Three Hands In The Fountain

We glanced at one another, then once more looked down over the dam. I immediately saw problems; anyone up here on the bridge tossing things off the top would be visible for miles. The dam had a vertical face on its reservoir side, but a long sloped bank on the river side.' Hurling limbs far enough to ensure they landed in the Anio would be impossible, and for the killer entailed a risk of throwing himself off with them. It would be particularly dangerous if there was more wind; even today, when the valley itself was full of birdsong and wild flowers, warm, humid and still, up here constant blusters threatened to make us lose our step.

I explained my doubts. `Picturesque thought – but think again!'

Bolanus shrugged. `Then you have to look at the river between here and the Via Valeria.'

All I wanted was to walk very carefully back to the firm ground at the end of the dam.

FIFTY

My companions eagerly consigned to me the task of surveying the relevant estates. We lodged, that night at Sublaqueum, and I spent the rest of the afternoon ascertaining that most of the cultivated land at the head of the valley and on the lower slopes of Mount Livata now formed part of the huge Imperial estate. Any Emperor planning a pleasure park is wise to ensure that he will only be overlooked by the flatterers he brings along to help him enjoy his isolation. Gossipmongers are never off duty.

Now the villa had passed to Vespasian. It lay almost deserted and could well remain so. Our new ruler and his two, sons had a distaste for the flamboyant trappings of power, which Nero revelled in. When they wanted to visit the Sabine Hills – as they frequently did, in fact – they went north: to Reate, Vespasian's birthplace, where the family owned several estates and spent their summers in old-fashioned peace and quiet, like clean-living country

boys.

None of the Imperial slaves who nowadays tended Nero's spread, or the ordinary folk in its associated village, would be able to afford to make a habit of visits to Rome for entertainment. We still needed to look for a private villa, owned by people with the leisure, the money, and the social inclination to honour the major festivals year after; year.

Next day we returned as far as the Via Valeria, looking out for that kind of estate. Frontinus and Bolanus went ahead to install us in overnight lodgings again, while I stopped to make enquiries, at one private villa that looked sufficiently substantial.

`Over to you. I did my share at Tibur,' Frontinus cheerfully informed me.

`Yes, sir. What about you, Bolanus? Want to help out at an interview?'

`No, Falco. I just contribute technical expertise.' Thanks, friends.

This villa was owned by the Fulvius brothers, a jolly trio of bachelors. They were all in their forties, and happily admitted they liked going to Rome for the Games. I asked if their driver returned here after delivering them: oh no, because the Fulvii did not bother with an extra hand; they took it in turns to drive themselves. They were fat, curious, bursting with funny stories, and quite uninhibited. I quickly acquired a picture of a riotous group, merry on wine and squabbling gently, trundling up to Rome and back when the fancy took. They said they went often, though were not slavish attenders and sometimes missed a festival. Although none of them had ever married, they seemed too fun-loving (and too much in each other's pockets) for one of them to be a secret, brooding murderer of the kind I sought.

`By the way – did you happen to go to the city for the last Ludi Romani?'

`Actually, no.' Well, that absolved them from the murder of Asinia.

When I pressed them, it turned out they had probably not been to Rome since the Apolline Games, which take place in July – and they confessed rather shamefacedly they meant the July of the previous year. So much for these men off the world. The jolly bachelors were positively home-loving.

In the end I told the Fulvii the reason for my enquiries, and asked whether they knew of any of their neighbours who habitually travelled to Rome for festivals. Did they, for instance, on their own noisy journeys ever pass another local vehicle on the same errand? They said no. They glanced at one, another afterwards, and looked as if they might be sharing a private joke of some kind, but I took them at their word.

That could be a mistake. The Anio flowed right through their estate. They let me look round. Their grounds were full of huts, stables, animal pens, storage barns, and even a gazebo in the form of a mock-temple on the sunny riverbank, in any of which abducted females might be held, tortured, killed and hacked to bits. I was well aware that the Fulvii might look like happy, open-natured souls, yet could well harbour dark jealousies and, indulge long-held hates through vicious acts.

I was a Roman. I had a deep-seated suspicion of anyone who chose to live in the countryside.