Negrinus looked up, his face aglow. `Would he?'
Doubt descended. `I said it was possible. Look, what has Paccius got on you?'
The sandy-haired man pushed away his bowl. He had hardly touched anything. Normally I reckoned he would be a determined eater; it had made him chubby fowled and too round in the stomach. He did not look as if he exercised. Now he was dejected, utterly spent mentally. I could see why people shoved him around.
We were in our winter dining room. By his standards it must be plain, but we liked the dark walls with their fine tracery of golden candelabra designs, dividing formal panels. Helena gave Albia the nod that she could disappear if she wanted to; she left, after glaring at Negrinus. Never having had a home until now, she was doubly defensive of our house. I noticed she let the dog run in; Nux experimented with a sharp woof at the stranger, then lost heart and came over to lick me. Helena quietly cleared dishes aside on the low wooden serving table. I lit more oil lamps. I wanted Negrinus to know he would be here until he came clean.
`Let's go right back. Your father was convicted of evil practices involving your duties as aedile; you were implicated but not charged. Do you have any comment?'
Negrinus sighed restlessly. He must be used to this. `No, Falco.'
`Well, it colours how you will appear. I take it you accept that? Next comes the nonsense with your sister Juliana and the apothecary; she got off, but that too paints "murder" all over your family in the eyes of a court.'
'Paccius knows that my father did not really want to commit suicide.'
`They had discussed it after he lost at the first trial?'
`Yes.'
`Paccius is likely to say so in court then,' Helena joined in. `An accuser with personal knowledge?- The court will believe anything he cares to say. Did Paccius directly advise your father to kill himself?' Her voice was low, belying what I knew to be strong feelings.
`Yes.'
`And what did you think?'
`I didn't want to lose Father. We were close. But I suppose I could see the arguments about not paying out all our money…' His voice faltered when he said it, however.
`If you were close, and you cared for your father – can we assume you thought he cared for you?' I asked.
`I thought so.' Negrinus spoke in the same despondent tone as when he had answered previously. `I always thought so.'
`So why did he cut you from his will?'
A faint flush coloured the man's fine skin. Gingery types find it hard to conceal their feelings – though interpreting the signals is not always easy. `I don't know.'
`You must have some idea.' He shook his head.
`I realise this is upsetting – but Paccius will interrogate you when you give evidence.'
He stared at me. `You know his intentions?'
`He tried to hire me tonight – to look for you. He told me, your distress at being omitted from the will is your murder motive. It figures. Of course you're annoyed. You are the only son. This is not just about the money, Birdy. It's your social and domestic position at stake. This is about who takes over religious responsibility in your family, who honours your ancestors, who makes offerings to the family gods. You expected to take on your father's role.'
`Ha!' For once Birdy spoke up for himself. `I was more likely to be pleased that Papa had not handed me all his debts.'
That can be a deterrent to heirs: a bequest brings the main beneficiary full responsibility for any debts left behind. Large debts can outweigh the inheritance. In those circumstances good men sigh and accept the burden. Heirs who are light in a social conscience try to refuse their bequest. That's most heirs, naturally.
`Were there many creditors?' Helena shot in quickly.
`He owed thousands.'
`A lot of it seems to be disputed – the compensation for Silius, your ex-wife's dowry repayment… Still, it would mean endless trouble for any heir. So,' I wondered, `is this will some clever legal device? Was your father strategically protecting you?'
A sly look crossed Birdy's face. `Maybe he was!' he exclaimed, now showing excitement.
`Have you any idea,' I asked him directly, `how Paccius thinks you killed him?'
`Hemlock, I dare say.'
I glanced at Helena. Hemlock had already been mentioned by Saffia, the pregnant ex-wife. `That's very precise!' Helena said. Birdy fell silent.
I leaned on my elbow, stroking Nux. She had squirmed into her favourite place, tucked against me on the couch. Her body was warm under the rough curly hair and as usual she smelt doggier than I liked. I stopped. Eyes shut, the happy hound insistently nudged my hand for more attention.
`I'm still confused about the money,' Helena mused almost drowsily. `Your father was supposed to have made a fortune from fixing contracts. How can he have had so many debts?' Birdy looked vague. It was quite possible he did not know. He had never been formally released from parental control. His father may have hogged all details of the family finances – especially if he was involved in dubious practices. `So how did Silius Italicus discover the fraud at your office in the first place?' Helena tried next.
`He said we had an extravagant lifestyle. He kept on and on about it in court.'
`Oh that old argument!' She smiled, with apparent sympathy, then slid in briskly: `Did you?'
`Not really.'
`What happened to the money then?'
For a moment I thought that Negrinus would admit the Metelli still had it. Then he looked at Helena and I was aware of much greater intelligence than he normally revealed. His air of innocent weakness could all be contrived. I saw a flash of stubborn will. When he then claimed he knew nothing about the proceeds of the corruption, I was not surprised and I ignored it. He knew. Most likely, his father simply ran up debts because he was a mean bastard. Cash was stashed away somewhere. But I had a feeling we might never find it.
I yawned. `You must be tired.' I knew I was. I was sick of the Metelli too. `This is an anxious time and you've been out on the streets…'
`We have a guest room where you can stay tonight.' As she began to shepherd him to his bedroom, Helena urged, 'Negrinus, you have to appear before the praetor; unless you go to ground for ever, it is unavoidable.'
I joined in. 'Paccius is going to see him tomorrow. I suggest you turn up unexpectedly and take the wind out of him. I'll come too, if you like.' Negrinus was about to interrupt. `You need to know what he's planning. If you go before the praetor to "agree the facts", you force him to reveal his primary evidence.'
`Oh Marcus, you are wicked!' I could always trust Helena to understand what I was at. It made some parts of domestic life tricky but was useful on occasions like this. 'Paccius will hate that!'
Negrinus seemed to like the idea of offending Paccius. He agreed to my plan.
I wondered if I had the nerve to claim a fee from Paccius for finding and producing him. I thought about it for two seconds, then decided that I did.
XVII
WE STARTED badly. The praetor had already dictated a proclamation naming Metellus Negrinus as a fugitive from justice. When I produced Negrinus it spoiled his day. His secretary had inscribed the proclamation nicely and hated tearing up good work.
Don't ask me which praetor it was. The usual. Anyone who wants to look up who the damned consul was four years later can work it out. I've forgotten. All I know is he was a snide bastard, working in an office where even the clerks looked as if we were some foul mess brought in on the sole of a boot. They all had better things to do than provide justice for the Metellus family.
Paccius Africanus excelled himself.
The story now was: Metellus Negrinus, first the stooge of his father, subsequently became the weak-willed tool of his mother. After the corruption trial, Metellus senior refused to do the decent and remove himself from life. Calpurnia was furious. A noble Roman matron expected her man to show self-sacrifice. To preserve the family cash from Silius (Paccius sombrely maintained), she decided to remove Metellus herself, this was with the aid of her son, who felt aggrieved that he had been omitted from his father's will. Calpurnia admitted having the idea, but Negrinus did it, with hemlock. The plan, said Paccius, was stupidly elaborate. He rightly claimed that murders dreamed up by amateurs often are. Calpurnia and her boy had confused the issue by telling Metellus senior he could take his daughter's corn cockle pills in complete safety, pretend they had worked, fake his own death, then revive and live a happy secret life. They pretended one of their slaves would actually be killed, to provide, a body they could display and cremate. Paccius named the slave who would have died: Perseus the door porter. The charge was that Metellus fell for the plan, then instead, hemlock was administered to him by Negrinus at the lunch which they later pretended was the `suicide's' formal gathering to say his farewells to his family.