David Wishart - Trade Secrets

He gave me an ugly look. ‘You saying I’d any reason not to?’

‘Uh-uh.’ I shook my head. ‘I don’t know anything about it one way or the other. Who was the woman? You know her?’

‘I didn’t at the time, but I do now. A friend of Hermia’s, or she had been up till then. Name of Marcia. Slut!’

‘So you went round to Tullius’s office to, ah, discuss things.’

‘Damn right! If I’d found the bastard I would’ve punched his lights out, but I didn’t. As it was I told his partner, Poetelius, straight that if he showed his nose around here again they’d have to cart him off on a stretcher. They would’ve done, too.’

‘And did he? That you know of?’

‘No.’

He was lying, I’d’ve given good odds on that, but I valued my teeth too much to say so straight out; in his present mood the guy would’ve clobbered me.

‘So where were you the next day, the day of the murder?’

‘Here, in the workshop.’

‘All day?’

‘Of course, all day. Sunrise to sunset. I’ve a business to run.’

I shrugged. ‘OK, pal, keep your hair on. No problems. Thanks for your help.’ I turned away, then as if I’d just thought of it I turned back and said, ‘Can I speak with your wife, maybe?’

‘She’s out.’

‘That’s a pity.’ I glanced up at the window where I’d seen the woman’s face. ‘That your house, by the way?’

‘Yeah. So?’

‘Handy. Living just next to the shop, I mean.’

‘Yeah, it is. Now fuck off. That’s all you’re getting.’

‘Sure. Thanks again. You’ve been really, really helpful.’

He didn’t answer. I walked on down the road, in the direction of the Emporium. When I turned to look back, he was still watching me.

OK. So we’d just have to leave Hermia for another time. It was getting on for noon. I still had Poetelius’s disgruntled ex-supplier Vibius to see, but before that I thought I’d check out the local wineshop situation. I reckoned I deserved it.

I found one just short of the Emporium itself, where Trigemina Gate Street takes a bend past the Aemilian Porch. Not a particularly upmarket establishment, but then it wouldn’t be in this part of town, where the clientele would be mostly workmen and stevedores from the wharves. The place was empty at present. Bad sign, but maybe we hadn’t quite hit the lunchtime spot.

‘Morning, sir,’ the guy behind the bar said. ‘What can I get you?’

I glanced up at the board. ‘A half jug of the Graviscan would do nicely, pal. And some cheese and olives, if you’ve got them.’

‘No problem.’ He busied himself with pouring from one of the big jars in the rack beside the counter. ‘Down here on business, are you?’

I knew an opening and a talkative barman when I saw one, but I waited until he’d set the jug and cup with a plateful of cheese, olives, and bread in front of me and taken the money before I said, ‘More or less. At the Vecilius glassworks.’ I took a tentative sip of the Graviscan. Not bad, but a long way from the best I’d ever tasted. ‘You know him? Vecilius, I mean?’

‘Sure. He’s one of my regulars. Too much of a regular at times, although I shouldn’t be complaining about that.’

‘Likes his wine, does he?’

‘He can sink a fair bit of an evening, but it’s more what comes out of his mouth than what goes into it.’

‘A bit of a troublemaker, you mean?’

The guy chuckled. ‘He’s that, all right. Touchy as a bear. You wouldn’t want to get the wrong side of him, sir, particularly where his wife’s concerned.’

‘That so, now?’ I took another sip and a bit of the cheese.

‘Not that I blame him for it. She’s a good-looking woman, Hermia, and he was lucky to land her. She knows it, too, if you catch my drift, but then she’s got him wrapped round her little finger. Still, where Vecilius is concerned she’s a subject best avoided.’

Joy in the morning! I’d got a real gossip-monger here. Mind you, it was lucky there were no other customers or he might not’ve been so chatty. Even so, it’d be a mistake to push too hard. I didn’t comment, just nodded, drank some more of my wine, and got on with the olives and cheese. The silence lengthened. Finally, I crossed my fingers in the hope that he hadn’t heard anything about the murder and said casually:

‘Strangely enough, he was telling me he had a bit of a run-in with an admirer of hers the other day. Or a would-be admirer, rather.’

‘Vecilius?’ The guy gave me a sharp look. ‘Did he, now? Well, well, you don’t say.’ He pulled up a high stool and sat directly opposite me, like a Suburan housewife settling in to dig the local dirt over the wall with her neighbour. ‘Three or four days back, would that be?’

‘Yeah.’ I tightened the crossed fingers. ‘Yeah, it would, actually. He say anything about it?’

‘Not as such. Not the run-in side of things. But he was in here in the morning, practically first thing, sinking wine like it was out of fashion and spouting off. The way he does sometimes.’

My interest sharpened. So much for Vecilius’s claim to have spent all day, sunrise to sunset, at the glassworks.

‘That usual for him?’ I said. ‘Morning drinker?’

‘Nah. He’s a worker, Vecilius, I’ll say that for him. Careful, too; he’d have to be, in his line. A glassworks is no place to be when you’ve had one over the odds. Normally it’s just the half jug at the end of the day, maybe a whole one if he’s something to celebrate or the company’s good.’ He filled a spare cup from a jug on the counter and took a contemplative sip. ‘Tullius, would that be the guy’s name, now, by any chance? Hermia’s admirer’s, I mean? Gaius Tullius?’

Heavenly choirs sang, but I kept my face straight.

‘It could’ve been,’ I said. ‘Something like that, anyway. Three days back, did you say?’

‘No, it was four for certain. The monthly delivery arrived just after he left.’

‘Vecilius left?’

‘Sure.’ He chuckled. ‘About this time, it was. My suggestion: he’d had two full jugs, and he was practically legless. But he was back an hour later to finish the job.’

‘Still talking about this Tullius?’

‘No. Never said a word about anything, in fact, just took his jug and cup into the corner there and drank his way through it. Then he passed out and I had a couple of the lads take him home.’ He grinned. ‘That’s Titus Vecilius for you. Not the man to do things by halves.’

‘Right. Right.’ Shit! I’d got him! Not only had Vecilius lied about being at the workshop all day, the day of the murder, but after getting thoroughly canned and cursing Tullius six ways from nothing he’d gone walkabout for an hour. And when he’d come back the subject of Tullius had been shelved. Like, I suspected, the poor bugger had himself …

Titus Vecilius was so much in the frame you could’ve hung him on the wall of the Danaid Porch.

The barman had picked up a rag and was wiping the counter in an absent-minded way. ‘This Tullius, now,’ he said, sucking on a tooth. ‘Correct me if I’m wrong, sir, but wasn’t that the name of the stiff the Watch picked up knifed in Melobosis Alley?’ He gave me a sly sideways look. ‘If so then your mentioning him off the cuff, like, and showing a bit of interest in Titus Vecilius’s movements is quite a coincidence, isn’t it? Tullius was a friend of yours, perhaps? Or maybe you’ve got some other vested interest in finding out who knifed him?’

Bugger.

‘Uh-uh,’ I said. ‘No connection. I’d never met the man, just heard the name. It could be the same guy, sure, but if so then like you said it’s just pure coincidence. These things happen.’

‘Sure they do. All the time.’