convinced that Vibia 'looked after' Diomedes in some sexual way. She failed to notice the innuendo, luckily. It was too soon to harass her in that way, even if we later came to suspect a dalliance.
'He is an only child?' I kept it formal.
'Yes.' She herself had borne none then. She did not appear to be pregnant. Always a good idea to check; many a violent death has been initiated by an impending birth.
'How old is Diomedes exactly?' I had sensed what the scenario might be.
'I'm not his mother; I cannot say exactly!' She looked up at me and stopped playing about. She shrugged. A gauzy stole slipped from her neat little shoulders. 'Early twenties.'
'That's exact enough.' Of an age to become a suspect. 'When was the mother divorced by Chrysippus?'
'About three years ago.'
'After you came along?'
Vibia Merulla simply smiled. Oh yes; I had got the picture.
'So Diomedes went off to live with his mama. Did he continue to see his father?'
'Of course.'
'They are Greeks,' Fusculus reminded me. His loathing of the cultured folk from the cradle of philosophy was beginning to grate. 'Very close-knit families.'
'It's a Roman ideal too,' I rebuked him. 'Does Diomedes come to this house to see Chrysippus, Vibia?'
'Yes.'
'Has he been here today?'
'I have no idea.'
'You don't normally see your husband's visitors?'
'I do not involve myself in business.' This claim, too, was becoming repetitious.
'But Diomedes is family.'
'Not mine!'
Too crisp. She felt she was defeating our questioning too well. Time to stop it. Better to continue later, when I would know more and might have edged a step ahead of her. I told Passus to obtain details of where the first wife lived, after which I suggested Vibia Merulla might like time to come to terms with her sudden bereavement in quiet female company.
'Is there anybody we can send for, who would comfort you, my dear?'
'I can manage,' she assured me, with an impressive stab at dignity. 'Friends will no doubt rush along when they hear what has happened.'
'Oh, I'm sure you are right.' Widows of wealthy men rarely lack for sympathy. In fact, as we left her to her own devices, Fusculus was arranging to leave a 'courtesy' vigilis guard at the house; I heard him surreptitiously give the guard instructions to note the names of people, especially men, who rushed along to console Vibia.
Before I left here, I wanted to interview Euschemon, the scriptorium manager. Meanwhile, I asked Fusculus to send a couple of men immediately to the house of the first wife and her son, to put them under close guard until I could get there. 'Prevent them changing their clothes or washing - if they have not already done so. Don't tell them what it is all about. Keep them quarantined. I'll be as quick as I can.'
I checked one final time that no useful clues had been extracted from the slaves, then I walked back through the lobby to the library. On the way, I had a close look at the side table where the lunch trayhad been placed. Its two pediment feet were carved from that Phrygian marble that comes in basic white, with dark purple variegations. A couple of the wine-coloured streaks turned out to be surface only - dried bloodstains that I rubbed off with a wet finger. It confirmed that the killer might well have stopped here on his way out, in order to pinch that piece of nettle flan.
Unpleasant though it was, I had a last look at the dead man, memorising the ghastly scene in case I needed to recall some detail later. Passus brought me the address of the first wife; I would have liked to be the first to report what had happened - although I bet she would have heard of her ex-husband's death by now.
I picked up the short end of the scroll rod that had been wielded so revoltingly against the victim. 'Ask your evidence officer to label that and keep it, Passus. We may find the matching finial somewhere, if we have any real luck.'
'So, what do you think, Falco?'
'I hate cases where the
'He is an only child?' I kept it formal.
'Yes.' She herself had borne none then. She did not appear to be pregnant. Always a good idea to check; many a violent death has been initiated by an impending birth.
'How old is Diomedes exactly?' I had sensed what the scenario might be.
'I'm not his mother; I cannot say exactly!' She looked up at me and stopped playing about. She shrugged. A gauzy stole slipped from her neat little shoulders. 'Early twenties.'
'That's exact enough.' Of an age to become a suspect. 'When was the mother divorced by Chrysippus?'
'About three years ago.'
'After you came along?'
Vibia Merulla simply smiled. Oh yes; I had got the picture.
'So Diomedes went off to live with his mama. Did he continue to see his father?'
'Of course.'
'They are Greeks,' Fusculus reminded me. His loathing of the cultured folk from the cradle of philosophy was beginning to grate. 'Very close-knit families.'
'It's a Roman ideal too,' I rebuked him. 'Does Diomedes come to this house to see Chrysippus, Vibia?'
'Yes.'
'Has he been here today?'
'I have no idea.'
'You don't normally see your husband's visitors?'
'I do not involve myself in business.' This claim, too, was becoming repetitious.
'But Diomedes is family.'
'Not mine!'
Too crisp. She felt she was defeating our questioning too well. Time to stop it. Better to continue later, when I would know more and might have edged a step ahead of her. I told Passus to obtain details of where the first wife lived, after which I suggested Vibia Merulla might like time to come to terms with her sudden bereavement in quiet female company.
'Is there anybody we can send for, who would comfort you, my dear?'
'I can manage,' she assured me, with an impressive stab at dignity. 'Friends will no doubt rush along when they hear what has happened.'
'Oh, I'm sure you are right.' Widows of wealthy men rarely lack for sympathy. In fact, as we left her to her own devices, Fusculus was arranging to leave a 'courtesy' vigilis guard at the house; I heard him surreptitiously give the guard instructions to note the names of people, especially men, who rushed along to console Vibia.
Before I left here, I wanted to interview Euschemon, the scriptorium manager. Meanwhile, I asked Fusculus to send a couple of men immediately to the house of the first wife and her son, to put them under close guard until I could get there. 'Prevent them changing their clothes or washing - if they have not already done so. Don't tell them what it is all about. Keep them quarantined. I'll be as quick as I can.'
I checked one final time that no useful clues had been extracted from the slaves, then I walked back through the lobby to the library. On the way, I had a close look at the side table where the lunch trayhad been placed. Its two pediment feet were carved from that Phrygian marble that comes in basic white, with dark purple variegations. A couple of the wine-coloured streaks turned out to be surface only - dried bloodstains that I rubbed off with a wet finger. It confirmed that the killer might well have stopped here on his way out, in order to pinch that piece of nettle flan.
Unpleasant though it was, I had a last look at the dead man, memorising the ghastly scene in case I needed to recall some detail later. Passus brought me the address of the first wife; I would have liked to be the first to report what had happened - although I bet she would have heard of her ex-husband's death by now.
I picked up the short end of the scroll rod that had been wielded so revoltingly against the victim. 'Ask your evidence officer to label that and keep it, Passus. We may find the matching finial somewhere, if we have any real luck.'
'So, what do you think, Falco?'
'I hate cases where the
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