Illegally Dead (11 page)

‘You want to watch that stuff, Corvinus,’ Lounger B said. ‘It rots the brain.

13

Well, there was a fair slice of the afternoon left before the dinner gong; plenty of time to pick up one of the case’s loose ends. Clarus had said that Bucca Maecilius had a carter’s business near the Caba gate. Since I was in Castrimoenium anyway I might as well pay the guy a visit, see what he had going for himself.

I found the place easy: a patch of waste ground that stood out like a rotten tooth in what was otherwise a respectable edge-of-town street. There was a wall fronting it, sure, but it hadn’t been replastered for years and the iron gates that should’ve closed the entrance looked rusted open on their hinges. ‘Business’ was dignifying it. Not a profitable concern, obviously.

I went through the gates past a couple of tarpaulined carts parked next to a tumbledown stables.

‘Anyone around?’ I called.

A guy came out of the stables holding a hay-rake; a big guy, fat as lard, bald as a coot and no youngster: I’d put him sixty, easy, and not a well-preserved sixty, either. He was wearing a tunic that might’ve had a colour at one time but hadn’t seen the inside of a wash-tub for months. The same might be said for the guy himself.

‘Yes?’

‘Bucca Maecilius?’

‘That’s me.’ He squinted; short-sighted, too, to add to his charms. ‘You want to hire a cart?’

‘Uh-uh. Name’s Valerius Corvinus. I was wondering if I could have a word with you.’

‘What about?’

‘Quintus Libanius of the senate has asked me to look into Lucius Hostilius’s death. The lawyer.’

‘Is that so, now?’ He leaned the hay-rake against the stable wall and came over. He didn’t look too friendly. ‘What’s it got to do with me?’

‘I understand you had a...talk with Hostilius and his partner seventeen days ago at their office.’

‘Yeah. And?’

‘Care to tell me about it?’

‘Why should I?’

‘Oh, because from what I heard it ended in a shouting match and seven days later your little friend Cosmus interfered with Hostilius’s medication and stiffed the guy. Nothing particularly crucial.’

He was glaring at me. ‘You accusing me of being mixed up in that? Because if so -’

‘You knew Cosmus, then?’

‘Yeah, I knew Cosmus.’ There was a trace of uncertainty in his voice now. ‘So did a lot of other people.’

‘You have any names, maybe?’

He shook his head. ‘Look, Corvinus, if that’s who you said you were,’ he said. ‘Let’s start again, okay? I’ve got nothing to hide. You want to ask me about that day I went round to Hostilius’s office, you go ahead.’ He jerked his chin towards a bench beside the stable door. ‘Take a seat. We might as well be comfortable.’

I followed him over and we sat down. ‘It was about a second will you say your father made, wasn’t it?’ I said.

‘He made it, sure enough.  Four days before he died. Told me so himself, the next day.’

‘He give a reason?’

‘He didn’t need a reason! I was his elder son, he owed me!’ I looked at him. ‘Yeah, well. He said his conscience was troubling him. We’d never got on, sure, but blood’s blood and he didn’t want to cause trouble after he was dead.’

‘Did you see it?’

‘No. But he told me what was in it. A fifty-fifty split between me and Fimus, everything right down the middle. That was fair, I’d’ve had no quarrel with that. He said he had to have it witnessed first, then he’d take it round to his lawyers and make it official.’

Uh-huh. Well, “Lucky” had been cutting it fine, if this had happened three days before the lightning got him. Not that he was to know that, mind, but it’d be all of a piece with the rest of the old bugger’s sense of timing. One of nature’s true incompetents, Gabba had called him, and he’d been spot on. ‘And did he? Give it to his lawyers, I mean?’

‘Dad never broke a promise in his life.’ He glanced sideways at me. ‘Look, I don’t know, right? Not for sure. But he said he would, okay? That’s enough for me.’ For all his sixty-odd years his voice had the petulance of a child’s. In fact, half-close your eyes and you might just believe that Bucca Maecilius was a great hairless whining baby.

‘What about the witnesses? If he’d had it witnessed I’d’ve expected that they’d’ve come forward.’

‘Don’t you believe it, Corvinus! They’re bastards in this town, they’ve got it in for me, the lot of them.’

‘So you went to Hostilius and Acceius and accused them of suppressing the will.’

‘I’d reason. Dad said he’d give them it. Besides, they’re no shining lights, that pair. Hostilius was straight enough before he lost his roof-tiles but for all Quintus Acceius sets himself up as a model of virtue these days he’s cut a neat few corners in his time.’

I blinked. ‘Uh...has he, indeed? Such as?’

‘You talk to Novius. He’ll tell you.’

‘Novius?’

‘Publius Novius, in Bovillae. My lawyer.’ He said the word with pride, stressing it.

Right: Fuscus had mentioned him, I remembered. Not with a great deal of underlying respect, mind, or that was the impression I’d got. And I wouldn’t be surprised if Novius turned out to be the guy Acceius had been alluding to when he’d said that he could name certain lawyers not too far away who encouraged their clients in litigation. A certain amount of professional rivalry there, I’d imagine, if not outright antagonism, which might, lawyers being lawyers, explain things. Still: Acceius cutting corners, eh? Interesting...

‘Why should Hostilius and Acceius suppress a second will?’ I said. ‘What’s in it for them?’

‘Acceius. Not Hostilius, I’d got nothing against him. You ever heard of a guy called Aulus Decidius? Little guy, dwarf, but one of the richest bastards in Latium.’

I’d really sat up now, and something with a lot of legs was working its way up my spine. ‘Uh...yeah,’ I said carefully. ‘Yeah, I’ve heard of Decidius.’ Met him, too: like Bucca said, he was one of the richest men in the region, if not the whole of Italy, and though he was strictly legit - as far as I knew - he owed a large slice of his income to buying property anonymously through agents, then developing it and selling on to the Roman luxury holiday home market. Especially lakeland property. Like Maecilius’s Six Cedars was.

‘He’s a friend of Acceius’s. A good friend.’

‘Ah...how do you know this, pal?’

‘I know a thing or two,’ Bucca said smugly. ‘I told you. I’ve got a lawyer.’

Publius Novius. In Bovillae. Shit! Professional antagonism or not, Novius was someone I had to talk to. ‘So how would it work?’

‘You know I’ve offered Fimus a deal? To settle out of court?’

‘Yeah. Yeah, I knew that. Split the land and the money half-and-half, then you’ll sell your share of the property and give your brother a third of the proceeds gratis, right?’

‘Right. I’d do it, too, Corvinus. I’m not greedy. The guy I’m dealing with is offering a fair price, I’ve got no one to follow me, and what I’d make out of the sale would take me out of this’ - he nodded at the carts in the yard - ‘for the time I’ve got left. I’d be happy with that. Understand?’

‘Yeah. Yeah, I understand.’

‘Now if Fimus gets the land it’ll go, all of it, to Decidius, and - this is the point - that bastard Acceius’ll earn a whacking commission on the deal.’

‘Hang on, pal.’ I was frowning. ‘I’m sorry. You know your brother far better than me, sure, but I was told in no uncertain terms that he’d never sell, under any circumstances. No way, nohow, never.’

‘Maybe he wouldn’t, left to himself. But you haven’t heard the price yet. And you’ve never met Faenia.’

‘Who’s Faenia?’

‘Fimus’s wife. She’s got her head screwed on and she leads him by the nose. Six Cedars is one of the biggest stretches of land in the area, been in the family for two centuries. If it was sold entire to Decidius, as a package, then he could afford to pay the premium price, because it’d be a major estate, top of the market: three million, plus ten percent to Acceius as a finder’s fee. And Decidius’d still make a clear profit of over five times that when the property’s developed. Or so Novius tells me.’

I whistled. Three million sesterces was serious, serious gravy by anyone’s reckoning, and three hundred thousand just for suppressing a will wasn’t a bad return for the risk, either. As a motive for murder, taking everything else into consideration - and there was a hell of a lot of that - it might well tip the balance.

‘You’re beginning to convince me, pal,’ I said. ‘Uh...does Acceius know you know this?’

‘You think I didn’t tell the bastard to his face I knew what he was up to, right there in the office?’

‘Fine. Fine.’ I stood up. So did Bucca. ‘Well, thanks for your time, friend. It’s been...informative.’

‘You’re welcome. It was nice to have a friendly ear for once.’ I turned to go. Then he said: ‘Corvinus!’

‘Yeah?’

‘One last thing. Cosmus. How did he die?’

I paused. The big eyes were watching me. ‘He was slugged from behind with an iron gate-bolt,’ I said. ‘At least, that’s the expert view.’

‘The poor, silly little bitch,’ Bucca murmured. ‘He never did have much sense.’

‘No,’ I said. ‘No, I don’t think he did.’

I left. Home, and dinner.

14

When I got back home Alexis was in the front garden doing something horticultural with a trowel to one of Aunt Marcia’s flower beds; Alexis, if you remember, is the brightest button on our household staff who we’d brought along as an intellectual counterweight to Meton. I went over.

‘Hey, pal,’ I said. ‘You got a moment?’

‘Of course, sir.’ He shoved the trowel in, stood up and wiped his hands on his tunic.

‘I’ve a job for you. A bit of digging.’

‘Ah...’ He glanced around.

‘Metaphorical digging. You know the public records office in Bovillae?’

‘I could find it, sir, yes.’

‘I need a name. Guy who came off second best in a prosecution, almost certainly criminal and top-of-the-range, and who got himself sent to the mines or the galleys. Something along those lines, anyway.’

‘No problem, sir. I think I can handle that. Would you like me to –?’

‘Hold on, sunshine, I haven’t finished. Prosecuting counsel was either Lucius Hostilius or Quintus Acceius or both. That’s the good news, easy-peasy so far. Now we get to the difficult bit. The date could be anything between fifteen and thirty-four years ago. Best to add on a couple of years either side to be safe.’

He looked at me and his lips framed a word that Alexis just didn’t use. I grinned. ‘Sir, do you have any idea how long that will take?’ he said carefully.

‘Uh-uh. Probably the best part of a month unless you strike lucky or find a shortcut, in which case we’re screwed. The trouble is, it’s important and I can’t think of another way to do it. We’ll just have to keep our fingers crossed.’

‘Couldn’t you ask Quintus Acceius himself, sir? He might just –’

‘No. I don’t want to do that. If Acceius does know then the question might jog his memory if it needed jogging, sure, but...well...in that case he might not want to tell me the answer. And then he’d know I was looking. You follow?’

Alexis nodded: like I say, our Alexis is a smart cookie. ‘What happens if there’s more than one possibility, sir?’

‘I’ll settle for a list, pal. At present I’d settle for anything. But give me them as you turn them up, fine?’

‘You want me to start right away?’

I looked up at the sun. ‘Uh-uh, no point: it’d take you a good hour to get to Bovillae on horseback and the office’d be closing anyway. First thing in the morning, okay? And every day thereafter. Or - better - I’ll give you a note for Quintus Libanius asking if he can arrange to put you up somewhere local and you can take it round to him yourself before dinner. That do?’

‘Yes, sir. Perfect.’

‘Great. Thanks, Alexis. Stay away from wineshops and loose women while you’re in Bovillae, okay? Except in the line of duty.’ Then, when he blushed; Alexis is a sensitive soul: ‘Joke, pal.’

I left him to his trowelling and carried on into the house. Bathyllus shimmied up with the obligatory wine tray.

‘Mistress around, sunshine?’ I said.

‘In the back garden, sir.’

‘Thanks.’ I picked up the cup and wine jug and went through the atrium towards the peristyle. She was sitting in the rose arbour with the usual book in her lap.

‘Profitable day, dear?’ She lifted her head for the welcome-home kiss.

‘Not bad.’ I sat down in the wicker chair opposite. ‘Things seem to be moving. Quintus Acceius might not be the squeaky-clean paragon he sets himself up for.’

‘Really?’ She set the book aside.

‘You remember Aulus Decidius? From a couple of years back?’

‘The entrepreneur? I remember you talking about him, yes.’

‘Turns out that Acceius is a friend of his and there’s a possibility that he might’ve sat on a second will of old Maecilius’s to further the chances of a deal happening with Decidius. Also, the guy may not be as straight-down-the-line ethically in general as he pretends to be.’

‘Ah.’ Perilla hesitated. ‘It all sounds a little woolly, dear, lots of mights and maybes. Have you any actual proof?’

‘Uh...no. Not yet.’

‘Very well. Where did you get the information?’

‘From Bucca Maecilius. You know, “Lucky” Maecilius’s elder son? He, uh, got it from his lawyer in Bovillae.’

‘Who is, presumably, the one on the other side from Acceius in the court case.’

‘Yeah. Yeah, that’s right. Guy called Publius Novius.’

‘And who might therefore have a vested interest in blackening the opposition.’

I was beginning to feel definitely irritated here. ‘Jupiter, Perilla, I’d already thought of that, okay? I’m not swallowing this hook, line and sinker but it merits chasing up, right?’

She smiled and ducked her head. ‘Yes, Marcus. I’m sorry. You talked to Quintus Acceius himself this morning, didn’t you? How did he strike you? Gut feeling?’

I could see what she was getting at. Bugger. I took a morose gulp of the wine. ‘He was nice,’ I said defensively. ‘The bastard was nice, okay? In Gabba’s words, slightly modified and upgraded, far too fucking nice and reasonable for his own good.’

‘Don’t swear, dear. It’s not my fault.’

‘Yeah, well.’ I took another swig and topped up the cup from the jug. ‘He was. And I liked him.’ The irritation boiled over into frustration. ‘Perilla, this case is turning out a total and absolute bugger, you know that? I’ve talked to two of the main suspects now, the wife and the partner. Both of them have motive coming out of their fucking ears –’

‘Marcus!’

‘– and after the amount of gratuitous provocation they’ve had to put up with, separately and together, if it’d been me I’d’ve stiffed the bastard myself, months ago. By any sort of logic one of them should’ve killed him, or both, and he’d’ve deserved it a dozen times over. The only problem is that I’d bet a gold piece to a poke in the eye that neither of them did. Or if they did then they are bloody good actors, that’s all I can say.’ I slammed the winecup down on the marble table between us and the wine spilled. ‘Hell!’

‘Marcus, stop it.’

I frowned, then grinned and reached down for the jug beside my chair. ‘Okay. Sorry, lady. Tantrum over. But it’s frustrating.’

‘Yes, so I see. Tell me about your day, in detail.’

I took a deep breath and did.

‘So what we’ve got at present,’ she said when I’d finished, ‘barring the will business and the question of who the man who attacked Hostilius was, is the missing brother-in-law Castor as prime suspect. Yes?’

‘Yeah. Obviously whatever happened that last day between him and Hostilius is crucial, but even without it the guy has form. One’ - I held down a finger - ‘he’s got ambitions to be a lawyer himself, he has his sister’s and Acceius’s support, but he’s been stymied because his brother-in-law’s taken a violent dislike to him. Two’ - I held down the second finger - ‘Hostilius has just blown the final whistle; he’s out of the firm and out of the family home. Three’ - the third finger - ‘he and Veturina are very close, and if he’s got anything going for him at all he won’t’ve taken too kindly to the shit that both of them have been putting up with and unlike her he might well’ve been prepared to do something drastic about it.’ I paused. ‘Sound reasonable so far?’

‘What about opportunity? From what you told me Castor would’ve had none. He disappeared the morning of the day before Hostilius’s death and hasn’t been seen since.’

‘Yeah.’ Bugger. I’d been trying to avoid thinking of that one.

‘Unless of course he didn’t disappear. At least, not immediately.’

I looked at her. ‘You’re saying he went back home when he left Hostilius’s?’

‘It would be the natural thing to do, wouldn’t it? In fact, I’d be surprised if he didn’t, certainly if he intended to go away for any length of time. After all, he’d left Hostilius in town, he knew where he was. He’d need clothes, money, that sort of thing. And if he was as close to his sister as he’s supposed to be then he wouldn’t leave her without a word of explanation, would he? He might even tell her where he was going.’

Shit. She was right, of course, and when you thought about it it was obvious. The only reason I hadn’t done was it meant that sweet-as-pie Veturina was lying through her teeth; not to mention straight-down-the-line-honest Scopas, because no major-domo worth his salt could not know what was going on in his own manor. And that meant...

‘Veturina knows or suspects that Castor was responsible for her husband’s death,’ I said. ‘Or thinks he could be.’

‘Yes. Or, of course, she and Castor engineered the thing together, or at least she knew beforehand that her brother was planning it and did nothing to stop him,’ Perilla said calmly. ‘Remember, we don’t know what Castor’s quarrel with Hostilius was about, only the result. And even that might have been sufficient to tip the balance. Veturina might’ve been prepared to put up with Hostilius’s ill-treatment when it harmed only herself, but if she saw he was on the point of ruining her brother’s life as well that would’ve been another matter.’

Yeah; right. Everyone has their breaking point; it was just a question of where, and love him as she undoubtedly did, like I’d said the lady had been pushed well to the edge already. I took a swallow of wine. Shit. Whatever the explanation, one thing was clear: Veturina still had serious beans to spill. And the sooner she spilled them the better.

‘Okay,’ I said. ‘I’ll go and see her again tomorrow. Meantime, lady’ - I refilled my cup - ‘I’ve had enough. I’m giving sleuthing a break for the evening. What’s for dinner?’

‘Ah, now that was something I was going to tell you, dear,’ Perilla said nervously. ‘I don’t know if Meton’s back yet. He served us an early lunch and disappeared again immediately afterwards. I saw him heading down the drive myself.’ She paused. ‘He was wearing...well...he was wearing...a new tunic.’

‘A what?’ I stared at her open-mouthed. Gods! Meton never, never ever wore a new tunic! Oh, sure, he must’ve had one, in fact I know he did because Perilla kitted out the whole household fresh, me included, every Spring Festival, and we’d had that not long ago. But he never wore it, not new. How the slovenly bugger managed things, I don’t know - probably the way those narcissistic young prats-about-town manage to keep their designer stubble just the fashionable length - but he was a three-day-old tunic man to his grimy fingernails. Meton without grease stains and a distinct whiff of underarm sweat just wouldn’t be Meton.

‘Also,’ Perilla continued in a small voice, in the tone you’d use if you were telling someone their granny had just been run over by a stonemason’s cart, ‘he passed Alexis on the way to the gate, and Alexis thought he could smell perfume.’

Oh, shit! ‘Perfume? Meton?’

‘Now don’t overreact, dear. I’m sure there’s a perfectly rational explanation somewhere or other. And after all Alexis could’ve been mistaken.’

Mistaken, hell: empires could rise and fall in the space between Meton’s normal body odour and the scent of perfume. I’d heard enough. I turned round and yelled: ‘Bathyllus!’

The little bald-head came running up like there was a fire in the hypocaust. ‘Yes, sir.’

‘Meton. Here. Now.’

‘I...ah...don’t know if he’s –’

‘Ascertain, sunshine. And when you’ve fucking ascertained and if he is around then tell him I want to see him as of yesterday. If he isn’t then let me know and when the bugger does get back I will personally detach his testicles using the bluntest knife I can find in his knife box. Clear?’

He started a sniff, then caught my eye and thought better of it. ‘Clear, sir. Yes, sir.’

He left. I fumed quietly while Perilla sat in silence, giving me occasional nervous looks.

‘Yeah? What is it now, Corvinus?’

I turned round. Well, he’d changed back into his familiar gravy-stained togs, anyway. Alexis had been right, though: sweat there undoubtedly was, but it was laced with a distinct odour of violets.

‘Okay, Meton,’ I said. ‘What’s going on?’

‘About what?’

I sighed. ‘Look, pal, I’m not an idiot.’ He sniggered. ‘You’ve got something cooking, and I don’t mean pork with cumin and onion seeds, either. So give.’

‘Don’t know what you mean.’

‘Meton. When was the last time you put on a new tunic to go out and sprinkled yourself with essence of fucking violets?’

‘This afternoon.’

Bugger. ‘Yeah, I know it was this afternoon, sunshine! That’s the whole point! What I want to know is why?’

‘No law against it, is there? Lookin’ and smellin’ nice? If I want to look an’ smell nice there’s no law that says I shouldn’t look and smell –’

Gods! Enough! ‘Meton, you are grounded as of now, okay? I don’t know what you’re up to, but it’s something, and I am not taking the risk. Not after that sheep caused the biggest sodding damage to Roman prestige in Latium since the First Fucking Samnite War.’ He sniggered again. ‘Is that perfectly clear?’

‘Fine.’ He inserted a finger into his left nostril, waggled it about, withdrew it and inspected the result. ‘So I won’t be able to do the shopping in town from now on, then?’

‘Gods, Meton, we have a whole household of fucking bought help here –’

‘Marcus,’ Perilla said quietly.

‘– most of whom have the requisite nous to be able to successfully negotiate the intricacies of a shopping list and bring home the bacon, the cabbage, the lentils, the what-fucking-ever -’