Trade Secrets

TEN

I called in at Poetelius’s office first thing the next morning.

‘Corvinus!’ The guy was sitting behind his desk slaving over a hot abacus and a pile of wax tablets. ‘How’s the investigation going? Any progress?’

‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘We’re getting there.’

‘Good.’ He smiled. ‘So what can I do for you?’

I pulled up the stool and sat down. ‘For a start, pal, you can tell me what you were doing in Trigemina Gate Street the day your partner was murdered. And why you didn’t feel obliged to mention being there the last time we talked.’

The smile faded. ‘Ah.’

‘“Ah” is right.’

His fingers drummed on the desk. ‘Titus Vibius told you, presumably?’

‘Vibius? Why Vibius?’

‘Because it was him I went to see, of course.’

‘There’s no “of course” about it. Maybe you’d better give me the whys and wherefores from the beginning.’

‘All right.’ He took a deep breath. ‘I told you: Vibius supplied most of our pottery prior to Festus, and he was much better all round. Not renewing his contract was Gaius’s idea, not mine, quite the contrary. When Festus came here the day before threatening to punch Gaius’s lights out I naturally assumed the business association was at an end, and that therefore we would be looking for a new supplier. Going back to Vibius – if he was willing, after the shabby way Gaius treated him – was the obvious solution, and I decided to sound him out. Coincidentally, the next day was a holiday, the office would be closed, and so I wouldn’t have to explain my unaccustomed absence to Gaius.’ He smiled. ‘Or rather to invent a story explaining it, because as you can imagine I didn’t want it to appear that I was going over his head.’

‘So why didn’t you tell me this in the first place?’

‘Would you have, if you’d been me?’ he said simply. ‘When I knew where Gaius’s body had been found?’

‘It would’ve been more sensible.’

‘Perhaps so, and I apologize. Anyway, now you can check with Vibius. He’ll confirm matters.’

Yeah, well, he probably would. Although that didn’t let the guy off the hook altogether, not by a long chalk. ‘And you didn’t bump into Tullius at all while you were there?’

‘No. I didn’t know it might be a possibility. In fact, if I had known I wouldn’t’ve gone there in the first place.’

‘OK,’ I said. ‘One more thing. You’re having an affair with Annia, right?’

He sat back. ‘Who told you that?’

There was no reason not to tell him. ‘Festus’s wife, Marcia. She said Tullius had told her himself.’

‘Then he was lying. Or she was. We’re good friends, Annia and me, we have been most of our lives, but that’s as far as it goes.’ He stood up. ‘And now I think you should go too, Corvinus. I’ve a lot to do this morning, and I’ve helped you all I can in this matter. Good day to you.’

Short and sweet. Yeah, well, if Poetelius was our man – and nothing he’d said went very far towards proving he wasn’t – then I’d rattled his cage pretty thoroughly. I got up and replaced the stool.

‘Fine,’ I said. ‘I’ll be seeing you around, pal.’

He didn’t answer. As I left, I could feel his eyes boring into my back.

OK, now for the lady. I retraced my steps down Head of Africa Road and through the Caelian to the junction with Ardeatina Gate Street at the Metrovian Gate, by which time the morning was mostly spent. Perfect timing, counting a stopover for a quick cup of wine, for a social call.

This time, she was sitting in the garden. Otherwise, history had repeated itself in the shape of the visitor in the other wickerwork chair opposite her.

‘Valerius Corvinus,’ Quintus Annius said, getting up. ‘We were just talking about you.’

‘Is that so, now?’ I said.

His sister smiled. ‘Nothing you couldn’t have heard.’ Then, to the slave who’d brought me out: ‘Timon, another chair. And perhaps a cup of wine?’ She looked at me.

‘Thanks. That’d be great.’

‘For you, Quintus?’

‘No, I’m fine.’ The slave left. ‘Sit here, Corvinus, please. Timon won’t be a moment. So. How are things going?’

I sat down. ‘Pretty well, considering,’ I said cautiously. Like the last time, I had the feeling that I’d walked in on something. Oh, the two of them were behaving naturally enough, and when you came down to it there was no reason why the guy shouldn’t be seeing a lot of his sister at present, things being as they were. But the coincidence didn’t sit easy all the same.

‘Well,’ he said, ‘I won’t press you for details. Particularly since as I said the last time we met I’ve no compelling desire to see my brother-in-law’s killer caught.’

Jupiter, he was a cold bastard, this one! Me, under normal circumstances I’m all in favour of candour, but a brutal comment like that, especially delivered in the bloodless way Annius chose to do it, sent a chill down my spine.

‘That’s good of you,’ I said. ‘Much appreciated.’

The slave came out with the chair, set it down, then returned for the wine-cup. I sipped. Graviscan again, and pretty good stuff, streets ahead of what my nosey pal in the wineshop served. Whatever faults Tullius had had, he’d kept a good cellar.

‘So,’ Annia said. ‘How can I help you this time?’

‘Ah … it’s a bit sensitive, lady,’ I said, glancing at Annius.

‘In that case’ – Annius had just sat down; now he stood up again – ‘I’ll go. If you’ll excuse me?’

‘Don’t be silly, Quintus!’ Annia pulled him down and looked at me. ‘Sensitive in what way? If you’ve learned something more about Gaius’s philanderings then it probably won’t come as news, let alone shock me. And I certainly won’t mind if my brother hears it.’

‘It’s not about your husband.’

‘Really?’ Then, when I still hesitated: ‘Oh, go on, Corvinus, please! I don’t have any secrets from Quintus. Definitely none I would be ashamed of if he knew them.’

‘OK, lady. The fact is I was told you were having an affair with Publius Poetelius.’

She stared at me. Then she laughed. ‘Who on earth said that, for goodness’ sake?’

‘It isn’t true?’

‘Of course it’s not true! We’re friends. Just friends, and always have been. Again: who told you?’

‘Lucilius Festus’s wife, Marcia. She got it from your husband.’

‘But that’s ridiculous! Gaius would never have thought that!’

I shrugged. ‘I’m only repeating what she said. And why should she make it up?’

Now it was Annia’s turn to hesitate. She glanced at her brother, then looked back at me. ‘Actually, she might have had a reason,’ she said. ‘A good one. To her mind, at least.’

‘What would that be, now?’

‘I said I didn’t have any embarrassing secrets. That wasn’t quite true, although the secret isn’t a major one. The anonymous letter Marcia got, about Gaius taking up with a new girlfriend.’

‘You wrote it?’

She nodded. ‘I sent Timon over to deliver it late the previous evening. After she and her husband had gone to bed.’

Well, it came as no surprise; the chances were the letter had to have come from her or Poetelius. What was surprising was that she’d come straight out and admitted it.

‘You care to tell me why?’ I said.

‘I thought it might stir things up a bit. Precipitate matters. Perhaps push Gaius into agreeing to a divorce. A silly thing to do, I know that now in retrospect, but there you are. All I can say is that it seemed a good idea at the time.’

Stir things up a bit. Certainly it’d done that, with a vengeance. And knowing for sure that Annia was responsible opened up a whole new line of possibilities. ‘So what you’re saying is that Marcia guessed who was responsible and was getting back at you?’

‘It would seem reasonable, wouldn’t it? In any event, it’s the only explanation.’

I wouldn’t go quite that far myself. And I could think of at least one other purpose to the letter that was a lot less innocent. ‘Yeah. Yeah, fair enough,’ I said. I swallowed the rest of my wine and stood up. ‘Thanks, lady. I won’t take up any more of your time.’

‘But you haven’t told us how the investigation’s going! Surely you must’ve learned something concrete by now.’

There wasn’t any reason not to tell her, quite the contrary, because if there was something screwy somewhere – and the feeling in my bones told me there was – starting up a decoy hare wouldn’t go amiss. ‘The chances are that Titus Vecilius did it,’ I said. ‘Hermia’s husband. Certainly he had the best motive and opportunity.’ I was watching her face for a telltale sign of relief. Not a flicker. But there again she’d taken the accusation of an affair with Poetelius in her stride, so that might mean nothing.

‘There you are,’ Annius said. ‘I told you, dear. An open-and-shut case.’

‘Uh-uh.’ I shook my head. ‘There’s the little matter of proof. Not to mention a few loose ends flapping around.’

‘Such as what?’ Annius again, and it was snapped.

Such as the possibility that he, or his sister, or Poetelius was responsible, or any combination thereof. Not that I could say that out loud, of course. I went for safer ground. ‘The business in Ostia, for a start. Oh, sure, the chances are that it was a straightforward accident, but-’

Annius was giving me a blank look. ‘What business in Ostia?’ he said.

‘I didn’t tell you, Quintus,’ Annia said. ‘It happened on the quayside three days before Gaius died. A crane dropped its load when he was practically underneath it.’

Her brother grunted. ‘It doesn’t sound too suspicious to me,’ he said. ‘Accidents like that do happen occasionally at the docks, and it’s not always the stevedore who’s at fault. Gaius was probably just not looking where he was going.’

‘Yeah. Yeah, right,’ I said. ‘Still, as I say, it’s a loose end to be checked.’

‘Surely that’s not necessary now,’ Annia said. ‘After all, if you’re practically certain that Gaius’s mistress’s husband killed him then-’

I shrugged. ‘Maybe not. But me, I like to tick all the boxes.’ I set the empty wine-cup on the chair. ‘Thanks again, lady. I’ll keep in touch.’

My brain was buzzing as I left. I’d planned to take the long hike to the Emporium straight away to check Poetelius’s story with Titus Vibius, but first a stopoff at a convenient wineshop for a leisurely think seemed in order. I found a new one I hadn’t tried before near the Temple of Honour and Virtue – trendy, with a suspiciously pricey wine list and a chichi snack menu, but there you went – ordered a cup of Massic, and settled down at one of the outside tables.

OK. Annia. As a suspect, the cool, calm, and collected widow was definitely showing form. If she and Poetelius were an item, which despite the lady’s protestations and his was still a possibility, then they had motive in spades, plus – now that I knew that Poetelius had been in the neighbourhood the day of the murder – opportunity as well. The big problem was if, because possibility or not they’d both struck me as pretty much on the level: both had seemed genuinely surprised at the suggestion and denied the relationship flat, Poetelius had been inches away from handing me my teeth in a bag, and Annia had just laughed it off. Sure, it could’ve been an act – when a husband gets stiffed, the obvious first suspects are the wife and a lover, and they’d know that – but if so it was a damn good one. On the other hand, conditions for an affair developing were ideal. On Poetelius’s side, as far as I knew he was unattached, he’d obviously been in the running as a possible fiance, and the chances were that his feelings for Annia still went way past friendship. Added to which, he clearly had no liking or respect for his partner either on a personal or a business level. On her side, she was locked in a loveless marriage with no exit clause and an unfaithful husband who wouldn’t care what the hell she got up to so long as she paid the bills at the end of the month.

The other tick in the credit column for an affair existing – despite Annia’s claim to the contrary – was Marcia. Like I’d said, she’d no reason to make the story up; she’d told me – and I believed her – that she didn’t know who’d sent the anonymous letter, and I’d got the impression that she didn’t care, either. Certainly, she’d no spiteful feelings against Tullius’s wife; the only person she blamed was herself for getting involved with the guy in the first place. And Annia’s confession was just too slick. The letter might’ve prompted Marcia to invent a non-existent affair, sure, but more importantly what it’d certainly done was let the cat out of the bag where the two cuckolded husbands were concerned. If Annia had wanted Tullius killed by proxy, like my friend the barfly had suggested, or to set up a fall guy to take the rap for a crime she and her lover were planning to commit, she couldn’t’ve staged things better.

Yeah, I could go for that pair, myself. I never did trust squeaky-clean, and Annia and Poetelius were certainly that.

The brother, now. Quintus Annius …

Annius was puzzling: I just didn’t get Quintus Annius at all. On the one hand, barring an altruistic collusion with his sister to rid her of an unwanted husband, the guy had no motive for killing Tullius whatsoever. Or not one I knew about or could guess at, anyway. And brotherly devotion doesn’t usually extend to helping out with a murder. In terms of pure common sense, Quintus Annius was a complete non-runner. There again, my gut feeling was that he was a wrong ’un somewhere along the line. Perilla would’ve slagged me off for even suggesting he was involved, sure, and she’d probably be right. But still-

I’d been ignoring the wine. Now I took a long swallow. Not bad after all; it might even be worth its inflated price. Trendy or not, I’d have to remember this place. If it lasted much more than five minutes, mind. That’s the trouble with these designer wineshops: they spring up like mushrooms and when the fashion they cater for has gone they fold just as quickly. The edge of Circus Valley isn’t exactly Young Upwardly Mobile country, either, so I’d be surprised if they had a regular clientele.

Ostia. That’d been odd, if you like. I’d only mentioned it for something to say and to get myself out of an embarrassing hole; the case had moved on since Annia had told me about the incident at the docks, and to tell you the truth I’d considered ignoring it, or at least putting the trip off indefinitely. Purely for selfish reasons: I’m no horseman, and a journey to Rome’s port is almost thirty miles, there and back, probably with an overnight stay involved if the business took more than a couple of hours. Which, to be fair, with luck it might not, under the circumstances. I was glad that Lippillus hadn’t pushed me re Marilla’s Ostian businessman; interesting though the circumstances of Marcus Correllius’s death – stabbing, whatever – had been, I just didn’t need the complication at present. And if Marilla had got even a whiff of the notion that her pet personal murder case hadn’t quite been shelved after all, she’d’ve pestered me to death to follow it up. Oh, sure, going down to Ostia would give me an excuse to shoot the breeze over a jug with my pal Agron, which didn’t happen all that often, and no doubt he and his wife, Cass, would’ve arranged a bed for me, but thirty miles on the back of a horse isn’t my idea of fun. Plus, like Annius had said, the business with the falling amphoras would probably turn out to be a run-of-the-mill, straightforward accident with no sinister connotations …

Only now, thinking back on the interview, if I was honest with myself I wasn’t at all sure about that. Again, it was a gut feeling, with nothing particularly concrete to back it up: the mention of Ostia had touched a nerve somewhere, I’d swear to that. Which was strange, because again unless he was a damn good actor Gaius Tullius’s nearly getting flattened had come as news to Annius, while if his sister didn’t want me sticking my nose into the business’s whys and wherefores then why the hell had she mentioned it in the first place?

It didn’t make sense. But what it did mean was that I was going to make a trip to Ostia a priority after all.

I finished the wine and pressed on to Trigemina Gate Street. Well, if nothing else I was getting plenty of exercise this time around.

Vibius was at the pottery, talking to the guy who’d given me his address two days before. His eyes widened when he saw me.

‘Corvinus, wasn’t it?’ he said. ‘I’m sorry, as far as Gaius Tullius goes I’ve told you all I know.’

‘It’s not about him,’ I said. ‘Or not directly, anyway. I just wanted to check something. It won’t take long.’

He turned back to the older guy. ‘That’s fine, Sextus. Tell Nomentanus delivery by the end of the month should be no problem.’ The foreman left. ‘Now, Corvinus, we’ll go into the office. It’ll be quieter in there.’

‘Sure.’ I followed him through the workshop to a small room at the back, with the usual desk and cubbyholes for the paperwork. He closed the door behind him.

‘So how can I help you this time?’

‘Publius Poetelius came to see you the day of the murder, is that right?’

He frowned. ‘When would that be again, exactly?’

‘Six days ago. On the Ides.’

‘Then yes, he did.’

‘You care to tell me why?’

‘To ask if I’d be willing to act as the firm’s supplier again. Seemingly his partner had had a major argument with Titus Vecilius and the contract wasn’t likely to be fulfilled.’

‘You agreed?’

‘Of course I did. I’d no time for Tullius, as you know, but business is business, and like I said, it was a big order, and a regular one. So long as the man himself didn’t put his face round my door in future – which was the first and only condition I made – I was happy to take it on. And I owed Poetelius a great deal, so it wasn’t as difficult a decision to make as it might’ve been otherwise.’ He gave me a straight look. ‘What’s this all about? You surely don’t think that he’d anything to do with Tullius’s death, do you? Because if so you’re completely wrong.’

‘No,’ I said easily. ‘No, I’m just checking, like I said. Uh … “owed”? Owed in what way?’

‘I told you. When I lost the contract I’d my back squarely to the wall. Poetelius lent me some money, interest-free; not a lot, because he hasn’t got it to spare, only a thousand or two, but it made servicing the debt to the money-lender and paying back the principal over time just the right side of possible. Without it, I’d’ve gone under in three months.’

‘His own money? Not the firm’s?’

‘Oh, yes. He was very clear about that. Tullius knew nothing about it, and he wouldn’t know, either. I paid Poetelius back as soon as I could, which was just about a month ago, but debts can be more than money, can’t they?’

‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘Yeah, they can.’ I put my hand on the door knob. ‘Well, thanks again, pal. And don’t worry: you’ve probably seen the last of me this time.’

I was half out of the door when he called me back.

‘Corvinus?’

I turned round. ‘Yeah?’

‘Wait. I can’t let you go without telling you how much of a bastard Tullius was. Just so as you’re clear about it.’

I went back in and closed the door behind me. ‘Oh, I think I’ve got that pretty clear in my mind already,’ I said.

He shook his head. ‘No, you haven’t. Or not clear enough. I told you my wife was dead; I didn’t say how or why she died. She killed herself, just over a year ago. Two days before the contract was due for renewal.’

I said nothing, but I had a fair idea of what was coming. Score one for Perilla.

Vibius had turned his face away. ‘Paullina was a good bit younger than me,’ he said, ‘and she was a looker. Or at least I thought so. Before she died she left a note on my chair, where I’d be sure to see it, saying that Gaius Tullius had been trying to seduce her for months. Finally, he’d offered her a trade: a new contract in exchange for a single … Well, you have the idea. She knew how important not losing the order was to me, so she agreed. Afterwards, Tullius told her that wasn’t enough, she’d have to throw in our daughter as well, as a sweetener to the deal. He said to go away and think about it. She hanged herself that night.’ He turned round again to face me and smiled. ‘So you see, Corvinus, I’ve every reason to hope the bastard is burning in hell. And that you’ll never catch the person who killed him.’

I got back home well in time for dinner, to find, when I walked into the atrium with my usual wine-cup, that from the look on Marilla’s face I’d been seriously Waited For. As far as she was concerned, anyway. Not that there was anything at all wrong with that, in my view, quite the reverse: me, I’d’ve said that the Princess’s interest in working out the whys and wherefores of a murder and fingering the perp was a pretty healthy sign in a young woman.

Perilla, now … well, for some strange, unaccountable reason she can be funny about these things. Sometimes I don’t understand the way that lady’s mind works at all.

Apropos of which, I wondered from the current vibes whether there hadn’t just been a slight clash of personalities here. Clarus was toying with a cup of something probably non-alcoholic – like I say, he’s no wine-drinker, Clarus – and looking a tad embarrassed as if he’d rather be somewhere else, while Perilla’s attention seemed to be fixed on young Marcus Junior, currently lying face-up on the floor between her couch and Marilla’s and Clarus’s and trying his determined best to roll over onto his front.

‘Hi, Corvinus.’ Marilla was grinning at me. ‘Have a good day?’

‘Not bad.’ I bent over to give Perilla the usual welcome-home kiss: frosty, distinctly frosty. ‘How was yours, Princess?’

‘OK. So. How’s the investigation going? Did you talk to the two wives?’

I took my wine over to my usual couch and lay down. Opposite, the lady cleared her throat slightly, her eyes still on the Sprog. Her lips were pursed, but she didn’t say anything. I grinned to myself: yeah, well, if there had been a personality clash it was clear who’d come out on top here. She’s no pushover, young Marilla.

‘Yeah. Among other things,’ I said. I gave her the rundown of the day’s activities, glancing at Perilla now and again. Frost or not, her ears were twitching. I grinned again: sometimes the lady is her own worst enemy, if she’d only realize it.

‘So it’s still an open field,’ I finished. ‘Leaving Vecilius aside, it’s looking promising for Annia and A. N. Other, probably Poetelius, but I’d take side bets on Quintus Annius, the gods know why. Vibius is in there too, now. That last bit about his wife sounded pretty close to self-justification, because he’d no cause to tell me how she died off his own bat. At the very least, he couldn’t’ve made it plainer that he was glad to see Tullius dead and that all his sympathies were with the killer.’

Perilla was still watching the Sprog doing his rolling-about act.

‘Do you think that’s good for him, Clarus?’ she said. ‘Or should I give him a hand?’

‘No, he’s fine,’ Clarus said. ‘Leave him to it; he needs the exercise. And they all do that at his age.’

‘If you’re sure, dear.’ She looked doubtful.

Uh-huh. Well, at least she was talking, if not to me or Marilla. And I noticed that Clarus was still keeping his head diplomatically below the parapet. I sympathized: neither lady was one to cross, and he’d probably been getting it from both sides recently. When that happens, you lie low and say nothing. Clarus was certainly learning fast.

‘So how would it work, Corvinus?’ Marilla said. ‘In practical terms, I mean.’

‘You want the odds?’ I said.

‘Yes, please. Just to be clear.’

‘OK. Like I said, Annius is the least likely. Until we get a sniff of a genuine motive, at any rate. He and his sister are obviously very close, so if she did confide in anyone that she wanted rid of her husband he’d be first in the queue.’

‘Assuming there’s nothing between her and Poetelius.’

‘Right. Unfortunately, that’s as far as it goes. Otherwise, at present he’s a non-starter. He may be a cold-hearted bastard’ (‘Marcus, please!’ from Perilla; I ignored her) ‘who wouldn’t fight shy of murder – at least, I don’t think he would – but he didn’t have any connection with Tullius, either socially or business-wise, so-’

‘Hang on! You don’t know that for certain.’

‘Yeah, I do. Poetelius confirmed it, and if Poetelius isn’t A. N. Other, then what he says has weight.’

‘Fair enough. But he is in business himself, and Tullius was his brother-in-law. And as far as “socially” is concerned, if he and Annia were in it together then it’d be easy to cover up any compromising details.’ Marilla grinned. ‘I’m just playing devil’s advocate here, you understand.’

‘OK. All that’s true enough. But the bottom line is we’ve got nothing concrete on the guy. Poetelius, now, he’s a lot more likely. He’s got a motive, both personal – given the existence of the affair with Annia – and financial, and he’s also got opportunity, because he was definitely in the area when the murder happened.’

‘Oh, come on! He’d a good reason for being there!’

‘I’m not so sure about that. At least, not of the reason he gave.’

‘But Vibius confirmed it. He was there on business.’

‘Look, Marilla, Vibius owes Poetelius for the fact that he’s not short one pottery and signing on for the corn dole, OK? Plus the fact that he hated Tullius’s guts for seducing his wife and driving her to suicide. Given the choice between confirming the guy’s story and sending him up the creek without a paddle, which way do you think he’d jump?’

‘Yes, well, if you put it like that, I suppose …’ Marilla frowned.

‘It still wouldn’t explain how he engineered the opportunity, though, would it, Marcus?’ Perilla said.

Hey! I turned towards her. ‘How do you mean, lady?’ I said.

‘Poetelius couldn’t have known that his partner would be in Trigemina Gate Street that day. It was a holiday, the office was closed. Oh, yes, as he said he had his reasons for going there himself. But Tullius didn’t, or not as far as he was aware.’

Yeah; fair point. That had been bugging me, too. Sure, Tullius had called in on Hermia, that was certain. But it just didn’t square that any erstwhile lover with a grain of common sense would deliberately plan a visit the day after the lady’s husband had gone looking for him with a meat cleaver, nor that said lady would suggest it to him. A seized opportunity – straight in and straight out – while he was already in the neighbourhood for compelling and unrelated reasons, now, that might be another thing again. At least for a guy like Tullius. Which left the problem of the compelling reasons. If not to try it on with Hermia, then why the hell had he been there?

‘It could’ve been coincidence,’ I said. ‘They could just have bumped into each other.’

‘Marcus, do you honestly-?’ There was a howl from the Sprog, who’d suddenly and spectacularly managed to flip himself over and found he was face down on the mosaic tiling. ‘Oh, my!’

Marilla got off her couch. ‘Don’t worry,’ she said. ‘It happens every time. He’s perfectly all right.’

She scooped him up and calmed him down, cradling him against her shoulder and walking him around the room until comparative peace was restored.

Well, the kid had a good pair of lungs, anyway.

‘Sorry, lady, you were saying,’ I said.

‘Do you really believe that they could’ve met by accident, dear?’ Perilla said. ‘Personally I would have thought that unless the killer is Vecilius after all, everything points to the murder having been planned.’

Hell. She was right; I didn’t believe it, and it had been. Planned right down to the last detail. Forget Vecilius, it was far more complicated than that. Tullius had been suckered into a meeting, he’d called in first at Hermia’s and then gone on to Melobosis’s shrine, where whoever the killer was had knifed him.

Maybe.

‘All right,’ I said. ‘Then Poetelius could’ve arranged the meeting himself.’

‘Why should he?’ Perilla said. ‘They saw each other in the office every day. Tullius would scarcely be persona grata in any negotiations involving Vibius, and he’d have to be a complete fool to think otherwise. Besides, as I said, it was supposed to be a holiday. Poetelius couldn’t possibly have invented an excuse that Tullius would believe for one second.’

I sighed. True, all of it. Unless there was something I was missing, which was perfectly possible. I took a morose slug of wine.

‘So what’s the next step, Corvinus?’ Marilla had settled down on the couch again with the still-grizzling young Marcus. ‘What’re you going to do now?’

I hesitated. Bugger. Well, it had to be done. ‘Actually, Princess, I thought I might go down to Ostia tomorrow,’ I said. ‘Check out the-’

‘Ostia? Great! While you’re there you can-’

‘No I can’t,’ I said firmly. ‘Definitely not. Forget it, right? The only reason I’m going to Ostia – the only reason, read my lips here – is to check out this business of the falling amphoras. Straight in, straight out, or as close to it as I can manage. Understand?’

‘But surely if you’re going there in any case-’

‘No. That’s final. As it is, the whole thing’s probably a wild-goose chase. All it has going for it is that when I mentioned the place in front of Annia and her brother the idea of me going there went down like finding a slug in a salad. Like I say, it shouldn’t take long because I’ve got the number of the quay where the accident happened.’

‘Poetelius told you that, didn’t he, Marcus?’ Perilla was looking pensive.

I turned to her. ‘Yeah. So?’

‘It’s just that surely it militates against him being the killer, doesn’t it?’

I frowned. Bugger, she was right again: the fact that it’d been Poetelius who’d told me was relevant. In fact, it was crucial. If there was something screwy about the business with the amphoras and Poetelius was our man, then he’d be a fool to put me in the way of finding out what it was. Unless he was playing the innocent deliberately, of course, because I would’ve found out eventually and then he’d be in deep trouble. But then it’d been Annia who’d mentioned the accident unprompted in the first place, and if the two of them were in this together …

Ah, hell, it was just complication on complication, and nothing made sense anyway.