Finished Business (4 page)

‘W
ell, at least we don’t have to worry about chasing alibis,’ I said to Perilla at dinner as Bathyllus served the dessert. ‘The big question is, who was the guy working for? And if he’s a freedman, is he a home-grown one or was he specially hired for the job?’

‘Of course, he might also have done it as a favour. For a friend,’ Perilla said.

‘How do you mean, lady?’ I picked up my spoon and looked down at the bowl Bathyllus had put in front of me. In it was a sort of yellowish-grey paste mixed with what looked like thick flower petals. ‘Gods, Bathyllus, what the hell’s this?’

‘Rose hip and calf’s brain custard, sir. With a sprinkling of cinnamon.’

‘For
dessert
?’

‘It would seem so, yes. A new recipe Meton is trying out.’

‘Hmm.’ I tasted it. Not bad. Not bad at all. Slightly nutty, with a perfumed aftertaste. I could’ve done without the cinnamon, though. ‘How do you mean?’ I asked Perilla again.

‘I was thinking of his mistress. Tarquinia?’

‘Tarquitia.’

‘A freedman friend would fit with her social background. And as far as motive goes, she’s the only obvious suspect at present.’

‘Come on, Perilla!’ I spooned up a bit more of the custard. Yeah, definitely one of Meton’s winners. ‘Tarquitia’s no murderess.’

‘She now owns what is essentially a substantial part of the Naevius villa, which she can either sell for a large sum to a third party or, far more likely, given the circumstances and the awkwardness that would cause him, do a deal with Surdinus Junior for a similar or probably even larger amount. And on top of that there’s the fifty thousand sesterces legacy. Not bad going, in her position, for what was in effect a year’s work. I’d say that was an excellent motive.’

‘Perilla, she already owned the property when Surdinus died. Plus, she didn’t know she was a beneficiary in the will.’

‘So she told you. And as far as the Old Villa is concerned, Surdinus’s death simplifies things enormously. She’s free now to turn it into ready cash, which she couldn’t creditably have done while he was alive, and furthermore – again given the circumstances – it would be the natural thing to do. Obviously, she can’t live there herself, can she?’ She poked at her own plate of custard with her spoon, pushed it aside and reached for an apple. Not a calf’s brains person, Perilla.

‘You didn’t meet her,’ I said. ‘She was genuinely fond of him, and genuinely upset. And in any case, she was sitting pretty. You don’t kill the golden goose.’

‘That’s the goose that lays the golden eggs, dear.’ She began peeling the apple with her knife. ‘And we don’t know that the eggs
were
currently all that golden. We only have Tarquitia’s word that the relationship was all sweetness and light. What if Surdinus were getting tired of her? The property sale, yes, that was over and done with, although again we don’t know for certain that the idea originated with him. However, the will’s another matter. If Surdinus changed his will once, he could do so again, for any reason or none, but with him dead she could be absolutely sure of being set up for life.’

‘
If
she knew of the existing terms. I don’t think she did. And what about the business with the horoscope? That was weird, if you like.’

‘Again, she could have made the whole thing up. We don’t know.’

‘It fits with the date of the letter to you, whatever the hell that was about. From the looks of things, leaving all the whys and wherefores aside, Surdinus knew or at least thought he was booked for an urn shortly and was setting his affairs in order before he went.’

Perilla sighed and put the knife down. ‘Even if that part of it was genuine, it isn’t relevant. In fact, it could have put the idea of murder into Tarquitia’s head in the first place. Marcus, you’re not being reasonable about this. Just because you’re smitten with the girl—’

‘Come on, lady!’

‘That doesn’t mean you can throw common sense out the window. For the present, she’s the obvious candidate. Admit it.’

I grinned. ‘OK. Fair enough. Admitted. Even so, it’s early days yet.’

‘Certainly it is.’ Perilla picked up the knife and the apple again. ‘No argument. But what do you actually
know
about her and her relationship with Surdinus? Apart from what she told you?’

‘Not a lot. Before she took up with him she worked at a club called the Five Poppies, near the vegetable market. Or at least so she said, and there was no reason for her to lie because she volunteered the information herself. I was thinking of going over there tomorrow, having a talk with the owner. See if he or she can fill in a bit of the lady’s background. Then there’s Surdinus’s ex, Cornelia Sullana. I got an address for her out of Junior when I gave him the news that his father’s death was no accident. Pretty smartly, too, with no griping.’ I took another spoonful of the custard. ‘In fact, I’d say he was more pleased than not that I might be sniffing around in that direction, just like he was over the significance of Tarquitia being mentioned in the will. Not much love lost there either, I’d imagine, which is interesting.’

‘I wouldn’t say that Sullana seemed a very likely possibility, dear. I mean, what possible reason would she have for wanting her ex-husband dead? Not a desire for revenge because he’d divorced her and taken a mistress, surely. From what you told me, they’d been virtually estranged for years, and she knew all about Tarquitia long before the divorce happened.’

I shrugged. ‘She’d no reason that I know of. But then nobody does have one, not an obvious one, as far as I can see – barring your front-runner, Tarquitia. I’ll just have to dig around, see what comes up. There’s the other son, too. Marcus. Hellenus, whatever. That’s another possible angle. Oh, sure, Postuma said he hadn’t had any contact with his father for years, but if he wasn’t formally disinherited he’ll have a share of the estate. We don’t know his circumstances, and maybe he suddenly needed a large amount of cash urgently enough to tempt him to cut corners.’

‘That is pure speculation, dear.’

‘Sure it is, no arguments. But I have to start somewhere.’

‘What about the actual killer? The freedman?’

‘Lady, Rome is full of freedmen, and whoever used the guy as the perp isn’t exactly going to advertise their relationship, particularly if he owes his cap to them, which would point the finger pretty effectively. Me, if he was one of my dependants and the fact meant I could be traced through him, I’d make damn sure he got himself well and truly lost for the duration. Get him out of the city altogether, for preference, certainly put the bugger in strict quarantine. Oh, I’ll ask around for a shortish forty-plus-year-old freedman with a mark on his cheek, sure, but I don’t think I’ll get any joy.’ Sad but true: most of the time, unless of course they come specifically to his attention for some reason, to your average middle- or upper-class Roman another man’s (or woman’s) freedmen dependants, like their slaves, are non-people, featureless nonentities. They just don’t get noticed, because they’re of no importance. Ask any three-namer to describe his next-door neighbour’s major-domo to you and the chances are you’ll just get a blank look. Ask some of the more pukkah-sahib types to describe their own and four times out of five you’ll get the same.

‘You might be lucky,’ Perilla said.

‘Yeah, well, just don’t hold your breath, that’s all.’ I finished off the custard. ‘You don’t want yours?’

She shuddered. ‘No. Definitely not.’

I reached over and swapped the plates. Not wholly greed: Meton can take it really personally if the empties tray comes back with an untouched dish on it, and risking Meton’s displeasure is not something you do lightly.

‘What about Surdinus’s relationships outwith the family?’ Perilla said. ‘I mean, in terms of enemies?’

I shrugged again. ‘From the looks of things, there isn’t much mileage there. Not if you believe Tarquitia, and if she were the guilty party, the chances are she’d be only too glad to bring out the dirty linen. He wasn’t involved with politics, which is the main area for a guy of his class where making enemies is concerned.’

‘Business relationships?’

‘Possibly. That’s one side of things I’ll have to check with his ex-wife. But the impression I got was that his mind didn’t run that way. He was a stay-at-home, for a start, and an interest in philosophy and astrology doesn’t chime too well with hard-headed business sense.’

‘You said he was a Stoic, dear. Stoics aren’t ivory-tower philosophers by any means, and they’re positively expected to involve themselves in business and politics. So if Surdinus kept clear of these areas he’s an anomaly rather than otherwise. And personally I think for a businessman a certain facility in making predictions about the future might prove a very useful skill.’

I laughed and ducked my head. ‘Yeah. Yeah, fair enough. So when push came to shove, maybe he wasn’t a proper card-carrying Stoic after all. But I’m only repeating what I was told by his estate manager and his mistress: he didn’t go out much from choice, and he seems to have picked his friends and acquaintances for their ability to talk philosophy rather than business or politics. And they were exclusively that – friends. There were no enemies that anyone’s mentioned, either Manager Leonidas or Tarquitia. Oh, sure, again it’s something to check – I’ve got a few names for his regular dinner guests, so talking to them may open up an angle or two – but I’m not too hopeful on that side of things.’

‘So where
are
you hopeful?’

‘The gods know, lady. Nowhere, at present. Tarquitia … well, I take your point, all of your points, but I can’t really believe in Tarquitia being behind the murder. Like I said, all I can do is dig around and see what comes up, see what feels promising.’

‘Starting tomorrow?’

‘As ever.’

I
started, though, with Surdinus’s ex: mornings aren’t the best time to go visiting clubs, so I’d put that off until later in the day.

Cornelia Sullana had a house up on the Pincian, between the Gardens of Pompey and those of Lucullus; prime hillside property, in other words, although not in the Vatican league. From the looks of the place – old, detached, rambling, in its own grounds and with a well-established garden around it – I’d guess it was part of the family estates, going back at least to her ancestor the dictator’s time. Which, of course, made complete sense: belonging, as she did, to a long-established patrician family like the Cornelii, she’d have property in her own right spread throughout the city and far beyond. Rome’s ultra-pukkah patrician families have always been a hard-headed bunch where making and keeping money’s concerned, and being banned from trade they’ve put all their efforts over the past five hundred years or so into land, stone and mortar. Or rather, in most cases, into the cheap lath, rubble and cement that the city’s tenements were built from, that bring a huge return in rents for a very modest outlay, and keep on bringing it year after year. Particularly if the expense of minor concerns like repairs and renovation is kept to a minimum, which it usually is. Even though she was no longer part of the Naevius ménage, Surdinus’s widow, or whatever you liked to call her, wouldn’t exactly be short of a sesterce or two.

I gave my name to the door slave, and after half an hour or so spent kicking my heels in the vestibule, I was shown into the atrium, where the lady herself was waiting to grant me an audience.

Cornelia Sullana was comfortably into her fifties and dolled up like a woman twenty years younger. Not that it had much effect on her basic appearance, mind: she was bony and angularly ugly, with an expression on her sharp-featured face like she’d just swallowed a pint of neat vinegar. An image of a discontented parrot in moult eyeing up a particularly recalcitrant nut came to mind. I could see, given their avian similarities, where Surdinus Junior had got his looks from.

‘Valerius Corvinus,’ she said. ‘I assume, from the communi-cation I received from Naevia Postuma, that you are here in connection with the death of my former husband.’

‘Yeah. Yeah, that’s right,’ I said. I glanced at the couch opposite her – she was sitting on a chair – but if I was expecting an invitation to use it, I didn’t get one.

‘Then I’m not sure that I can help you in any way. Nor am I aware of any need or reason to do so, since the death was a complete accident.’

‘It was no accident,’ I said. ‘Naevius Surdinus was murdered.’

‘So Postuma claims, of course, but that is complete nonsense. The tower was unsafe. Everyone told him so, I told him myself, but Lucius never did listen to reason. The silly man deserved all he got, and there’s an end of it.’

‘He was murdered, Cornelia Sullana,’ I repeated. ‘I checked for myself. The whole thing was deliberate, and it was planned in advance. Someone climbed to the top, pried the stone that killed him loose from the parapet above the entrance, waited until he was directly below and pushed it free.’

She stared at me. ‘You’re sure about this?’

‘Absolutely certain. The tool the killer used left marks in the cement, and there was cement dust on the plank below where the stone had been.’

‘But that’s …’ She frowned. ‘Who on earth would want to kill Lucius?’

‘Yeah, well,’ I said, ‘that’s the question I was hoping you might help me with.’

‘Frankly, I can’t see anyone bothering.’

Ouch. She meant it, too. How many years had they been married? It had to be thirty-five, at least, given her age and the age of Surdinus Junior. ‘As far as the actual killer is concerned,’ I said, ‘one of the garden slaves saw a freedman moving through the grounds at about the time when your husband—’

‘Ex-husband.’

‘When your ex-husband died. Shortish, probably in his forties, with a distinctive mark on his cheek. A large scar or a birthmark. Any bells?’

‘No. Certainly he’s not anyone I recognize. Oh, you might as well sit down, Valerius Corvinus. I suspect this is going to take rather longer than I anticipated.’

I sat. ‘Did your … Did Naevius Surdinus have any enemies?’ I asked. ‘Anyone who’d want him dead?’

‘Of course not,’ she snapped. ‘I told you. Lucius wasn’t effective enough to make enemies, as any decent man would in the normal course of events. All he cared about was his silly philosophical studies.’

‘I know he wasn’t involved in politics, but …’

‘Certainly he was not.’ Clearly, from her tone, this was a sore point, which was understandable: not to be involved in politics, for a woman with the background of Cornelia Sullana, was unthinkable. ‘Not since his suffect consulship ten years ago. And the trouble I went to, the strings I pulled, to get him that and properly on the ladder you would not
believe
! Wasted, completely wasted, all because that fool Bassus was forced to kill himself.’ So, Leonidas had been right about that. ‘Bassus may have been guilty of treason, Corvinus, and so justly condemned, or he may not; the truth of the matter is immaterial. These things happen, one shrugs them off and forgets. I told Lucius as much at the time, but as I said, he never did listen to reason. A most exasperating man.’

Exasperating
. The same adjective Tarquitia had used. Well, they had that much in common, anyway. ‘How about his business interests?’ I asked.

‘What business interests? Lucius didn’t have a single businesslike bone in his body. Where his investments were concerned – and he had a considerable number, over a very wide range, mostly inherited from his father and grandfather, who
were
proper businessmen – his bailiff had complete charge of these. I, of course, made any necessary major policy decisions and kept a very close watching brief on the man himself. Gallio has been the family’s bailiff for over thirty years, as his father and grandfather were before him, and I have no doubt he is perfectly honest, at least as honest as that class of men usually are. Nonetheless, you cannot be too careful, and I’ – she sniffed – ‘most certainly am. Or was, I should say, until Lucius and I parted company. Gallio, now, can do as he likes.’

‘You don’t have any connection with the rest of the family, then?’

‘With my elder son, you mean? Only as much as I have to. He may be my son, Valerius Corvinus, but Lucius has always been a grave disappointment to me. In a different way, naturally, to his father, but there you are. As a boy he was sullen, secretive and spectacularly unintelligent. As a man, he has retained and developed these traits. Oh, I admit he’s tried to make something of himself in life, but if he’s succeeded to some small degree it has not been on his own merits but by the doing of others, not least of myself, and without my guiding hand he will no doubt sink to his natural level. My elder son is nothing but one long talentless scowl.’

Gods! So much for the son and heir.
No love lost
had been right. ‘How about your younger one?’ I said.

‘Marcus?’ She sniffed again. ‘Or Hellenus, rather, as he prefers to be called. That says it all. Marcus, I could indeed have made something of. He was intelligent, personable, an excellent talker. Unlike his brother, prime material in every way. But it was not to be, unfortunately, and the choice was his. No, I have no connection whatsoever now with Marcus. I have no idea, even, where he lives.’

‘What about your husband’s bailiff? Where would I find him?’

‘
Gallio?
’ She looked at me in surprise. ‘Why should you want to talk to him?’

‘No reason.’ There wasn’t: that aspect of things seemed well above board. But at this point in the investigation I couldn’t be too picky, and it was always best to get more than one viewpoint.

‘Very well, then. He has an office on Iugarius, near the Carminal Gate. I call him Lucius’s bailiff, as indeed he is, but not exclusively so. These days, the firm is quite large, and it has other clients besides the Naevius family.’ A third sniff. ‘A sign of the times, Corvinus, and not a change for the better. His grandfather was Lucius’s grandfather’s freedman and knew his place, but these days it seems that where preserving or ignoring class distinction is concerned, anything goes. We’ll have freedmen running the empire very soon and the old families letting them do it, encouraging them, even. You mark my words.’

‘Uh … moving on,’ I said. ‘The divorce and, ah, related aspects.’ We were on delicate ground here, I knew, but I couldn’t go without broaching the subject of Tarquitia. ‘Maybe I could ask you about them.’

That got me a long, cool stare. ‘You mean my husband’s mistress, I suppose?’ Sullana said. ‘The nightclub girl.’

‘Yeah. More or less.’

‘You think she had a hand in Lucius’s death? It wouldn’t surprise me, of course; she had him wound round her little finger, and if she features in his will …’ She stopped. ‘Does she?’

‘Ah … yeah. Yes, so I believe, anyway.’

‘Substantially?’ I said nothing, which I suppose was an answer in itself, because she went on: ‘There you are, then. You don’t have to look any further.’

‘Maybe not, but—’

‘She’s a gold-digger, first to last. Not that that aspect of things concerns me, apart from rousing the natural anger that anyone would feel in those circumstances; as I said, I no longer have any interest in the family whatsoever. In fact, I was quite pleased when I heard that Lucius had more or less handed her the Old Villa as a gift, because our dear son will be absolutely livid.’ A twisting of the sour lips into what was almost a smile. ‘How dreadfully embarrassing for him. But although I had very little time for my husband, that does
not
mean that I can sympathize with his killer.’

‘She was his first? Mistress, I mean.’

‘As far as I’m aware, yes, although it’s much more likely than not. Lucius had many failings, but philandering was not one of them. In fact, I was quite surprised when he took up with the girl, and frankly I believe – despite the obvious untruth of the belief – that his interest in her was fatherly rather than sexual. He certainly talked of her more as a favourite daughter than a mistress.’

‘He talked to you about her, then?’

‘Oh, yes. Right from the start of their relationship, which was – as you probably know – just over a year ago. He was quite open about it.’

‘And you didn’t mind?’

‘Valerius Corvinus, my husband could have slept with half of Rome and I would not have minded one bit, so long as he did not advertise the fact and observed the proprieties. Knowing he did so with a nightclub slut far less than half his age meant nothing to me. Absolutely nothing. If we were still married after thirty-seven years it was by no doing of mine. Had he told me any time these thirty-odd years that he wanted a divorce, I would have agreed without a thought.’

‘But he didn’t. Not until a month ago.’ I hesitated. ‘Ah … forgive me for asking this, Cornelia Sullana, but why did he do it then? Not so he could marry Tarquitia, if that were possible, because he didn’t marry her when he could. And she didn’t claim that marriage in future was on the cards. So why the divorce?’

She was quiet so long that I didn’t think she would answer. Finally, though, she said: ‘Because I goaded him into it.’

‘Goaded?’

‘Made him angry. By telling him about my own affair.’

‘Uh …’ This I just didn’t believe: the lady, as I said, was well past fifty and looked like the back end of a cart into the bargain. Yet there she sat, like a dowager-matron who could’ve posed for the mother of the two Gracchi, confessing to screwing around behind her husband’s back. ‘Come again?’

She must’ve noticed my expression, because that sour smile was back, fleetingly. ‘Oh, not recently. It was twenty … no, twenty-five years ago. With a man called Cassius Longinus.’

That name rang a faint bell: I remembered Naevia Postuma mentioning it. ‘Surdinus’s colleague in the consulship?’

‘Yes. Although of course that was much later, and pure coincidence, when the affair was well and truly over. Longinus was everything that Lucius wasn’t, and still is. He’s governor of Asia at present, so I hear.’

‘Surdinus never knew?’

‘He never even suspected. We were very careful, and in any case I doubt if someone like Lucius would have noticed anyway.’

‘But he would’ve minded.’

‘Of course he would. And did, even twenty years after the event. That was the whole point of telling him.’ She stood up. ‘And now, Valerius Corvinus, that is about all I can tell
you
. I’ve answered your questions as frankly as I can.’ Jupiter, she’d done that right enough, latterly! ‘And I wish you every success. I may never have got on with Lucius – despised him, in fact, if the truth be told – but I bore and bear him no animosity, certainly not now he is dead. You can find your own way out, I think.’

I did.