The Ides of April Read Online Free PDF Page B

him: he inherited. We agreed that if
he
had finished her off in some undetectable way, it would be very stupid of him to draw attention to it. If he had, hiring me could be a smokescreen. But unless someone else had become suspicious of the death, there was no need at all for him to set the wood smouldering.
    I made sure we considered the family of the toddler, Lucius Bassus. Salvidia’s drunken driver and overloaded cart had killed the child. Nevertheless, she had brazenly tried to avoid paying compensation. That meant the bereaved parents might harbour real loathing of her. But they stood to gain a large amount of cash soon – because, being realistic, they had an unbeatable claim for negligence which my best efforts would not have thwarted. It was in their interest to keep her alive, so she could pay. Anyway, I went and saw them. They all had alibis.
    Reluctantly, Nepos accepted that no misadventure was indicated. He still wanted to bring in a doctor to look at the body; I persuaded him to keep the money and ask an opinion of a funeral director, who had to be hired anyway. They see enough to give the best assessment of what has happened to a dead person.
    The undertaker who came seemed competent. He surveyed the body and refused to excite himself. He did take notice of the mark that I myself had noticed on Salvidia’s arm, though like me he thought it was some accidental scrape. He claimed that women were quietly passing away all over Rome for no obvious reason that spring. It might mean some kind of invisible disease was claiming them, but more likely it was just a statistical coincidence. His verdict was that old saying, ‘There’s a lot of it about.’
    He took the corpse. I promised Nepos I would go to the funeral. It’s a good time to claim fees, before the heirs disperse.
    I finished up much later in the day than I had expected when I set out earlier to visit the aediles. But that is common in the work I do. Dusk was falling and I needed food, so I went to see my family; they would ply me with supper, in a real home full of warmth, light, comfort and lively conversation. It would improve my mood. I could consult about Salvidia too – not that anyone was able to add any useful thoughts, it turned out. We all agreed I had made the only possible enquiries. If that produced nothing, there must be nothing to find.

6
    W hen I rolled up back at my own building, it was seriously late. Much of Rome was sleeping. Those awake were sick, making love, committing suicide or burglarising. I would leave them to it.
    We had a routine. After dark, moneyed families send home their visiting daughters by carrying chair, with burly slaves and blazing torches. I went along with that. The lurching made me queasy but accepting an escort kept the peace at home. Once the chair reached Fountain Court, we were in my territory and I made the rules. The bearers knew to drop me by the kitchenware potter’s. His lock-up shop was diagonally opposite the entrance to my building and he left a flickery taper to show his display. One night the taper would burn down the premises, cindering his lopsided stacks of grape-drainers and grit-bottomed mortars, but in the meantime it gave one faint point of light. I hopped out and stood in silence, listening and making sure that no prowler was likely to jump me.
    At the corner, before they left the alley, the bearers always looked back; if I signalled all clear, they would go on their way. If anything in the street felt wrong, I recalled them. I never took chances. This was Rome. Half the people who are mugged at midnight are attacked on their own doorstep.
    You may think the bearers could have seen me all the way indoors. Oh yes − and tell every Aventine villain which doorway was mine? A lone female, finely dressed on this occasion, coming back exhausted and a little tipsy . . . I was ready for bed. I didn’t want to have to stick a carving knife in some thief or rapist.
    Own up, Albia
: all right, I