Illegally Dead

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 — ’

‘Marcus!’

‘- that you need perfectly well without your personal involvement. Which is what will happen from now on.’

He drew himself up like Scaevola getting ready to spit in Porsenna’s eye. ‘Suit yourself, Corvinus, you’re the boss. It’s your right to decide. Executive decision, like.’ He sniffed and inserted the finger again. ‘An’ if you’re fully prepared to take the responsibility an’ the consequences then…’

Pause. Long, long, ominous pause. What is known, in the trade, as a hanging minatory apodosis. Shit. I knew what the bugger was saying, we all did. It was the culinary equivalent of moving up the heavy artillery to point-blank range, cranking the winches and saying ‘Right, then; lads, on a count of three…’

Maybe I’d been just a little hasty here.

‘Ah…hold on, there,’ I said. ‘Maybe if we just agreed that you didn’t sort of loiter over the shopping, pal. Straight in, straight out, no messing, sort of thing. How would that be?’

‘Never fucking loitered or messed in my life. My shopping is constructive, Corvinus.’

‘Yeah. Yeah.’ I shot an anxious glance at Perilla, but apart from a slight tightening of the lips and two red spots on the cheeks the lady was keeping schtum. ‘Well, that’s very good, Meton, but — ’

‘And what’s wrong with wanting to look smart? ‘S an inalienable human right, is that. Just because I’m a slave doesn’t mean I have to — ’

‘Yeah, right, Meton, okay, pal.’ I was beginning to sweat myself. ‘Got it. Understood, no problem. Let’s just — ’

‘I had that scent off Lysias since two Winter Festivals ago. It needed using.’

‘Yeah, that stuff does, or it rots the bottle. Ah…let’s just forget it, sunshine, okay? Perfume under the bridge. Water. Whatever. What’s for dinner?’

His eyes lit up. ‘Actually, you’re lucky there, Corvinus. I’ve got this marinade I’ve been working on for braised kidneys. Pepper, aniseed, mint and ginger in wine must and vinegar, although I have my doubts about the ginger. The original recipe says dates, but I thought if I replaced them with figs — ’

‘Great. Great. That sounds great, pal.’ Whew! He was talking food again. Crisis over. I stood up, clapped him on the shoulder, turned him round and gave him a gentle shove kitchenwards. ‘Look forward to it.’

He ambled off. Perilla and I looked at each other.

‘Oh, well done, dear,’ she said. ‘Nicely handled again. Two nil to Meton, I would say.’

‘You want to live off gristle meatballs and mushy beets for the next month, lady? Because I don’t.’

‘You don’t think it’s a woman, do you? Remember all that trouble with Bathyllus?’

‘A woman? Meton?’ I considered the possibility. For about a tenth of a second. ‘Nah. No chance.’

‘That’s all right, then,’ Perilla said. ‘So long as you’re sure.’

We were having breakfast the next morning when a messenger arrived from Hyperion to say that Quintus Acceius had been knifed.