Lindsey Davis - The Ides of April

Tiberius shouted, "Careful!" so I nearly dropped it. I don't know what the contents were; not oil. Some thinner liquid, with a strange odour that could be chemical or plant-derived. I had opened a palm to pour some out but then, abruptly wary, I made sure not to. Tiberius reclaimed the flask and closed it, still one-handed. "Silly girl, Albia! Tests will be carried out."

"How?"

"As a gesture to you, on some creature even you would see as vermin. How are you with pigeons?"

"Try a rat. You expect fatal results?"

"Don't you?"

"Where did you find this?"

"His room was searched this morning."

"So you knew the truth already?"

"Not 'knew.' I suspected. Because he and I are so constantly at loggerheads, I have been trying not to condemn him until I had to."

"Well, we don't want to be unfair to a multiple murderer, do we? — Gods, it is so much easier to form charges against a stranger."

Tiberius was looking concerned for me. "Has this become too personal? Do you want to stand aside?"

"I want to see it through."

"It's hard." Voice low, the runner seemed affected himself.

"It has to be done," I answered, though my jaw set and my tone was drab. "So what else was in your evidence haul?"

Displayed with a conjurer's gesture, his second item was my own bone needle-case.

"That belongs to me." I heard my voice croak. I felt hot, then sick, even though I was not surprised.

"Don't protect him, Albia."

"I don't even want to. He must have taken it."

I sat silent, remembering that afternoon when I had been stitching braid. I saw Andronicus examining my sewing box, hazel eyes bright with curiosity as he opened the box and explored the contents. He must have palmed the needle-case, right there in front of me.

I pulled out the plug, a tiny wad of old papyrus, and shook, aware once again that my companion flinched at the danger, though this time I was ejecting any contents safely onto the table. Nothing fell out; the case was empty. Tiberius asked how many needles I had owned. "One in this case, plus another still at home. Even two is a luxury. Do you know what needles cost?" In my head I heard Andronicus say, I don't do sewing… Like so many of his utterances, it had had a double meaning.

Tiberius confirmed in a quiet voice, "Identical killings elsewhere have been carried out with poisoned needles. One was found stuck in a victim, over on the Esquiline. He felt something prick him, so spun around unexpectedly, causing his attacker to let go and leave the needle behind. That lunatic was caught, incidentally, so we can be sure the deaths on the Aventine have been caused by someone else. The method has been known for a while, but was deliberately kept from the public."

"Oh your damned secrecy! You got it wrong, Tiberius. Someone who did know could use the idea to make it look as if his killings were part of the general epidemic. That would divert attention."

"Yes."

"Andronicus must know."

"I never told him, Albia."

"Are you sure? Andronicus once said he has taken the notes at situation meetings with the four aediles. When they reviewed the needle killings, he must have heard the method discussed."

"That fits." Tiberius drained his beaker, refilled it, drank to the bottom again. He leaned on his elbows once more, in order to move a little closer to me. Mornings were quiet for the vigiles. There were no sounds of anyone outside in the colonnade, or beyond in the muster yard. Yet even though we were alone in the enquiry room, Tiberius instinctively dropped his voice: "So, Flavia Albia, let us say it: you and I are both convinced that the needle-killer on the Aventine is our archivist, Andronicus."

Andronicus was the killer. Now that someone else agreed with my suspicions, it all seemed horribly obvious.

To diffuse my panic, I fell back on nervous humour. "Oh he can't be a murderer; his eyes twinkle!"

The runner sat tight while I grappled with the truth. I was stalling. He knew it. For the first time, I faced up directly to the personal implications. It did not take long, because the dread had been lurking all last night. Not for the first time, I had given my heart impetuously to a man who then betrayed my trust-but this was by far the most sinister occasion.

"Story of my life," I admitted bitterly. "Being strung along by a bastard, taking far too long to notice it…"

Judging by his expression, Tiberius had met embittered women before and had little patience with my self-pity, but what he said was, "From my observations, Andronicus truly fell for you."

I flared up. "And I stonkingly, inexcusably, ridiculously fell for him!"

"Steady."

"But for a series of accidents-and my own unease, it's fair to say-it could have been worse. At least I never slept with him."

I wanted Tiberius to know. Why? It was none of his business.

He brushed the statement aside. Embarrassed perhaps.

"I am furious. He stole something of mine to use in his terrible attacks-worse, it was something I had been given by my dear young sister! That's a good needle-case, it had associations with Julia, but I will never feel able to use it again."

Tiberius took it back from me. He needed it as evidence anyway.

I buried my face in my hands, raging now at myself.

"What a mess. This is what everyone expects if you do a traditional man's job. Oh Juno; if you are an honest woman, it's what you dread yourself. Sheer bloody incompetence. You will tangle yourself up in some terrible case; make things far worse; sleep with a killer; compromise yourself, your future chance of work, even risk not convicting him-"

I need not say that while I ranted, Tiberius listened inscrutably. I doubt he realised there were few people to whom I would reveal such depths of feeling. I truly felt I trusted him.

He had pushed back from the table, arms full-stretch, while he settled himself to hear me out as if this was an unpleasant formality that had to be gone through.

I finished. I fell quiet. He applied what passed for a reasonable expression; he even cocked his head slightly to one side. The poser.

"You told me," he corrected me, "you did not sleep with him."

"You are being pedantic."

"Better," the mimsy swine intoned, "than being hysterical." After a moment he added in a serious voice, "You made a mistake. It lasted a few weeks. Some of us have to live with the fact that we harboured this creature for years. He seemed harmless. We would have ended his bad behaviour at home. He would never have been detected as a killer, without your enquiries. To my shame, I even tried to get the vigiles to stop you."

"Pax!"

"Thank you. So, Flavia Albia, shall we two sensibly together work out the sequence of events?"

I summed up first, while the runner indicated agreement to each point with silent nods. I had noticed he did this in meetings. It gave the impression he was waiting to catch people out, but I now realised he liked to hear from everybody else first, in case it affected his own contribution. If he saw any need to intervene earlier, he would do it.

"To begin where I first came on the scene," I said. "Andronicus killed Salvidia because she had visited the aediles' office and verbally attacked him; she was enraged about that wall poster calling for witnesses to the death of little Lucius Bassus."

"My fault!"

"Your fault," I agreed unrelentingly. He wrote the poster. "Andronicus was right that he was blameless, merely the man she had found in the office, but Salvidia's violent reaction shook him. It was unjust. He was overcome with outrage, as happens with him, so he took an extraordinary revenge by killing her. Then I turned up in the office, and perhaps he wanted to stop me investigating-I remember he kept saying, 'So you don't need to waste any more time?' I guess he went to the funeral and tried to find me, still hoping to make sure I discovered nothing against him. He met the old woman outside the necropolis. Celendina took umbrage in a way he found insulting, so he followed her home and killed her too."