Food for the Fishes

12

I caught the waiter’s eye and made a tipping motion with my right hand as if I was holding a winecup. He nodded and disappeared inside.

‘I hope you don’t mind the intrusion.’ Chlorus pulled up the chair opposite: the cookshop was one of these chichi places heavy on the Gallic wickerwork. ‘I can’t stay long in any case; I’m on my way to an appointment with my banker in the Square.’ Matey as hell, just like his brother. No prizes, though, for guessing why Corvinus was suddenly flavour of the month, not where these bastards were concerned; I waited for the inevitable question, and it came. ‘How are things going? Any progress?’

I gave him what I’d given Nerva. ‘I’m plugging along.’

‘Good. Good.’ There was a pause. Then when I didn’t amplify: ‘My apologies for the scene you witnessed a few days ago, by the way. Father’s death came as a great shock to us all. We were all rather…overwrought.’

‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘So I noticed.’

Silence again; maybe he’d caught my tone. I hoped so, because mutual family backstabbing was one thing, but fake tears I could do without. At least Penelope had been upfront.

The waiter came back with my dumplings and a second cup.

‘You like some lunch?’ I said.

‘No. No, I don’t eat at all at mid-day, and as I said I have an appointment. A little wine would be welcome, though.’

I poured. It was good stuff, better than I’d expected in a tourist trap like this: Campanian, sure, but not the mass-produced rotgut from the big estates that you get in Rome. ‘Cheers.’

‘Cheers.’ He raised the cup. ‘Incidentally, I hear you had a talk with Diodotus.’

‘Oh? And where did you hear that?’

He ignored the question. ‘Did you ask him about the fainting fits?’

‘Yeah. He said they weren’t as sudden — or as violent — as all that.’

‘Really? I’m surprised.’

‘That the fits weren’t serious? Or that Diodotus told me they weren’t?’

He let that one go past him as well. All I got was a bland smile. ‘You…ah…formed an opinion of him? Diodotus, I mean?’

‘Yeah. He struck me as straight enough.’

‘Indeed.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Well, you’re entitled to your view.’

‘Right.’ I picked up the spoon and started in on the dumplings. If the guy wanted any dirt spreading re the doctor, he’d have to do it himself.

Which was just what he proceeded to do.

‘You know that he owns a half-share in the bath-house round the corner from here? On the edge of Market Square?’

I put the spoon down. ‘No, I didn’t.’

‘The co-owner is Lucius Philippus.’

Shit. ‘Is that so, now?’ I said.

‘It isn’t generally known, but yes.’ He took a sip of his wine. ‘Interesting, isn’t it?’

Interesting was right: my brain was buzzing. Philippus had mentioned accommodation as one of his areas of investment, sure, but a bath-house didn’t exactly fit into that category, or into any of the others. And I hadn’t known that he and the doctor had any connection at all. Of course, Oily Chlorus here could be shooting me a line, but things like that are easily checked and I doubted if he’d take the risk. I wondered what other little nuggets I was missing where Philippus was concerned. He hadn’t liked Murena, that was certain. And by his own admission he hadn’t been at the gambling hall the night of the murder.

‘Then there was the Drepanum incident,’ Chlorus said. ‘Something else you should know about him. That’s interesting as well.’

‘Uh…what Drepanum incident would that be, now?’

‘I heard of it quite by chance when I was in the town on business a few months back. Seemingly Diodotus used to practise there before he moved to Baiae. There was a’ — he paused and took another sip from his cup — ‘another young wife with a rich elderly husband. Diodotus was treating him for the stone. The man died, suddenly and unexpectedly, in his litter.’

‘These things happen, pal.’ I picked up my spoon and kept my tone expressionless. ‘Especially if the guy was getting on in years.’

‘Indeed they do, Corvinus. However, the coincidence is striking, wouldn’t you say? And Diodotus left Drepanum shortly afterwards.’

Yeah, well; no surprises there. I knew enough about doctors and doctoring to know that if you lost a patient under these circumstances it didn’t do much for your professional street cred. Still, despite the obvious fact — the painfully obvious fact — that Chlorus was still sharpening his knife for Diodotus and Gellia, he was right; if true, the story was interesting. And I hadn’t crossed Diodotus off the list, far from it. ‘Does Gellia know about this?’

‘Of course. That’s the point.’ He looked at me slyly. ‘I told her myself immediately I got back. Perhaps a mistake, in retrospect.’

Uh-huh. ‘What about Murena?’

He frowned. ‘I beg your pardon? I’m not with you.’

‘Did you tell him as well?’

A momentary hesitation. ‘Yes, I did, as a matter of fact.’

‘And?’

‘He…paid no attention.’

From Chlorus’s slightly poker-up-the-rectum expression the old man had probably laughed in his face. That’s not to say, mind, that he’d been right to do it. Only — if the news that the rumour was out had got back to Diodotus through either Murena or Gellia — I would’ve thought if anything else that should his thoughts be tending that way the knowledge that his current patient knew he’d been under suspicion of murder once already would’ve put the brakes on a repeat performance.

‘You mind if I ask you about something else?’ I said. ‘Not connected with Diodotus?’

‘Of course not. I’m delighted to help in any way.’

Yeah, right. Sure he was. My grip on the spoon tightened. ‘Your brother and Aquillius Florus. They’ve got some business together involving a grain barge. You know anything about that?’

‘Ah.’ He looked smug. ‘So you’ve found out about the barge, have you? It’s one of Aulus’s more extravagant schemes. Extravagant in both senses of the word. He put it to Father a month or so ago and the old man sent him off with a flea in his ear. Quite rightly so, in my opinion, and not on financial grounds alone.’

‘Go on.’

‘Florus’s cousin is something at the naval base in Misenum. Seemingly he heard of a grain barge — one of the big ones, you know, that ply between Egypt and Puteoli — that was being put out of commission. Aulus’s idea was — is — that they should buy it and do it up as a floating brothel-cum-gambling hall. Ludicrous, of course — the capital investment, even split two ways, would be huge, the comparative risks enormous — and morally…well, personally I find the morality suspect to say the least. So did Father.’ He paused and then said, very deliberately: ‘You know, Corvinus, although I hate to shed suspicion on my own brother, I do wonder if that barge wasn’t the subject of the argument he and my father had in the study the day he died. Certainly Aulus isn’t one to take no for an answer. And he’d have to get the money from somewhere, wouldn’t he?’

‘Yeah,’ I said non-commitally. ‘Yeah, I suppose he would.’ Jupiter, what a pair! I’d already had Aulus Nerva practically accusing his brother of parricide and here was Chlorus reciprocating the favour. Not that the point wasn’t well-made, though. And if Philippus had been one jump ahead of me when I’d told him about the grain barge — which I’d bet the smart dwarf had been — it explained why he’d been so anxious for further details. Also why he’d been so disappointed to find Nerva and Florus gone. I’d probably unintentionally thrown a major spanner in the works there, because having heard him express his opinion re poaching on other people’s business preserves I could see how a plan to open a floating brothel-cum-gambling hall would really piss the guy off. Not that that would lose me any sleep, mind. ‘Ah…one last question, pal, if you’ll answer it for me.’

‘Yes?’

‘How did your mother die?’

He blinked. ‘I beg your pardon?’

‘It was a natural death, was it?’

‘Corvinus, you have no right to — ’ He stopped; he’d gone bright purple to the roots of his hair. ‘Why do you want to know?’

‘If you don’t want to answer, pal, then that’s fine by me. I can always ask someone else.’

‘No. In any case, there’s nothing that…at least…’ He stopped again and took a deep breath. ‘Mother was a chronic invalid. She also walked in her sleep; the doctor said the habit was connected to the disease. One night she…the slave who was supposed to be watching her had dozed off. Mother walked out of her bedroom, fell downstairs and broke her neck.’

I stared at him. ‘This was, what, thirty years back, right?’ I said.

‘Yes, it was, as a matter of fact. Exactly, twenty-eight.’

‘Anyone see it happen?’ I could’ve bitten my tongue off as soon as I asked the question: Chlorus might be oily, but he wasn’t stupid. Not that he seemed unduly put out, mind, although he didn’t reply at once; I could’ve been mistaken but I had the impression he was weighing up two possible answers, which was interesting in itself. Finally, he said: ‘Yes. My sister. And my father. They both came out when they heard her moving. My father’s room was next door to Mother’s and Penelope’s was just down the corridor.’

‘They couldn’t do anything?’

Pause again. Chlorus cleared his throat. ‘She’d sleep-walked before, of course. The doctor said that waking her would be more dangerous than leaving her alone, so he didn’t interfere. Then she…her foot must have come out of one of her slippers. She tripped and fell. My father tried to catch her but he was too late. She tumbled all the way down.’

‘And your sister?’

‘She came out of her room after my father left his. She could do nothing either.’ A third pause, longer this time. ‘Corvinus, I should not really be telling you this, but Penelope claimed that it was no accident. That Father had pushed her.’

For a second, it didn’t register; then it did. Shit.

‘You’re saying Murena killed your mother deliberately?’ I said.

‘No, of course not. I’m only saying that Penelope believed that he killed her. She still does. Complete nonsense, of course, she must have been mistaken — have misinterpreted — but there you are. That’s Penelope for you; she always was a strong-minded girl, very stubborn, very sure of herself even when she was obviously in the wrong. It’s why she hated Father. Why she’s always hated him. I thought perhaps you’d better know that too.’ He stood up. ‘I’m sorry, I really must be going. Thank you for the wine.’

My brain still felt numb. ‘Uh…one more thing, pal,’ I said. ‘No offence, but I asked your brother and I’d better ask you just to balance the books. Where were you the night your father died?’

This time he didn’t hesitate. And the smugness was back in spades. ‘At Ligurius’s house. I’d gone round to warn him about a slow-paying customer in Pompeii.’

I raised my eyebrows. ‘That late? After hours? Couldn’t you have talked to him during the day?’

‘He lives not far from me. It’s often more convenient to call round in the evening than to make a daytime trip out to the farm, and that’s what I usually do. The Anchovy doesn’t mind.’ Yeah, I’d bet! ‘You can confirm it with him if you don’t believe me.’

‘Right. Right.’ Sure I would! ‘Thanks.’

‘Don’t mention it.’

He left. But it wasn’t the smug way he’d delivered his alibi that stuck as I watched him go: that’d check out, or the bastard wouldn’t’ve been so happy to give it, or so quick. Nor was it even the story of his mother’s death (dear gods, I didn’t even know the woman’s name!)

It was the look in his eye, when he told me about Penelope hating her father, of complete and utter satisfaction.

Nice family, right? First Gellia slagging Chlorus and Nerva, and vice versa; then Nerva putting the boot in on his brother; now Chlorus doing the same for Diodotus, Nerva and Penelope.

I felt faintly sickened. There wasn’t the worth of a copper piece to choose among the lot of them.

I didn’t feel like any more of the dumplings, but I poured myself more wine and sat back to think things through. Well, that had been a facer. I didn’t doubt the story had been true, in its essentials at least — Chlorus wouldn’t’ve risked making it up from scratch — but the angle he’d given it was a different matter. Gods, what a shower! If I hadn’t asked about the mother’s death no doubt eventually one of the brothers — and I couldn’t see much difference between Chlorus and Nerva there, they were both poisonous bastards — would’ve found some excuse for telling me about it, just to spread the poison. So. Penelope believed that her father had been directly responsible for her mother’s death. Whatever the actual facts were — and I’d have to follow that one up before I was much older — it gave her reason in spades to hate him and so, possibly, to have murdered him. Nice one, Chlorus.

What he’d told me about Diodotus was interesting too. Oh, sure, his motives were obvious, but again facts — if you accepted them — were facts. Whatever line Diodotus had shot me about the ethics of the medical profession, that Drepanum business was too coincidental for comfort; too coincidental, certainly, for me to dismiss it as irrelevant out of hand. And the connection with Philippus had been completely unexpected. If the two were partners — or at least shared a business interest — then it wasn’t beyond the bounds of possibility that they were in bed together in other ways. That was another angle that I’d have to check.

Add Brother Nerva’s projected scam with the grain barge. From what Chlorus had said, that was a factor too. The guy was pressed enough for cash as it was — I knew that — and the grain barge would put the lid on things. If he’d floated the idea past his father and got the dull thud, then he’d be getting pretty desperate. Murena’s death would’ve removed a considerable obstacle: he’d have, if not the money itself yet, at least the guarantee of the money, and what was just as important virtual control of the company’s policy. Not a clincher by any means — I didn’t know how vital he considered his grain barge idea to be — but again something to bear in mind.

Of course, re the grain barge and controlling interest in the company, there was another possibility to consider. Philippus had acted surprised when I’d mentioned the barge, sure, but all the same the guy was a sharp, sharp cookie where business was concerned, and his information network was probably pretty hot stuff. The case for his knowing about it already was at least arguable.

Okay, given that, a second scenario. Let’s say that he did know about it; that what surprised him — or rather knocked him out of kilter — wasn’t the news that Nerva and Florus were planning to set up in competition with him but that the nosey purple-striper looking into Murena’s death was in on the secret. Gambling was Philippus’s bag. Nerva would know that. He’d also know that if he got into a head-to-head with a hard bastard like Philippus the chances were he’d come off a poor second best. Right. So say instead that he’s completely open about things. He approaches Philippus with the barge idea and suggests a three-way partnership rather than the two-way one that he and Florus have got going already.

It would work; sure it would. Nerva would benefit because he’d neutralise a potential future business rival, and probably avoid having his balls stamped on in some alley in the process. Also, he’d be able to tap into a major new source of finance, which was something he was desperate for. Sure, now the profits would have to be split three ways rather than two, but this was Baiae, and once the thing was up and running they’d be pretty considerable. On the plus side, his own capital outlay to get them into that state would be a lot less. In his present circumstances the advantages would outweigh the disadvantages, no question.

So much for Nerva. Philippus, now, …

This was the crux of the scenario. If that was the sum total of the deal then Philippus would benefit in the usual ways, naturally. On the other hand, the guy could do better: a lot better, especially since he’s no milksop and for personal reasons so far undisclosed already hates Licinius Murena’s guts. Currently, Murena’s in the process of using company funds to finance the building of a hotel, and Philippus may be spitting blood but he’s hamstrung. Okay. So then Nerva comes along and makes his pitch re the grain barge scheme. Philippus brings up the subject of the hotel. He doesn’t approve and — because Murena has refused to bankroll Nerva on the project’s account — he understands that Nerva doesn’t approve either. He points out that without Licinius Murena there wouldn’t be any hotel project and that with his father out of the picture Nerva could invest the family company’s money as he liked. Also, that Nerva doesn’t have any more love for Murena than Philippus does. That being the case, and to simplify matters, it might be in both their interests to put the old guy into an urn…

Of course, there was that argument between Nerva and his father the day of Murena’s death to explain. With the Philippus deal up and running, he wouldn’t’ve had to ask Dad for money again at all. All the same, I only had Chlorus’s suggestion that that was what they’d quarrelled over, and Chlorus had his own fish to fry. It could’ve been about something entirely different — Murena, by all accounts, hadn’t been the most easy-going of men — and if so the theory still held…

Bugger Chlorus. I didn’t like the man, and he was as slippery and self-serving a customer as I’d ever experienced, but intentionally or otherwise he’d put the ends of more strings into my hands in that five minutes than I’d bargained for. Now all I could do was play the game, follow them up and see where they led.

So where did I start? With the most puzzling string, the one I knew the least about, the death of Murena’s first wife. How that fitted in I didn’t know, but my guts told me that it was important. Or could be important. Another talk with Penelope was in order there, sure, but I couldn’t go in there cold. I had to get the background first. So who could I ask? Not Tattius: there was something about the guy that made me uneasy, and he was Penelope’s husband, which put him out of court in the first instance. Someone who’d known the Murena family a long time but wasn’t directly connected with them.

I swallowed the last of the wine, paid my bill and set out for the fish farm and another talk with Ligurius.