Illegally Dead

11

The door-slave left me to admire the decor in the lobby while he checked that the master was receiving. If that was anything to go by, Acceius’s private residence showed the same combination of expensive and tasteful as his office: top-of-the-range mosaic, artwork and statuary. Not short of a gold piece or two, then, Hostilius’s partner.

‘This way, sir.’ The door-slave was back. ‘If you’d like to come through.’

We went into the atrium. More marble and more bronzes including an absolute beaut of a satyr playing the double-flute. Oh, and one stunner of a lady sitting in a chair by the ornamental pool.

‘Valerius Corvinus,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry, Quintus is just up and being shaved; he was in Rome on business yesterday and didn’t get back until just before dawn. He does know you’re here, though, and he sends his apologies and says he’ll be as quick as possible. I’m Seia Lucinda. His wife.’ She smiled. ‘But you’d probably assumed that already.’

‘Yeah.’ I grinned back. ‘I had, as a matter of fact. I’m pleased to meet you, Seia Lucinda. And any apologies due are mine. Your husband’s clerk said he’d rather I wasn’t too prompt.’

‘No, your timing’s perfect. Almost perfect; but that’s not your fault. Sit down, please. Carillus, some wine.’ The slave who’d been hanging around the entrance when I came in bowed and went out.

I pulled up a chair — they seemed to prefer chairs, in this house, although there were a couple of expensive-looking couches — and sat. Seia Lucinda was an absolute honey: mid- to late thirties, jet-black hair, an oval face, olive skin and big, almond-shaped eyes. Scopas had said she was from one of the old local families, but I wondered if there wasn’t some African blood there; maybe even Carthaginian. It was possible, sure.

‘You’re staying with the Lady Marcia, I believe?’ she said.

‘Yeah. She’s my wife’s aunt. Courtesy aunt. We come up here quite a lot, really. Our adopted daughter Marilla’s lived with Marcia more or less since…well, since we adopted her. It started off temporary, then became permanent because she prefers the countryside to Rome. Besides, Marcia’d be lost without her.’

‘They are beautiful, the Alban Hills. But it must be nice to live in Rome. So much more going on. The countryside, I’m afraid’ — she smiled again — ‘oh, dear, can be very dull at times. I’m always telling Quintus that we should think of moving, but he’s such a stick-in-the-mud I doubt if we ever will.’

‘No argument there, lady. The country’s fine for a visit, but with respect living here full time would drive me up the wall.’

‘Yes. Oh, yes.’ She turned. ‘Ah, the wine. Thank you, Carillus. That’s all, you can go.’ The slave set a full winecup on the small table next to me and a second — equally full — on the marble pool surround next to Seia Lucinda’s chair, then bowed and exited. ‘I’ll join you, if I may.’

‘Sure.’ I picked up the cup and sipped: Alban, and pure nectar.

‘It’s just unfortunate that your first visit here should be under such unpleasant circumstances.’ Seia Lucinda picked up her own cup. ‘I…can’t say I ever liked Quintus’s partner, and of course in recent months he’d become completely impossible, but I’m sorry he’s dead, particularly…well, you understand. I’m especially sorry for Veturina. She did love him very much, Valerius Corvinus, however badly he treated her, and in many ways she will miss him greatly.’

‘Yeah. Yeah, I can see that.’

‘It might have been better had there been any children, but of course there weren’t. Not who lived, at least.’

‘You have children yourself?’

‘No.’ She took a sip of the wine. ‘No, no children. There’s just me and Quintus.’

‘Valerius Corvinus?’ I turned round. A big guy, late forties and wearing a snazzy mantle, was coming from the direction of what was, presumably, the family rooms beyond the satyr bronze. He held out his hand. ‘Quintus Acceius. Delighted to meet you.’

I stood up and we shook. Our eyes were on a level; if anything, he had a good inch on me. ‘Same here,’ I said.

‘Lucinda looking after you?’ I noticed his eyes had gone to the lady’s winecup, and that she’d set it down quickly by the side of the pool. ‘Fine. We’ll go into the study, if you don’t mind. This is no subject for a woman. Bring your wine with you. I won’t join you, if you’ll forgive me. It’s a little early for me, especially since I’m just up.’

‘Fair enough. Seia Lucinda? A pleasure to meet you.’

She gave me another smile but said nothing.

‘This way, Corvinus.’ He moved towards the back of the atrium. ‘How are things progressing? You’ve talked to Fuscus?’

‘Yeah. He was really helpful.’

‘I’m glad. I’d’ve had the old bugger’s guts for garters if he wasn’t.’ We’d reached an oak-panelled door in the short corridor beyond. ‘In you go. Make yourself comfortable.’

The study was large and obviously well-used: two couches with blue velvet upholstery, three or four bronze candelabra, a writing desk and more bookshelves and books than you could shake a stick at. Again, some very nice bronzes that looked like they might be originals and a couple of portrait busts in marble, one of a young woman who wasn’t Seia Lucinda.

‘That’s the best couch there,’ Acceius said, pointing. ‘Stretch yourself out and I’ll take the other one.’ I did, and set the winecup on the table next to it. ‘Now. Straight in, whatever you like.’

‘You and Hostilius had been partners for, what, twenty-odd years?’

‘Twenty-two come August. When he took me on I’d just finished my training with old Simplicius in Capua.’

‘So you weren’t local?’

‘No. Although I’d reckon myself a local man now, and so would everyone else around here. We’re talking about Bovillae to begin with, mind, not Castrimoenium. Lucius and I didn’t up sticks and move until seven years later.’

‘He’d been in practice long himself?’

‘Lucius had a good fifteen years on me; I’m forty-seven, he was sixty-three. He’d had an office in Bovillae for oh, maybe twelve years when I joined him.’

‘Why did you move here?’

‘It seemed like a good idea at the time. Still seems so. The town was growing, with more people coming into the area, from Rome especially, buying holiday property. A lot of our business is conveyancing, acting as agents for one side or another.’

‘But not all of it? I’m thinking of the Maecilius case.’

‘Ah.’ Acceius frowned. ‘That, Corvinus, is an example of a legal dispute that should never have happened. Lawyers are often accused of encouraging litigation on the part of their clients, even of fomenting it, for their own gain. Some do — I could quote you examples, at no great distance from here — but most try to see the danger in advance on their clients’ behalf and take steps to avoid it happening. In this case, Lucius and I — we were old Maecilius’s lawyers — warned him that there’d be trouble and bad blood over the will’s execution, but the obstinate old so-and-so wouldn’t be told.’

‘You mind telling me exactly what the situation is? If it isn’t confidential, I mean.’

Acceius laughed. ‘Grief, no, it’s not confidential! Ought to be, certainly, but thanks to Bucca and Fimus between them — they’re the sons, as you’re probably aware — plus old “Lucky” himself before the lightning got him the whole bloody town knows, and has done for years. So the answer to your question is no; I don’t mind telling you at all. However, I don’t quite see what it has to do with Lucius’s death.’

‘Nor do I, pal.’ I took a sip of my wine. ‘Maybe — probably — nothing. I’m just covering all the angles at present.’

‘Fair enough.’ Acceius settled on his couch. ‘In that case… The terms of the will are quite simple. Fimus — Marcus Maecilius, the younger son — gets the Six Cedars property in its entirety, plus a quarter of the liquid assets, amounting to something just short of fifteen thousand sesterces, while his elder brother gets the cash remainder. Old Maecilius’s point, valid, as far as it went, was that Fimus had put the work in over the past forty-odd years to build the place up and didn’t deserve to have the farm sold out from under him — as it would have to be — just so that his worthless brother — “Lucky”’s expression, not mine — could take an equal share without having earned it. Bucca, of course, is now trying to have the will overturned. Or rather’ — he hesitated — ‘that’s not quite fair.’

‘It isn’t?’

‘No. Bucca’s quite willing to reach an out-of-court settlement. If his brother agrees to split both property and cash fifty-fifty — Bucca taking his half of the property in outlying lakeside land not at present under cultivation — then he’ll immediately sell on to a Bovillan developer with whom he’s already reached a prospective agreement and turn over a third of the sale price to Fimus. You understand?’

‘Yeah. And presumably if it happened that way then Fimus would come out ahead on the deal?’

‘Undoubtedly. He’d be left with what in effect is, at present, the entire working farm and — lakeside property prices being what they are — twenty times the amount he’d’ve had otherwise. While Bucca would net something just short of a million in hard cash.’

‘So the farming son gets the land and the funds to put into it, the other guy serious loose change to do what he likes with. They’re both winners, the thing’s been settled amicably and they can go their separate ways. Seems a sensible deal to me.’

Acceius shrugged. ‘Agreed. Absolutely, no argument. But then, with all respect, Corvinus, you’re not a farmer and you’re not a local. Most important, you are not Fimus Maecilius. Fimus won’t have the deal at any price: he wants Six Cedars to stay intact even though the terms of the will don’t leave him the money to develop it any further. Besides…well, Lucius and I have kept our charges down, under the circumstances, but we can’t — couldn’t — provide them gratis. Fighting a legal battle isn’t cheap, and fifteen thousand sesterces is certainly no fortune. Especially when Fimus can’t expect to recoup his outlay even if he wins.’

‘You’ve advised him to come to terms?’

‘Of course we bloody have! Right from the start. The whole business is a nonsense and everyone is losing out. Except us, naturally, but we — I, now — would gladly see an end to it tomorrow. The firm’s well enough off financially without the necessity of bleeding a client to death, and I take my professional responsibilities very seriously indeed. If the bugger wasn’t so completely pig-headed — ’

‘I understand he — Fimus — and your partner had a…well, a run-in the day before Hostilius’s death. Also that you both had a meeting with Bucca a few days before that.’

Pause. ‘Yes. Yes, that’s right.’

‘Care to tell me about them? Presumably they both had to do with the suit.’

Acceius took a deep breath. ‘The first…well, I know the circumstances, of course: Lucius encountered Fimus in the street and slapped his face. Beyond that I’m afraid I can’t go, although naturally Fimus would be able to tell you more. I wasn’t there personally, I didn’t see Lucius again subsequently and even if I had done there was no guarantee that he would’ve been forthcoming about his reasons, or even mentioned the matter to me at all. We didn’t talk much, latterly, as I’m sure you’re aware.’

‘He called Fimus a thief and a liar.’

‘Yes. So I was told.’ Acceius looked uncomfortable. ‘Corvinus, I wouldn’t put too much store by that in itself, if I were you. My partner often made accusations that were completely unfounded. It was part and parcel of his illness.’

‘You can’t guess what reason he had?’

‘I…wouldn’t go that far, no. But a guess is what it would be.’ He hesitated. ‘Corvinus, I said that the circumstances surrounding the Maecilius case were common knowledge, and so not confidential as such. This is. I’m afraid that if I go on then I will have to insist on confidentiality because it affects the good name of the firm as a whole. Understood?’

‘Yeah. No problem, pal.’

‘Very well.’ Another deep breath. ‘The…interview with Bucca that you mentioned, seven days previous. Bucca accused us — Lucius and myself, as his father’s lawyers — of suppressing a second will that, he said, old Maecilius had made very shortly before he died; a much more equable one which divided property and liquid assets fifty-fifty between the brothers. We’d done nothing of the kind, of course — I hope that goes without saying; professional ethics aside, we’d have no reason whatsoever to do so, quite the reverse, as I told you — but he was insistent. Abusively so. The…meeting ended acrimoniously on both sides.’

Shit. ‘So what you’re saying — guessing — is that Fimus suppressed the will himself and that Hostilius somehow found out and tackled him over it?’

Acceius was looking really unhappy now. ‘There’s a…strong likelihood, yes. Or at least, rather, a strong likelihood that Lucius believed he’d done so. Certainly it would be possible in practical terms. Old Maecilius and his son lived in the same house, and the fact that we knew of no second will doesn’t preclude its existence, especially if he’d made it only days before he died. I wouldn’t put suppression past Fimus, either, given his character and the circumstances. On the other hand, and I must stress this, Lucius being as he was — ’ He made a throwaway gesture. ‘Oh, hell, you know what I’m saying. You can go round and round in circles forever and still not have an answer. The long and the short of it is that I don’t know, one way or the other. Certainly not enough to venture a worthwhile opinion. The best I can do is to assure you, in the strongest possible terms, that if a second will existed then we knew absolutely nothing of it, and would certainly have welcomed its appearance if it had because it would’ve solved the whole ridiculous problem. Fair enough?’

‘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.