Illegally Dead (10 page)

‘Fair enough.’ Gods! Food for thought there, and no mistake. Also, it gave Fimus a potential motive in spades for wanting the guy dead. Definitely an angle to chase. ‘Uh...you mind if we move on?’

‘Not at all.’

‘The attack in the street, six days before your partner died. What can you tell me about that?’

Acceius frowned. ‘Very little, I’m afraid, barring an account of the event itself, which you’ve no doubt already heard.’

‘You didn’t recognise the man? Neither you nor Hostilius?’

‘No. At least I didn’t, and Lucius gave no indication then or later of having done so. It was...most odd. However -’ He stopped.

‘“However”?’

‘I’ll leave that for the moment, Corvinus, if you don’t mind. Don’t worry, I’m not prevaricating, and I won’t forget. No, as far as I’m aware the man was a complete stranger. Mind you, to be honest I can’t swear even to that categorically: he was in a filthy condition, beard and long matted hair, ragged clothes, and he wasn’t young or well-preserved, either. A complete tramp. I have wondered if he couldn’t’ve been a...well, someone who had a past grudge against one or both of us, real or imagined. Someone either Lucius himself before we became partners or we together, subsequently, had prosecuted.’ Another shrug. ‘As I say, it would’ve had to’ve been a long time ago, because if not then one of us would have been sure to recognise him, but it’s not outwith the bounds of possibility by any means. Memory does fade. And the fact that, whoever he was, he wasn’t a local man makes it even more likely any connection can’t’ve been at all recent.’

Yeah, well: I’m not stupid, and I’d been thinking along those lines myself. ‘Did he say anything? When he attacked you?’

‘He shouted “Wait!”, I remember. Then when he was going for Lucius he said...well, I think the words were “Take that, you bastard.” Certainly something like that, nothing very significant or original. But then again it happened so quickly that I can’t be sure.’

‘“Bastard” singular? And a singular verb?’

Acceius smiled. ‘Really, Corvinus,’ he said. ‘I hardly think -’ He stopped. ‘No. Oh, no, my apologies. I see, and you’re quite right, it does matter a great deal. You’d make a fair lawyer yourself. Still, my answer is yes, definitely singular: he was speaking only to Lucius.’

‘Did you have to kill him?’

‘No, that was a complete accident. The knife caught in Lucius’s mantle and I grabbed the man’s wrist and forced it back. At least, that was all I meant to do, but as I said he was old and in poor condition. The result was that I overestimated his strength in comparison with my own, his hand went further than I intended, and the knife took him full in the side. I won’t lose any sleep over his death, I admit, but the killing was not a deliberate act.’ He hesitated. ‘In fact - and this brings us back to the however I mentioned earlier, I wish now that I had disarmed him.’

‘Yeah? Why’s that, pal?’

‘This is...I’m sorry, but this will sound...the only word is “silly”.’ Another hesitation. ‘You know...have you ever felt, Corvinus, that you’re being watched? Followed, even? I mean, had the feeling completely irrationally, with no objective proof whatsoever?’

I straightened. ‘You think someone’s watching you?’

‘Yes. I have done since the day of the attack. Which’ - he grinned - ‘I’m perfectly ready to admit need have no sinister implications at all. This is not Rome. In Castrimoenium we don’t expect to be attacked in the street, in broad daylight, by knife-wielding thugs, and the incident shook me, perhaps to the extent that it’s made me imagine things. As I say, I have no proof, none at all, and just talking about it embarrasses me. But...if you put me on oath then I’d have to say yes, I do think someone is watching me. And although it is probably sheer imagination, because I haven’t the slightest idea who would bother or why, I thought I should at least mention it. Now. That’s said, and we can both forget that I spoke. Is there anything else I can help you with?’

‘Uh...yeah.’ My brain was buzzing. ‘Castor. Your partner’s brother-in-law. I understand he and Hostilius had a...call it a quarrel at your office. Again the day before Hostilius’s death. You know what that could’ve been about?’

‘You’ve talked to Fuscus?’

‘Yeah. Yes, of course.’

‘Then you’ll have all the information that I have myself, since Fuscus was my only source. No, Corvinus; apart from saying that Lucius had taken an irrational dislike to Castor and wanted him dismissed - again I’m sure you knew this - I can’t provide any specific reason for the quarrel at all, nor even guarantee that there was one. Castor, of course, I haven’t seen since, and nor has anyone else to my knowledge.’

‘You’ve no idea where he might have gone?’

‘None.’

Well, that about covered things for the present. I got up. ‘Thanks for talking to me, pal. It’s been very useful.’

He stood too. ‘My pleasure, Corvinus. Any time.’

‘Ah...one last question, before I go. Quite a personal one, if you don’t mind.’

‘Carry on.’

‘Were either of you thinking of terminating the partnership at all? Would it have been possible, uh, financially, I mean?’

He nodded. ‘Yes. I was. Or rather, I was sorely tempted to, although I doubt very much if I’d’ve carried the intention through in practice. As for your second question, the answer is also yes, as far as I was concerned. Lucius was the senior partner in terms of age and the history of the firm, certainly, but...well, the balance had shifted completely over the years, even before he fell ill. Had the partnership been dissolved - by him or by me - he would have suffered financially and in every other way far more than I would.’ A smile. ‘I can give you a note for my banker, if you like, and you can discuss the matter in confidence with him.’

‘Uh-uh. That won’t be necessary,’ I said. ‘And I’m sorry I asked the question.’

‘Oh, don’t be sorry, no umbrage taken. I’d be a poor excuse for a lawyer myself if I didn’t recognise my own value as a suspect, and a financial motive for murder would be one of the more obvious ones.’ I said nothing. ‘Let me just add one thing, though, Corvinus, in my own defence. Lucius and I were not only partners but close friends for over twenty years, and I still regard his wife as such. Very much so. Dissolving the partnership, especially since...well, in the natural course of things it would end of itself in two or three years at most would have been a poor return for these years of friendship and a terrible blow to Veturina. I could not and would not have done it, whatever the provocation. You understand me?’

‘Yeah. Yeah, I understand.’

‘Then I wish you good luck in your investigations. Don’t hesitate to call again if you have further questions, or I can help in any way.’ He held out his hand.

We shook, and I left.

12

Okay; it was past noon and I reckoned I’d earned myself a cup of wine and some cheese and olives at Pontius’s. Especially if I could manage to combine them with a little gossip from Gabba. First, though, I went in the other direction from the town square, to the undertaker’s shop where Sextus the door-slave had said they’d taken the corpse of the guy who’d attacked Hostilius.

It was the usual setup you’d get in any small town: a frontage with a tasteful urn tastefully draped and, inside, a sombre-looking guy in a sharp mantle hovering attentively without seeming to be touting for custom. Not that funeral establishments get all that many browsers, mind.

‘You Trophius, pal?’ I said.

I could see him give me the quick once-over: no mourning-mantle, reasonably freshly-shaven, fringe unclipped. The sombreness slackened off a distinct notch. ‘Yes, sir,’ he said.

‘Marcus Valerius Corvinus. I’m, ah –’

‘Looking into the death of Lucius Hostilius on behalf of the senate, sir,’ he said. ‘Yes, I know.’

Well, that saved us a bit of time. And no doubt most of Castrimoenium did, by now. ‘The corpse from that incident up the street fourteen days back. It was brought here, I understand.’

‘That’s right.’

‘Care to describe the guy to me? Is that possible?’

‘I never forget a face, sir, although in this instance, ha ha, there was no question of taking a death mask.’ He looked at me. ‘I’m sorry, sir. Just my little joke.’

Yeah. Right. ‘The description, pal?’

‘Looked in his sixties, at least, but that could just’ve been the condition he was in, he could’ve been years younger. Hair long, completely grey, matted with grease and worse. Beard ditto, fingernails like talons. Most of his teeth missing, nothing to him, skin and bone practically.  No belt-pouch, no rings, necklets or bangles, nothing but the knife. Oh, and he’d shackle marks on his wrists and ankles.’

‘Shackle marks?’

‘That’s right, sir. Not recent, the abrasions’d healed, but he’d worn them for a long time in my opinion. A very long time, years, certainly. His wrists and ankles were one big scar.’

Shit; well, that fitted with Acceius’s theory that the guy had been involved with the firm, anyway, on the receiving end. Chained wrists and ankles meant the galleys; or the mines, maybe, although it came to the same thing. Whichever it was, he’d have to be tough: if you lived longer than a few months in either you could count yourself lucky, and as for escaping...well, it was possible, sure, but the chances were in the flying pigs league. Certainly it’d explain his condition, his state of mind and his attempt on Hostilius: with obvious shackle marks on his wrists and ankles most people would think a lot more than twice before they gave him a job or a handout because sheltering a runaway slave or an escaped criminal is a serious offence, and who’d take the risk? And if Hostilius - or he and his partner - had been responsible for putting the marks there then it was no surprise he’d want to get even. The question was, had the meeting been accidental or had it been deliberate? And who the hell was the guy himself? Not that I’d much hope of finding the answer to that last one, mind.

The undertaker was looking at me. ‘That all I can help you with, sir?’ he said.

‘Uh, yeah. Yeah, thanks, friend.’ I turned away. ‘Oh...what happened to the body? No one claimed it, I assume.’

He laughed. ‘Oh, no, sir. We kept him a couple of days, just on the off-chance, but no such luck. The lads took him to the cemetery out beyond the gates and burned him with some scrap timber we had lying in the yard. Got most of him, too, before the wood ran out.’

Uh-huh. Not a bad man, this Trophius. At least he’d given the guy a funeral of sorts where he could’ve just dumped him with the token sprinkling of earth for the local wild-life to dispose of. Considering that he had no hope of any return, and the man had been practically a murderer, that was pretty generous. ‘Well, thanks again,’ I said. ‘I’ll be –’

‘Funny thing, though. While they were burning him the lads thought they were being watched.’

I whipped round. ‘What?’

‘Probably just a gawper, of course, you get them at every funeral. Morbid so-and-so’s. Strange thing is, gawpers usually come out into the open and stand as close to the mourning party as they decently can so’s to get a good view. This one didn’t. In fact, the lads weren’t sure he was there at all after they first spotted him.’

‘They manage a description?’

‘Nah, too far away, and they only glimpsed him among the tombs. Also, why should they be interested? He was just a gawper.’ He frowned; then, as the penny finally dropped, he glanced at me sharply. ‘Wasn’t he?’

I didn’t answer. Brain buzzing, I left and made my way to Pontius’s.

Gabba was there, propping up the bar with a couple of the other regulars. They gave me a funny look when I came in, then went back to their wine.

‘Oh, it’s you, Corvinus.’ Pontius hefted a wine flask from the rack. ‘Usual?’

‘Yeah. Plus some cheese and olives to soak it up, pal.’

He filled half a jug and set a winecup beside it then went off to the back room for the edibles.

‘So much for watch-my-lips-no-murders, consul,’ Gabba said sourly. ‘Fibber.’

Word certainly got around fast. Mind you, Gabba kept his ear so close to the ground they could’ve used him for a drain cover; which was exactly the reason I was there. I shrugged, half-filled the cup and drained it.

‘Yeah, well,’ I said.

‘Me, I’d bet it was the wife,’ one of the other loungers grunted. ‘Bloody women, you can’t trust any of them. Not that I blame her, the bugger was out of his tree.’

‘No reason to go killing a man, though, is it?’ The other lounger emptied his cup and refilled it. ‘Just gives the rest ideas. Wives get the idea they can poison their husbands whenever they feel like it and it’s the end of fucking civilised society as we know it.’

The first lounger chuckled. ‘My wife’s been trying it for years, boy. And it’s going to get worse now she’s –’

Gabba, next to him, shifted sideways and trod hard on his foot. ‘Oops,’ he said. ‘Sorry, sunshine, total accident.’

Pontius came back with the cheese and olives. ‘There you go, Corvinus. That do you?’

‘Fine.’ I reached into my belt-pouch, took out some coins and put them on the counter. ‘Uh...Gabba? You mind a quick word in private? Outside?’

He beamed. ‘No problem, consul. Except that my jug seems to be unaccountably almost empty at present.’

I sighed and put a few more coins down. Pontius gave me a suspicious look, reached for a flask and half-filled Gabba’s jug. ‘Okay now?’ I said.

‘You’re a true gentleman, Corvinus. One of the truly greats.’

Lounger B sniggered. I ignored him, picked up the plate of cheese and olives in one hand and my jug and empty winecup with the other and led the way outside.

We settled at one of the tables overlooking the square. I topped up the cup and drank. Gabba did the same and filched a slice of cheese.

‘Now,’ he said. ‘What can I do you for?’

‘Quintus Acceius’s wife. Seia Lucinda. She got anything going with Hostilius’s brother-in-law that you know of?’

He took a long swallow before answering. ‘Could have. Could have, consul. There’ve been stories. Mind you, if she has then they’ve been discreet. Of course, there was that incident at the party about half a month back, but you’ll know about that already.’

‘Come on, Gabba, you bastard! You’re drinking my wine, remember?’

‘True.’ He filled his cup. ‘It was Seia Lucinda’s birthday. Acceius puts on a bash for it every year, lots of guests, all the local nobs, no expense spared. You know the sort of thing.’

‘Yeah. And?’

‘Hostilius and Veturina turn up - invited, of course - and they’re in the line to wish the lady many happy returns. So when he gets face to face with the birthday girl Hostilius brings out a bottle of perfume and hands it to her. “Happy birthday, Lucinda,” he says, “this’ll suit you perfectly. It’s a real whore’s scent.” Then he just walks off back to his carriage leaving everyone standing, his wife included.’ He chuckled. ‘’Course, he never mentioned Castor by name as such, but you get the general idea.’

I sat back. Shit; talk about provocation! Well, if Acceius hadn’t stiffed the bastard after that he had a lot more forebearance than me, that was all I could say. And as far as ‘ill’ went, in Rome he’d’ve been locked up. Even so... ‘You think it’s likely, pal?’ I said.

‘That Seia Lucinda is having a bit on the side? Why not? She’s still a fine-looking woman. You’ve seen her?’ I nodded. ‘Right. Too fond of the juice, by some accounts’ - he held up his winecup - ‘and bored out of her skull. Still, that’s her own fault, isn’t it?’

‘How do you mean?’

‘She was the one did the chasing in the first place, or so they say. She married Acceius quick enough when his first wife died.’

The hairs stirred on the back of my neck. ‘His, uh, first wife? He was married before?’

‘Sure. Years back, before he came here from Bovillae. And don’t look at me like that, Corvinus, there was nothing funny about it, or not that I know of. She died in childbirth; it was their first kid, and it went wrong the way they do, sometimes. Seia Lucinda was from a big local family, couldn’t’ve been much more than half through her teens, but a real tearaway. She set her cap at Acceius and nailed him a couple of years later. At least’ - he emptied his cup and refilled it - ‘that’s what the gossip said when they moved to Castrimoenium.’

‘So what went wrong?’

‘With the marriage?’ Gabba reached for another slice of cheese. ‘Oh, that’s okay, far as I know, in general terms. I could name you shakier ones. But the lady’s no happy bunny. You want my opinion, she thought that when she bagged Acceius the next stop would be Rome. He’s a top-notch lawyer, Corvinus, a sturgeon in a carp-pond, but he’s content with where he is and what he is. He could’ve ditched Hostilius years ago, long before all this shit started, but he didn’t. Hasn’t since, either.’ He took a swallow of wine. ‘Ask me, he’s just too nice for his own good. You get these stupid buggers now and again. Like I say, the result’s that his wife drinks too much and she’s bored. Take all that with the fact that she’s a stunner and you’ve got a lethal combination.’

Yeah, I’d agree with that. I took some of the cheese before the scrounging bastard wolfed the rest of it. ‘How about the brother-in-law? Castor? He got form?’

‘He’s good-looking, certainly. And he likes the girls. There’ve been two or three irate daddies knocking on the Hostilius door since he moved here.’

‘Connections with Seia Lucinda in particular?’

‘He’s the firm’s gopher. He’s bound to see something of her in the natural course of events. But like I say if there is anything then they’ve been discreet.’

Bugger; I’d heard enough. ‘Gabba, pal, you do realise that all this amounts to zilch, don’t you?’ I said. ‘My bet is that there isn’t a scrap of actual evidence linking Castor and Acceius’s wife. All you’ve given me is assumptions and generalities, plus a reported insult at a party where the guy who delivered it ought to’ve been smacked in the mouth on the spot. Right?’

‘I aim to please, consul. Not an unreasonable return for half a jug of wine.’ Gabba refilled his cup. ‘Anyway, that’s what gossip is. Substantiated gossip is what you might call a contradiction in terms, and for that you pay extra. Not that it’s my field of expertise, mind.’

I stood up and retrieved the plate of cheese and olives - mostly olives now: Gabba wasn’t too keen on these - plus the wine jug and cup. If that was all I was going to get then I might as well go back inside. Just as I moved to the door, the door up above at the top of the staircase leading to Pontius’s second storey opened.

‘Come on, Corvinus.’ Gabba was suddenly right behind me with his own jug and cup. ‘If you’re going in then go.’ He pushed me through and closed the door behind us.

‘What the hell!’ I said.

‘Sorry, consul, tripped over my own feet.’

‘Gabba -’

‘Concatenation of circumstances, boy. Purely fortuitous, and you have my abject apologies.’

‘You want a top-up, Corvinus?’ Pontius said.

‘No. No, I’m fine.’ Jupiter! I carried the jug, cup and plate, minus a couple of the olives that hadn’t made it across the threshold, back over to the bar. ‘What’s going on?’

‘Beg your pardon?’

‘You branching out, Pontius? Running an illegal gambling den or something upstairs that you don’t want the authorities to know about?’ He looked at me blankly. The other two punters set down their winecups and stared at me too, like I’d sprouted an extra pair of purple ears. I sighed. ‘Never mind; it doesn’t matter.’

‘What doesn’t matter?’

That was Gabba. I turned to look at him: blank stare number four on full power. Bugger. Whatever it was, it was obviously private Castrimoenian business, the locals had closed ranks and Roman purple-stripers could just put up the blinds and go home.

‘It,’ I said. ‘Whatever the hell it is it is not...fucking...important. Just leave it. Okay?’

‘You feeling all right?’ Pontius said frowning.

I poured a cup of wine and sank half of it at a gulp. ‘Bugger off, sunshine.’