“Join me for lunch, Marcus Tullius,” I asked him. “I have no kitchen staff here yet but we can send out for some food.” ,
“Gladly,” he said.
“Thank you for backing me up with these plutocrats,” I said as we took chairs in the house’s excellent impluvium collonade.” In fact, I was not at all sure about my constitutional powers in this matter. It’s not the sort of thing you get taught studying law.”
“You’re on quite solid ground in a municipality like this,” he assured me. “Your imperium overrides all local authority, and your authority to use military force is unquestionable. Of course, that won’t stop these people from suing you as soon as you step down from office.”
“I’m not worried about that,” I told him. “These men are so terrified at having their dealings investigated, they’ll never go to Rome to haul me into court.”
He grinned. “Isn’t guilt a wonderful thing? Even when it has nothing to do with your investigation, it can get people to see things your way. By the way, it was very decent of you to arrange the rites for that poor girl.”
“You mean very un-Roman of me?”
He frowned. “Not at all. The humane treatment of slaves is a bedrock of Roman custom. It is one of the things that distinguishes us from barbarians.” He was dreaming, but I didn’t mention it. “But there could be complications. I hear you’ve confiscated two of the priest’s slave girls. He will construe your taking charge of this one’s body as further unauthorized appropriation of his property. He will have grounds for suit.”
“I took them to keep him from killing them. And they are evidence. Besides, he’s as dirty as the rest of them—I can feel it. He’s hiding something and I mean to find out what it is.”
A short while later, Hermes returned from the market, trailed by a boy carrying a large basket crammed with goodies. I’d sent Marcus and the rest back to the villa for rest, doctoring, and to tell Julia what was going on. Over a humble but delicious lunch of sausage, seed cakes, fruit, and wine we discussed the latest twists.
“What sort of killer,” I said, “goes to the trouble of murdering a slave girl, then lays her out with all possible dignity, as if she were a beloved relative, in one of the most beautiful sites the town has to offer?”
“A pervert,” Cicero said without hesitation. “We’ve seen them in court often enough. The mad ones who kill repeatedly and perform little rites every time: perform unspeakable acts, take body parts, or else dress their victims in beautiful clothes or pose the bodies in grotesque ways or perform ceremonies of their own sick devising. It happens all too commonly.”
“She was killed near water, like Gorgo,” Hermes noted.
“Yes, that could be a connection,” I agreed. “The mad killers Marcus Tullius referred to often employ such ritualistic repetitions. But why take such care with a victim, then strip her naked?”
We thought about this for a while, and it was Hermes who had the inspired answer. “When she ran, she must have had to stop frequently in the fields to rest. By the time she arrived at her protector’s house, her clothes would have been filthy with dirt and blood. This friend must have given her new clothing.”
“But why take it off—” Then I saw what he was driving at. “Of course! She was given slave livery. Many of the great houses here dress their slaves in distinctive uniforms. The killer couldn’t afford to have her found in the livery of his own household.”
“Very astute,” Cicero approved. “You may have the answer.”
“That leaves us the motive for her murder,” I said.
“She may have simply known too much,” Cicero said. “There has been a groat deal of bloodshed around here lately. Plenty of reason to eliminate an inconvenient slave witness.”
“Would she have fled to Gorgo’s murderer?” I asked.
“She ran to someone she thought had reason to protect her,” Hermes said. “She may have been wrong about that.”
“If so,” Cicero said, “she wouldn’t be the first to learn, too late, that a friend can be treacherous.”
A short time after this, a messenger came from Norbanus with the list I had requested. The ice company had leased caves to a number of familiar names: Norbanus, Silva, Diogenes the scent merchant; even Gaeto himself was among them.
“This doesn’t narrow the search down any,” I said disgustedly. “The only one missing is Diocles the priest. He isn’t rich enough to afford such an exotic property and probably doesn’t entertain enough to need one.”