`Nice place!' I remarked, though for me the columns were too massive and the artwork too frenetic.

`It was nicer when it was full.'

Flaccida was a short, thin woman, a blonde of sorts, about forty-five. From twenty strides away she would have looked fabulous. At six feet she showed signs of a troubled past. She wore a gown in material so fine its threads were tearing under the weight of its jewelled fastenings. Her face and hair were a triumph of cosmetic attention. But her eyes were restless and suspicious. Her mouth set in a hard, straight line. Her hands seemed too big for her arms. Size mattered here. On both wrists she wore bangles that were trying too hard to tell people how much they cost, and on her fingers two full rows of high-budget rings.

Naturally Flaccida was giving us the eyeball. I reckoned we would pass: whereas Helena had dressed down for the occasion, I had dressed up. Smartness always helps in gaining access to the houses of the wealthy. Anyone with a clean face is acceptable to thugs.

I wore my best white tunic, newly laundered, and even a toga, which I knew how to handle with an air. A recent shave and a faint splash of pomade announced status, a bold lie. A money purse clinked on my belt and I was flaunting my great-uncle's massive obsidian finger ring. Helena had followed me quietly. She was also in white, a straight gown with sewn sleeves and a plain woollen belt. She usually fixed her hair very simply, and she wore no jewels today apart from one insignificant silver ring that she never took off. Some might imagine her a slave. I tried to view her as a highly trained freedwoman inherited from an aunt. Helena herself seemed quite at case, without being explained away.

I found a bland smile. `I am working closely with Marcus Rubella, the tribune of the Fourth Cohort of vigiles.'

`So you're in the Prefect's Office?' Flaccida's voice had a smoky rasp that came from a misspent life in ill-lit places.

`Not really. I normally represent a more senior outfit…'

Leaving it vague was easy. Half the time I didn't know who I was working for myself. `I have some news to break, and I need to ask some questions.'

She pinched her mouth, but did gesture me impatiently to a seat. Her movements lacked grace. She dumped herself on a couch while I took its partner. They were handsome pieces in silver, with winged griffin armrests and sinuous backs, but they looked slightly too small for the room. We had found Flaccida in one more-or-less furnished salon, though as I settled in I noticed bare curtain rods. Shadowed lines on the wall showed where display shelves had been removed. Dark marks on the ceiling spoke of candelabra, though there were none now. -

Helena had perched on the other end of my couch, with a note tablet on her knees. `My assistant may take a few notes,' I' informed Flaccida, who replied with a gesture of indifference. Interesting that she accepted Helena's presence so readily.

`What's this about?'

`Your husband, partly.'

`My husband is abroad.'

`Yes, I met him briefly as he was leaving. So how will you manage? I notice the house is up for sale.'

`I shall be living with my daughter and son-in-law.' Her tone was dry enough to elicit any sympathy we could find for her. She was still too young for that option. She was neither a widow nor divorced. Moving in with the youngsters was not going to work. Something about her manner suggested she would not even try to co-operate.

`Your daughter must be a great comfort,' I said. Without meeting her, I felt sorry for the girl.

`Get on with what you came for,' Flaccida snapped. `What's the news you mentioned? Has somebody died?' Watching for any reaction, I told her it was Nonnius Albius. `That traitor!' She said it fairly quietly. I happened to catch Helena's eye, and reckoned she thought that Flaccida had already known.

`I suppose you're glad to hear it?'

`Correct.' She was still speaking in a flat tone. `He ruined my life.

I decided not to waste my breath mentioning all the people whose lives had been ruined by the crime empire her husband had run. `Nonnius was murdered, Flaccida. Do you know anything about it?'

`Only that I'd give whoever did it a laurel wreath.'

`He was tortured first. It was very unpleasant. I could tell you the details.'

`Oh I'd like that.' She spoke with a disturbing mixture of contempt and enjoyment. I found myself wondering whether Flaccida would herself be capable of ramming a wine bowl on a man's head and having the rest of him mutilated while he choked. She sat very still, scrutinising me through half-closed eyes. It was easy to imagine her presiding over horror.

Various pale maids were sitting in on the interview. A rapid scan indicated that most were undernourished, several had bruised arms, and one bore the remnants of a black eye. Flaccida's immaculate coiffure had been achieved with a level of violence that would not disgrace a gladiators' training school.

`Were you aware what kind of business your husband ran?'

`What I know is my affair.'

I kept trying. `Have you seen any of the men who used to work with him recently? The Miller? Little Icarus? Julius Caesar, and that lot?'

`No. I never mixed with the work force.' `Is it true they are all out of Rome?'

`So I heard. Driven out by the vigiles.'

`So you cannot say if any of them were behind the recent theft from the Emporium?'

`Oh, was there a theft?' cooed Flaccida, this time scarcely concealing her prior knowledge. The raid had certainly not been announced in the Daily Gazette as a national triumph, but word had galloped around the bathhouse circuit the same day. Flaccida was just giving us the routine false innocence of a regular villain.

`A big one. Someone who wants to be very big must have organised it.' Flaccida herself, for instance. If she had done it, though, she knew better than to signal the fact. I wondered how she would react to the notion of a female rival. `Do you know Lalage?'

`Lalage?'

`Keeps the brothel called Plato's Academy.' Helena, who had not previously heard the popular name for the Bower of Venus, stifled a giggle. `She's a business contact of your, husband's.'

`Oh yes. I think I've met her.' They were probably best friends, but Flaccida would never admit it under official questioning. She would lie, even if there was no reason to do so. Lying was her way of life.

`Do you think Lalage might be trying to take over where your husband was forced to leave off?'

`How should I know? You'd better ask her.'

`Oh I've done that. She knows how to lie as well as you.' I changed tack wearily: `Let's start again. Nonnius Albius, your husband's one-time associate, turned him in. It could be suggested that now your husband has left the Empire, you may be acting as his agent of revenge against Nonnius.'

This charge, though unproven, could go straight into the mouth of a prosecutor in a court of law. Flaccida started fighting back seriously. `You have no right to make such suggestions to an unsupported woman.' Legally this was true. A woman had to have a male representative to speak for her in public. The answer was well rehearsed too. Not many women I knew would raise that objection. But not many of my associates needed to shelter behind the law.

`Quite right. I apologise.'

`Shall I strike the question from the record?' Helena interrupted demurely.

`I shouldn't think it matters, since the lady has not answered it.'

Helena smiled gently at my anger. She suggested, in a way that sounded straightforward but was actually sceptical, `Perhaps Flaccida has a guardian acting for her now her husband is away?'

`I have a guardian and a battery of barristers, and if you want to ask questions about the business,' barked Flaccida, using the word `business' as if the family were engaged merely in carving cameos or in scallop fishing, `you can go through the proper procedures.'