Illegally Dead (7 page)

Gods. ‘Yeah,’ I said quietly. ‘That satisfies me.’

‘Then if you’ll excuse me I’ll get back to my duties. I’m sure you can find your own way out.’

‘Right. Right. Uh, thanks, pal.’

He didn’t answer, just walked past me and through the open door to the corridor beyond.

9

‘She killed him.’

‘Oh, Marcus!’ Perilla put down her book on the small table beside her chair. ‘You can’t possibly be sure of that at this stage. Especially after what Marcia said.’

‘I’m sure.’ I took a morose swig of the wine Bathyllus had brought out when I’d got back as per standing instructions - Fundanan, not Caecuban, but none the worse for that - and stared out over the rolling Alban Hills towards Alba itself, smokily cloud-wreathed in the distance.

Bugger!

‘But to murder someone after having lived with them for thirty years –’

‘Thirty-six. And I didn’t say that Veturina had murdered Hostilius. I said that she’d killed him.’

Perilla frowned. ‘I don’t understand, dear. They’re the same, surely.’

‘Uh-uh, not this time. That’s the problem.’ Still, thank the gods, the problem wasn’t mine, and Libanius wasn’t the sort to insist on the letter of the law. No doubt Marcia could weigh in as well where the praetor’s rep was concerned, if things came to that.

‘Marcus, you are not making sense. And Aunt Marcia gave the woman a glowing testimonial. Veturina was a good, loyal, faithful wife who loved her husband all their married life. To say categorically after only two days’ acquaintance with the situation that she killed him or could even be remotely capable of killing him is –’

‘That’s the whole point. She was all of those things, and of course she loved him. That’s why she did it.’

Perilla went very quiet. Then she said: ‘Explain.’

‘She practically told me herself. He wasn’t the man she’d married any more. Lived with.’ I took another swallow of wine. It didn’t help. ‘She’d watched him turning into someone he’d’ve hated. Hated and despised. If it was me, Perilla, if I went the way Hostilius went and didn’t have the sense to recognise what I was becoming and manage to slit my own wrists before it got that far I hope you’d do the same. And if you did I’d bless you for it.’

Perilla said nothing.

‘The poor sod was dying anyway. It was only a matter of when, and how, and whether he’d go with what dignity and self-respect he had left.’ I lifted the winecup, then set it down again without drinking. ‘Me, I’d be grateful that someone had had the guts to make the decision for me.’

‘What about the slave-boy?’ Perilla said quietly. ‘Cosmus.’

I frowned. ‘Yeah, that’s the only bit I can’t get my head around. He wasn’t necessary. And like I say Veturina’s no murderer. Not in that sense.’

‘Wasn’t he? Necessary I mean?’

‘No. Her room was only a few yards from her husband’s, and she knew he wasn’t in it at the time the business was done. She could even have got in round the front, through the portico. Why introduce a needless complication, especially since she’d know she’d have to get rid of the boy later?’

‘Insurance? In case things went wrong, as they did. She’d have someone to blame.’

‘The game wasn’t worth the candle, Perilla. Not to someone like Veturina. After all, what were the chances of being found out? The death looked natural. The medicine bottle was in the other room, and to all intents and purposes it hadn’t been tampered with. It was a pure fluke that Hyperion tested the contents, and he said himself they were no proof someone had actually consciously murdered the guy. The only conclusive proof of foul play was Cosmus’s corpse. In effect, by using Cosmus as an accomplice the lady upped the odds on someone blowing the whistle and left herself a real murderer into the bargain.’ I paused. ‘And then if she didn’t stiff the kid personally, which I grant she could’ve done, physically, she’d’ve needed an Accomplice Part Two. Shit. It doesn’t work, does it?’

‘No,’ Perilla said quietly. ‘No, I don’t think it does. Not as things stand, anyway.’

‘So where does that leave us?’

‘Who else is there?’

I shrugged. ‘With motive? The partner, for one. Quintus Acceius. He seems an okay guy, from what Scopas the major-domo said, but he’d have reason enough. Hostilius was a major embarrassment to him, professionally and socially, and the situation wasn’t going to improve any. There needn’t actually have been any outright hatred involved, either, quite the reverse. Veturina told me herself, and Scopas backed her up, that he’d been a close friend of the family for years. Hostilius’s condition would’ve been as painful to him, personally, as to Veturina. There’re different kinds of love. I can see this Acceius killing his partner for the same reasons that Veturina would’ve had, more or less: because he couldn’t stand by and see a friend and colleague destroy himself.’

‘There’s still Cosmus.’

‘Yeah. But at least he’d be necessary this time. If Acceius didn’t want Veturina to know - and he wouldn’t, for obvious reasons - then he’d need someone inside the house to do the job for him; also, if things went wrong, to avoid any chance of Veturina being blamed herself. As far as murdering the kid afterwards goes, well, we don’t know the circumstances; the original intention might’ve been to smuggle him off somewhere alive. In any case, it may sound callous, but he was just a slave, and not a very nice person, at that.’

‘It does sound callous.’

I sighed. ‘Perilla, I’m not excusing the guy. I’ve never even met him. And it’s only a theory. Besides, Acceius isn’t the only fish in the pond. There’s the brother, Castor. He hasn’t been seen since he quarrelled with Hostilius the day before he died. Then there’re the two Maecilii, Fimus and Bucca, for different reasons. Why either of them should’ve wanted Hostilius dead bad enough to actually kill him or have him killed I’ve no idea yet, but Fimus is on record as having had a spat with him recently and Bucca’s a dubious character with links to Cosmus. Plus there’s the business of that attack in the street.’

‘The attacker died, didn’t he?’

‘Yeah, I know, but –’ I frowned. ‘Oh, hell, look, lady, all I’m saying is at present there’re plenty of questions around with no answers. Let’s not get bogged down in useless theorising, okay?’

Perilla smiled and ducked her head. ‘Very well,’ she said.

‘Where’s the Princess, by the way?’

‘Out with Placida. And Clarus, of course. They said they’d be back for lunch.’

‘Fine.’ We’d still got Placida, the hound from hell. Her erstwhile owner, Sestia Calvina, had decided she couldn’t possibly deprive us of the brute’s company and wouldn’t take no for an answer, so she’d kept the puppies when they came and let us have the original. Placida had joined the Marilla Menagerie shortly afterwards after she’d blotted her copybook irrevocably by nailing next door’s cat and presenting it to its hysterical owner, who’d watched the whole gory business from the safety of her portico. Relations with the Petillius household were consequently at an all-time low and likely to stay that way until hell froze.

‘That is,’ Perilla said, ‘if there is any lunch.’

‘How do you mean?’

‘We seem to be short one chef. Meton’s disappeared.’

I sat up. ‘What?’

‘I went along to the kitchen about an hour ago to talk to him about the dinner menu. The skivvy said he’d gone off after breakfast and hadn’t been seen since.’

‘Gone off where?’

‘He didn’t say. Meton didn’t, I mean. The skivvy assumed he’d gone into town for the shopping, but he’s usually back long before this.’

Yeah: Castrimoenium isn’t Rome, and although Meton always liked to do his own shopping even he could get round all the places on offer in an hour. Besides, I didn’t trust that bugger. This needed investigating.

‘Bathyllus!’ I yelled.

He shimmered out through the portico. ‘Yes, sir.’

‘You know where Meton is?’

‘No, sir.’ A sniff. Hell; at this particular point in the see-sawing relationship between our ultraconventional major-domo and our anarchistic chef we’d obviously hit a trough. What had caused it this time I didn’t know - the last occasion had been a five-day-old fish nailed to the underside of a stool in the little guy’s pantry as a jolly Winter Festival jape - but the result was that yet again they were Seriously Not Speaking. ‘Not in the kitchen, as far as I’m aware, but that is all the help I can give you.’

Shit. ‘So what happens about lunch?’

‘No doubt the kitchen staff will rise to the occasion, sir. There is the remains of the pork from yesterday, and I’m sure the boy can heat up the leftover bean stew without burning it too badly.’

Oh, great. ‘Listen, sunshine,’ I said. ‘When that bastard does deign to reappear you tell him I want to see him forthwith. Okay? First hand, no delegating, no little notes left on the kitchen table, all right?’

Another sniff. ‘If you insist, sir.’

‘I do.’ Bloody hell! He’d probably use sign language. Still, that was his problem, and with Meton you didn’t take chances. Give him an inch and he’d take the whole fucking Nilometer, then flog it to a pal in the trade down the Subura. I hadn’t forgotten that sheep, either.

‘Ah, here they are now,’ Perilla said.

‘Who’s th –?’

– which was as far as I got before I was hit in the chest by a ballistic Gallic boarhound.

‘Oh, hello, Corvinus, you’re back,’ Marilla said, appearing round the corner with Clarus in tow. ‘Down, Placida. Behave yourself.’

I fended the brute off while Clarus ran over and heaved back on her collar. Bathyllus had shot off like he was greased: Bathyllus and dogs don’t mix, except on the most basic level. Where Placida’s concerned I use the term ‘dog’ loosely, mind.

‘Did you have a nice walk?’ Perilla asked.

‘Just the one bit of trouble with a pile of horse dung,’ Clarus said. ‘We’re teaching her not to eat it.’

‘Successfully?’

‘Not quite. But we’re almost there. She stopped half way through.’

Placida got in a substantial lick across my mouth and nose before he manhandled her to the ground. I gagged and reached for a napkin. There wasn’t one.

‘How did your talk with Veturina go, Corvinus?’ Marilla asked.

‘Tie that foul brute to the railings and I’ll tell you,’ I said, wiping my face on my tunic-sleeve.

She did, and I did.

‘So you don’t think she was responsible after all?’ Marilla said when I’d finished.

‘Let’s say there’s a strong possibility that she wasn’t. As things go, anyway.’

‘So who was?’ Clarus said.

I gave him the suspect list that I’d just run past Perilla. Such as it was. ‘You help me with any of these?’ I said.

‘Not much. Acceius has a good name locally. He’s honest, he’s well liked, and he’s respectable. Also, he’s a top-notch lawyer. The general opinion, far as I’ve heard, is that Castrimoenium’s lucky to have him. He could’ve done a lot better for himself in Rome or somewhere else big like Naples or Capua.’

‘That so, now?’ I said. ‘General opinion say why he hasn’t?’

‘No. But it doesn’t suggest any reason why he couldn’t’ve done, if that’s what you’re asking.’

I grinned. ‘Well done, pal. Yeah, that was about it. What about his relations with Hostilius? Or lack of them?’

‘Positive again. He’s had a lot of sympathy locally, mostly for not dissolving the partnership, going it alone and landing the guy a sock on the jaw for good measure long ago.’

‘Maybe he couldn’t, for some reason. Financial or otherwise.’

‘Pass.’

Well, that was fair enough. Clarus might be sharp, but he wasn’t omniscient. ‘What about his wife?’ What was her name again? ‘Uh...Seia Lucinda? Hostilius claimed she was having an affair with Castor, or so Scopas told me. Anything in that?’

‘Pass. Look, Corvinus, Castrimoenium may be a small place but we don’t live completely in one another’s pockets. And me, I don’t have either the time or inclination to listen to gossip. Ask your pal Gabba. He might be able to help more.’

Yeah, good idea; I probably would, at that, if I could find some way of keeping prim-and-proper Pontius from blowing the whistle and calling time. ‘Okay. Leave Acceius. Castor.’

‘Sorry again. At least, I’ve seen him, but –’

‘I know Castor,’ Marilla said. She was over by the railings, keeping Placida quiet and relatively civilised.

‘What?’ Clarus whipped round.

‘Only slightly. We’ve talked in the street, once or twice. He likes animals. He’s tall with brown eyes and brown curly hair, and he’s very good looking.’

‘Really?’

‘Clarus, he’s ancient! Thirty-five, at least.’

I grinned. ‘Actually, if you remember, we’d got the guy’s physical description already from Hyperion, Princess,’ I said. ‘In essence, at any rate, barring the fine details you seem to have noticed. Anything you can add to it? If you can stop drooling long enough, that is.’

Clarus snorted.

‘Marcus!’ Perilla said.

‘He’s very serious,’ Marilla said. ‘When you speak to him, I mean. He actually talks. And he wants to be a lawyer himself.’

‘Does he, indeed?’ I said. ‘Anything else about him?’

‘He’s very grateful to his sister. And to Quintus Acceius.’

‘What for?’

‘I don’t know. I just got that impression from how he talked about them. When he did.’

‘How about to Lucius Hostilius?’

‘No, he didn’t like him at all. And it was mutual.’