Trade Secrets Read online

  ‘Why should it worry me?’ But he was rattled; obviously so. ‘Now, Corvinus, that’s my lunch break over and I’ve got more to do today than I’ve time for. You mind?’

  ‘Not at all.’ I got up. ‘Thanks for your trouble.’

  ‘A pleasure.’ Not what his eyes said; not by a long chalk. ‘I’ll see you out.’

  We walked through the peristyle garden and into the house proper. I was crossing the atrium when I came face-to-face with a stylish middle-aged woman coming from the direction of the lobby.

  She stopped.

  ‘And who might you be?’ she said.

  ‘This is Valerius Corvinus, madam,’ Doccius said. ‘From Rome. He came to talk to me about the boss’s death. He’s just leaving.’

  A complete change of tone: he didn’t exactly go the length of tugging his forelock, but the impression I got was that he wasn’t all that far off it.

  ‘You’re Mamilia, yes?’ I said. ‘Marcus Correllius’s wife?’ I was tactful enough to avoid the word ‘widow’. Mind you – and it was odd, to say the least – the lady was wearing everyday dress, not a mourning mantle. Pretty expensive everyday dress at that, and slap bang up to fashion, if I was any judge. Plus for a woman who’d lost her husband under tragic circumstances less than a month before she wasn’t looking exactly prostrate with grief. She was wearing full make-up, for a start, and I’d bet that wherever she’d been it wasn’t to sob at the late Correllius’s graveside.

  Like I say, odd. And very, very interesting.

  ‘I am indeed Mamilia,’ she said. She was giving me a long, considering look. ‘Corvinus, your name was?’

  ‘Yeah. Actually, it was you I came to see in the first place, but your door-slave said you were out.’

  ‘Which was quite true. I was, but as you can see I’m back.’ The eyes finally shifted, as if she’d been carefully weighing up a range of options and finally come to a decision. ‘So by all means you can talk to me now, if you wish.’ Doccius opened his mouth to say something, but she held up a hand and he closed it. ‘That will do for now, Publius. Thank you for taking care of Valerius Corvinus in my absence, but you have work of your own, I’m sure.’

  ‘Yes, madam.’ He shot me a look that wouldn’t’ve disgraced a basilisk, turned on his heel and went back out through the peristyle.

  Mamilia watched him go, then turned back to me. ‘Sit down, Valerius Corvinus,’ she said. ‘You’ll find that couch beside you perfectly comfortable.’ She sat down herself in the chair beside the ornamental pool and tidied the folds of her mantle. ‘Now. Marcus’s death. First of all, if you don’t mind my asking, what precisely is your interest in the matter?’

  I repeated more or less what I’d told Doccius. She frowned.

  ‘Forgive me,’ she said. ‘But I need to have this clear. Your friend the Watch Commander. He’s of the opinion that no real crime was committed since my husband was already dead, yes?’

  ‘Uh, yeah, more or less. Or rather not of the level that would warrant a full-scale official investigation. But—’

  ‘Don’t you think, then, that we should simply leave things as they are? I mean, if poor Marcus was dead already when he was stabbed then what, really, is the point?’ I just gaped at her: Doccius was one thing, but this lady was Correllius’s widow, for the gods’ sakes! ‘Or don’t you agree?’

  Bland as hell. Jupiter! I counted, mentally, to ten. ‘The man was murdered, lady,’ I said carefully. ‘Or just as good as. All that happened was that whoever stuck the knife in him thought he was asleep. No, of course I don’t f—’ I stopped myself just in time. ‘Of course I don’t agree.’

  ‘Then that’s unfortunate. But whether you do or not makes no difference, does it? If the Roman authorities decline to investigate the matter then the decision passes to the family, in other words to myself. Marcus is dead. That is …’ she paused – ‘regrettable, but the fact is that he died of natural causes. Anything else is a needless complication, and at base irrelevant. Certainly, and I have no wish to be rude, it is no business whatsoever of yours.’

  True. Technically, at least. Even so, I just didn’t believe this; unnatural didn’t go far enough.

  ‘He ever mention a man called Marcus Pullius?’ I asked.

  Not a flicker. ‘No,’ she said. ‘Who might that be?’

  ‘A business acquaintance, presumably. Only the strange thing is that no one seems to have heard of him barring the slave who was with your husband that day and who’s now dead himself.’ I just stopped myself in time from glossing the adjective with a ‘conveniently’.

  ‘Ah, yes. That would be Mercurius. A tragic accident. Tragic.’

  ‘Yeah.’ I managed to keep the sarcasm out of my voice. ‘Anyway, this Pullius seems to have vanished into thin air. According to Mercurius, he was supposed to meet Correllius outside the Pollio, but he never showed up. Or at least if he did then he was probably the killer.’

  Mamilia frowned. ‘Excuse me, Valerius Corvinus,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry to repeat myself, but “killer” is the wrong word here, and I do think we should keep that fact firmly in mind. And I’m afraid I know nothing about Marcus’s business concerns. He didn’t confide.’ Interesting: she was lying there, I was sure of it. ‘Certainly he never mentioned a Marcus Pullius to me, not in any context.’

  ‘The thing is,’ I said, ‘if this Pullius was involved then we’ve got what amounts to a description of him.’

  ‘Oh?’ That came out sharply.

  ‘Yeah. From a lady’s maid who happened to come into the garden just as, presumably, your husband was being stabbed. Or immediately afterwards, anyway, because she caught sight of the man before he walked off.’

  ‘Very interesting. But, as I said, not of much practical use to anyone.’ She smoothed a non-existent crease from her mantle. ‘Now I’ve no wish to be rude or inhospitable, but there really is no need to prolong this conversation. Marcus was not a well man, and had not been so for some years. He is now dead, his death was not unexpected, and it occurred, your doctor son-in-law says, from natural causes completely consistent with his illness. To me that is what is important and there’s an end of the matter. From what you say, the authorities are in complete agreement with this opinion. Accordingly, I would be grateful if you minded your own business, whatever that is, and returned to Rome. Do I make myself clear?’

  Gods!

  ‘Yeah. Perfectly clear. Thank you, lady.’ I was quietly fizzing. I stood up. So did she.

  ‘I’m sorry you had a wasted journey.’ She gave me a brittle smile: evidently now I’d had the firm brush-off there was scope for a return to the social graces. ‘Were you staying locally or are you just through from Rome for the day?’

  ‘Oh, I’m staying.’ Damn right I would be! ‘For the foreseeable future, anyway. A friend of my wife’s is letting us use her villa.’

  ‘How delightful. So your journey won’t be a complete waste after all; I’m glad. That would be one of the villas on the coast, I suppose?’ I said nothing. ‘Yes, they are very nice, aren’t they? I did try to persuade Marcus to build or buy us one – so much more pleasant than a house in town, particularly in the summer months – but he preferred to be in the centre of things. And, as you’ve seen, he virtually worked from home.’ She held out her hand. ‘I’m very pleased to have met you, Valerius Corvinus, and believe me I do appreciate your concern and the trouble you’ve gone to. I hope I haven’t given any offence; certainly none was intended. But I really do think this is for the best.’

  Yeah. Right. And I was Cleopatra’s grandmother. I shook and turned to go …

  A man was coming through from the lobby: late forties, fit-looking, grizzled hair well-barbered, and a snappy plain mantle. He stopped when he saw me.

  ‘I’m sorry, Mamilia,’ he said. ‘Your door-slave sent me straight through. He didn’t tell me you had company.’

  ‘That’s OK,’ I said. ‘I was just leaving.’ I glanced at Mamilia. Her face was set.

  ‘The gent
leman’s name is Valerius Corvinus,’ she said. ‘He came to enquire about Marcus’s death.’

  The man grunted. ‘Publius Fundanius,’ he said, putting out his hand.

  I shook it. ‘Friend of the family?’

  He hesitated. ‘Business associate.’ He turned to Mamilia. ‘I just called round to offer my condolences and ask if there was anything I could do.’

  ‘Kind of you,’ Mamilia said; you could’ve used her tone to ice wine.

  ‘Well, I’ll be going,’ I said; then, to Mamilia: ‘Thanks for taking the time to talk to me.’

  ‘You’re very welcome.’

  This time, not so much as a blink. I left.

  FIFTEEN

  So; time for a cup of wine, and a think. A serious think: matters were getting complicated.

  I carried on up the Hinge in the direction of Market Square, keeping an eye out for wineshops: like I say, this was a part of town I hardly knew at all, and my preferred ones all lay nearer the river. I spotted one down an alleyway just short of the back of the Temple of Rome and Augustus at the Square’s southern end and went inside.

  Pretty basic, hardly more than a counter, with only one punter in evidence, an oldish guy in a worker’s tunic who was nursing a wine-cup and chatting with the middle-aged woman behind the bar. We nodded to each other and I saw his eyes widen at my purple stripe, but he turned back to his drink.

  ‘Afternoon, sir,’ the woman said. ‘What can I get you?’

  I looked up at the board: Veian, eh? Now there was a wine you didn’t see all that often. Still, I’d be heading for Agron’s yard later, and no doubt if he’d time to spare we’d be splitting half a jug in his local, so maybe just a cup would do.

  ‘A cup of your Veian’d be good,’ I said.

  She poured it, and I took a sip: not bad, not bad at all. Excellent, in fact. Basic or not, I’d have to add this place to my list.

  ‘You over here from the city?’ the other punter said.

  I turned towards him; obviously the chatty type, which was lucky. Me, I always have time for talkative local barflies, particularly when I’m on a case, and the thinking could wait for a bit.

  ‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘Yeah, I am, as it happens.’

  ‘Business?’

  ‘Of a kind. Name’s Corvinus. Marcus Corvinus.’

  ‘Titus Rubrius. We don’t see many purple-stripers in here, do we, Vinnia?’ he said to the barwoman. ‘Raises the tone of the place no end. You’ll have to be hiring a set of musicians and a floor show soon, eh?’ She didn’t respond, and he turned back to me. ‘I mean no offence, sir. You’re very welcome.’

  ‘No offence taken. And it’s their loss. That’s the best wineshop Veian I’ve tasted in a long time.’

  I glanced at the barwoman, but she’d turned away and was replacing the flask in its cradle. It isn’t very often that a wineshop owner’ll let a compliment pass them by without some sort of response, or at least a smile, and I’d got neither, just the back view of her tunic. Not one of nature’s born talkers, obviously, this Vinnia. Not the sunniest of dispositions, either, I suspected.

  The old guy nodded. ‘Aye, it’s good stuff, the Veian,’ he said. ‘Vinnia here gets it from a cousin of one of the other regulars. He’s got a farm up that way, not a big one but he’s a dab hand with the vines. Most of it goes locally, but he sends her a few flasks every year. That right, lass?’

  She turned and reached for the empty plate in front of him. Not a smile; not an anything, really.

  ‘It’s a nice enough wine,’ she said, washing the plate in the sink by the counter and reaching for the drying cloth. ‘I’ve had no complaints.’

  I took another swallow, a larger one this time. For a wineshop owner – and I assumed, now, that the lady was the owner – she wasn’t exactly showing all that much in the way of customer rapport. Maybe that was why the place was so empty; certainly it had nothing to do with the quality of the wine, and your usual wineshop punter expects a bit of chat with his lunchtime cup. Still, it took all sorts. Maybe Ostian punters were a more introspective bunch than their Roman counterparts.

  I leaned my elbows on the counter and turned back to my more communicative fellow-drinker.

  ‘You live around here yourself, pal?’ I said.

  ‘Nah. Not exactly. I’m up by Tiber Gate, me. But I’ve a butcher’s shop in the market, so it’s handy. I’m in here most days for an hour or so this time, after the morning rush is past, while my daughter looks after things.’ He drank some of his own wine. ‘What sort of business are you in yourself, sir? If you don’t mind me asking.’

  ‘It’s, uh, a bit complicated.’ Well, there was no harm in fishing; you never knew your luck, and I always say that if it’s local information you want the best place to get it is in the nearest wineshop. ‘You happen to know a man by the name of Correllius? Marcus Correllius? Lives near here. Big house on the Hinge.’

  The woman set the dry plate down hard on the stone counter with a sharp click, and I wondered if it had broken. I gave her a curious glance, but she was already turning away and standing with her back to me.

  ‘That who your business is with?’ the old man said casually. Too casually, and I’d noticed his eyes flick to the woman’s back and away again.

  ‘Not exactly, no,’ I said.

  He grunted, raised the wine-cup to his lips, took a sip and set it down carefully, then cleared his throat.

  ‘You know Correllius well yourself, do you?’ he said.

  Over-casual again. Something was screwy here; what it was, I didn’t know, but we definitely had an Atmosphere.

  ‘No, I’ve never even met the guy,’ I said. ‘It was an honest question, no strings.’

  ‘Honest question, eh? In that case, and you’ll forgive me for saying so, because it’s kindly meant, if it was me doing the business I’d watch my step.’

  Uh-huh. ‘Yeah?’ I said. ‘In what way?’

  He hesitated. ‘Let’s just say “honest” and “Correllius” aren’t words that go together all that neatly.’

  ‘You’re telling me he was a crook?’

  ‘“Was”?’ He frowned. ‘How do you mean, “was”?’

  I cursed, mentally, but the damage was done. ‘He’s dead, as it happens. About half a month ago, over in Rome.’

  Rubrius looked at Vinnia and I followed his eyes. She still had her back to us, but she was standing rigid, the dishcloth clutched in her hand, obviously listening hard.

  ‘Well now,’ he said slowly and softly; his eyes didn’t waver. ‘There’s a thing.’ He turned back to me. ‘And that’d be why you’re here, would it, sir? The “business” you mentioned?’

  ‘Yeah, more or less. Like I said, it’s complicated.’

  ‘Now there’s good news, eh, Vinnia?’ Rubrius said to the woman. There was no answer, but she turned round. Her face was as grey as the dishrag she was holding, and she was staring at me like I’d just grown an extra head. ‘Come on, girl! What’s wrong with you?’

  Yeah; me, I’d’ve liked to know the answer to that as well. I’d definitely touched a nerve here, that was for sure, but what it was I hadn’t a clue.

  ‘You have some sort of connection with the guy, lady?’ I said to her.

  ‘No.’ That came out in a whisper. She still hadn’t taken her eyes off me.

  Rubrius chuckled. ‘Come on, lass!’ he said again. ‘You’ve told me a dozen times that—’

  ‘You hold your tongue, Titus!’ she snapped at him.

  He frowned, opened his mouth to say something, then shrugged, picked up his wine-cup, drained it, and set it down on the counter.

  ‘Fair enough, girl,’ he said. ‘As you like. Have it your own way.’ He stood up. ‘I’d best be getting back in any case. A pleasure to meet you, sir.’

  ‘Yeah. Likewise.’ Gods! What was going on here?

  He went out, closing the door behind him. The woman set the dishcloth down, picked up the plate she’d been drying – it couldn’t’ve broken after all –
and turned her back on me again as she laid the plate with the others on the shelf above the wine flasks.

  There was a long pause.

  Finally: ‘No hassle, sister,’ I said gently. ‘None in the world. All I wanted to know was—’

  ‘Look.’ She turned round. ‘You asked and I answered, right? There’s an end to it. Now I’m sorry, sir, but I’d be grateful if you’d just finish your wine and go. You understand?’

  ‘Sure. No problem.’ I took a last swallow, put the empty cup down on the counter, paid, and left.

  Interesting. And, to say the least, puzzling.

  The market area wasn’t far off, in the triangular space formed by the junction of Ditch Street and Sea Gate Road. This late in the afternoon there weren’t many shoppers around – like Rubrius had said, the main rush, where foodstuffs are concerned, certainly, is in the morning when the punters are putting together the wherewithal for dinner, and most of the shops and stalls were closed. I found the butchers’ section easily enough, opposite the west gate of the old fort; just in time, because Rubrius and a middle-aged woman I assumed was his daughter were hauling down the shutters.

  ‘Hi again, pal,’ I said. ‘Can you spare a minute?’

  He was bent down fixing the padlock to its hasp. He straightened and turned, and there was no surprise in his face.

  ‘Oh, it’s you, sir,’ he said. ‘I thought it wouldn’t be long before you looked me up.’ Then, to the woman: ‘You get yourself off home, girl. I’ll follow you directly.’ She gave me a quick, curious look – the purple stripe again – nodded and left. ‘By the horse trough do you? I could do with a sit-down.’

  ‘Sure,’ I said. ‘Wherever you like.’

  We went over to the horse trough and sat side by side on the stone lip.

  ‘How did he die?’ Rubrius said.

  ‘I told you, it’s complicated. But basically he was stabbed from behind, on a bench outside the Pollio Library in Rome.’

  ‘Uh-huh.’ He nodded. ‘And the family want you to find out who did it, right?’