I gazed at the Chrysippus family. Time to get tough.
`So, who sent the Ritusii to nail Avienus? Chrysippus was dead, but who else wanted to be rid of the blackmailer? You, Lysa. You inherited the bank. – after you had been closely involved in its early years. You told me, no one person ever made decisions. That means you knew what went on. What were the historian's threats? Extortionate commission? Making debtors with a doubtful credit-record pay annual interest above the legal maximum? Or was it misuse of funds? You're a Greek – I know that notorious story about the Opisthodomos fire, when a temple treasury in Athens was burnt down because a sealed deposit had been used for speculation – and lost – illegally. Sound like anything you and your husband used to do?'
`You won't prove anything against us,' Lysa replied calmly.
`We can check the bank's records.'
Her composure remained immaculate. `You will find nothing discreditable. Loans from years ago have all been repaid. It is a tradition of Greek banking that whenever a loan is cancelled, the contract is destroyed.'
Oh very neat! `The vigiles will find witnesses somewhere.'
Lysa glared at me. It gave me an odd feeling to be discussing such matters with a woman. Lysa herself seemed perfectly at ease; her very competence implicated her in what the bank had done wrong. She could have pleaded female ignorance of its practices, but the thought never occurred to her.
`The Golden Horse is known for its hungry interest rates,' I continued. `Petronius Longus hopes to nail you on a usury charge. I myself want to trace those 'fiduciary transactions' that Avienus had tracked and used to help his personal liquidity. My suspicion is that when you started out in Rome, Lysa, sealed deposits – regular deposits, as they are known – were used for speculation in irregular ways.
`Prove it!' She was angry enough – without even knowing that it was Lucrio who inadvertently gave me this lead a few minutes ago. Lucrio realised, and looked sick.
`I'll do my best,' I promised. Lysa fixed me again. I was impervious to seething women. `So did you have Avienus destroyed, Lysa? When Chrysippus died, Avienus must have thought he had lost his milch cow and what's more, he had Turius nagging him. Did he try you? I imagine you resisted blackmail far more strongly than Chrysippus!'
`I don't stand for sneaks,' Lysa agreed, showing a rare flash of deep anger. She knew the admission proved nothing against her. I decided to leave that. The vigiles were finding it hard to prove a direct link in the killing between Lysa (or Lucrio) and the Ritusii. The pair might yet get away with eradicating Avienus, especially if they left for Greece. Even if Rubella, on his return, thought it was worth enquiry time, only with a cast-iron case would Petro be allowed to haul the villains back from overseas. If Rubella did press the issue, however, I reckoned the truth would out eventually.
I returned to the bank's agent. `Lucrio – a word. Even if you knew nothing about the blackmail before Chrysippus died, by the time we commandeered your records, you must have twigged.' It was conceivable he had just wanted to get the records back quickly in order to see if his late master had overstepped the line. More likely, he knew all too well what had occurred. `You tried to snatch the records back at night by force a crazy overreaction. You could have played it cool and claimed the law. Why was the situation so urgent that you raided the patrol-house? You put us on the alert. Foolish, Lucrio.'
I could make no impression on the sanguine Lucrio. It was clear he and Lysa had made a pact of silence. Lysa even seemed to be glad that I was questioning them about the bank. There could be a reason for that: it kept the heat off another subject.
I changed my line of approach. `I want to wind this up. Let us now consider Chrysippus and what happened to him.'
I took several deep breaths and paced around the square, gazing at each suspect.
`What kind of man was he? A shrewd businessman, who had built up an empire from nothing when he came to Rome as a foreigner. If his initial methods involved sharp practice, that is true of thousands like him. By the time he died, he had become a respectable figure, involved in several areas of commerce, a patron of the arts, with a son – Diomedes who was entrenching himself in Roman society, and due one day to marry well.'
Diomedes woke up sleepily from an apparent trance. He had probably been given some sort of education, but he did not look particularly bright. To follow an involved series of arguments had been beyond him. He had perked up earlier when the food trays came, but mostly he had slumped beside his mother looking bored stiff, as if he were still ten years old. He enjoyed hearing his name mentioned in public, though.
If he really had followed my methods today, he might now have feared I was about to jump on him.
I smiled, first at Diomedes, then at Lysa. She knew what I was doing. I could see fear in her eyes for her son.
`Concentrate on events the day he died. Chrysippus was here in the library.' We all looked around. Those of us who had been here after the body was discovered relived the silence that terrible day: the long tables stacked with scrolls, the overturned chairs, the corpse, the mess, the blood.
`Diomedes,' I commanded. `You look rather like your father, especially now you've acquired that beard. Come here, will you. And let's have Philomelus – I am choosing him at random, by the way.'
The two young men approached, both looking apprehensive.
`Thanks, you two. Now help me re-enact what happened, in case it jogs a memory. Helena, could I trouble you? I gave Philomelus, the thin waiter, an empty scroll rod she had been keeping ready for me. `Take this. Now both pretend you are having a shouting match.' They were poor or nervous actors, but I shoved them about a bit. Diomedes wanted to resist, which was perhaps understandable. Philomelus had no meat on him, and lacked any gymnasium training, though he was a more intelligent mover. `Now. Philomelus, you are the killer: stab Chrysippus with the rod.' He made a feeble gesture towards Diomedes' chest. `You fight a bit more, exchanging blows – now you're dead, Diomedes. You fall on the floor – here, where I put the rug.
Diomedes knelt and then lay full length, assuming his position rather decorously. He had entered the spirit to some extent, however, and was stretched out face down, crossways across the rug. I helped him up, thanked them both, then let them go back to their seats.
I looked at Diomedes with my head on one side. `Interesting! You lay face down. According to your alibi, you never saw the corpse. But you lay down – as it happens – exactly how your father was first found. Later, the vigiles turned him over.' To stop Diomedes offering excuses, I went on quickly, `Of course, you probably talked to the slaves and perhaps to Vibia about your father's death. That would be entirely natural.''
Having mentioned Vibia, I turned swiftly to her. `Vibia Merulla, Diomedes has an alibi; he was at the Temple of Minerva – a priest, honest no doubt, will vouch for him. Tell me, did you know he was there?'
'Yes,' she answered, flushing as attention turned on her. `Yes, I did. He often goes there.'
`Tell me then – when you found Chrysippus lying here, why did you not send to the Temple, which is only a few steps away, to let Diomedes know his dear papa was dead?'
`I never thought about it,' Vibia declared, a little too boldly. `I was very shocked.'
`Understandable. Now – you used to like Diomedes once, but your feelings have changed. Do you want to tell us about that?'
`No!' she squeaked indignantly.
`He's very interested in literature, he told me. Did you decide he was only after you because you would inherit the scriptorium?'
`I was never interested in him, nor he in me.'
`Well, you certainly don't like him now. You won't speak to him and you want his possessions removed from your house. Did something happen to make you feel so strongly? Did he do something?'
Vibia shook her head in silence.
`I need to know this, Vibia. Why didn't you tell Diomedes about his poor father dying? A harsh person might wonder: Maybe she thought he already knew.' Vibia still stubbornly refused to be drawn. `Of course, he was being religious all day, wasn't he? Be warned, Vibia – if I could prove Diomedes was not at the Temple when he says, I would look at him very closely as a suspect, and I would look at you as well!'
Under the layers of face decoration, Vibia may have gone pale. She made no further protest; I reckoned she wanted to defend herself, but something held her back.
I walked back across the room, crossing the rug that lay where the body was found. I bent down and replaced
