Illegally Dead (9 page)

Yeah. Yeah, right. Bugger! Well, whatever Acceius said, when I talked to him, I’d have to take his word for it. Or not, as the case might be. Still, we’d cross that bridge when we came to it.

‘How about Hostilius himself? He say anything while you and Acceius were helping him over here, or when he was sitting on the steps?’

‘No, sir. Not a word. I think he was too shocked, like. Fact is, I thought he’d peg out there and then, he was a terrible colour. Wouldn’t have us fetch Doctor Hyperion, though, when we did get him inside, not at any price. Said he was fine, just wanted to be left alone. He went and sat in his room for a while, then got the litter-slaves to take him home.’

‘What was Quintus Acceius doing while all this was happening?’

Sextus shrugged. ‘Nothing in particular, sir. Nothing he could do, with Hostilius in the mood he was. Once he’d made sure he was all right he went home himself.’

‘What happened to the corpse? You know?’

‘They took it to Trophius the undertaker’s, sir. That’s Trophius’s over there.’ The kid pointed again, this time the other way.

I reached into my belt-pouch and brought out a silver piece. ‘Thanks, Sextus. You’ve been a great help.’

‘You’re very welcome, sir.’

I set off towards the corner of the block. Time to have a long-awaited word with Acceius.

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?’