David Wishart - Last Rites

‘I should hope not,’ Perilla said primly.

‘We need to find the actual murderer. This phantom fluteplayer bastard. And unless Lippillus can come up with-’

‘Why not ask your flutegirl friend to help?’

I stared at her. ‘What?’

‘Surely it’s self-evident, Marcus. If you’re looking for a fluteplayer then you should ask a fluteplayer.’

‘Jupiter, you think I haven’t done that? Aegle’s already told me she didn’t know who the guy was! Nor did any of the other girls!’

‘I’m not talking about the man at the rites, I’m talking about the consul’s friend. Aegle might be able to track him down for you. If the two turn out to be one and the same, unlikely as that may seem, then well and good. If not then there’s no harm done, is there?’

Feminine logic; brilliant! Sure, I should’ve thought of it myself, but it takes a woman to spot the obvious, and pace Perilla I didn’t believe there could be two professional male fluteplayers in Rome connected with this business, even though we still had the hurdle to get over of why, make-up notwithstanding, the guy hadn’t been recognised. It beat going through Celer, too: I didn’t know how many male fluteplayers there were in the city, but I didn’t fancy checking them all out. I got up off the couch, dumped the wine and gave her a proper kiss.

‘Thanks, lady,’ I said. ‘I’ll catch you later.’

On the way out, just for the hell of it, I told Bathyllus I was going to see my banker and watched the bastard’s eyes cross.

I was lucky on two counts: the day had faired up enough to make walking a possibility, and when I got to the tenement in Suburan Street Aegle was at home.

‘Hey, Purple-striper!’ she said when she opened the door and stood aside for me to pass. ‘You’ll be getting me a reputation if you’re not careful.’

‘Sorry.’ I hung my cloak on the peg.

‘Oh, that’s okay.’ She followed me into the sitting-room. ‘It was a compliment. Around here being screwed by one of the nobility’s a social plus. Or would be if it ever happened. Shift that stuff off the trunk and sit down.’

I moved the pile of dirty washing on to the floor. Lying on top of it was a scrappy book-roll that looked like a generation or two of mice had lived off it exclusively. I glanced at the title-label: Meleager’s Garland . Well, that text didn’t need any more abridgement, that was sure.

‘Some light reading?’ I said.

She picked the thing up and laid it carefully on the window-sill. ‘Don’t patronise me, Corvinus,’ she said. ‘What I do in my own time’s my own business.’ She sat down on the room’s only stool. ‘So. You know who killed Thalia yet?’

‘No.’ I parked myself on the clothes chest. ‘I was hoping you might help me find him.’

‘I’ve given you all the help I can. Or do you still not believe me?’

‘Oh, I believe you.’

‘You’d better. We stick together, us girls, I told you that. We have to because we’re all we’ve got. Your Vestal’s one thing, Thalia’s another. She was family.’ Her birthmark flushed and her lips tightened. ‘If I or any of us can nail that bastard then we’ll do it.’

‘Fine. So pin your ugly ears back, sister. I want to find a fluteboy pal of the senior consul’s.’

She looked at me sideways. ‘Of Galba’s? And pal as in “pal”?’

‘Yeah.’

She whistled. ‘Mothers, you’re fishing in deep water! You think he’s the one that did it?’

‘I don’t know. Maybe. You know who he is offhand?’

‘No. I’ll tell you now, though, he isn’t anyone on the circuit. One of the lads gets to screw a consul, you hear about it. Strictly within the family, of course, but there aren’t many secrets among fluteplayers. Not that big, anyway.’ Her brow furrowed. ‘He could be from out of town; from Ostia or Veii. Naples, even.’

‘No, I’d bet this guy was local. If he’s the killer, which I think he is. Or at least he’s resident in Rome.’

‘You want me to put the word out?’

‘Sure.’

‘You’ve got it.’ She shifted on her stool. ‘One bit of advice? Professional viewpoint?’

‘Yeah. Go ahead.’

‘This business, you don’t get freelancers, not the way we operate. Boys or girls. Slots aren’t exactly easy to set up on your own, and in any case anyone stealing the cherries out of the cake is going to be very noticeable very quick. Me, I’m laid back about these things but others aren’t. Try to muscle in without going through proper channels and you’ll find yourself being talked to seriously down a dark alleyway some night, maybe have your fingers broken or your lip slit. Ignore the warning and you’ll end up breathing Tiber.’

‘So?’

‘What I’m saying is there are no outsiders. I may not be able to recognise every fluteplayer in the city, but there were eleven of us at that party barring the ringer. One of us should’ve known her.’ She paused. ‘Him. Whatever. None of us did. If the guy had stuck around we might’ve asked questions later, but covering for Thalia and getting through the slot was more important at the time than the whys and wherefores. We took him – her – at her own valuation. Call it a truce, if you like.’ I nodded. ‘So professionally your “fake” didn’t exist: he/she was a real fluteplayer, only not a known one. Given what I’ve said, that leaves you with a hybrid. Someone who’s professional standard but not a pro in the literal sense. You with me?’

This was fascinating. I should’ve turned Aegle loose on the case before. ‘All the way,’ I said. ‘Go on.’

‘You get them now and again, in the big families. Home-bred slaves who show some talent for the pipes, who the master trains up for purely domestic consumption. Parties. Banquets. Quiet evenings by the pool before bedtime. I think your murderer’s one of these. Maybe he’s still a slave, maybe he’s got his cap, makes no difference to the skill. You understand me?’

‘Yeah.’ Jupiter! ‘You mean he could be part of the Galba household? Or maybe one of the guy’s freedmen?’ I’d suggested that aspect of things to Perilla re Lepidus, but I hadn’t thought of Galba. Maybe I should have.

‘It’s possible. Just an idea. But if the killer and your consul’s stud are the same person it might add up where doing the job’s concerned.’

My brain was humming. It would make sense, a lot of sense: the guy would know the ins and outs of the house itself without being told, for a start. As Aegle said, it would mean there was a strong, ready-made link between him and Galba that went beyond the sexual: slave to master or client to patron. It still didn’t explain why the senior consul should want Cornelia dead, but the mechanics of the business were working out like a dream.

‘Leave it with me,’ Aegle said. ‘If the guy’s a player – and he is – someone’ll know him.’

‘One problem,’ I said. ‘The slot was in the Galba house itself. Surely – given the fact that he went there to commit murder – he was taking a hell of a risk? If he was one of the household the other servants would’ve recognised him.’

‘Not as big a risk as all that. Remember the house was closed to men. If he was the ringer, the servants wouldn’t be expecting to see him or any other man there after sunset, especially among the paid musicians. And his disguise was perfect. That guy was a woman , Corvinus; butch, sure, but female as they come. At least on the surface.’ Aegle grinned. ‘Also they may have fed us well enough but they sure as hell didn’t wait on us. The slaves had enough to do keeping the silk-mantled brigade’s plates full without bothering about the band. We were left to our own devices. Me, I helped myself whenever a tray passed, so I might’ve got noticed, but I’d bet the last thing on that guy’s mind was eating.’