David Wishart - Trade Secrets

Today was the Day of the Adulterous Wives. I started with Marcia.

The Capenan Gate, at the foot of the Caelian where Appian Road enters the south-east corner of the city, wasn’t all that far, sure, but because I didn’t have a name for the woman’s mother finding the cookshop itself was tricky, and it took me until just short of mid-morning. The place seemed pretty popular, which was a good sign where the food on offer was concerned: there was a queue in front of me and two women and a girl of about nine or ten serving. I waited until the last of the punters had collected his flatbread-wrapped chickpea rissoles and left, then moved up to the counter.

‘Yes, sir, what can I get you?’ It was the younger of the two women, mid- to late twenties, so ten, maybe fifteen years younger than Festus; pretty enough, but with a pinched, drawn look to her face. Her eyes were red, too.

‘Your name Marcia?’ I said.

She frowned. ‘Yes. Yes, it is.’

‘You think we could talk somewhere in private?’

The frown deepened. ‘What about?’

‘The name’s Corvinus. I’m looking into the death of a guy called Gaius Tullius. I understand you and he-’

Which was as far as I got before her eyes rolled up under the lids and she slipped down behind the counter, banging her head on the stonework. Shit.

The older woman and the girl were staring, frozen. Then the woman moved. She glared at me and crouched over the fallen body.

‘Get a cup of water for me, dear,’ she said sideways to the girl; from the facial resemblance, obviously her granddaughter and Marcia’s daughter. Yeah: Festus had said she’d taken the children with her. ‘Quickly, now.’

Without taking her eyes off Marcia, the kid edged over to the water pitcher, filled a cup, and handed it to her. The woman held it to Marcia’s lips and looked up at me, still glaring.

‘You!’ she snapped. ‘Outside!’

Yeah, well, in retrospect maybe I could’ve been a smidgeon more tactful, at that. Still, it was done now. I left without a word and stood by the door.

Marcia came out five minutes later, white as a ghost and with an angry-looking bruise on her forehead.

‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered.

‘That’s OK, lady. My fault.’ There was a street fountain with a stone step next to us. ‘You want to sit down?’

She did, and took several deep breaths.

‘Gaius is dead?’ she said at last.

‘Yeah. Five days ago.’

‘How?’

‘He was stabbed in an alleyway off Trigemina Gate Street.’

She closed her eyes and said nothing. I waited.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said again. ‘I didn’t know. I’ve been here helping my mother with the shop, ever since-’ She stopped.

‘Ever since your husband found out about the affair and threw you out. Yeah. I know.’

Her eyes opened. ‘Lucilius had nothing to do with it! He’s a good man! He wouldn’t hurt a fly!’

‘OK.’ I hesitated, then said, more gently: ‘You like to tell me what happened that morning, exactly?’

‘I had an anonymous letter pushed under the door, telling me Gaius wouldn’t be seeing me any more, he’d taken up with Hermia, Titus Vecilius’s wife. Lucilius was up already and he read it first. He was furious. He told me he was going round to Gaius’s office, which he did. Luckily, nothing happened because Gaius was out.’

My mouth was open to ask the obvious question, but I decided to let it go at present. Instead, I said: ‘So you went to Hermia’s, right? To have it out with her?’

She nodded. ‘I didn’t think. I was just … so … angry ! Gaius hadn’t even had the courage to tell me himself, after we’d been …’ She swallowed. ‘I’ve known Hermia for years, I thought we were friends, and that made it worse. Anyway, we were screaming at each other when her husband walked in. He grabbed me and bundled me outside. Then I went back home, collected the children, and came straight here.’

Yeah, well; it all fitted with what Vecilius himself had told me. Not that it had anything specific to do with the actual murder, mind, but it was good to get independent confirmation. ‘How long had the affair been going on?’ I said.

‘For just over a year. Gods, I was stupid! I told you, Lucilius is a good man, he loves me and he loves the children. I should never have allowed it to start.’

‘So why did you?’

‘Because I was bored and wanted a bit of excitement. Because Gaius was rich and good-looking, and a good talker. Eventually, because he was good in bed. Everything Lucilius isn’t. And like I say, because I was stupid.’

I thought of Annia. Yeah, barring some aspects the same story. Tullius may have been a bastard, but clearly where women were concerned he was an attractive bastard. ‘You knew he was married?’

‘Yes. But I also knew he didn’t get on with his wife, and that she wouldn’t care what he got up to because she’d a lover of her own.’

‘Oh?’ I said. ‘And who would that be?’

‘Gaius’s partner. Publius Poetelius.’

Shit. My spine went cold. ‘He told you that? Tullius himself?’

‘Yes. Right at the start. It was a loveless marriage on both sides, he said, but a divorce wasn’t possible because his wife controlled the purse strings, and in any case they had their separate lives. That suited me. I wouldn’t’ve wanted anything permanent anyway. All I wanted was a bit of excitement.’ She sounded bitter as hell. ‘Stupid, you see?’

I didn’t comment. ‘So who do you think sent the letter?’

She shrugged. ‘I don’t know.’

‘OK. One more thing. You said that when your husband went round to Tullius’s office he didn’t actually see him. How do you know that? I mean, if the last time you saw him was when he walked out the door on his way there-’

Her face clouded. ‘But it wasn’t. Of course it wasn’t. You’ve talked to Lucilius, you must’ve done or you wouldn’t’ve known where to find me.’

‘You’ve seen him since?’

‘Of course I have. He came round here the next day. In the afternoon.’

‘He did what ?’

‘He wanted to make sure that I was all right. Me and the kids.’ There were tears in her eyes. ‘Just that. I thought he might ask me to come back, but he didn’t. I wanted to, but he said it was too soon, he needed time to think things over. Didn’t he tell you that?’

So Festus had an alibi for the whole day of the murder after all. Or on the face of it he did anyway, because the Capenan Gate and Trigemina Gate Street were on opposite sides of the city, and if he’d come all the way across here, he wouldn’t’ve had time in a couple of hours to have done the murder as well. ‘No,’ I said. ‘He didn’t tell me. He said he’d gone to pay his respects at the Temple of Mercury. Now why the hell would he lie about that?’

She looked away. ‘Because he’s a proud man whose wife’s been unfaithful to him for no reason at all,’ she said. ‘What cuckolded husband would admit going all the way across Rome just to make sure his wife was safely with her mother the day after he’s told her to get out of the house and not come back? Of course he lied to you. He’d’ve lied to anyone.’

Yeah, well; I supposed it made sense, or some sort of sense, anyway. And at least, barring Vecilius as being responsible, I could draw a line through Festus as the killer.

‘Fine, lady,’ I said. ‘Thanks for your help. It’s been very useful.’

I turned to go.

‘Corvinus?’

I turned back. ‘Yeah?’

‘If you see Lucilius, tell him I’m sorry. Just that.’

‘I’ll tell him,’ I said, and left.

Gods! There’d been a couple of eye-openers there, and no mistake. Particularly the business about Annia and Poetelius. That opened a whole new can of worms, and it needed thinking about.