Her grief was real too. ‘Why?’ she asked, fixatedly. People do ask that, and generally there is nothing you can say in reply.
I knew that heart failure alone did not kill the steward. The doctor saw nothing amiss, but I had noticed immediately: Polycarpus had been attacked.
It was probably quick and simple. There were no self-defence bruises, no rope around the steward’s neck and no rope burns. But I could see tell-tale fingermarks.
I answered the wife’s question. She had the right to know. ‘Look at his throat here, Graecina. Somebody strangled him.’
32
I decided to involve the vigiles. I had no doubt Polycarpus’ death was related to the murders of his master and mistress. If I failed to notify the Second Cohort, it might cause problems. This was a high profile case.
Again, I sent Dromo. He had not evolved by magic into someone helpful; we had had no lunch and it would not happen in the near future. He would soon start to nag me. To pre-empt the misery, I gave him a few coppers, with orders to go to the station house with my message first, then buy himself a cake on the way back. He skipped off eagerly.
Covered with crumbs, he returned with Titianus. Even the vigilis appeared to be chewing. I was stuck with him; he would probably fail to investigate properly all over again. Sighing internally, I sent off Dromo for an undertaker, ignoring his pleading looks for more tuck money.
Titianus took the line that I was trouble. Nevertheless, he did not exclude me from his thoughts, which were as hidebound as ever. He immediately swore this was a second murder by the same parties. He had hardly looked at the corpse or considered the circumstances.
I pointed out quietly that the original group of slaves had certainly not carried out this killing, because not only were they under guard at the aediles’ office on the Aventine, as Titianus well knew, but I had actually seen them that morning and could give them all alibis. This confirmed his bitter theory that I was a menace, intent on ruining his life. Still, he settled down to do his job, while I tried to make his efforts fit with mine.
Polycarpus must have been murdered during my walk back to the Esquiline. I mentioned that the body had been warm when I first touched it. Titianus borrowed a stylus from me and wrote that down on a waxed tablet, asking how to spell ‘temperature’. He got lost in the middle of the word and had to ask twice.
At least he paid attention to the time-of-death issue, though he only wanted to know because the closer death occurred to the discovery of the corpse, the shorter the time period Titianus would need to cover in his enquiries. I already knew he was a minimalist. But there was no hope he would give up and leave things to me.
He went over to the nearest bar and asked if anyone had witnessed the killer entering the shop while Polycarpus was inside. Of course not. People spend their time at bar counters staring out at the street, but nobody ever really sees anything that happens. Zeus could descend in a shower of gold and rape that fat woman at the bread counter, the one with the daughter-in-law who ran off with a sailor, but the divine apparition would pass unnoticed.
The same drinkers now stayed on, to gawp at the dead body.
Anyone else walking down the street at the crucial moment was long gone. People slip in and out of shops all the time, even when they are empty or closed. This is daily life. No one ever takes it in. If there had been a noisy altercation, nobody had heard it. If they had, they would have walked on faster.
After a while, Secundus and Myrinus came sauntering back to their shop. They had been taking lunch with Secundus’ aged mother; she could vouch for them. Titianus sniffed; I saw he would have liked to pin the crime on the leatherworkers, because they were foreign. They must have known it too.
Titianus had to treat them politely, especially with me watching. They equally politely told him what little they knew. They had seen Polycarpus go into the empty premises. They exchanged greetings while he was opening up the shutter, but he was still in there on his own when the two North Africans left. He had pulled the shutter closed after him, except for a space of about a foot — which I thought was odd, because whatever he wanted to do there, the place would surely have been too dark.
‘Graecina, did you know why your husband came down here?’
Something about the carrying chair, but Graecina did not know what. I went and had a look at it. The soiled seat, a padded drop-in rectangle on a wooden frame, had been lifted out. If there had been a bucket of water and a sponge, that would have answered the question for certain, but there were no cleaning materials.
Apart from being bloodstained, I could see nothing odd about the cushion. I swung open the chair’s half door and inspected inside. There was a compartment underneath the seat. It was empty.
As I emerged, Titianus spotted Cosmus loitering and remembered him from the Aviola incident. Apparently it was Cosmus Polycarpus sent that night to the station house.
‘Come here, you!’
Cosmus looked around as if he thought Titianus meant someone else, then loped across. He was a sturdy lad, just growing his first moustache. The vigilis muttered under his breath to me, which at least meant I was now a colleague he could grumble with.
Titianus questioned the slave with the air of a man who had wasted effort on the hopeless many times. He had an impatient, bullying approach which only drew out answers he clearly expected. Cosmus was the kind of slave who drifted about the neighbourhood, yet never heard or saw anything.
Cosmus said he had been sent downstairs by Polycarpus that morning to carry water to the apartment, so he was either away at the fountain (out of sight further down the street) or indoors out of earshot at the time when someone must have visited Polycarpus in the lock-up. Just before I arrived and saw him by the leather shop, Cosmus had been inside the house talking to Myla.
He was useless as a witness. Titianus could only roll his eyes and let Cosmus go.
I told him, ‘See if Graecina wants you to do anything. Then stay with her. She needs support.’
To make sure, I myself led him over to Graecina who was talking to the undertaker. She confirmed the story about Polycarpus sending Cosmus to fetch water, as he did every day.
Titianus and I went indoors to question Myla. She was in the kitchen nursing her baby. She made sure Titianus had an eyeful. He was more tolerant with her than I would have been, perhaps because he was riveted by the breast-feeding. Typical.
I told Myla Polycarpus was dead. She responded quite aggressively. ‘I hope you’re not saying I had anything to do with that!’
‘Well, did you?’ asked Titianus, unmoved.
‘How could I, when I’m in here all day with the little one and with all the jobs I have to do?’
I managed not to snort.
‘So is it right, you were here talking to that half-baked boy Cosmus?’ Titianus persisted.
‘Cosmus is all right.’
‘He behaves like a spook, who doesn’t know who he’s supposed to be haunting. Answer the question, Myla.’
‘We were here, I suppose. I don’t know. I don’t know when it was, do I?’
‘An hour ago, or less,’ I said, joining in, hoping to speed up the agony.
‘Well, Cosmus came in for a bite of lunch.’
‘Does he not get fed at home?’
‘Yes, but he comes down to see me sometimes. When he wants to chat.’
‘What do you chat about?’
‘Anything.’
‘Such as?’
‘He says what he wants to. He’s a sad boy.’
‘Why is he sad?’
‘He doesn’t know how to be happy.’
That was a conversation-stopper.
I started to rustle up lunch for myself, inviting Titianus to share. A true vigilis, he asked if I had anything to drink and when I said no, he went off to buy something from the bar. By the time he returned, carrying two full beakers on a rocky take-out tray, I had laid a portable table with snacks in the courtyard. The two chairs were still there.