Pandora's Boy Page 22

  Rabirius, too, had set his heart on Fabulo’s. Keen to expand his Quirinal empire, he had been pressing the syndicate hard to sell. Rabirius had believed the deal was done. Although he had haggled initially, his price was good enough. Only sickness had stalled him. For Iucundus to jump in and snatch the restaurant would have filled him with fury.

  Somebody told him.

  People were always ready to ingratiate themselves with the Rabirius gang. Some local singing bird, hoping to store up a favor, must have bustled along to the old villain’s house, handing in his information. This was how everything worked in Rome these days. Treachery ruled us. A nark giving the crime lord fodder for his hate was just the same as those parasites who supplied verbal poison to Domitian.

  Scorpus and the newly assigned Karus had, by coincidence, been together in the station-house. After the syndicate man called, they discussed whether proactive measures should be taken, or should they merely exercise vigilance? They decided to alert Iucundus. By the time they arrived here, it was too late.

  Iucundus had returned home full of joy. He was planning a light celebration lunch, joking with Paris that he ought to have stayed and had a meal at Fabulo’s, now it was his. Two men came. They made no attempt to approach discreetly. They liked to instill fear through warnings: This is what we can do to you. Neighbors along the Vicus Pilae Tiburtinae had seen them homing in. It was clear they meant harm. People called in their children. Shutters slammed.

  The men knocked the porter aside, marched indoors, thumped another slave, found Iucundus. It all happened fast. They did not bother to speak. Our friend was seized, pushed to his knees, then one thug held him while the other strangled him from behind, using his bare hands. Iucundus would have known what was happening, but he was not conscious long.

  The blood on the floor came from a slave who ran out to defend his master. By some irony, it was the kitchen boy who had been preparing the meal. He had had a carving knife in his hand. One attacker simply turned it on him. The boy might survive; he was being looked after.

  Paris, who had gone to fetch a flagon, came back from the wine-store to find his master dead on the floor. He saw the men who did it, but only their backs as they were leaving. It took him a moment to realize what had happened. By the time he ran after the assailants, they had disappeared. Scorpus said all the neighbors who admitted seeing these men now had memory loss about their identity. The situation was unlikely to change, not even if Scorpus had the witnesses beaten to pulp at the station-house. Been there too many times. He knew.

  Julius Karus looked as if he found his colleague’s fatalism weak. He did not offer to apply secret service methods to these neighborhood witnesses, though I knew he could. He had killed for his Imperial master; torture would be a game to him. Scorpus understood who he was dealing with. He was trying to keep control of the case himself. I did not envy him their coming relationship.

  I breathed deep, to clear my mind. More self-controlled than any of the men present expected, I started to discuss a plan of action. Scorpus stopped me. “This is not for you, girl. The vigiles will handle it.”

  “No, don’t involve yourself, Albia,” Tiberius reinforced him, his voice gentle. “It’s an underworld envy crime. The authorities should have it. Iucundus was our friend, but you know the chances of proving who did this are slim. Even if we find out, well…” He meant not only would there be heartache but it was too dangerous. He was right too.

  Karus gave the nod to Scorpus. He was leaving, as the two men had been about to do when Tiberius and I arrived. He looked as if he had viewed the remains, assessed the scene, now virtually lost interest—though it would be foolish to believe that. Apparently they were not bound together, so Scorpus chose to linger. This meant Karus had left, but Scorpus was still there with us when a new visitor entered the apartment.

  It was Vincentius.

  XLII

  We had been moving out into the corridor. Scorpus swiftly closed the door on the crime scene, blocking the view of the room.

  “Who are you?” Scorpus gave the handsome young newcomer in his pristine tunic the special vigiles stare that asks, What rock did you crawl out from under, septic scum? Those experts tend to give that stare to everyone they don’t know. Just in case an insult is appropriate. They wouldn’t want to miss the chance.

  “Vincentius Theo. And, if you don’t mind, may I ask who am I talking to?” Few young men in their twenties would sound as sure of themselves as Vincentius, as he carefully placed everyone. Either his family or his tutor must have given him pointers on how to handle a scene. It struck me that, ironically, this was how Father had trained me: Always get their names.

  “Scorpus, First Cohort of Vigiles. Don’t give me any lip. Vincentius Theo? Your father is Rabirius Vincentius, I presume—or he was when he was allowed to exist in Rome. That makes you Pandora’s boy!”

  Vincentius failed to register the implied disgust; he barely acknowledged the vigilis at all. He had spent his life behaving as if his background was normal. Since he and I had had prior conversations, in which he had conveniently assumed he had made a favorable impact, he came forward, air-kissing me like a wayward nephew.

  “Flavia Albia! How lucky to run into you again!” I flinched. I sensed my husband stiffening. Scorpus watched, narrow-eyed. “Pandora’s grandson, yes, that’s me,” Vincentius agreed pleasantly, turning back to Scorpus with an answer after all. “Actually, I came here today on an errand for her. Is the person who lives here available?”

  “He can be,” answered Scorpus, enjoying the macabre joke. “What do you want to see him about?”

  “Ooh, just a bit of business, a contract to negotiate…”

  Scorpus led him on. “I’ve definitely got you now! You are the one being educated in perversions of justice!”

  “I do a bit of studying with a law professor, that is correct.” Vincentius, being bright enough, was beginning to assess the problem. This was not normal chit-chat. An uncomfortable focus had fallen upon him. If he felt nervous, however, it did not show.

  “The eminent prosecutor, Mamillianus!” intoned the vigilis, openly dismissive. “Friend to many. Many of them highly suspect.”

  Vincentius stood back a step. His tone barely altered but now he was thinking fast. Not yet fully formed as a legal hack, he nevertheless weighed in like one: “I say! That’s rather near the knuckle. I have to challenge a comment like that. Mamillianus is a highly regarded scholar with a large following, and he is a legalist of note. I believe there are edicts about damaging reputations.”

  “Unintentional libel. Insult withdrawn. Settle out of court, shall we?” With one arm, Scorpus swept open the door to the room where the body was. With the other, he propelled Vincentius inside. “Here’s the man you want. Looking poorly, I’m afraid. Someone who really didn’t like him got to him before you.”

  Vincentius stepped into the room as he was pushed, then abruptly stopped. Watching closely, I decided the sight before him came as a surprise.

  Scorpus sneered. “First dead body, is it?”

  “Murdered!” I added, unable to help it. “Vincentius Theo, you had better get used to carnage, if you intend working with your family.”

  He neither blanched nor shrank away. Not his first time. “Death is always unfortunate.” It sounded as if he had picked up the line from one of his relatives. I could imagine it being uttered ironically while sadistic henchmen mocked some rival’s grisly fate.

  “It’s premature here! Did you know the man?”

  “No, I had never met him. I had never even heard of him until today, when he was mentioned by my grandmother. In passing,” he added, a smooth afterthought to minimize her connection. I felt I was virtually watching Vincentius blossom on the spot, turning into the mouthpiece his relatives wanted.

  “This is Iucundus,” I informed the boy in a cold voice. “He was a very old friend of my family, and I am proud to say he was a special friend to me. A truly kind, fun-loving, generous man. A
ll he wanted was pleasure, not merely his own, but he gained his happiness from giving joy to others.”

  Vincentius turned to me, hands outstretched, genuinely sympathetic. “Flavia Albia, I am so sorry for your loss!”

  “Spare me the flimflam!” I was angrier than he realized. “Iucundus wanted his own thermopolium. It would have provided delight to many, many customers. There would have been a happy workforce. Rome would be graced by an establishment that reached new heights of sophistication. Fabulo’s would glitter. This poor man would modestly have watched from the sidelines, glad only to have contributed. Instead, merciless killers murdered him. Vile henchmen—sent by your relatives.”

  “Can you prove that?” Oh, this boy was already good!

  Scorpus stepped in. “I have checked. Old Rabirius wanted the same thermopolium. Iucundus got it, got it fairly, so your jealous great-uncle had him eliminated.”

  “Unless you have evidence, this is a mere hunch—”

  “Anthos and Neo,” Scorpus elaborated. Vincentius frowned, but it cleared quickly. “The family team, the family hitmen. On his knees, strangled from behind: it has their signature.”

  It struck me that Scorpus had not mentioned recognizing the modus operandi in front of the special agent. He was holding things back from Karus. Still, that was between them.

  “Vincentius,” Tiberius came in on the discussion, “when Albia and I saw you earlier, you claimed you were off on an errand for Pandora. How come we overtook you? Where had you been in the meantime?”

  Vincentius saw that Tiberius Manlius was suggesting he was involved in the murder.

  “I am so sorry,” he replied pleasantly. “We met, sir, but I am not certain who you are.”

  “Manlius Faustus, aedile. Answer my question, please.”

  “Happy to meet you, sir.” He made a move as if to shake hands, but Tiberius stepped away. “The fact is, sir, I had no address. I was not sure where exactly this apartment was. It took me a long while to find it.”

  “Asked around, did you?” Scorpus barked. “Would you be able to point out to me where you asked for directions and who you spoke to?”

  With deliberate courtesy, Vincentius answered, “I can do that, yes.”

  I thought he was probably telling the truth. He was good-looking, he carried himself well, he was charming. Most people he had spoken to would remember him. He could probably supply more than one alibi.

  “What were you coming here for anyway?” Scorpus demanded.

  Vincentius faced up to him with meek good manners. He looked relaxed. “As I mentioned to Flavia Albia earlier, my grandmother was rather upset that the man who lived here pre-empted a purchase that meant a lot to my family. We had beaten off other interested parties and were rather proud of having clinched the deal—as we saw it. Coming to see the buyer was entirely my idea. I wondered if I could persuade him to change his mind in our favor.”

  “No need for you to wade in,” I said bitterly. “Pandora had told you not to interfere; you said so. Pandora was taking charge herself! Her way was brutal.”

  “My informant said the underbidder was Old Rabirius,” Scorpus spelled out to Vincentius. “So, who really wants the restaurant? The face-cream witch or the gangland master?”

  Vincentius blinked, as if in surprise. Very cute. Now I was seeing him in action, he came across as an accomplished liar. “We are a very close family. Grandmother or great-uncle? It makes little difference. I am not sure who would have been named on the deeds. You would have to ask them.”

  Scorpus laughed derisively. “Ah, yes! Those two famously cooperative witnesses!”

  Vincentius made no comment.

  “Who was handling the sale for your lot?”

  “Our agent, Gallo.”

  “The talkative one! Well, he won’t blather. I won’t waste my time asking him.”

  Scorpus said Vincentius could go, though he wanted an address for him. This would help, he suggested dryly, since the vigiles and the fledgling spokesman would clearly work together often in future.

  Completely cool, Vincentius gave directions. “I live with my mother.”

  “Of course you do, sunshine! Your father has to live abroad. Your mother runs his affairs for him. Some say the women in your family are worse villains than the men.”

  “I see you are well informed!” replied Vincentius, still intensely polite. That was how it worked in his world. They despised the authorities, yet if possible never crossed them.

  Scorpus took the young man’s arm roughly, to steer him out. Vincentius shook him off. He paused, one finger raised, the merest gesture to remind Scorpus that a free citizen should never be manhandled. I saw Tiberius purse his lips.

  Once the boy had left, I commented to Scorpus how lucky it was that he was familiar with the trademark killing method used by Anthos and Neo.

  “Give me a break, Albia!” Scorpus answered, in a pitying tone. “You mentioned Anthos and Neo the other day. I’ve never heard what methods they use. But that young bastard believed me, and he never argued. So, now we do know!”

  XLIII

  We left the apartment. Scorpus said he would further canvass for witnesses who might identify the killers, though even if he gave them heavy hints that it was Anthos and Neo, he had no hope of confirmation. In silence, Tiberius and I began to walk away together. Outside the ancient Temple of Flora, I spotted a small flower stall. I bought several posies, which I had the seller tie together. I went back to Iucundus and placed them beside him.

  Tiberius had accompanied me, watching. When we left the apartment that last time, I bent down to the sad slave, who was still on the curb; I told him to go indoors, where Paris would take care of him. He should close the front door now.

  After he did so, I turned to Tiberius. Outside on the pavement, we stood with our arms wrapped around one another until I stopped shaking; then, without a word, we walked on again.

  *

  We happened to reach the lettuce stall at the same time as a small group of petitioners. This at least gave us something else to think about.

  Granius, the youth with the pondweed mustache, had been brought by his father to return the missing part of Min. Cluvius must have come in support of his friend, along with his own father. The two young men both had a hangdog attitude, though if you were cynical it looked fake. Their fathers were treating them like seven-year-olds who had kicked a ball over a boundary once too often. In fact they must both be on the verge of twenty-five, the age when sons from a higher social stratum became eligible for the Senate. Not that first-time senators impress anyone.

  Their fathers behaved together like old friends; I had met both before, at Clodia Volumnia’s Nine Day Feast. Another man, who stood slightly separate, was of the same generation though a stranger to me. He watched, taking no part, as Granius handed over a wrapped package; under close supervision, the culprit muttered a few words of apology. His stern-faced father gave a moneybag to Dedu as compensation; the father of Cluvius added another. Both men looked as if they were no strangers to buying off aggrieved parties.

  Dedu glanced over to Tiberius, who gave him a nod, though stayed with me on the sidelines; no intervention seemed necessary. Dedu opened his package, checking that Min’s snapped-off attribute was entire. Then he stood, holding it uncertainly.

  Presumably there are sacred rites for occasions when an agricultural god has his fertility restored. None of us knew them.

  Granius and Cluvius were given short, brisk messages of public chastisement from their fathers, to which they returned shorter, more sullen answers. Formal goodbyes were spoken to Dedu. The boys went off side by side in one direction, acting contrite, and their fathers walked a different way, acting lofty. I guessed hefty drinks in bars would shortly be bought.

  Tiberius and I joined Dedu, who was closely inspecting Min’s broken bit. We tried it in position. A good mender would be able to restore the part so no join showed, Tiberius said, though a metal rod would be needed to overcome co
nsequent weakness. Despite the temptation to chortle, it was a solemn occasion. Dedu, for one, was awash with relief.

  The third man had remained behind, though the two departing fathers had nodded to him. He now stepped forward and introduced himself as Redempta’s father. Sabinilla had told me of an unhappy divorce in that family, after which this man had lived by himself in the country. His daughter was brought up by her mother and aunt. It had been mentioned that he was in Rome at present; Redempta was supposed to see him during his visit.

  It turned out she was not going to be pleased about that. He was a down-to-earth man with an abrupt manner. He checked who I was, then told me he had no information about what had happened to Clodia. He had come to Rome specifically as a concerned father, having heard one too many stories of unlovely behavior. He would take Redempta back with him. He never said whether her mother and aunt viewed this favorably, but it was his paternal prerogative.

  Testing the situation, Tiberius suggested quietly that the way the group of friends behaved was typical of privileged youngsters. The avenging father became more worked up. Apart from the fact Redempta was spending too much money, he had swooped in now because he had heard she had been carrying on with Vincentius. No child of his would be associated with “such people.” He clearly knew of the Rabirius gang.

  I said I believed Redempta and Vincentius had in fact separated and she was now interested in Cluvius. The old stick harrumphed. Cluvius was a ringleader in expensive, harmful, antisocial pranks; besides, Redempta’s father thought him too cocky by half. The only thing in that young man’s favor was that, unlike the ghastly Granius, he did not sport face fungus, as if he were a particularly effete barbarian, but at least was clean-shaven like a decent Roman.

  Nothing to argue about there!