David Wishart - Food for the Fishes

‘Yes, but, Marcus, you said yourself that Gellia denied her husband had the fits. Surely if she had killed him she would’ve confirmed it.’

‘That’s fine so long as there’s no suspicion of murder. Only by the time I spoke to Gellia and company there was, and it was a whole new ballgame. Trebbio had been arrested for a start, and I’d sent round my letter from the town officer authorising me to investigate the death. Chlorus is a smart cookie, and he doesn’t like Gellia at all. As things were, her story about the fits, the way Murena died and the rumours linking her and the doctor would all combine to point the finger pretty convincingly. Gellia may’ve started out nurturing an “accident” verdict, but now she has to discount it for her own good; it wouldn’t be safe for her to do otherwise, not with her step-family out to see her nailed. And, naturally, if she did come down on the side of murder she’d have to finger someone else in her turn. Which brings me to Chlorus and Nerva.’

‘Hmm.’ Perilla was twisting a lock of hair. ‘Go on.’

‘Nerva’s the most likely prospect, barring Gellia. The evidence is circumstantial, sure, but he had a row with his father over money the day he died. At least, Gellia suggested it was over money, and he didn’t deny it. Chlorus’s motive’s the same. Gellia mentioned his daughter’s marriage too, and he’s obviously hard up for cash to meet the dowry. With Murena dead they’ll inherit a packet when they most need it; it’s as simple as that. As far as opportunity’s concerned either of them could’ve climbed over the wall at the beach end and killed the guy without anyone being any the wiser.’

‘Marcus, dear, I’m sorry, but this is all very thin.’

She was telling me? ‘Yeah, I know that. We’re just on the nursery slopes here. Still, it’s a start. And you weren’t over at the villa, you didn’t see that crowd. There was a lot of nervousness about, and a lot of hatred. Murena wasn’t liked, not by his family, anyway. Don’t knock that for a motive, either.’

‘What about the daughter? Penelope, did you say?’ She frowned. ‘Why Penelope, incidentally?’

‘I didn’t ask. Maybe she just doesn’t like being called Licinia. That wouldn’t surprise me; she hated her father like poison.’

Perilla glanced at me sharply. ‘How on earth do you know that?’

‘She told me straight out. Made quite a thing of it. It could’ve been a double bluff, sure, but it still puts her on the list.’

‘All right. That makes four. Five counting the doctor, and presumably you’d lump the phantom Florus in with Gellia. Who’s the seventh?’

‘Ligurius. He found the body.’

‘Oh, terrific! Motive? Means? Opportunity?’

I shrugged. ‘None of them as yet. Apart, maybe, from a silly nickname Murena gave him. He seems to have had a quirk that way, the old man. Still, Ligurius is the fish farm manager, and Murena was killed at the fish farm. And he didn’t seem too cut up about losing his boss, either. I’ve got the rest down so why not Ligurius? Make it a full bag.’

‘That is not a reason to suspect him.’

‘Yeah, well, you can’t — ’ I stopped. Bathyllus was bringing a man up the path: a tall guy in a Greek mantle. ‘Who’s that?’

‘I’ve no idea. One of Vipsania’s friends, perhaps.’

‘Mother’s in town. Bathyllus would’ve sent him away.’ Now the man was nearer I could see he was in his late twenties, maybe early thirties. Tall, well-built, olive skin, jet-black curly hair and a nose with a bridge so straight you could use it to draw lines. Greek, for sure; real Greek, not south-Italian-local, and good-looking enough to have modelled for a temple pediment Apollo.

‘Good afternoon, Valerius Corvinus,’ he said, holding out his hand. ‘I’m sorry to disturb you. My name’s Diodotus. I was Licinius Murena’s doctor.’

Well, for someone who’d just lost a patient Diodotus seemed pretty relaxed about things. Mind you, the responsibilities of the modern doctor stop short at dosing the customer against a sudden attack of moray eels, so giving him the benefit of the doubt for the present where murder was concerned I supposed that was fair enough.

We shook.

‘Pull up a chair,’ I said. ‘This is my wife Perilla.’

‘A pleasure to meet you, madam.’ Soft-spoken, serious, not much of a smile — from the looks of him I didn’t think he’d smile very often — but perfectly friendly and completely at his ease. Good vowels, too; by his accent he could’ve passed in Rome for one of the top Five Hundred, easy. Mother had said he had a successful social practice in Baiae, and I wasn’t surprised. With these looks, that voice and that manner he’d have the wealthy matrons queuing up and panting. No wonder Gellia had been smitten.

Bathyllus was still hovering. ‘You care for some wine?’ I said.

‘No, thank you. I scarcely touch it, and certainly not before sundown.’ He sat. ‘Please don’t let me stop you, though.’

‘Just the half jug, then, Bathyllus,’ I said. The little guy bowed and moved off. ‘Now.’

‘I thought you might like to talk to me, Valerius Corvinus.’

‘News travels fast.’

‘In Baiae, certainly.’ He shrugged; an elegant raising of the shoulder. ‘In any case, I was paying a professional call in the neighbourhood and it’ll save you a journey.’

‘You have a lot of patients? Besides Licinius Murena, I mean?’

‘Enough. Mostly minor digestive problems caused by an over-rich diet. Life in Baiae isn’t exactly conducive to a healthy regimen, so much of my work is correcting the effects of overindulgence. Or trying to correct it. Frequently the task is an uphill struggle.’

‘I was told Murena suffered from fainting fits.’

I’d asked the question without signalling it just to see how he reacted. He didn’t blink, but he did lean back in his chair and take his time answering.

‘That’s so,’ he said cautiously.

‘How severe?’

‘Nothing to give serious cause for concern, and he was responding well to treatment, but all the same — ’

‘What was the treatment exactly?’ Perilla said.

He turned to her politely. ‘You have a knowledge of medicine, madam?’

‘No. Just an interest in it.’

‘I see.’ The slight flaring of the nostrils suggested that taking an interest in medicine wasn’t something the guy wholly approved of. Not where a layman was concerned, anyway. Laywoman, rather. I was glad it’d been Perilla who’d asked the question, not me. ‘Well, then. The problem arises, as does every illness, from a systemic imbalance; in this case, a superfluity of blood rushing into the brain at times and driving out the vital spirit, what we call the pneuma, which is the source of consciousness. A mild programme of regular bleeding is the most effective treatment, together with gentle exercise and a light diet of seafood and vegetables plus an avoidance of red meat and the heavier wines. That was what I prescribed.’

‘I see,’ Perilla said. ‘Thank you.’

‘You’re very welcome.’ Dry as a used mustard plaster.

‘Would it have been possible for Murena to have had one of these fits the night he died?’ I said.

The grey eyes came back to me. ‘Yes. Of course. Perfectly possible. But as I said the fits were not serious; hardly more than a slight dizziness which would disappear after a few minutes’ rest. Murena would have had ample warning of an attack, certainly enough for him to find somewhere to sit or lie down in safety until the pneuma was restored.’

‘That’s not what Titus Chlorus said. Or implied, rather.’

That got me a level stare, and the grey eyes had turned frosty. ‘Perhaps not, Corvinus,’ he said. ‘But there again, I’m not responsible for Chlorus’s opinions, or indeed those of any of the Murena family. They are not doctors, and they may have…other reasons for saying what they do. I’m simply giving you the medical facts which you can accept or not just as you please.’