Graveyard of the Hesperides (36 page)

I bought Morellus another cup of mulsum, having one myself. It tasted sweet. Progress on what had seemed an impossible case lightened my heart. We shared a laugh that after all I had found myself investigating lentil-supply wars. “Only you, Flavia Albia!”

“Only me!” I found a grateful grin for him. “Thank you, Titus Morellus. You are a worthy friend. You shall have double barley cakes at my wedding.”

“Barley!” We both giggled helplessly at the mention of a grain.

Morellus, childlike, made more flatulence jokes. Having four young children, he was very good at sound effects. I lifted my face to the evening sky where the fast clouds scudded, as I enjoyed the unexpected breakthrough.

Promising to keep him informed, I said goodbye to the raddled inquiry chief before I returned to the hired room. Tomorrow would be a big day. At its end, I must abandon work, whether finished or not, then transport myself to my parents' house where I was supposed to sleep overnight—assuming a nervous bride could sleep at all—before my wedding.

I tried to sleep tonight at least. After a brief session of thinking through the lentil aspect, I went out like a blown lamp. Not long later, when the street noises were still loud, I awoke with a start. Someone was coming upstairs to the room.

Of course I could be under attack like Gavius, but instinct took me to the door. Still bleary, I seized no weapon. I was less alarmed this time, partly because the previous visitor was only Morellus, but mainly because even through sleep the footsteps sounded familiar. The thoughtful arrival carried a small pottery lamp to aid immediate recognition. I wondered which bar counter he had stolen it from.

“Tiberius! I thought you weren't coming back tonight?”

“Missed you!”

He ran upstairs, enfolding me in a hug. After clinging for a few moments to assure himself I still existed, he blew out the lamp. We went to bed, for sleeping purposes. Lying in the dark, I summarized my finds. Then it was his turn. He told me the house was now habitable. “I hope you like it.”

“Do
you
like it?”

“I do.”

“Then so will I. We have the same taste. We share the same habits, which is what makes a home work. I only remember Lesser Laurel Street as a neglected wreck, but if you think it suits us, I am happy, love.”

Tiberius murmured, satisfied. Just before we fell asleep he felt obliged to give a wedding progress report; I duly listened. “They are all set to start baking tomorrow. A fashionable cook, highly exclusive, has been ordered. Name of Genius.”

I let out a huge groan. “
Genius!
What is anybody thinking of? I know him. He is terrible. Genius was one of my father's big slave-buying disasters. Every time we hear of him doing some smart banquet, we all fall about in hysterics. His fame is a complete con. Genius absolutely cannot cook.”

Once I stopped ranting, Tiberius soothed me. “Don't worry, he has become too famous to rustle up anything himself these days, so comes with a battery of elegant, competent under-chefs who do all the work. My wedding planners assure me Genius idolizes Falco as the man who gave him his start, and adores him so much he will gratefully produce superb wedding food—all at cost too.”

“My wedding is on the cheap!”

“I don't think so. They tell me Genius is now a legend for his unheard-of exotic ingredients.”

“Oh, not ostrich tongues! That is so out of date…” I sighed and gave up. “I just hope he knows that the best, most desirable lentils in the Empire are produced in Egypt.”

Chuckling, Tiberius cuddled up to me. We slept.

 

30 August

Three days before the Kalends of September (a.d. III Kal. Sept.)

One day before the wedding of Tiberius Manlius Faustus and Flavia Albia

 

LVII

Next morning, Tiberius and I rose early. We went out to grab a fast breakfast at the snackery. Lepida was not there but her daughter was clearly waiting to give me a message. She spoke almost angrily. “My mother says to tell you this. That woman you were asking about has left town.”

I did not believe it.

*   *   *

Tiberius was going to the Hesperides. It was the last day of work. They were planning to connect to the aqueduct, fill up the canal and inspect it for leaks, then he would be handing over the finished bar to its owner in the afternoon, before he stopped work and left for the wedding. His last instruction was that I was not to question Julius Liberalis by myself.

Before he left me, he teased, “We have never mentioned the appropriate fact that the Golden Apples of the Hesperides were a wedding gift to the goddess Hera.”

“The Apple of Discord caused the Trojan War,” I retaliated mildly. “Was that golden bauble not brought to the wedding of Peleus and Thetis by an uninvited guest? Who have your planners missed off their invitation list, darling—and are they likely to send us any fruit?”

Tiberius stopped. He looked back at me. Simultaneously we chorused: “
Laia Gratiana!
” His ex-wife.

I said in a sweet voice that I would leave it to his discretion whether the baleful Laia should be hurriedly asked. Tiberius winced, muttering as he went over to the bar that he needed a drink.

*   *   *

I sat on by myself for a while, making notes quietly. It was project-end for me too. I had one last day to solve this case. New leads had appeared but there were still far too many unanswered questions. To organize myself, I made a list:

• Where has Rufia been? Why go? Why pretend to be dead?

• Is it Rhodina among the bodies? Why no head? Where is it?

• Are the corpses the Egyptians? Who wanted to kill them? Why?

• Who did carry out the killings? Who ordered them?

• Who dug the graves?

• Why sever a leg?

• Where are Rhodina's children?

• Who damaged the building site? Why?

• Why did Menendra search Rufia's room? What was she looking for?

• Who tried to burgle Annina and her husband? Why?

• Who attacked Gavius? Was it to silence him?

• What else did Gavius witness after the Egyptians went into the bar?

• Is it about sex? Extortion? Gambling? Or is it lentils?

• What part did Thales play in the killing? Was Liberalis present? Was Rufia?

Well done, Flavia Albia, ace investigator! Even for you, that is some list to have left over on your deadline day.

*   *   *

As I was putting my notes in the pouch at my waist, along came Macer of the Third Cohort. I called him over, saying I had news. “By the way, I saw that you released Menendra.”

“I let her men go too. Nothing against them. They produced alibis for the mews burglary and the stabbing. Your watchman maintains they were not who he found breaking up the bar, so that clinched it.”

“Were the alibis fake or believable?”

“Flavia Albia, I don't have time for testing alibis. People give me one, I go with it … Believable, I thought. Those musclemen are just two nice boys who sell barley.”

“Not
very
nice boys—but around here, who is?” I told Macer how Morellus had tracked down identities for the five dead men. I made it sound matter-of-fact to avoid jealousy, but Macer accepted being upstaged. It must happen frequently. He had never heard of any Egyptians getting into trouble around the High Footpath; there were none in particular on his watch list now.

He was just going over to the bar to see Tiberius, who had asked him to report on illegal gambling. I went too.

“So this is your next fantasy motive for the murders!” he joked, although he did see that betting rackets could explain a lot. He gave Tiberius quite a reasonable overview.

Gambling for cash was illegal. Most law officers tolerated it on a small scale, so long as it led to no trouble. Most bar landlords were capable of handling any quarrels that sprang up over dice or the draftboard. The vigiles had other things to do. The big worry was organized, gangster-led syndicates. From time to time, the higher-ups ordered a crackdown. Occasionally that even worked—temporarily.

Tiberius told him I had learned that Old Thales made a huge profit from gambling. Macer was not surprised. Once Liberalis opened the bar again, he would keep an eye.

Mention of Liberalis prompted me to say he was one of my murder suspects. Since he had an appointment with Tiberius that morning, to sign up for his aqueduct access, Macer and I hung around until he came. Once the formalities were done, Tiberius took the water-board official off for a polite thank-you drink, while Macer and I kept Liberalis back for an interview. We steered him out to the street, where we all leaned on the counters that Appius and the marble crew had now repaired.

*   *   *

“This is how it is, sir.” Macer opened the preliminaries, making it an official vigiles matter, full of fake respect. “I am going back to my station house now, and if you take the hard option, you'll be coming with me. You will be placed in my cell until you are driven mad by the bare walls and the horrible sounds of fellow suspects under torture. Then you will find you are ready to talk about the night six deaths occurred. Trust me, you really will. The soft option is you can stand here in the pleasant sunlight and tell me what you know. You are known to have been present,” Macer announced calmly. “We have a witness.”

He had made that up. Anyone familiar with interrogation would have asked him, “Who is it?” When the question failed to come, Macer discreetly winked at me. Liberalis was an amateur and Macer was on to a winner.

“Someone was waiting at the Romulus to see one of the waiting staff safely home,” I embroidered. I was thinking of Gavius and Rhodina, though of course she didn't need an escort home; she was sleeping with Old Thales. “Liberalis, you were seen.”

“This is your last chance,” Macer solemnly promised. “So own up.”

“If not,” I pressed the unhappy witness, “your smart new bar will have to reopen without you.”

It was his dream. Rather than miss a single day in his beloved bar, Liberalis chose to weaken. “Other people did it. I had no part in what happened.”

“Come on.” I jumped on him at once. “We want the people who carried out the killings. Help yourself by helping us.” I had one final lure: “We know Rufia survived. She is here in Rome. She will be arrested, on suspicion of involvement in murder. Nobody else who knows the truth is left alive. From all I hear, she's clever. So when we question her, she is bound to protect herself by claiming you did everything. Do you want that to happen?”

It worked.

“Yes, I was there,” Liberalis finally confessed. “But only afterward.” From a hardened criminal that would be a lie; from him, probably not.

Leaning on his bar counter, he stared at a pothole, transfixed by memories. Macer and I eased off the pressure. In his own time he spilled it all.

“I came back. I came back after normal closing, because I had an idea there was gambling that night. Thales used to hold events, by special invitation, after shutdown. It was the year the Amphitheater opened. We were profiting from the endless games. He would look through the next day's program, then take bets. You couldn't do it at the arena, not openly.”

“So you came for betting. What did you find?” I nudged when he fell silent.

“I shall never get over it. I was so frightened I wet myself. It was the most horrible, disgusting sight.”

“Tell us everything you saw.” I spoke quietly, but I was firm. Macer listened. A typical laid-back inquiry officer, at last he chose to show genuine skills—at this point, patience.

Liberalis forced himself to continue. “It was late. I was alone. My mother thought I had gone to bed; I crept out of the house without her knowing. Nobody was in the Vicus Longus, no one was in our street here. I walked straight indoors, all innocent. I thought there was a meet, as I told you. I could see lights beyond in the courtyard, which seemed usual. But the place was much too quiet. Nobody was serving drinks. I should have gone home again. But I didn't, I stupidly kept going. I went through the passage and into the garden.”

“Who was there?”

“Only Thales. He was all on his own.” Liberalis paused. He looked traumatized. “Apart from the bodies. I had never seen anything like it. Dead people, lying in a row, all close together, under our pergola.”

“How had they been killed?” demanded Macer.

“Throats cut.”

“Lot of blood?”

“Enough to make me sick.”

“Five men and one woman,” I prompted. “She was Rhodina?”

Liberalis nodded. He licked his lips in that nervous way he had. Twined his silver points of hair between anxious fingers. “She had no…” He could not say it.

“No head.” I was clinical. “Was her head lying there?”

He forced himself to remember the scene. “No. No, there was no head there. Just the rest of her body. Revolting.” He looked as if he might vomit right now.

Somebody had taken her head away already? Strange. “You knew for sure who she was?”

“Rhodina. She was pregnant. Anyway, Thales said, ‘This is that poor cow Rhodina. She won't bother me again.' I knew she had been nagging him; she wanted a future. He didn't like anyone to tie him down; he wanted to be rid of her.”

Macer leaned sideways, staring at Liberalis' hairy calves below his tunic. The vigilis said, matter-of-fact about it: “Well look at that! I do believe the poor scared sod is so upset, he's weed all over himself again!” Liberalis writhed. Macer encouraged him to keep talking: “Publius Julius Liberalis, you sorry man, did one of the dead fellows have his leg cut off?”

“No. Oh, don't make me remember it!” He was going off into hysterics. Any moment we would lose him.

“Sure?”

“They were lying with their legs toward me. I would have seen!” So the decapitation and leg amputation were separate incidents.