‘This Mercurius doesn’t seem to know very much,’ I said.
‘Yeah. I noticed that at the time. Of course I did. He seemed to be straight enough in himself, mind. And he was certainly upset.’
‘You trying to trace Pullius?’
Lippillus grinned. ‘Don’t teach your grandmother to suck eggs, Corvinus! Of course I am, as far as I’m able. But no luck so far.’
Hell; leave it. ‘Fair enough,’ I said. ‘Were there any witnesses? To the actual stabbing, I mean?’ Unlikely, sure: I knew those benches outside the Pollio, and it would’ve been easy enough for someone to step up behind an ostensibly sleeping man, do the business, and be off and away unseen in a matter of seconds. Particularly if he’d all the time in the world to wait his chance.
‘That’s something else we’re working on. Nothing so far, certainly no one who was currently using the library, because I asked. Naturally, I did. And remember, it could’ve happened any time up to an hour before the body was found, so any witness would probably have been long gone. That’s assuming they knew they were a witness in the crime sense, which under the circumstances they probably wouldn’t.’
Bugger; I was getting hooked, despite myself. Even so, like Lippillus, I’d got other, more important, fish to fry at present; like it or not, I’d just have to leave things as they were and pass on.
‘OK, pal,’ I said. ‘You’ll keep me informed like you said, just in case?’
‘Sure. No problem. So what’s this Tullius business? Trigemina Gate Street, you said?’
‘Yeah.’ I gave him the details. ‘I’m on my way over there now.’
‘That’s Gaius Memmius’s patch. He’s Watch Commander for the Aventine. A good lad, Memmius, and a good officer. He’ll help you if he can. Just mention my name.’
‘Thanks,’ I said. ‘I’ll do that.’ I would, too: as with everything in Rome, having a friend in common made things a lot easier, and not all Watch Commanders appreciated a civilian outsider poking his nose into Watch affairs. ‘You got time for a cup of wine somewhere? It’ll have to be a quick one, because I’m pushed this morning.’
He laughed. ‘You kidding? I didn’t even have breakfast this morning, or any morning this month. I told you: I’m up to my eyeballs.’
‘Another time, then. Sorry I can’t help more.’
‘That’s OK. Offer’s open, and like I said I’ll send you word of any developments. Look after yourself, Marcus, and give my regards to the family.’
I left.
So; next stop the Thirteenth District Watch station on the Aventine, near the Temple of the Moon.
I was lucky; not only did Watch Commander Memmius know Lippillus well, but he’d mentioned my name to him a couple of times in the past, which made things a lot easier: like I say, some commanders, particularly the ones who owe their jobs to the fact that they’re drinking cronies of the City Prefect, can be pretty snooty.
I gave him the spiel, for what it was worth so far.
‘That’s right.’ He rested his elbows on the desk in front of him. ‘Tullius was found just after sunset four days ago at the Shrine of Melobosis in an alleyway off Trigemina Gate Street. Single stab to the heart. The bugger wouldn’t’ve known what hit him.’
‘Was the body hidden at all?’
‘No. That was odd, because it could’ve been, easily, because the shrine’s pretty overgrown. Whoever Melobosis was, she didn’t have all that many worshippers.’
‘One of the Daughters of Ocean. Or so my clever-clogs wife tells me.’
‘Is that right, now?’ He grinned. ‘You learn something new every day. Anyway, the guy was lying presumably where he fell, out in the open. The kid who found him had just taken his girlfriend inside for some privacy, and they tripped over the corpse in the darkness. A bit of a put-off, that, under the circumstances. Inconvenient, too. The youngsters had been using the shrine for their evening bouts of privacy for quite a while, and now the girl won’t go near the place.’
‘No one saw anything, I suppose? Saw the victim or the perp going in, I mean?’
‘No. Not that I’ve been able to find out. The alley’s a dead end, and most of the buildings in the area are offices that are only used during daylight hours. Also, of course, the fifteenth being Mercury’s festival, they’d’ve been closed all day anyway.’
So barring a visit by a casual worshipper to the shrine itself – which seemed unlikely, from what Memmius was saying – the body could’ve lain undiscovered there since the previous night. Bugger!
‘You happen to know anything about two of the local residents? Or almost local. A Lucilius Festus and a Titus Vecilius.’
Memmius frowned. ‘Why do you ask? You have a reason to think one of them did it?’
‘It’s a possibility. Just a possibility.’ I had to go careful here: Memmius was a nice guy, and what with the Lippillus connection he was amenable enough, but he was still official, and I’d no proof. ‘They had connections with the dead man, and they both have businesses on Trigemina Gate Street itself, that’s all. I’m just checking angles.’
‘Fair enough.’ He leaned back on his stool. ‘Me, I’d discount Festus. From what I know of him, which isn’t much, and that’s the point, he’s the quiet family type, solid citizen, never in any trouble that I’ve ever heard of. He married a young widow from out of town ten or twelve years back whose husband died leaving her with a two-year-old kid, and he can’t see past her. Vecilius, well, him I do know, professionally. He’s certainly got a temper, and he’s a bit too fond of the booze for his own good. Big lad. He’s crossed our path a few times, beat up a stevedore a couple of months back for making what he thought were suggestive advances. To his wife, not to him. But I don’t think he’d go the length of murder.’ He gave me a sharp look. ‘Of course, if his wife was involved that might be a different story. Was she?’
‘Yeah. Probably. Festus’s as well.’
‘Is that so, now?’ Memmius whistled between his teeth. ‘Both of them, eh? He must’ve been an active lad, our Tullius.’
‘So it would seem.’ I got up. ‘Anyway, thanks for your help. I appreciate it. You mind if I nose around a bit, ask a few questions, have a word with Festus and Vecilius?’
‘Go ahead. It’s a free city.’ We shook. ‘Just keep me posted, that’s all. And give my regards to Lippillus when you see him next.’
‘I will,’ I said, and left.
OK. A quick visit to the scene of the crime, just to get the details clear in my own mind, then it was the two husbands. From what Memmius had said about his propensity for jealousy and violence things weren’t looking good for Vecilius, sure, but I was an old enough hand at this business by now to suspend judgement. The same applied to Festus: even solid citizens could lose the rag if the circumstances were right, and I knew from Poetelius that he’d lost it far enough to make at least verbal threats. We’d have to see how things went.
The Shrine of Melobosis was more or less what I’d expected: a small, narrow enclosure twenty or so feet square halfway along the dead-end alley with a high wall in front, sandwiched between three-storey buildings to the sides and rear. No way in, in other words, except through the rusted iron gate in the alleyway itself. I pushed it open and went inside.
It wasn’t quite as overgrown as I’d expected, particularly in the middle round the altar itself and at the sides which showed signs of at least sporadic attention, but there was a lot of dense cover at the back: plenty of self-seeded bushes and tall weeds that looked like they’d had everything their own way for years. Like Memmius had said, odd: if the killer had wanted to hide the body and delay its finding he could’ve done it easily; in fact, it was strange that he hadn’t and just left the guy lying there, given that he’d also probably had all the time in the world to tidy up after himself. Apart from that, it was the perfect place for a private rendezvous, as witness the courting couple’s choice of it as an evening venue: off the beaten track and tucked well away from things, completely hidden by its walls from the alleyway itself when the gate was closed, shut in on every other side by buildings, and from every indication almost totally unvisited; the little lamp in front of the central altar was dry as a bone, and there were no signs of any offerings, not so much as a withered flower.