David Wishart - Trade Secrets

I sat on the only stool next to the little folding table that served as a desk. He pulled the curtain shut behind him.

‘Now,’ he said. ‘If you’ve got any accusations to make you go ahead, make them to my face and I’ll spit in your eye.’

‘Calm down, pal,’ I said. ‘No one’s accusing you of anything. All I want is your side of the story.’

‘What you want and what you’ll get are two different things. Let’s have one thing clear from the start. Whoever killed Gaius Tullius did me and the rest of the world a favour.’

‘Yeah, that seems to be the general opinion, so no argument from me. And I’m including his wife in this.’

That got me another long look – a surprised one, this time – and another grunt. ‘OK,’ he said at last. ‘I’m sorry. Maybe I was a bit sharp, and I’ve nothing to hide or be ashamed of. Ask away.’

‘First off. You went round to his office the day before the murder. How long had you known he was’ – I hesitated, but there was no way round this – ‘seeing your wife?’

‘I only found out that morning. There was a letter shoved under the door when I came down. It was addressed to her, but I didn’t know that until I opened it.’

‘A letter from who?’

He shrugged. ‘It wasn’t signed. It just said that Tullius was dropping her and taking up with some woman called Hermia.’

‘Third person?’

His face clouded. ‘Come again?’

‘I mean, the letter wasn’t from Tullius. Whoever wrote it said he was dropping her, not I am, and gave the guy’s name.’

‘Uh … yeah.’ There’d been a pause while he worked that one out; obviously not the sharpest knife in the box, Lucilius Festus. ‘Yeah, that’s right.’

‘OK.’ Well, unless Tullius was idiot enough to do his dumping in writing and deliver the note in a way that was just asking for trouble, the alternative explanation wouldn’t’ve made much sense, particularly since it named the other lady. Still, it was just as well to check. ‘You knew who Hermia was?’

‘No. I said. She was just a name.’

‘So what happened then?’

‘What do you think? I got Marcia downstairs and showed her the thing, let her read it for herself. There were … words. I told her I was going to see Tullius, and she’d better not be in the house when I got back. Then I left.’

‘She didn’t deny having an affair with the guy?’

‘She didn’t bother trying. The truth was plain on her face.’

‘So where is she now?’

‘Her mother has a cookshop by the Capenan Gate. She went there with the kids. At least, I assume she did.’

‘Uh-huh.’ Well, I could trace the lady later, if need be. Meanwhile: ‘What about the day of the murder itself? Tullius was in this part of town. You didn’t see him?’

‘You kidding? If I’d known he was sniffing around and seen him, I’d’ve broken the bastard’s face for him.’

‘So where were you, exactly?’

‘Where would I be? I told you: we’ve a big order to fill. I was here in the yard working.’

‘All day?’

‘Sure all day, barring a couple of hours in the afternoon when I went to pay my respects at the Temple of Mercury.’

Oh, yeah; the festival. Mercury’s the god of business, so it’s usual on his feast day for anybody with commercial interests to visit his temple near the Circus, give the guy his annual pinch of incense, and offer up a prayer or two to keep him sweet for the coming year. Convenient. Festus could be lying, sure, but if so it was a plausible lie. Unfortunately, given that about half the working population of Rome were doing the same and Mercury’s temple was about as packed as the Circus itself on a race day, it was also virtually impossible to check. Bugger.

Even so-

‘There anything else you can tell me?’ I said.

‘That’s it. That’s all there is.’

I shrugged and got up. ‘Fair enough. Thanks for your help.’

‘You’re welcome.’ I turned to go. ‘Oh, and Corvinus, if that was your name. One last thing.’

‘Yeah?’

‘Just so you’re absolutely sure where I stand. I hope Gaius Tullius is burning in hell.’

Vecilius’s glassworks was a low building that covered most of a short block, with a two-storey house taking up one of the corners. I glanced up at the window as I passed. A young woman’s face looked out for a moment, then just as quickly disappeared.

Uh-huh.

I went inside, and the heat hit me like a sledgehammer. Jupiter, how could people work in this? Even with the clerestory ventilation, it was like walking into an oven, with three or four open charcoal furnaces going full blast and half a dozen slaves in sweat-soaked tunics doing complex things with lumps of molten glass stuck on the ends of long blowpipes. A guy carrying a tray of perfume bottles walked past me, and I stopped him and asked for the boss.

‘Over there, sir.’ He nodded towards the far corner of the room.

I went across, being careful to keep well clear of the blowpipes. Vecilius – presumably – was working on a tall vase set on a revolving wheel, dipping a metal rod into a clay pot of molten glass on the brazier beside him and trailing a thin thread of green in a spiral down the vase’s length. I waited until he was finished and had set the rod down. Then I said:

‘Titus Vecilius?’

He turned. He was a big guy, broad rather than tall, with huge hands, hairy arms and a good three days’ worth of black stubble.

‘That’s right.’

I indicated the vase. ‘Nice. Delicate work like that must be tricky.’

He shrugged. ‘It’s simple enough if you’ve a steady hand. What can I do for you?’

‘Name’s Valerius Corvinus. I’m looking into the death of Gaius Tullius, on behalf of his widow.’

He gave me a long stare. Then he cleared his throat, spat, and took a drink of water from the cup beside him.

‘Is that so, now?’ he said.

‘You knew he’d been murdered?’

‘I’d heard. Three or four days ago, wasn’t it? It couldn’t’ve happened to a nicer guy.’

That came out flat. Well, as with Festus I wasn’t unduly surprised; a murder practically on your doorstep doesn’t happen all that often. I was getting used to the reaction, too. ‘Look. Can we talk about this outside? It’s pretty hot in here.’

‘I’ve work to do. And I’ve no time to waste on Gaius fucking Tullius, dead or alive.’

‘You’d enough time for him the day before to go round to his office and threaten him through his partner, pal. Now do we talk, or do I draw my own conclusions? Your choice.’

He swore under his breath and walked away from me towards the exit. I followed.

It was blessedly cool in the open air. Vecilius had stopped just outside the door.

‘OK,’ he said. ‘Five minutes. What do you want to know?’

‘How you knew that your wife was having an affair with Tullius, for a start.’

‘My wife wasn’t having no affair with no one!’

‘Fine. Suppose you tell me what the real situation was.’

‘Look. I leave the house after breakfast that morning and come in here as usual, right? Only half an hour later I realize that I’ve left a customer’s instructions for a one-off set of table glassware at home. So I go back for them. I find this crazy bitch laying into my wife, Hermia, claiming that she’s pinched her boyfriend, Tullius, and threatening to scratch her eyes out. So I grab her by the waist, bundle her outside, and shut the door. That’s it, that’s the whole story.’

‘So what did your wife say?’

‘That Tullius had been sniffing around, sure, trying it on. But that she’d told him to get lost.’

‘And you believed her?’