David Wishart - Last Rites

I whistled softly. That would explain Lepida’s crack about Aemilia’s tastes being crude, and why the lady had been uncharacteristically reticent in elaborating the point: in the circles Lepida and Aemilia moved in purple-striper lovers were one thing, but slaves and freedmen were a whole different ball game. Fooling around like that could get you into serious trouble, of the legal variety, and even Lepida would think twice before splitting on a caste sister to a comparative stranger. Alexis was seeing his girlfriend through a rose-tinted haze right enough; Jupiter knew how she’d come by the information, but for a sugar-and-spice goodie-goodie who wouldn’t be drawn Melissa had been pretty free with her mouth. I’d guess Alexis wasn’t the only one who was smitten here and wanted to impress; he was better at chatting up the talent than he thought he was.

‘Is that right, now?’ I said. ‘Slaves and freedmen, eh? She, ah, vouchsafe any details?’

‘She mentioned one freedman in particular, sir. A second-hand furniture dealer. The affair seems to be a comparatively long-standing one.’

I had to stop myself from groaning. A second-hand furniture dealer. All of that. Bugger: small as the knife-wielding-cum-fluteplaying population of Rome might be, I was willing to bet that the number of homicidal second-hand furniture dealers currently for hire in the city was even smaller. The boy had done good, certainly as well as I could’ve expected; still, none of what we’d put together between us that morning amounted to a row of beans. Apart, maybe, from what I’d got on Lepidus Senior. At least he was worth considering. I emptied my wine cup, poured in the last of the jug and swigged it down. The Fantastic Four had finished their pigs’ feet and licked the plates clean of gravy. It was time to be making tracks. If they could lug their carcases – and mine – the length of the Caelian.

I needed to talk to Perilla.

I noticed that Bathyllus had a careful look at my chin when I got back, but he sniffed and said nothing, just got on with his polishing. Perilla was in the atrium having her hair done: it seemed to be a day for primping and powdering all round. I planted a small smacker on her lips without getting too much in the maid Phryne’s way and stretched out on the couch with wine jug and cup.

‘Well, Marcus, how did it go? Your visit to Lepida’s?’

I laughed. ‘You know about that after all?’

‘Bathyllus did drop some very heavy hints. Entirely unsolicited, I may add.’

‘Uh-huh.’ Shave excuse, nothing; if I ever did consider tomcatting I’d leave the sanctimonious little bastard tied up and gagged in the cellar. Not that I’d get away with cheating on Perilla in any case. ‘Let’s just say it wasn’t all that productive.’

‘As bad as that?’ Perilla smiled. ‘You’re losing your touch, Corvinus. Phryne, dear, we’ll finish off later, if you don’t mind.’ The maid padded off. ‘Have you eaten?’

‘Yeah. We had something in a cookshop on the way back.’ I poured a cup of wine. ‘The plot thickens. That note Perdicca gave us wasn’t a fake after all.’

Perilla sat up. ‘Marcus Lepidus actually wrote it?’

‘Not the son. The father.’ I told her the story. ‘So. What do you think?’

‘His explanation seems plausible enough.’

‘Sure it does. Maybe even too plausible. And he’s a very smart cookie.’

‘You’re not saying, I hope, that you suspect Marcus Lepidus Senior of being behind the deaths?’

‘Why not? In theory, anyway. I was mulling it over on the way home. At least he makes some sort of sense.’

‘No he doesn’t. None whatsoever. You know, Corvinus, sometimes I wonder your skull doesn’t rattle when your head nods.’

I winced. Ouch; whatever happened to the good old-fashioned wifely virtue of automatic deference to the husband’s opinion? ‘Don’t knock it, lady. Like I say, it’s only a possibility. But I could make a prima facie case.’

‘Really?’ She didn’t sound convinced, to put it mildly. ‘Now that I would just love to hear.’

I took a swig of wine. ‘Okay. You said yourself whatever the secret Cornelia and Lepidus Junior shared there was a better than even chance it affected the Lepidus family. We assumed that meant the sister, because that wildcat’s the most likely candidate to have skeletons in her closet, but that was no reason to rule out the old guy himself. Everything else about protecting the family honour would still apply, in fact even more so: Lepidus Junior wouldn’t want to blow the whistle on his own father, and he might be even more reticent in facing him privately with the nasty details if he were the guilty party rather than Lepida. Which would explain why Lepidus Senior was ready and able to swear that his son hadn’t told him anything in their last interview.’

‘Accepted.’ That was grudging as hell, but at least the lady was scowling, which meant she’d taken the point and couldn’t think of an answer. ‘But what possible reason could Lepidus have for killing anyone? He’s one of the most respectable and respected men in Rome.’

‘Reason I don’t know. Or not as such, anyway. But there’s nothing wrong with the theoretical scenario.’

‘Which is, in detail?’

Uh-oh; that had the waspish snap which meant that she was just dying for me to slip up so she could put the boot in. I’d have to go careful here. ‘Okay. Paragon or not, old Lepidus has stepped out of line in some way; how, we don’t know, but whatever it is it’s pretty major. His son finds out about it. Lepidus Junior’s in a quandary: it’s his civic duty to spill the beans, but he can’t bring himself to do it. So he goes to his long-term confidante Cornelia, who he still counts as family, and cries on her shoulder. Unfortunately, his father gets to know about this and-’

‘How?’

Oh, hell! ‘How what?’

‘How exactly does Lepidus Senior learn that his son has told Cornelia?’

‘Jupiter, Perilla, give me a chance, okay? Maybe he knows he’s been rumbled and he’s having the guy watched. By our fluteplayer pal, say. Anyway-’

‘So Lepidus just happens already to have secured the services of a man who is, fortunately in the light of subsequent events, not only a proficient murderer but also a professional fluteplayer?’

‘Uh, yeah.’ I was beginning to feel out of my depth. ‘Okay, well, maybe not by the fluteplayer. Anyway-’

‘And how does he come by the fluteplayer in any case? His son or daughter having contacts among Rome’s low life I can understand, but not Lepidus Senior. His character – at least as expressed through his public persona – is all wrong.’

Gods! I didn’t deserve this; it was only a theory, after all, and I didn’t really believe it myself. I just didn’t have anything better to offer at the present moment. ‘ Anyway. ’ I froze her out with a look. ‘The guy realises that he has to nip the leak in the bud-’

‘Leaks don’t have buds, Marcus. Don’t mix your metaphors.’

‘- so he arranges for Cornelia, as the weak link, to be zeroed by our fluteplayer, who is no doubt one of his very extensive body of dependent clients. However, that still leaves him with the problem of the-’

‘His own niece? And a Vestal?’ Perilla sniffed. ‘Corvinus, I told you, Marcus Lepidus Senior is one of the most respected men in Rome. You know that yourself. Now stop talking nonsense, please. What else did you find out?’

I sighed and gave up the unequal struggle. Yeah, well, maybe I had been spouting pure moonshine at that. The lady was right: once you actually put the thing into words, possible though it might be as a theory it stank. ‘Not all that much. Some murky details of the daughter’s love life, plus ditto for Aemilia, but neither seem to have much mileage to them. We’re stymied, Perilla. Barring Lepidus there’s no one with even the hint of a motive. My best bet at present would be the senior consul, but that’s only because the guy has male fluteplayer connections. What reasons Galba would have for zeroing a Vestal I just can’t begin to guess.’