Illegally Dead (4 page)

Gods! I glanced at Hyperion, but he shrugged. ‘The boy’s absolutely right,’ he said. ‘Besides, his eyesight’s a lot better than mine.’ Then, when I still hesitated, he said gently: ‘Listen, my friend. You have your area of expertise; we - Clarus and myself - have ours. We may be able to use it to tell you something useful. Perhaps you should recognise that fact and accept help where it’s offered.’

Yeah, well, that was fair enough. And if Marilla wanted to get in on the act then that was her business. ‘Okay, I said. ‘Point taken. I’m sorry.’

We went off to view the body.

6

They’d got him in an outhouse, laid on a couple of boards raised on trestles: a kid of about fourteen or fifteen from his size, wearing a tunic that was upmarket for a slave but carefully darned in places. Fairish hair, plastered over his forehead, and a string of cheap glass beads round his neck. It wasn’t obvious from first glance how he’d died, but his mouth was half-open in an ‘Oh’ of surprise. He’d had good teeth. His eyes were open, too. Not that you could see the colour.

‘Yes,’ Hyperion said, ‘that’s Cosmus.’

Marilla was hanging back, wide-eyed but still in there. Which was more than could be said for Libanius. I’d seen him lose his breakfast under similar circumstances on a previous occasion, although then he’d had more reason. This time he might’ve been holding on to his lunch with more success, but from the look on his face it was a close-run thing. Well, we’ve all got our little foibles.

‘Dad? Do you mind?’ Clarus said.

‘Not at all, son.’ Hyperion stepped back. ‘Go ahead.’

I watched - we all did - while Clarus made his examination, pulling at the skin, raising the eyelids, lifting the hands and examining the nails; all with a single-minded detachment that I found impressive as hell, and truth be told on the weather side of chilling. Finally he moved round to stand behind the head. He lifted it gently and moved it from side to side in a rolling motion.

‘Well?’ I said.

‘Dead and in the water more than two days but not as long as five,’ Clarus said. ‘No broken neck, but there’s a serious wound to the back of the head. You like to help me turn him over, Dad?’

Hyperion stepped forward and took the dead boy’s legs. Together they manhandled the corpse onto its front. One arm flailed, settling itself round Clarus’s shoulder, and he brushed it off absently. Beside me, Libanius gagged and left the room.

The back of the boy’s head was a mess. No blood, of course, not after all that time in the water; but the skull was stove in like the shell of an egg.

‘Anyone got a pen?’ Clarus said.

A pen?

‘I’ll get one.’ Marilla, heading for the door and the Watch office proper. Yeah, no doubt she’d be glad to take the break, but my bet was she wouldn’t admit it, even to herself. She’d guts, the Princess, and I was proud of her. She was back in a moment, handing the pen to Clarus.

They made a good pair, these two. Not that I’d go a bomb on this particular area of their shared interests, mind.

Clarus used the flattened end of the stylus to tease the hair away and expose the edges of the wound. ‘Quite a narrow channel,’ he said. ‘But not a sword or an axe because the damage isn’t clean enough for a blade. A very thin iron bar, maybe, used from above and behind, right-handed blow. Something like a length of railing. Force must’ve been considerable’ - he reversed the pen and gently picked something out of the depths of the wound with the sharp point - ‘to have driven skull fragments that deep into the brain. He was hit from behind very, very hard. Unless the wound was caused by some sort of cross-strut on the way down, which isn’t likely, he was probably dead before he went into the water.’

‘You tell fortunes on the side, pal?’ I said.

Clarus grinned and looked up. ‘No magic, just observation. But if you need to be completely sure about that last bit then we’ll have to clear it with Libanius first. Right, Dad?’

‘Clear what?’ I said.

‘Corpses don’t breathe,’ Hyperion said. ‘If he was dead already there’ll be no water in the lungs.’

I stared at him.  ‘You mean you want to cut him open?’

‘It would certainly confirm matters, one way or the other. If the boy was alive when he entered the water then as Clarus says it could still have been an accident; a freak accident, I grant you, but the possibility is there. However, if he was dead at the time then someone must have killed him first then dumped him. An examination of the lungs would tell us which it was for certain. Otherwise all you’ve got is a fair assumption.’

Gods! I was remembering a similar conversation with a doctor in Baiae not all that long ago. ‘So before they burn the poor devil you’d happily open him up?’ I said. ‘Jupiter, that is sick!’

‘There’d be little point in trying afterwards, now would there?’ Hyperion smiled. ‘And not “happily”. Feelings don’t enter into it.’

‘But -’

He turned to face me. ‘Corvinus, this is a corpse,’ he said. ‘A slab of dead meat of no more significance than a carcass in a butcher’s shop. And the boy was a slave and a criminal, if that affects matters.’

‘It doesn’t.’

‘I’m sorry, but in this case, in practical terms, it most certainly does, if we’re to get Libanius’s approval to take things further.’

‘That wasn’t what I meant, pal,’ I said quietly. I looked at the dead kid’s face, and at the string of cheap beads round his neck. A carcass in a butcher’s shop, eh? Sweet gods, they were callous bastards, these medical types, and I’d never understand them, not if I lived to be ninety. ‘You’d do it here and now?’

‘Oh, no, I’d need my equipment and certain other facilities. The easiest thing would be to have the body transported to my surgery. In the meantime perhaps you and Clarus might go over to the Bavius farm and have a look at where it was found.’

‘Yeah. Yeah.’ Well, I’d grant that knowing for certain the kid had been murdered would be a big step forward. Even so, I still felt sick to my stomach. ‘Uh, just to fill in the gaps before we go. You said you knew him?’

‘Not to talk to, only by sight and reputation. Scopas can help you more there, and of course you’ll be talking to him yourself now.’

‘Right. Anything you can give me, though. Just to be going on with.’

‘Very well.’ Hyperion hesitated. ‘He wasn’t popular with his fellow-slaves.’

‘Any particular reason?’

‘He...well, you can’t tell now, of course, but he was a very...pretty boy. And he used his prettiness.’

Uh-huh: pretty, not good-looking. ‘With the master, you mean?’

‘Oh, no, Hostilius was not that way inclined. At least, not to my knowledge.’

‘With the mistress, then?’

Pause. ‘To a certain degree.’ Then, quickly: ‘Now don’t misunderstand me here, Corvinus, I don’t mean sexually, not at all. But Cosmus could project a sort of...vulnerable innocence when he wanted to, when he thought it would advance his interests. It was completely artificial, completely false. In fact, his true nature was quite the opposite.’

‘That so?’

‘The boy was rotten.’

Ouch. ‘Rotten’s a strong word, pal,’ I said. ‘And you sound pretty definite for someone who didn’t know him.’

‘I’m being direct because it’ll save you time, and it’s relevant to the situation. Ask Scopas. Ask any of the household.  Cosmus was an inveterate liar and thief, covering up his own misdemeanours by blaming them on his fellow-slaves. Successfully, too, because as I said he had this air of innocent plausibility. Also’ - he glanced at Marilla, who was still standing by the door, watching and listening - ‘Well, he had...liaisons...outwith the household. Quite openly. Again you can talk to Scopas on that subject.’

‘Liaisons with men?’

‘Yes.’

‘You have any names?’

Again the hesitation. ‘This is gossip, Corvinus, please remember that, but one name which is mentioned is Gaius Maecilius.’

‘“Lucky” Maecilius’s son? Bucca?’

‘You’ve heard of him?’

I glanced at Clarus. ‘Yeah. Yeah, I have,’ I said. Shit; the case was complicating nicely here. ‘Okay. Thanks, Hyperion. You’ve been a great help. You want to talk to Libanius or shall I?’

‘Both of us together, perhaps. There’s nothing else I - we - can do here at present in any case.’

No. I looked down, again, at the dead, once-pretty face. No, there wasn’t, at that. Ah, well.

The Bavius place was less than half a mile outside town in the direction of Bovillae, but we took it easy because Marilla insisted on coming too and Corydon, her mule, wasn’t a fast mover.

‘Where did you learn all that stuff, Clarus?’ I said as we cleared the town gate. ‘About dead bodies, I mean?’

‘Books.’ He shrugged. ‘And, like I said, observation. I’ve helped my father out since I was eight. A doctor sees a lot of corpses, one way and another. Besides, since I’ve known Marilla and she first told me about you examining bodies when I have the chance has become a sort of hobby.’

A hobby! Shit! When I was his age my hobbies had been simple, straightforward things like booze, girls and gambling. I just didn’t understand kids these days. I didn’t like the thought that I’d been partly responsible for getting him started, either.

‘Clarus says doctors should be called in automatically when there’s a murder, Corvinus,’ Marilla said. ‘It’s silly that they aren’t.’

‘You mean they should be allowed to cut up the corpse as a matter of course?’

‘Not just that, but why not?’ Clarus glanced across at me. ‘Like my father said, a body’s only dead meat, not a person any more. And an internal examination could answer questions that can’t be answered otherwise.’

Jupiter! I felt my gorge rise. ‘You seriously believe that? That a corpse is nothing but dead meat?’

‘What else? If I was murdered I’d want the murderer found, and if that meant having my body cut open when I was finished with it then fine. Wouldn’t you?’

I shook my head. Doctors - however old they were - were a different species, and like I say they were one I didn’t understand at all. ‘Uh-uh. Not me.’

‘Have you heard of Herophilus and Erasistratus?’

‘Erasistratus the brain guy?’

‘You have heard of him?’ Clarus grinned. ‘I’m impressed.’

‘Only because another doctor I talked with recently mentioned the name. He was into vivisection, right? Condemned criminals. Opening them up, seeing what made them tick while they were still alive.’ I jerked at my mare’s rein. ‘I’m sorry, pal, but you can keep that.’

‘Agreed, but the principle’s sound. And at least there was a point to it, a reason. Between them over fifty-odd years Herophilus and Erasistratus advanced our knowledge of how the body works more than anything or anyone in the three hundred years since. That was because in those days doctors were allowed to investigate a corpse scientifically at first hand. Corvinus, we could learn so much! Not just about how someone died, although there is that, but how we might prevent someone from dying. It’s all such a bloody waste!’

I glanced at him. Yeah, well: I couldn’t exactly sympathise with his opinion, let alone share it, but I could see where he was coming from. It still made the hairs on the back of my neck crawl, though. We finished the rest of the ride in silence.

‘That’s the Bavius farm up ahead,’ Marilla said at last. ‘And that’ - she pointed further along the road to a set of gates on the left - ‘is Hostilius’s villa.’

Uh-huh: no more than a couple of hundred yards. If the kid had been hiding out - and my guess was that that’s what he’d been doing there - then it couldn’t’ve been more convenient. We rode up the short dirt track to the house and parked the horses by the watering-trough.

The front door was locked and barred, but there was an outhouse to the left.

‘There’s the well,’ Clarus said.

We went over. Like Libanius had said, it was pretty basic: just a hole surrounded by a low wall no more than a foot high in places, with a wooden cover lying to one side and a bucket on a rope tied to a stake.

‘Okay,’ I said to Clarus. ‘You’re the expert. All yours.’

Clarus peered down the hole. ‘Not much of a drop,’ he said. ‘And clear all the way down. He couldn’t’ve got that head wound falling down there.’

I took a look for myself. ‘Yeah, right,’ I said. ‘Good place to hide a body, though. The guys who found him must’ve had a hell of a job getting him out. Let’s check the outhouse.’

There wasn’t much to see there, either: a pen for a horse or a mule, or maybe a cow, with an empty manger and a pile of old bedding straw, plus a jumble of odds and ends in the corner next to the door. I scuffed through the straw and found a string bag with half of a loaf of bread, a small empty wine-flask, an onion and two or three dried figs inside. Well, apart from the goodies in his belt-pouch the guy hadn’t taken all that much with him.

Clarus had been searching through the pile of junk in the corner. He pulled out a rusty gate-bolt, two feet long and the thickness of my little finger, and examined at it carefully.

‘Have a look at this, Corvinus,’ he said, and held it out by the straight end.

‘That what did the job?’ I said.

‘Yes.’

No could have been; a straight yes. Still, I was beginning to have a serious regard for his judgment. ‘How do you know?’ I said.

‘Look at the part just short of the bend. Don’t touch, just look closely. You see?’

Yeah, I did: there was a sticky crust half a hand’s-breadth in length, with some fairish hairs embedded in it. I whistled. ‘Well done, pal,’ I said. ‘I’m impressed.’

‘It had to be something like that. So we don’t actually need Dad to confirm that it was murder after all. Also, you see the way there’s straw scattered between here and the door? Outside, too. And that bit’ - he picked up a wadded scrap and held it out - ‘has blood on it. He must’ve dragged the corpse to the well on its back.’