David Wishart - White Murder

‘So what’s your husband’s background?’ I said. ‘Just out of interest.’

‘He was in corn. Not a shipper, a broker. He had a business in Panormus before he sold out and moved to Rome.’

Panormus. Sicily again. It was funny how Sicily kept turning up. ‘And how did you meet?’

‘My first husband – his name was Turranius and he was in the building trade – had died a few months previously. We had a mutual friend. It developed from there.’

Yeah; I could see how that might make sense. I didn’t want to run Felicula down, or stereotype her, but the scenario was common enough to write itself: retired businessman fresh in from the provinces with stars in his eyes, nubile young widow looking for a bankroll to hook on to, pushy friend acting as go-between. It happened all the time. And why shouldn’t it? Both parties got what they wanted: the girl had security and a sugar-daddy who’d pay the clothes and jewellery bills, the guy got an active bed partner who’d liven up his failing years and turn his septuagenarian pals green with envy. The sexual bit wasn’t too rare either. Certainly, on her showing, anyway, the arrangement seemed to be happy enough. ‘Okay. Tell me more about Laomedon,’ I said.

I’d caught her off-balance. ‘There’s nothing to tell,’ she said. ‘He was my lover before Pegasus, that’s all. We broke up six or seven months ago.’

‘Your doing or his?’

The frost was back. ‘Again, that’s private, Corvinus. However, just to show you that I’m not totally devoid of vanity I’ll admit that it was mine.’

Yeah; that fitted, and I would’ve guessed as much even if she hadn’t told me: it chimed with what Typhon had said, and the whole Laomedon/Pegasus needle relationship indicated that the guy hadn’t been too pleased about being replaced. Besides, this was a lady who did the dropping rather than one who was dropped. ‘What’s he like?’

‘As a person?’ She shrugged. ‘A body. A very impressive one, mind you, which is why I took up with him, but that is as far as Laomedon goes. He doesn’t have intellect, he has instincts.’

‘He hated Pegasus, or at least that’s the impression I’m getting. You think he could’ve killed him?’

She didn’t answer at once, and I could see she was giving the question very careful thought indeed. Finally, she said: ‘Yes. It’s possible, under certain circumstances.’

‘Such as?’

‘On the racetrack, certainly. Especially if the opportunity arose suddenly; if he were in a position to force a bad crash, for example, with no danger to himself. Laomedon would do that without a second thought.’

‘How about knifing the guy in the back in an alley?’

‘Perhaps. As I say, Laomedon operates by instinct. Imagine a big cat – a lion or a panther – stalking a marked animal, waiting his chance and leaping. That is Laomedon. Yes, again it’s possible. And the fact that the knife was in the back doesn’t signify. For Laomedon the important thing would be the death, not how he achieved it.’

Well, that was pretty concise, not to say providing more proof, if I needed it, that there was a brain inside that beautiful head; and although I hadn’t met the guy yet it rang true. Apropos of which: ‘If I wanted to find him,’ I said, ‘apart from at the stables, how would I go about it?’

‘When our affair began he rented a first-floor flat above a honey-seller’s in a tenement on the south side of the old Flaminian Circus. Whether or not he still does I can’t tell you, but I would imagine he’s still there.’ Her voice was matter-of-fact: she could’ve been giving me information about a casual acquaintance rather than an ex-lover. ‘He had no reason to move, and he doesn’t live at the stables. Also there’s a cookshop-cum-wineshop next door that you could try. He goes there sometimes in the evenings.’

‘Uh-huh.’ I paused. ‘Can you think of anyone else who’d want Pegasus dead? Or a reason for killing him? From the private side?’

‘No. I told you. Our relationship was purely physical, and when it ended we had no further contact. Now, Corvinus, I have things to do this afternoon, so if you’ve quite finished perhaps you could allow me to do them.’

A brush-off, but a polite one. I stood up. ‘Sure, lady. Thanks very much. You’ve been very helpful.’

‘Don’t mention it.’ She was smilingly demure. ‘Incidentally, I have a favour to ask of you.’

‘Yeah?’

‘No doubt you’ll want to talk to my husband. I’d ask you not to bully him, please. He does try so hard to be the decisive world-weary faction master, but it is a very fragile shell and you could break it easily. As I said, I wouldn’t want Gaius hurt, at any price. You understand me?’

‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘Yeah, I understand. I’ll be careful.’ I hesitated. ‘Just one more question. The guys at the stables said that Pegasus had been getting fixes over the past couple of months. Lead sheets with a flying dagger scratched on them. He ever bring up the subject with you?’

‘He told me about them, yes.’

‘They worry him at all?’

‘A little, although certainly not as much as they would have worried Laomedon, say. Pegasus wasn’t unduly superstitious, but all drivers are leery of curses to some extent. It would be unreasonable to expect otherwise.’

‘He didn’t have any idea who might be sending them?’

‘None at all. Not that I know of, anyway. Fixes aren’t exactly uncommon in the racing business, especially where the top drivers are concerned. It isn’t quite a case of familiarity breeding contempt, but any driver who devotes too much attention to them is bound to find his performance suffers, and most at least try to put them out of their minds.’

‘Uh-huh.’ I sighed. Well, that was that. ‘Thanks again, Felicula. I’m sorry to have disturbed you.’

‘Not at all.’

I left.

So; what now? Sopilys was a definite promising lead, but even if he was working at the docks it was fourteen-odd miles to Ostia, I’d need a horse to get there, and by the time I arrived it’d be time to head back again. Besides, I had my own Ostian contact who could trace him faster than I could. I hadn’t seen Agron for quite a while, but he was still comfortably married to the Alexandrian boat-builder’s daughter, his kid-count was up to five, and what he wouldn’t know about the Ostian docks scene you could write on a sandal-strap and forget. When I got back home I could send a skivvy and save myself a lot of grief and wasted effort. Sopilys was someone I really had to talk to.

So was Laomedon. Even so, although there was still a fair chunk of the afternoon left I didn’t particularly relish another trip over to the Mars Field side of town. The sky was clouding over again, too: I hadn’t been lucky with the weather. Enough for one day. I set off for the Caelian and home.

On the way, I thought about that conversation with Felicula. She’d been helpful, sure, more than helpful, but I still wondered. First of all, ex-dancer or not the lady had a top-notch brain, and she was as cool as a Riphaean winter. Second, I only had her word for it – her very convenient word – that she and Pegasus hadn’t still been an item at the time of his death; ditto for the fact that Pudens was a complaisant husband, both where Pegasus and Laomedon were concerned. Sure, that could well be true – I hadn’t met the guy yet, so I had nothing to set against it – but on the other hand the lady could be spinning me a line: complaisant husbands aren’t too plentiful in Rome, and the fact that when the affair with Laomedon started the guy had moved into non-faction accommodation might be significant. The warning – and it had been a warning – not to lean too hard on the Reds’ faction master when I did meet him was ambiguous, too: yeah, she could be genuinely fond of him, but the request, bolstering up what would be a natural reticence in discussing the lady’s amorous activities with her husband, could equally be an attempt to head off some embarrassing questions. Thirdly, when I’d suggested her own ex Laomedon as a likely killer she’d practically fallen over herself to back the theory up.