The Ides of April

XVIII

When I emerged into the courtyard with its untidy piles of smoky rope mats, Morellus was talking and laughing with some of the vigiles. Flitting from pillar to pillar, I managed to tiptoe down a colonnade without him or any other men noticing, and started back to the other side of the Aventine by myself. He caught me up, unfortunately.

"Holy hermaphrodites, Morellus! That man you work for is dog-shit. Still, I am glad to report he told me I should liaise with you. We are to share information-and to start off nicely, you are going to tell me everything I need to hear about these unexplained killings."

"Did Scaurus say that?" asked the enquirer warily.

"Of course. You don't think I would work a flanker on you- especially over something this important? Just when Scaurus has impressed on me the need to do things right?"

"I suppose so… not that I have been told much."

I took pity and seeded him with starter-facts: "Let's begin with, there seems to be an outbreak of strange, unexplained deaths. People arrive home from some perfectly ordinary local expedition, but they feel odd, have a lie down, then shortly afterwards are found dead. No explanation, and no marks on them."

Morellus nodded. We walked on.

"Are all the victims women, Morellus, and all middle-aged or elderly?"

"I don't know. That would be peculiar. Normally, the trend is for us to be chasing killers of young girls. The perps do it for…" Morellus paused awkwardly.

"Sexual excitement." I was brisk with him. The man was a vigiles investigator. He must know what serial killers did. "Sad bastards spewing their seed on corpses, who can't answer them back. Or, if these perverts can actually manage to operate their pricks, actual sex."

"Rape," he agreed, boot-faced. "Whether before or after death."

"Nobody raped Salvidia or Celendina. As far as we know, there was no attempt to so much as get their attention. No robbery occurred. No assault at all, in fact. . And if nobody realises there has been a murder, there can't be any excitement for the killer in waiting for the news to get out. No, Morellus, it won't do."

"It's a real puzzle, Albia."

"Is he merely thrilled by the fact he gets away with it?"

"He could be the type who enjoys thinking he is so clever, he completely fools the authorities."

"No anonymous notes thrown through the gates saying, 'I've done it again, you idiots!'"

"Oh plenty of those!" Morellus grinned. "All from Nonnius, about him stealing little girls' loincloths off washing lines."

"Are these deaths just happening here?" I asked, staying serious. "In our district? Or on a wider scale?"

"All across Rome," Morellus admitted. "If it's real."

"So what is being done to find out?"

"Hard to say. Where can we start? It seems to be completely random. Not just an invisible killer, but invisible deaths too. How are we to keep decent records, if nobody notices trouble and makes a complaint?"

"No, that is very inconsiderate of the public! Is anybody keeping records? What are the figures?"

"I've just been told to start." He sounded troubled by the instruction, and I didn't blame him. It would be tedious, probably pointless work.

"How will you go about it?"

"Check with funeral directors." He indicated a tablet stuck in his belt. "Scaurus presented me with a dirty great list."

"Oh," I said. I wish I was ashamed of my tactics when I went on innocently: "That must be the list Cassius Scaurus mentioned when he was burbling about cooperation-hand it here for a moment, and then I'll know which ones you are meant to be covering."

He handed it over. The man was so malleable. His wife must be having the time of her life. I bet she owned more snake rings and triple pearl earrings than any other woman on the Aventine, and when she wanted him to drive her bad-tempered mother to the country for a holiday, he just did it.

There were too many names and addresses to memorise, so I told Morellus the easiest procedure would be if I took the tablet home with me, made a fair copy then sent back his original. You guessed. The dumbo fell for it.

I did not bother writing out the tablet, but used it neat. I spent the rest of that day going round the funeral directors, to get at them ahead of the vigiles.

By dinnertime, my clothes reeked of myrrh and funeral cake but otherwise I had little to show. I talked to them all, pretending I had been hired to assist because the vigiles were overworked and also needed to disguise these enquiries by using a civilian. Calling myself an undercover consultant, I quoted Cassius Scaurus on the need to maintain public confidence. "He means, prevent panic and riots."

Everyone wants to avoid that. Funeral directors hate behaviour that interferes with their processions through the streets. The only riots they like are glorious ones that end with the Urban Cohorts rushing in to calm things down by beating people up, and doing it so hard they produce massed corpses. Even in Domitian's Rome such riots were rare.

The undertakers all swore it was impossible to identify for certain any victims of the random killer. However, all agreed there were increasing rumours. Those in the trade generally believed that people were dying of some undetectable malady, most times without even suspecting that something odd had happened to them. Some did wonder if foul play might be involved.

Undetectable maladies meant magic or poison in Rome. Both, possibly. I refused to believe in magic, but I might be dealing with people who did. I knew that according to vigiles lore, poison invariably meant any killer must be a woman, though I did not suggest that to anyone I spoke to. Male enquiry agents would seize on the idea, but I was cautious. There was no evidence. I prefer to make deductions based on material fact, not bend the facts to fit some pre-formed forensic theory. Especially when rather conservative paramilitary men had first devised the theory.

I ended up with just two likely-sounding cases. One was a lad, the other some rich woman's maid. Both died in March. I obtained addresses. It was really too late to turn up and ask questions, but I tried the mansion anyway.

A door porter who thought his job called for awkwardness refused me admittance. I accepted it quietly, knowing the best tactic was to turn up here again in daylight, when the staff would have changed. If I insisted now on making a fuss, this intransigent swine would mention my visit to his relief when they swapped places; if I held back, I stood more chance of charming my way past the relief slave tomorrow.

I took back the tablet to Morellus, who had gone off duty anyway. I respect "liaison." Considerately, I drew stars beside the undertakers who had been helpful.

I went home, hoping perhaps the archivist would visit again. Rodan said he had not seen him. I decided Andronicus was being heavily supervised by Faustus, the spoilsport magistrate.

I had picked up bread as I came home. I ate a simple supper, with the cheese Metellus Nepos gave me. I liked it. There were two kinds, both piquant and sustaining.

As my exhaustion faded, I began mulling. Sitting quietly at home, I reviewed what I knew and whether it was worth continuing. I was now sure a random street killer was on the loose, possibly with accomplices who ranged over a wide area. News was being censored from the sensational parts of the Daily Gazette. The aedile and the tribune had put their heads together and decided to keep me out of this. Scaurus had been deputed to warn me off, with orders to keep it civil: no open threats or violence. Hence he ridiculously tried olives and cake. Could I owe that courtesy to the aedile? It failed to make me like him.

Did these men really imagine a millefeuille and a fingerbowl of mint tea would buy my obedience? They were ridiculous. All they had done was to tell me that there really was something wrong. That instantly made me determined to plunge right in there, exploring.

Since my love life, though still promising, had lurched to a halt, I wrapped myself in a dark stole and took out food to leave for the fox I called Robigo. I did not see him or any of the others when I visited the Armilustrium. But later that night when the city grew quiet, I noticed an animal calling. The cry came from somewhere over towards the river. This time it was not screaming, but a single bark, repeated several times. Most people would have taken it for a domestic dog, but I could tell it was hoarser. I knew it was one of the foxes.