I repeated more or less what I’d told Doccius. She frowned.
‘Forgive me,’ she said. ‘But I need to have this clear. Your friend the Watch Commander. He’s of the opinion that no real crime was committed since my husband was already dead, yes?’
‘Uh, yeah, more or less. Or rather not of the level that would warrant a full-scale official investigation. But-’
‘Don’t you think, then, that we should simply leave things as they are? I mean, if poor Marcus was dead already when he was stabbed then what, really, is the point?’ I just gaped at her: Doccius was one thing, but this lady was Correllius’s widow, for the gods’ sakes! ‘Or don’t you agree?’
Bland as hell. Jupiter! I counted, mentally, to ten. ‘The man was murdered, lady,’ I said carefully. ‘Or just as good as. All that happened was that whoever stuck the knife in him thought he was asleep. No, of course I don’t f-’ I stopped myself just in time. ‘Of course I don’t agree.’
‘Then that’s unfortunate. But whether you do or not makes no difference, does it? If the Roman authorities decline to investigate the matter then the decision passes to the family, in other words to myself. Marcus is dead. That is …’ she paused – ‘regrettable, but the fact is that he died of natural causes. Anything else is a needless complication, and at base irrelevant. Certainly, and I have no wish to be rude, it is no business whatsoever of yours.’
True. Technically, at least. Even so, I just didn’t believe this; unnatural didn’t go far enough.
‘He ever mention a man called Marcus Pullius?’ I asked.
Not a flicker. ‘No,’ she said. ‘Who might that be?’
‘A business acquaintance, presumably. Only the strange thing is that no one seems to have heard of him barring the slave who was with your husband that day and who’s now dead himself.’ I just stopped myself in time from glossing the adjective with a ‘conveniently’.
‘Ah, yes. That would be Mercurius. A tragic accident. Tragic.’
‘Yeah.’ I managed to keep the sarcasm out of my voice. ‘Anyway, this Pullius seems to have vanished into thin air. According to Mercurius, he was supposed to meet Correllius outside the Pollio, but he never showed up. Or at least if he did then he was probably the killer.’
Mamilia frowned. ‘Excuse me, Valerius Corvinus,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry to repeat myself, but “killer” is the wrong word here, and I do think we should keep that fact firmly in mind. And I’m afraid I know nothing about Marcus’s business concerns. He didn’t confide.’ Interesting: she was lying there, I was sure of it. ‘Certainly he never mentioned a Marcus Pullius to me, not in any context.’
‘The thing is,’ I said, ‘if this Pullius was involved then we’ve got what amounts to a description of him.’
‘Oh?’ That came out sharply.
‘Yeah. From a lady’s maid who happened to come into the garden just as, presumably, your husband was being stabbed. Or immediately afterwards, anyway, because she caught sight of the man before he walked off.’
‘Very interesting. But, as I said, not of much practical use to anyone.’ She smoothed a non-existent crease from her mantle. ‘Now I’ve no wish to be rude or inhospitable, but there really is no need to prolong this conversation. Marcus was not a well man, and had not been so for some years. He is now dead, his death was not unexpected, and it occurred, your doctor son-in-law says, from natural causes completely consistent with his illness. To me that is what is important and there’s an end of the matter. From what you say, the authorities are in complete agreement with this opinion. Accordingly, I would be grateful if you minded your own business, whatever that is, and returned to Rome. Do I make myself clear?’
Gods!
‘Yeah. Perfectly clear. Thank you, lady.’ I was quietly fizzing. I stood up. So did she.
‘I’m sorry you had a wasted journey.’ She gave me a brittle smile: evidently now I’d had the firm brush-off there was scope for a return to the social graces. ‘Were you staying locally or are you just through from Rome for the day?’
‘Oh, I’m staying.’ Damn right I would be! ‘For the foreseeable future, anyway. A friend of my wife’s is letting us use her villa.’
‘How delightful. So your journey won’t be a complete waste after all; I’m glad. That would be one of the villas on the coast, I suppose?’ I said nothing. ‘Yes, they are very nice, aren’t they? I did try to persuade Marcus to build or buy us one – so much more pleasant than a house in town, particularly in the summer months – but he preferred to be in the centre of things. And, as you’ve seen, he virtually worked from home.’ She held out her hand. ‘I’m very pleased to have met you, Valerius Corvinus, and believe me I do appreciate your concern and the trouble you’ve gone to. I hope I haven’t given any offence; certainly none was intended. But I really do think this is for the best.’
Yeah. Right. And I was Cleopatra’s grandmother. I shook and turned to go …
A man was coming through from the lobby: late forties, fit-looking, grizzled hair well-barbered, and a snappy plain mantle. He stopped when he saw me.
‘I’m sorry, Mamilia,’ he said. ‘Your door-slave sent me straight through. He didn’t tell me you had company.’
‘That’s OK,’ I said. ‘I was just leaving.’ I glanced at Mamilia. Her face was set.
‘The gentleman’s name is Valerius Corvinus,’ she said. ‘He came to enquire about Marcus’s death.’
The man grunted. ‘Publius Fundanius,’ he said, putting out his hand.
I shook it. ‘Friend of the family?’
He hesitated. ‘Business associate.’ He turned to Mamilia. ‘I just called round to offer my condolences and ask if there was anything I could do.’
‘Kind of you,’ Mamilia said; you could’ve used her tone to ice wine.
‘Well, I’ll be going,’ I said; then, to Mamilia: ‘Thanks for taking the time to talk to me.’
‘You’re very welcome.’
This time, not so much as a blink. I left.
FIFTEEN
So; time for a cup of wine, and a think. A serious think: matters were getting complicated.
I carried on up the Hinge in the direction of Market Square, keeping an eye out for wineshops: like I say, this was a part of town I hardly knew at all, and my preferred ones all lay nearer the river. I spotted one down an alleyway just short of the back of the Temple of Rome and Augustus at the Square’s southern end and went inside.
Pretty basic, hardly more than a counter, with only one punter in evidence, an oldish guy in a worker’s tunic who was nursing a wine-cup and chatting with the middle-aged woman behind the bar. We nodded to each other and I saw his eyes widen at my purple stripe, but he turned back to his drink.
‘Afternoon, sir,’ the woman said. ‘What can I get you?’
I looked up at the board: Veian, eh? Now there was a wine you didn’t see all that often. Still, I’d be heading for Agron’s yard later, and no doubt if he’d time to spare we’d be splitting half a jug in his local, so maybe just a cup would do.
‘A cup of your Veian’d be good,’ I said.
She poured it, and I took a sip: not bad, not bad at all. Excellent, in fact. Basic or not, I’d have to add this place to my list.
‘You over here from the city?’ the other punter said.
I turned towards him; obviously the chatty type, which was lucky. Me, I always have time for talkative local barflies, particularly when I’m on a case, and the thinking could wait for a bit.
‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘Yeah, I am, as it happens.’
‘Business?’
‘Of a kind. Name’s Corvinus. Marcus Corvinus.’
‘Titus Rubrius. We don’t see many purple-stripers in here, do we, Vinnia?’ he said to the barwoman. ‘Raises the tone of the place no end. You’ll have to be hiring a set of musicians and a floor show soon, eh?’ She didn’t respond, and he turned back to me. ‘I mean no offence, sir. You’re very welcome.’
‘No offence taken. And it’s their loss. That’s the best wineshop Veian I’ve tasted in a long time.’