Ode To A Banker Part 36

'No point in that, presumably?'

'Decisions are rarely reversed.'

'What could change a publisher's att.i.tude?'

Euschemon was wearing his satirical expression now 'Hearing that a rival business was interested would bring about a rapid rethink.'

I smiled, equally dryly. 'Or?'

'I suppose for the right author, acceptance could be bought.'

'Oh! Do publishers sell works in which they don't believe?'

'Hah! All the time, Falco. A bad book by a known name, or a book by a personal friend, for instance.'

'Does it ever work the other way? Discouraging a good author, who might otherwise be a rival to some dud they do choose to patronise?'

Euschemon smiled wryly.

I tackled Pacuvius again. 'Back to these scrolls - when you came here that fateful day, was the revised effort a subject you and Chrysippus discussed?'

'Yes. First, I had the usual sordid tussle about whether he would pay a fee for my wasted work. He wanted me to continue the rewrites; I insisted it was worthless to try. At last we agreed that I had done all I could with the material, which he would be using for oven fuel. He should have burnt it before involving me. He was a temperamental idiot. With no taste, as Turius has always said. I simply could not understand why Chrysippus was so determined to make something of this yam.'

'Did you know who had written it?'

Scrutator looked uneasy. I was never told directly.'

'But you had your own idea? One last question. Pacuvius, why were you so reluctant to be sent to Pisarchus' villa as a poet in residence? Was it only because you resented the brutal way you were ordered to go?'

'I knew Pisarchus' son wrote adventures. He had mentioned it at the popina. I had a feeling this unfortunate story might be by him...' Scrutator looked at the shipper and Philomelus apologetically. 'I thought Chrysippus was sending me to Praeneste so I could be nagged into more editing. I couldn't face that, I'm afraid.'

'Thanks,' I said. To Aelia.n.u.s on the dividing doors, I then called, 'Will you bring in the witness from the Temple of Minerva, Aulus, please?'

LVII.

IF ANYBODY was surprised to see my witness, n.o.body gave a sign of it.

'Thank you for attending. I apologise for the long wait. We are in the final stages of a murder enquiry, but please don't be alarmed. I would like you to confine yourself to answering the exact questions I ask. You are a member of the Scribes' and Actors' Guild?'

'Yes,' answered Blitis, my contact from last night. 'Do you recognise any other members here?'

'Yes, and -'

'Thank you!' I stepped in quickly. 'Just answer the questions, please. I understand that a writers' group meets regularly at the Temple of Minerva to discuss their work-in-progress. The member whom you recognise here has done that?'

'Yes.'

'Often?'

'Yes.'

'Has the group ever discussed an adventure tale called something like Zisimilla and Magarone?'

'Er - yes.' Blitis looked slightly embarra.s.sed.

'Relax,' I grinned. 'I shall not ask for an unfettered review of it.' He looked relieved. 'We have already had that.' He looked embarra.s.sed again. 'It is by someone in this room, am I right?'

'Yes, Falco.'

'A technical detail - when you heard this poor work being read at the Temple, did you see the scrolls? I am wondering specifically if it had a tide page?'

'I seem to remember that it did.'

'Thanks. Just sit on the bench at the back, will you?' There was room next to the vigiles. All my witnesses would be put safely there now.

I paced down the floor, crossing the rug on the centre mosaic, like a barrister thinking up his concluding remarks as the last water clock ran out and his talk-time expired.

'In any murder enquiry, what we need is actual evidence. One of the first problems in this case was that n.o.body seems to have seen the killer straight after the crime. We know he must have been heavily bloodstained, yet we never found his clothes. Other items from the scene were missing too: part of the scroll rod that was a murder weapon and, of course, the t.i.tle page of the ma.n.u.script Chrysippus had been reading.'

I turned to Helena, who had remained standing patiently nearby. 'What about that ma.n.u.script? Helena Justina, although you did not enjoy it, you read most of it. Can you give us some idea of the person who wrote it?'

Helena pondered, then said slowly, 'A reader. Someone who has devoured plenty of similar novels, without properly digesting what makes them grip. It is too derivative; the ingredients are rather cliched and it lacks originality. It's by someone unskilled, but someone who has plenty of time to write. I imagine the project meant a very great deal to the author.'

I turned back to Blitis. 'When Zisimilla and Magarone was discussed at your writers' group, there were unfavourable comments. What was the author's reaction?'

'He refused to listen. Our remarks were well-meant discussion points. He threw a tantrum and stormed out.'

'Is that usual?'

'It has happened,' Blitis conceded.

'With the same degree of violence?'

'Not in my experience.'

I asked Helena, 'Would this fit your a.s.sessment?'

She nodded. 'Marcus Didius, I can envisage a scene here where Chrysippus was approached by the author of Zisimilla and Magarone, who obviously had a wild yearning to be published. Chrysippus explained - perhaps not tactfully - that the work was unacceptable, although attempts had been made to improve it using a successful and well-known redrafter. The author became distraught and probably hysterical; tempers flared, the scroll rod came into play, and Aurelius Chrysippus was violently killed.'

'We know that the killer then continued in his rage, throwing ink, oil, and various scrolls around the room.'

'I imagine that was when he ripped the t.i.tle pages from the scrolls,' said Helena.

'From more than one?'

'Yes,' she said gently. Helena paused for emphasis. 'There is a second story, Marcus Didius. It is one of fine quality. Both Pa.s.sus and I enjoyed it tremendously. I would imagine that if Chrysippus read the second, he knew that was the one he must take.'

Euschemon sat up keenly. No doubt he wanted to quiz Helena on this tempting sales prospect.

'I suppose Chrysippus may have told the disappointed author that he had been pipped by someone else?'

'If Chrysippus was unkind,' said Helena.

'And it would fuel the reject's disappointment?'

'His grief and frustration must have been intense.'

'Thank you.'

Helena sat down, putting her hand protectively over the pile of scrolls beside her, which we now knew included a probable best-seller.

I fetched Blitis and led him in front of Philomelus. I positioned myself carefully to intervene if there was trouble. 'Do you know this young man?'

'I have met him,' said Blitis.

'Among your group at the Temple?'

'I saw him there once.'

'Thanks. Sit over there with the vigiles again, please.' I myself led Blitis back. I was not expecting trouble, but it was a moment to take care.

'Philomelus;' Philomelus was rigid. 'You are a pleasant young man working hard to support your dream. You come from a good family with a loving, supportive father. He believes in you even though you have abandoned the family trade and want a most insecure career. Unknown to you, your father even tried to influence Chrysippus in your favour. Pisarchus would actually have paid for your work to be published - however, he knew you would find that untenable. Your father sees you as an upright character, whereas I am now faced with the opposite thought. You are a would-be writer of adventure tales who visited Chrysippus just before he died. You admit you became angry and you threatened him. It appears I have no alternative but to arrest you for his murder.'

Philomelus stood up. I gave him room, and stayed alert. His eyes met mine, harder than I had seen them. His father wanted to leap up beside him, but I gestured Pisarchus to let the lad handle this. The father's chin jutted, as though he was clinging on stubbornly to his faith in his son.

Philomelus was so angry, he could hardly bring words out. Yet the anger was controlled. 'Yes, I came here. Some of it happened as you say. Chrysippus did tell me my story was rubbish, and he said it was not worth copying. But I did not believe him!' Those eyes were blazing now. I let him go on. 'I knew it was good. I felt something odd was happening. I am starting to understand it now, Falco - I was being cheated. He never lost my ma.n.u.script; the man intended to steal it and say it was written by somebody else -'

I held up my hand. 'Are these the ravings of a complete madman? Or have you something significant to say in your defence?'

'Yes!' Philomelus roared. 'I have something to tell you, Falco: my story is not Zisimilla and Magarone - I would never call a character Zisimilla; it is almost unp.r.o.nounceable. "Magarone" sounds like a stomach powder too. My novel is ent.i.tled Gondomon, King of Traximene!'

I turned to the benches behind me and found Helena Justina beaming with delight. I pushed Philomelus down to his seat with one hand on his shoulder. 'Stop shouting,' I said gently. I glanced over to Helena. 'What's the verdict?'

She was thrilled for the young man. 'A shining new talent. A breathtaking story, written with mystical intensity. An author who will sell and sell.'

I grinned briefly at the shipper and his startled son. 'Sit quiet, and contemplate your talent and your good fortune: Philomelus, my a.s.sessors reckon you are good.'

LVIII.

THERE WAS a certain amount of extraneous activity. The room was humming with noise like a banquet when they let in the naked dancers. As I walked back to the centre of the room, Euschemon scuttled past me. He ensconced himself alongside Philomelus and they started muttering in undertones. Then Helena gathered up part of her scroll collection and beetled down the row to return his lost ma.n.u.script to the excited young author. She sat down with him and Euschemon and I saw her shaking her finger. If I knew her, she was advising Philomelus to obtain a reliable business adviser before he signed away his contractual rights.

Fusculus appeared through the dividing door, looking pleased with himself. He gave me a vigiles nod. I interpreted as best I could. With the vigiles it might only mean a take-out lunch box had arrived. I mimed that he was to bring in the old lady who walked about the Clivus Publicius. Fusculus winced. She must have given him the hard basket treatment.

Lysa was head-to-head with Diomedes. Time to stop her little games.

'Attention, please - and quiet!' I shouted in a commanding tone.

Fusculus brought in the grandma, leading her gingerly by one arm. He walked her slowly around the room for me. I asked her to point out anyone she remembered seeing the day of the murder.

Enjoying her role at the centre of things, the aged dame fastidiously stared at everyone, while they looked back in a state of nervous tension - even those who I was certain had nothing to fear. My star witness then indicated all the authors except Urba.n.u.s (a good test of reliability), followed in turn by Philomelus, and even Fusculus, Pa.s.sus, Petronius, and me. Really thorough - and useless for my purposes.

Taking her free arm, I made her stand in front of Diomedes. 'Did you leave one out?'

'Oh, I have seen him such a lot of times... I'm sorry, Falco, I really can't say.'

Diomedes laughed; it was brittle and overconfident. Fusculus caught my eye above the old lady's head, and I could sense his hostility. All his antipathy to Greeks was now focussed on this one. He grinned nastily at Diomedes and Lysa, then guided the nosy old woman to a seat among the vigiles, so she could watch the fun.

'Worth a try.' I said ruefully. 'You're a lucky fellow!' I told Diomedes. 'I really was convinced you were lying. I thought you had been here. The way I saw it, you killed your father, Vibia discovered you at the scene covered in blood, then she helped you cover up your tracks - literally in the case of some b.l.o.o.d.y footprints. It might even have been the lady who thought of sending you on your way casually chewing nettle flan. Once you were cleaned up and had left the house, she rushed outside screaming as though she had only that moment found the body...'

People heard me out in hushed silence. They could see how well the story fitted the facts. Vibia Merulla remained expressionless.

'In return for Vibia's silence about your guilt - I thought - your mother gave up this house to her. Vibia herself was so horrified by finding you at the crime scene, Diomedes, she started avoiding you... And that was why she disliked the thought of you marrying one of her relatives. 'Still!' I exclaimed brightly. 'How wrong can I be?'

I spun round to the resolute widow.

'Nothing to say, Vibia? If you're hiding your husband's murderer to get it, you really do hunger for possession of this house! Still, a Corinthian Oecus is a rare feature. And of course, the property came fully furnished - the furnishings are beautiful, aren't they? So lush. Every cushion stuffed to bursting point.'

I faced Diomedes.

'I am not intending to call that priest of yours as a witness. I believe he lied about you making offerings all day. You do go to the Temple of Minerva, but you don't go there to pray. There are other reasons for hanging about there on a regular basis - the writers' group, primarily. Tell us: do you write, Diomedes? He looked shifty, but he sat tight and glared at me. His mother's face was also blank.

'Blitis!' I called out. 'Does Diomedes write?'

'Yes,' said Blitis. 'He wrote Zisimilla and Magarone.'

'Truly! A secret scribbler?' I went on relentlessly. 'Do you lurk in your room dreaming up and honing your creative masterpiece, young fellow? And, Diomedes, do you persist with it, even when all around you describe it as no good?'

I spun back towards the vigiles. I asked Petronius swiftly, 'Did he have the flan?'

'Yes,' answered Petro immediately, not needing to consult his notes. 'He grabbed the last piece when I was trying to get my hands on it.' I saw Helena resisting a giggle, while the vigiles grinned at one another.

I strode over and bent down to the old dame. 'Can I make a suggestion? I think Diomedes came here around lunch time and then breezed back later, heading towards the Temple of Minerva, looking a little too innocent?'

'Oh, I remember now.' She too grinned through toothless gums. She was a game old duck, thoroughly enjoying this. 'I did see him go in when I was fetching some lentils for my dinner. When I was getting a bit of onion later, I watched him come out again. I thought it was peculiar because he was wearing different clothes.'

'Aha! Why was that?' I demanded of Diomedes. 'Was there blood on the first set?'