LV
PEOPLE LOOKED startled, but a snack never comes amiss. It broke the tension. The slaves mingled, courteously offering titbits and savouries, then little cups of drink. Turius slumped, trembling and covering his face, while the others shrank away from him. Small groups muttered in low voices and occasionally glanced in my direction. I went and sat beside Helena.
`You were wonderful, darling,' she cooed. She always knew how to undermine me if I looked overconfident.
Lucrio strolled up, finishing a mouthful of giant prawn. `How's your mother, Falco?'
`Depressed about her savings, you know that.'
`No need to be.' He had come over on purpose. `Can't mention the amount – but she had it all on sealed deposit.'
I scooped up olives from a passing tray. `What does that mean?'
He sneered at my ignorance. `Sealed or 'regular' deposits are literally that: the coins or other valuables are placed in sacks that are formally secured with tags. They have to remain untouched. Irregular deposits are when the banker has the right to use the money in search of profits – invest it in suitable schemes to provide income.'
`For the depositor or for you?' I sneered back.
He ignored that. `Sealed ones remain entirely the property of the depositor, and must be handed back untampered with, on demand. Frankly, the Aurelian believed that was a waste of resources. I tried hard to change Junilla Tacita's mind so her principal would earn for her, but she remained determined.'
This was cheering news. Helena was smiling. `She just wanted to put the money in a safe place, and not take any risks? That's your mother, Marcus! I can just imagine her deciding that nobody else would gamble with her cash!'
Lucrio looked wry. `Seems a very shrewd lady. When we assayed the coins, there was the fewest number of counterfeits and copper 'souls that our changer had ever seen in a single batch.'
I chortled. `My mother doesn't just bite all her change to check it – she scares all Hades out of anyone who looks likely to slip her a fake!… What's the position for her, now the bank has failed?'
`The liquidators can't touch her money,' Lucrio admitted offhandedly. Would he have told Ma, had I not asked? `If she wants it back, she should ask.'
`I'll come and get it.'
`She has to appear in person, Falco. Normal procedure,' Lucrio snarled. How sensible. You don't want wicked sons stealing from their poor old mothers.
I had been keeping an eye on the others. The assembly had been given time to relax; now they were looking for seconds from the drinks trays. It was time I unsettled them by calling a halt.
`Thanks, everyone. Could you now please return to your seats?'
I then spent a few moments consulting the head waiter, making sure I was seen making notes of what he told me.
`Sorry to keep you. By the way, that was a little test I ran. When Chrysippus died, we know that his killer stopped outside in the lobby and pinched some nettle flan from his lunch tray.' People shifted uneasily, the bright ones already catching on. `As you may have noticed, the salvers today were quite large. We placed the most expensive and tasty snacks around the rim, within easy reach, while at the centre, where you had to stretch, were portions of nettle flan. I was just checking who took the flan -'
`Oh for heavens sake!' Lysa was absolutely furious. `You are surely not intending to use that kind of evidence to accuse anyone!'
I smiled. `Hardly. I do know how badly that would be received by Marponius, the homicide magistrate – and what scorn a defending barrister would pour on it. Anyway,' I added light-heartedly, `if the nettle flan was enough to convict, from the number of bits he scoffed, I would be arresting the enquiry chief, Lucius Petronius!'
Petro pretended to look embarrassed. I deliberately passed him the list of who else had eaten the flan. He read it, without changing expression, while I continued.
`Right then, Turius; you made a startling confession.' I tutted. `I wonder why you did that?'
Turius had remained hunched on his seat during the break, not partaking of the refreshments. Now he flushed painfully. He was deeply regretting his outburst. He was a fool, and it would serve him right if I arrested him – but I was convinced the bank's enforcers were to blame for the historian's death.
`Anyone help you with this alleged killing?'
`No -'
Once again, I dragged him to the centre of the room. It took little effort. Standing there, his head hung and he tried to avoid my eye. `How strong are you, Turius? Could a sickly man, working alone, have knocked out Avienus, then shunted him over a parapet and held him there, while stuffing his head through a noose?'
'I,’
`Let's. say you did kill him, Turius. Whatever was your motive? Avienus refused to press Chrysippus for more money? Perhaps. So you killed him, to take over as sole blackmailer? At some point there must have been pay-offs to you – it would explain your fancy outfits, wouldn't it, Turius?' He said nothing, perhaps confirming that he did receive payment. `But to put pressure on Chrysippus direct, you had to know exactly what Avienus had discovered against the bank. Had he told you that?'
`No!' Turius wailed, by now distraught. `That time he was drunk he held back the full evidence. Afterwards he refused to say anything more.
`So you never took over as the blackmailer?'
`No.'
`Stick to that line,' I warned him. `Because if anyone thinks you do know the details, you too may be obliterated by violent heavies called the Ritusii. They had a strongman called Bos, who probably helped Avienus to his death, and who tried to strangle Petronius.' I noticed Lucrio lean forward slightly as if to look curiously at Lysa. Did that mean she hired the Ritusii and he had only just found out? `Bos is dead' – Lucrio sat back, pulling an amazed face – `but the Ritusii are still at large – I suggest you get out of their reach, Turius.'
`Thank you,' he gasped.
`Don't thank me. The vigiles and I like good urban hygiene – we don't want stinking corpses in this heat. I'd hate to see an idealist like you dangling from a rope with a purple face.'
`Oh Hades…'Way out of his depth, Turius once more buried his head in his hands.
I spoke more kindly: `Now cut out the nonsense: tell me, why did you say you had killed the historian?'
He looked up, his glistening hair ploughed into furrows by his fingers. `I should never have urged him to ask for extra money. That brought about his death. I feel responsible.'
He did bear responsibility, but he can never have imagined a fatality would happen. What was the point in pressing it? Those who decided to wipe Avienus out, bore far more guilt than this pathetic creature. `That sounds like regret,' I suggested.
`Of course I regret it, bitterly.'
`Then I suggest you make amends to his old mother, if you can.' I paused. `And I would like you to explain how you can afford the fancy wardrobe, when you are not making money from writing. Where do the smart tunics come from, Turius?'
Turius hated having to answer, but he understood he was still vulnerable to suspicion. He had to come clean. He closed his eyes and announced clearly: `Chrysippus never paid me enough to live on. I moonlight as a private poetry-reader' to rich women. I have done it for years.'
He meant more than reading aloud eclogues. The clients who wheezed, `Ooh Turius, you have such a lovely voice!' would be buying his body. I had thought him effeminate, but he was really a widows' pretty boy.
His nerve failed. He crumpled. He whispered pitifully, `I have said that in confidence, of course…'
Despite the flash clothes, he was not even good-looking. The wealthy old hags who slavered over him must be loathsome. I shuddered, and let him slink back to his seat.
