcia to invent a non-existent affair, sure, but more importantly what it’d certainly done was let the cat out of the bag where the two cuckolded husbands were concerned. If Annia had wanted Tullius killed by proxy, like my friend the barfly had suggested, or to set up a fall guy to take the rap for a crime she and her lover were planning to commit, she couldn’t’ve staged things better.
Yeah, I could go for that pair, myself. I never did trust squeaky-clean, and Annia and Poetelius were certainly that.
The brother, now. Quintus Annius …
Annius was puzzling: I just didn’t get Quintus Annius at all. On the one hand, barring an altruistic collusion with his sister to rid her of an unwanted husband, the guy had no motive for killing Tullius whatsoever. Or not one I knew about or could guess at, anyway. And brotherly devotion doesn’t usually extend to helping out with a murder. In terms of pure common sense, Quintus Annius was a complete non-runner. There again, my gut feeling was that he was a wrong ’un somewhere along the line. Perilla would’ve slagged me off for even suggesting he was involved, sure, and she’d probably be right. But still-
I’d been ignoring the wine. Now I took a long swallow. Not bad after all; it might even be worth its inflated price. Trendy or not, I’d have to remember this place. If it lasted much more than five minutes, mind. That’s the trouble with these designer wineshops: they spring up like mushrooms and when the fashion they cater for has gone they fold just as quickly. The edge of Circus Valley isn’t exactly Young Upwardly Mobile country, either, so I’d be surprised if they had a regular clientele.