Lindsey Davis - The Ides of April

I tried not to feel shocked by the connection to me. "I bet when your mother decided she didn't like someone, she could really let rip!"

Kylo and I laughed, thinking about it.

"And Kylo, one last thing. When your mother started feeling funny, did she tell you she thought someone had done something to her?"

"Oh yes."

"Who did she say, Kylo?"

"Am I supposed to tell you?"

"Yes, please."

"She said, 'It must have been him, the nasty little bugger. He jabbed me. The one who asked me if I had seen Albia.' Was it that man?" asked Kylo.

"Yes. I'm afraid it most likely was, Kylo. But don't worry. We are going to catch him and punish him."

"The nasty little bugger!" Kylo roared at the top of his voice, making us all jump.

"The nasty little bugger," I agreed, much more quietly.

Morellus bestirred himself and walked me to the gate. "Worried?"

"Not me."

"Don't be brave, this is serious, Albia. He wanted you. Celendina may have saved your life that day."

"At the price of her own."

"So yes, it's serious. You must know him. Why would some perverted bastard want to find you, Albia?"

"I don't know." I had an idea. "Well, look after the son carefully, Morellus."

"If we put him behind bars, I'd be afraid you would sneak along and set him free."

"Have your little dig!"

"You would do it."

"Oh, I would."

We stood for a moment, both thinking about other things.

This did not provide identification. Kylo himself had not seen the man. But this showed motivation. A psychopathic killer asked a simple question-"Did you see Albia there?" Celendina disliked his manner. Alone, on a road outside a necropolis at dusk, her first reaction might well have been alarm. Maybe he was too persistent, with a madman's arrogance and urgency. She snapped. So he was rebuffed with a tart answer by a tired old woman, anxious about the son she had left alone.

"Celendina took a shine to you, Albia. She tried to protect you."

"I thank her for that. But I would not have wanted her to suffer for it. Morellus, do you think he followed her home?"

"Could be. Judging by the other cases, if he stabbed her by the tombs, she would never have made it back before the poison overcame her."

"Then someone in the neighbourhood may have seen him."

"Jupiter!.. I'll have a go," Morellus grumbled. "Seeing as it's you. I don't know how you persuade me into things. But I will send a couple of lads to the street, to knock on doors and ask."

I said thank you. I even said it nicely.

"Morellus, another thing. I tried to see that girl whose husband was one of the victims. She's out of town, for some reason, possibly significant. You may be able to clear up my query-you have met Manlius Faustus?" Morellus nodded. He made no comment, yet the look he gave me was distinctly odd. "Is he a satyr? Does he prey on women?"

"Faustus?"

"Are you deaf or just annoying? Does he?"

"No."

"Is that all?"

Morellus said heavily, "Manlius Faustus, plebeian aedile, does not grope, grab, fondle, squeeze, tickle up or insert his sanctified diddly-do into women."

"He likes boys then?" I punched back.

"I doubt it. I doubt it very much. He's normal. But he likes to keep to himself," said Morellus. "What a wise man!"

I was intending to leave then, but still lingered.

Morellus gave me the sceptical eye again. I sighed in response. We understood one another. He was so slow he made a snail look reckless, yet after half a day to consider a point, he possessed modest powers of reasoning. "What?"

"Morellus, I think I have made an appalling mistake."

"Looking at your face, I'm getting a horrible inkling… Jupiter," he said again, as I watched him working out what I meant. "I think I'm going to wet myself-you know who it is." A statement, not a question. He had realised too.

"I don't know what to do, Morellus. I have no proof, just that sick feeling when you see the answer. The answer that has been crying out to you all along."

"Oh that answer and I are old bloody friends! Come back in," ordered Morellus. He had roused himself as much as he ever bothered. I won't say he had livened up, but his gaze held a dim gleam of interest. "You know who you need to talk to. You can use my office. I'm going off-shift." Nothing interfered with that. The vigiles' main shift worked all through the night and were desperate to go home by morning. Apart from the fact Morellus had a wife, three children and that rusty-coloured puppy who would all want to climb all over him, the man was dead beat. "I pass his house. I'll tell him."

"He might not be there."

"He will. They've all been up until midnight, watching those plays. The black god of the underworld bursting onstage in his thundering chariot and snatching the pretty virgin while she gathers flowers. Who would miss that? All the audience is on the edge of their seats, hoping for a real rape of a real virgin. Real snorting horses. Real screams. Real blood. The finest Roman theatre."

"As far as I know, you animal, even in the name of culture, they don't show live deflowerings of maidens during solemn religious drama."

Morellus chucked me under the chin. "Hot stuff, this year's Cerialia. I heard that wide boy Faustus wants to popularise it, show something scandalous to bring in a new audience… Wait in my room. There's a nice map you can look at, so you don't need to read any confidential scrolls. If you play with my stylus, don't break the point or I'll stop your dress allowance."

I knew what the dozy article was doing there. Lightening the atmosphere, in his heavy-handed way. Telling me I would be safe here while I waited.

I watched him buzz off down the street, and by his standards, he was on the verge of running.

When Tiberius strode into the enquiry office, he had dropped the pristine white flash of the other evening in favour of a street-style tunic that looked as if he'd filched it from a bathhouse manger while road-making slaves were cleaning themselves up. What made me really stare was that he had had all his facial hair scraped off. He looked almost unrecognisable.

The smartened vision took a seat, on the other side of Morellus' wooden table from me. I had been sitting alone for much less time than I expected. Although as he arrived he gave no sign of haste, once Morellus spoke to him about me Tiberius must have covered ground fast. I was unexpectedly grateful.

I gave him a survey. Barbering had revealed a good face, one that would stand daily familiarity. Neither too plain, nor too handsome to be trusted. With a few forgivable tweaks, a sculptor could make it noble. Straight nose, firm mouth, strong jaw, astute expression, those watchful grey eyes I already knew. The tanned skin of the Roman working class, who spend most of their day out-of-doors.

He endured my examination, though coloured modestly. That was good. Today I needed to like him, or at least not actively dislike him.

"You shave up well."

Typically, he ignored my compliment. "I have been looking for you." He leaned forwards on his elbows, resting his chin on his hands. "Things to discuss."

"Me too." I acknowledged that we would now work in partnership again after our recent tiff. "I went to Aricia."

"You need not have. I am having the woman fetched back to Rome."

"She won't come."

"No choice. Official custody."

"Well, I tried. She seems unlikely to give anything up."

"No, not to me either," Tiberius agreed ruefully. "Morellus can tackle her. I want him to keep her here at the station house." Seeing my expression, he was quick to add, "He can hold her for a couple of nights-for security-no brutal methods. That never brings out the truth. She has lived all her life in comfortable surroundings. The sights and sounds of a neighbourhood barracks should be enough to frighten her into a confession. To somebody." He meant me.