David Wishart - Finished Business

‘ Gallio? ’ She looked at me in surprise. ‘Why should you want to talk to him?’

‘No reason.’ There wasn’t: that aspect of things seemed well above board. But at this point in the investigation I couldn’t be too picky, and it was always best to get more than one viewpoint.

‘Very well, then. He has an office on Iugarius, near the Carminal Gate. I call him Lucius’s bailiff, as indeed he is, but not exclusively so. These days, the firm is quite large, and it has other clients besides the Naevius family.’ A third sniff. ‘A sign of the times, Corvinus, and not a change for the better. His grandfather was Lucius’s grandfather’s freedman and knew his place, but these days it seems that where preserving or ignoring class distinction is concerned, anything goes. We’ll have freedmen running the empire very soon and the old families letting them do it, encouraging them, even. You mark my words.’

‘Uh … moving on,’ I said. ‘The divorce and, ah, related aspects.’ We were on delicate ground here, I knew, but I couldn’t go without broaching the subject of Tarquitia. ‘Maybe I could ask you about them.’

That got me a long, cool stare. ‘You mean my husband’s mistress, I suppose?’ Sullana said. ‘The nightclub girl.’

‘Yeah. More or less.’

‘You think she had a hand in Lucius’s death? It wouldn’t surprise me, of course; she had him wound round her little finger, and if she features in his will …’ She stopped. ‘Does she?’

‘Ah … yeah. Yes, so I believe, anyway.’

‘Substantially?’ I said nothing, which I suppose was an answer in itself, because she went on: ‘There you are, then. You don’t have to look any further.’

‘Maybe not, but-’

‘She’s a gold-digger, first to last. Not that that aspect of things concerns me, apart from rousing the natural anger that anyone would feel in those circumstances; as I said, I no longer have any interest in the family whatsoever. In fact, I was quite pleased when I heard that Lucius had more or less handed her the Old Villa as a gift, because our dear son will be absolutely livid.’ A twisting of the sour lips into what was almost a smile. ‘How dreadfully embarrassing for him. But although I had very little time for my husband, that does not mean that I can sympathize with his killer.’

‘She was his first? Mistress, I mean.’

‘As far as I’m aware, yes, although it’s much more likely than not. Lucius had many failings, but philandering was not one of them. In fact, I was quite surprised when he took up with the girl, and frankly I believe — despite the obvious untruth of the belief — that his interest in her was fatherly rather than sexual. He certainly talked of her more as a favourite daughter than a mistress.’

‘He talked to you about her, then?’

‘Oh, yes. Right from the start of their relationship, which was — as you probably know — just over a year ago. He was quite open about it.’

‘And you didn’t mind?’

‘Valerius Corvinus, my husband could have slept with half of Rome and I would not have minded one bit, so long as he did not advertise the fact and observed the proprieties. Knowing he did so with a nightclub slut far less than half his age meant nothing to me. Absolutely nothing. If we were still married after thirty-seven years it was by no doing of mine. Had he told me any time these thirty-odd years that he wanted a divorce, I would have agreed without a thought.’

‘But he didn’t. Not until a month ago.’ I hesitated. ‘Ah … forgive me for asking this, Cornelia Sullana, but why did he do it then? Not so he could marry Tarquitia, if that were possible, because he didn’t marry her when he could. And she didn’t claim that marriage in future was on the cards. So why the divorce?’

She was quiet so long that I didn’t think she would answer. Finally, though, she said: ‘Because I goaded him into it.’

‘Goaded?’

‘Made him angry. By telling him about my own affair.’

‘Uh …’ This I just didn’t believe: the lady, as I said, was well past fifty and looked like the back end of a cart into the bargain. Yet there she sat, like a dowager-matron who could’ve posed for the mother of the two Gracchi, confessing to screwing around behind her husband’s back. ‘Come again?’

She must’ve noticed my expression, because that sour smile was back, fleetingly. ‘Oh, not recently. It was twenty … no, twenty-five years ago. With a man called Cassius Longinus.’

That name rang a faint bell: I remembered Naevia Postuma mentioning it. ‘Surdinus’s colleague in the consulship?’

‘Yes. Although of course that was much later, and pure coincidence, when the affair was well and truly over. Longinus was everything that Lucius wasn’t, and still is. He’s governor of Asia at present, so I hear.’

‘Surdinus never knew?’

‘He never even suspected. We were very careful, and in any case I doubt if someone like Lucius would have noticed anyway.’

‘But he would’ve minded.’

‘Of course he would. And did, even twenty years after the event. That was the whole point of telling him.’ She stood up. ‘And now, Valerius Corvinus, that is about all I can tell you . I’ve answered your questions as frankly as I can.’ Jupiter, she’d done that right enough, latterly! ‘And I wish you every success. I may never have got on with Lucius — despised him, in fact, if the truth be told — but I bore and bear him no animosity, certainly not now he is dead. You can find your own way out, I think.’

I did.

So. Onwards and upwards. Or in this case, downwards, both physically and socially, all the way from the dizzy heights of the Pincian to the vegetable market, between the western slopes of the Capitol and the river, and Tarquitia’s Five Poppies Club. This, by a happy chance, would take me down Iugarius, where according to Sullana her ex-husband’s upwardly mobile not-quite-a-bailiff had his office. I could call in there on the way. Besides, it was an excuse to drop in at Renatius’s wine shop, also on Iugarius, for a quick restorative cup of wine and — hopefully — more detailed directions.

As it happened, the quick cup of wine turned into two slower ones plus a plate of cheese, olives and pickles, but I got the directions OK. Like Sullana had said, Gallio’s office was near the Carminal Gate at the south end of the street, on the ground floor of a newish tenement block which was owned by the family. According to my informant, one of the regular bar-flies, it was a pretty thriving business, and Gallio himself was now the senior partner of three, the other two being his sons. Certainly, when I pushed open the door and went in, the place had a busy feel to it, with half-a-dozen clerks working full out. I gave my name and business to the nearest one, and he led me through the back to a small inner office where the man himself was sitting behind a desk.

The senior partner was right: you didn’t get much more senior than Naevius Gallio and still be on the right side of an urn. He had to be eighty at least, and what he was doing still working the gods alone knew, because mobile — upwardly or in any other direction — was something the old guy, by the evidence of the crutches behind his chair, wasn’t any longer to any great degree. Even so, he seemed bright enough when he waved me to a stool.

‘Now, Valerius Corvinus, what can I do for you?’ he said. ‘I know, of course, of Naevius Surdinus’s death — a terrible business, that, simply terrible — but not what your connection with him might be.’

I told him, and he sat back.

‘Murdered?’ he said. ‘Surely not! Who would want to murder Master Surdinus? You’re certain?’