David Wishart - Solid Citizens

‘Pass, lady,’ I said. ‘Another lead to follow. They’re friendly, sure — they were together at the funeral — but whether enough to warrant her helping out with a murder is as much your guess as mine. Also, it wouldn’t have been strictly necessary. Oh, sure, on her part there’s the professional confidentiality angle, but you can get round that, easy. She couldn’t be responsible for her staff, and if the girl I talked to was anything to go by they’re not the sharpest knives in the drawer. A word in the wrong place from one of them would’ve been enough. Still, it’s early days yet. There’s a lot of digging to do before we’re done.’ I looked round; Bathyllus and Lupercus had just come in. ‘Hi, little guy.’

‘We were just wondering if we could clear away, sir,’ Bathyllus said. ‘If you’re finished, that is.’

‘Sure. Go ahead.’ We waited while they loaded the dishes on to trays, studiously — I noticed — ignoring each other. Bathyllus removed my plate and Perilla’s; Lupercus did the same with Clarus’s and Marilla’s. The serving ones were carefully shared, turn about. I sighed: truce it might be, but it was an uneasy one, and well on the childish side at that. Fun, fun, fun.

‘There’s one person you haven’t mentioned, Marcus,’ Perilla said when they’d gone. ‘The antiques collector.’

‘Oh, yeah. Baebius,’ I said. ‘That’s because I still don’t know anything about him, barring what his freedman in the shop told me. I was planning to get his address tomorrow, pay him a visit, see how much in the running he actually is. Mind you, I’m not hopeful. The guy sounds like another Priscus. Can you imagine Priscus stalking a rival collector and beating his skull in? Because I can’t. Mother, now, sure.’

‘That’s not fair, dear. Vipsania’s a perfectly charming woman, even though she can be a little … overpowering at times.’ Overpowering! Me, I’d back Mother against a German berserker swinging a battle-axe any day. She’d probably insist he go back outside and wipe his feet. Get her way, too. ‘And you may be surprised. Not all collectors are as harmless as Priscus.’

Yeah, true. We’d just have to wait and see what tomorrow brought. In the meantime, I thought I deserved a quiet afternoon, maybe involving a stroll into town and a gossip with the punters at Pontius’s wine shop.

I was on holiday, after all. Sleuthing isn’t everything.

I had a leisurely breakfast the next morning before heading into Bovillae as usual. It wasn’t far, sure, but I don’t ride by choice, and covering the eight or so miles there and back was becoming a pretty tiresome routine.

I parked the horse by the market square water trough and set off gratefully on my own two feet. First things first: Baebius’s address. I called in at the antiques shop, renewed my acquaintance with the old freedman who ran it, and came away with directions: Baebius, it seemed, lived up at the top of town, near the Alban Lake Gate.

Before talking to the possibly homicidal antiquities collector, though, I wanted another word with Caesius’s major-domo, Anthus, regarding the death of his ex-mistress. Oh, the probability was that everything was above board — I’d only made the suggestion that it might not be to rattle Perilla’s cage, and the dead woman must’ve been getting on a bit — but it was worth making sure. Also, there was the question of the will to pursue.

So it was the Caesius place again first, further along the Hinge. The door slave showed me through to the atrium — the ordinary couches had been put back, now the funeral was over — and Anthus came in a couple of minutes later, wearing his squeaky-clean new freedman’s cap.

‘Good morning, sir,’ he said. ‘A pleasure to see you again. Presumably I can help you in some way?’

‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘I’m sorry to bother you again so soon, pal, but I needed some more information from you, if you can give it to me.’

‘Certainly. Although I’m afraid as far as the master’s death goes I can’t think what else I can tell you.’

‘Actually, it was your late mistress I was interested in. Vatinia, wasn’t it?’

He looked nonplussed. ‘The mistress, sir? Why on earth would you be asking about her?’

‘As I said, I’m just getting as many background details as I can. Indulge me, will you?’

‘If you insist. But …’

‘She was younger than your master, was she?’

‘By a few years, yes, but not many. Four or five, I think.’

‘And they were married for, what, thirty-five years, wasn’t it?’

‘That’s correct, sir.’

‘So she must’ve been well into her twenties at the time? Isn’t that a bit late for a marriage?’

‘The lady had been married previously, but her first husband had died. A summer fever. That marriage was childless, too.’

‘So she was a wealthy widow, right?’

‘Moderately wealthy.’ He was beginning to give me funny looks, and I wondered how far I could push this without him clamming up on me. ‘She was from a good family in Aricia, and her former husband owned quite a bit of property in Rome which of course she inherited at his death. He and the master had known each other through their shared business interests for some considerable time, so naturally their relationship was a long-standing one.’

‘Fine.’ I paused; this next bit was the really tricky part. ‘Her, uh, death three months ago come as a surprise, at all?’

He frowned, but answered readily enough. ‘No, except that it was so long delayed. The mistress was never a well lady, even when she was first married. Her heart was weak, and in the last ten years or so she was a chronic invalid. The doctor said it was a marvel she lasted as long as she did.’

Hell. That scotched that idea, then, at least as anything but an outside bet: thirty-five years was thirty-five years, and if Caesius had married her with an eye to her money knowing she was a bit tottery on her perch and not been averse to giving her a shove he’d taken his time in doing it. And if the death was a natural one it put the mockers on any involvement on Lucius’s part, too. Still, it made for one oddity. ‘I understand from your master’s lawyer, Publius Novius, that he hadn’t made a will to replace the original one of thirty-odd years back, naming her as his heir,’ I said. ‘Is that right?’

‘Yes. To the best of my knowledge.’

‘You don’t find that a little unusual? After all, the chances were that he’d outlive her.’

Anthus was still frowning. ‘It’s not my place to say, sir. Or within my competence.’

‘Maybe not. But you’re the best person to ask. And it might be important.’

‘Very well. If it will help, then certainly.’ He hesitated, as if he was choosing his words carefully. ‘He … the master was a deeply private man, with very few friends. I don’t mean that in a derogatory way, not at all; it’s a simple fact. Oh, he was certainly no recluse; he had a great number of acquaintances, and he and the mistress when she was alive and able had a very busy social life. But none of them, even the closest, were really intimate, if you understand me.’ I nodded. ‘They were most of them very much part of his public rather than his private life. And to the master, sir, as you must always remember, his public life was everything. As far as family went, apart from the mistress there was no one at all close. Quite the opposite, as you know yourself.’

‘Meaning his brother and his nephew.’

‘Exactly.’ He ducked his head. ‘I’m sorry. I’m being long-winded and possibly unclear, but what I’m saying really does answer your question. The result of all this was that, although he may have recognized that not to make another will was short-sighted at best, there was no one — family member or close friend — whom he could conscientiously name as heir.’