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'We have never seen anybody wearing the hat again,' Helena pointed out. She must have been dunking hard, like me.
'And he has stopped whistling,' Musa added.
He seemed to have stopped killing too. He must know I was utterly stumped. If he did nothing else he would be safe. I would have to make him do something.
Refusing to give up, I nagged at the problem: 'We have a situation where all the suspects are ruled out on at least one of the attacks. That ca
'But there can be other possibilities?' asked Helena. 'An accomplice?'
'Oh yes. Perhaps a general conspiracy, with people providing false alibis. Heliodorus was universally loathed, after all. It is possible more than one of them was actively involved.'
'You don't believe that though?' Musa tackled me.
'No. A man was killed, for a reason we don't know, but we'll assume it made sense at the time. Then a possible witness was attacked, and another who intended to name him was strangled. This is a logical progression. To me, it fits one killer acting alone, and then reacting alone as he tries to escape discovery.'
'It's very confusing,' Helena complained.
'No, it's simple,' I corrected her, suddenly sure of myself. 'There is a lie somewhere. There must be. It ca
'So what can we do?' Helena demanded. 'How can we find out?'
Musa shared her despondency. 'This man is too clever to change the lie just because we ask the same questions a second time.'
'We'll test everything,' I said. 'Make no assumptions, recheck every story, but asking somebody different whenever we can. We may jog a memory. We may drag more information to the surface just by putting pressure on. Then, if that fails, we'll have to force the issue.'
'How?'
'I'll think of something.'
As usual it had a futile ring, yet the others did not question my claim. Maybe I would think of a way to break this man. The more I remembered what he had done, the more I was determined to better him.
Chapter XLIII
For Abila, Chremes came up with another new play, an unfu
There was no performance; we were having to wait for the theatre behind a local group who had the run of the stage fora week doing something proclamatory with drumbeats and harps. I could hear the throb of their music as I walked through the camp to attend my tryst. By then I was starving. Chremes and Phrygia dined late. At my own bivouac Helena and Musa, who were not included in my invitation, had made a point of tucking into a lavish spread while I hung about waiting to go. Outside the tents I passed on the way happy people who had already eaten were tipsily waving beakers or spitting olive stones after me.
It must have been perfectly obvious where and why I was going, for I had my napkin in one hand and the good guest's gift of an amphora under the other arm. I wore my best tunic (the one with least moth holes) and had combed the desert grit out of my hair. I felt strangely conspicuous as I ran the gauntlet of the rows of long black tents that we had pitched in nomad fashion at right angles to the track. I noticed that Byrria's tent lay in near-darkness. Both Twins were outside theirs, drinking with Plancina. No sign of Afrania tonight. As I passed, I thought one of the clowns stood up and silently stared after me.
When I arrived at the manager's tent, my heart sank.
Chremes and Phrygia were deep in some unexplained wrangle and the di
He and I opened my amphora furtively while Phrygia crashed platters inside the tent.
'So what's the mystery, young Marcus?'
'Nothing really. I just wanted to consult you again over this search for your murderer.'
'Might as well consult a camel-driver's hitching post!' cried Phrygia from indoors."
'Consult away!' boomed the manager, as if he had not heard his jaded consort. Probably after twenty years of their angry marriage his ears were genuinely selective.
'Well, I've narrowed the field of suspects but I still need the vital fact that will pin this bastard down. When the tambourinist died I had hoped for extra clues, but Ione had so many menfriends that sorting them out is hopeless.'
Without appearing to watch him, I checked Chremes for a reaction. He seemed oblivious to my subtle suggestion that he might have been one of the girl's 'friends'. Phrygia knew better, and popped out of the tent again to supervise our conversation. She had transformed herself into a gracious hostess for the night with a few deft touches: a flowing scarf, probably silk, thrown over her shoulders dramatically; silver earrings the size of spoonbowls, daring swathes of facepaint. She had also switched on a more attentive ma
Despite my fears, the meal was impressive: huge salvers of Eastern delicacies decorated with olives and dates; warmed bread; grains, pulses and spiced meats; small bowls of sharp pastes for dipping; plenty of salt and pickled fish from Lake
Tiberias. Phrygia served with an offhand ma
Their travelling di
The domestic quarrel had gone into abeyance; probably not abandoned, but deferred.
'The girl knew what she was doing,' Phrygia commented on Ione, neither bitter nor condemning.
I disgreed. 'She can't have known she would be killed for it.' Minding my ma
'She was a fool to go there!' Chremes exclaimed. 'I can't understand it. She thought the man she was meeting had killed Heliodorus, so why risk it?'
Phrygia tried to be helpful: 'She was just a girl. She thought no one who loathed him could have the same reason for loathing her. She didn't understand that a killer is illogical and unpredictable. Marcus – ' we were on first-name terms apparently ' – enjoy yourself. Have plenty.'
'So do you think', I asked, manipulating a honey dip on my flat bread, 'that she wanted to let him know she had identified him?'
'I'm sure she did,' Phrygia answered. I could tell she had been thinking this through for herself; perhaps she had wanted to feel certain her own husband could not be involved. 'She was attracted by the danger. But the little idiot had no real idea this man would see her as a threat. She was not the type to blackmail him, though he would probably suspect it. Knowing Ione, she thought it was a good giggle.'