Solid Citizens (22 page)

Sweet Jupiter! I remembered the lack of any sound from Andromeda’s flat above her sitting room. Oh, sure, she could’ve been in bed until just before she came down, but it was equally possible that the flat had been empty, that she hadn’t been upstairs at all, and that she’d just come in via the outside stair. It would explain why she was flustered when she’d found me there, too. ‘He couldn’t’ve been seeing her today, could he?’ I said. ‘Arranged a meeting for this morning, I mean?’

‘It’s possible, although I wouldn’t have thought so, certainly not here. Why should he? He always went to her; she has a flat above her place of business. But as I said I don’t know.’

I was thinking hard. I agreed with the lady that an arranged early-morning meeting out here in the sticks – particularly since it wouldn’t have been at the villa itself – was pretty unlikely on the face of it, but it was still definitely something to check up on, because if that had been the way of things then it raised some very interesting possibilities indeed. The major-domo Phrontis might be able to shed some light. Plus, like I said, there was the distinct probability that she’d been out and about that morning before I talked to her, so she must’ve gone somewhere. A meeting with her boyfriend was as good a solution as any. I didn’t know how exactly it would fit in with Mettius’s death, mind – if they’d been lovers, as they obviously had been, then why she’d want to kill him I couldn’t think – but where Quintus Caesius’s murder was concerned the undisclosed past connection between the two combined with the opportunity factor put her squarely on the most-likely suspects list. Pretty well near the top of it, at that.

Whatever the truth of the matter, I would sure as hell be having another word with the lady herself before she was much older.

‘Is there anything else you can tell me, Vatinia?’ I said. ‘About your son’s recent activities? Any names he’s mentioned in the last few days, and so on, that might be a clue to why he died? Anything at all, really, however trivial.’

‘No, I’m afraid not. As I said, Aulus led his own life. Talk to Phrontis. He may be able to help you more.’

‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘Yes, I’ll do that.’ I stood up. ‘Thank you. Again, I’m terribly sorry.’

She nodded acknowledgement. ‘He was a good boy at heart, you know,’ she said. ‘He had his faults, as do we all, perhaps more than most, but he didn’t deserve to die for them. Certainly not in the way that he did. Find his killer for me. Please.’

I got up and left the room. The major-domo was waiting for me in the lobby.

‘Would you like to see the young master, sir?’ he said. ‘Or perhaps the place where he was found? I’ll have one of the slaves take you.’

‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘Both. But I’ll wait for my son-in-law, if you don’t mind. He should be coming over from Castrimoenium.’

‘Your son-in-law?’

‘Cornelius Clarus. The doctor. I asked Silius Nerva to send for him. Meanwhile I was wondering if you had anything you could tell me yourself.’

He frowned. ‘Not really, sir.’

‘Your master didn’t say where he was going, or why? That he’d arranged a meeting with someone, for example?’

‘No. He left with hardly a word, just after breakfast. I assumed he was going into town.’

‘On foot?’

‘It isn’t far. And he usually walked, whatever the weather.’

‘Was he carrying anything?’

‘Such as what, sir?’

‘A small bronze statuette, for example?’

‘I don’t think so. But then if he had been I probably wouldn’t have noticed. It was raining, and he was wearing his heavy cloak.’

Yeah. Fair enough. ‘Uh … Does the name Quintus Baebius ring any bells with you, by any chance?’

‘I know the gentleman exists, certainly, but the master never mentioned him.’

‘What about Opilia Andromeda?’

Phrontis’s lips set in a tight line. ‘That lady, sir, I do know. Unfortunately. And of course the master mentioned
her
frequently.’

‘They were having an affair, right?’

‘Gentlemen of the master’s standing do not have affairs with ex-slaves, sir. There was a relationship, yes.’

I grinned, mentally: I’ve never yet met a major-domo who doesn’t have a higher regard for what’s done and not done than the guy who owns him. Social snobbery is built in with the bricks. ‘OK, pal,’ I said. ‘“Relationship” will do fine. They saw a lot of each other, certainly.’

‘Yes, sir. Or so I assume. She’s never set foot in this house, of course. The mistress would never have allowed it, and to be fair to him the master respected her wishes.’

‘The place where the body was found – the pine grove – that in the direction of anywhere in particular?’

‘No, sir. It’s well away from the road, on the edge of our property where it adjoins Quintus Roscius’s farm.’

‘So your master would’ve been going there specifically? To the grove, I mean?’

‘Yes. At least, that’s a logical assumption.’

‘Could there’ve been any particular reason for that? Under normal circumstances, that is.’

‘No, sir. None that I can think of.’

‘Did he know Roscius at all? Socially, I mean.’

Phrontis sniffed: pure Bathyllus. ‘The families don’t mix socially,’ he said. ‘He knew him as a neighbour, of course. But whether he did any more than speak to him in passing, I can’t say.’

‘So they’d no contact? Social or business? As far as you’re aware?’

‘No, sir. None.’

The answer had come out flat. Well, that was pretty final. Still …

‘OK, Phrontis,’ I said. ‘I might just—’

‘Hello, Corvinus. You wanted me?’

I turned. Clarus was coming in through the front door.

‘Oh, hi, pal,’ I said. ‘I wasn’t expecting you for another half hour, at least.’

‘I was visiting a patient this side of Castrimoenium. Nerva’s messenger caught me on the road. What’s going on? The man said Aulus Mettius has been found murdered.’

‘That’s right,’ I said. ‘I thought you might want to show off. Save me a bit of bother and just tell me who did it.’

He grinned. ‘I’ll do my best. But I don’t perform miracles, Corvinus, and sleuthing’s your department.’

‘Fair enough.’ I turned to Phrontis. ‘This is my son-in-law. Do you think we could see your master’s body now?’

‘Certainly, sir.’ The major-domo was frowning at Clarus: doctors tend to come pretty low in the social pecking order, and doctors visiting dead patients rank even lower. ‘If you’d like to follow me?’

They’d put him on the bed in his room, just as they’d brought him in, on a makeshift stretcher. The way he was lying, like with Caesius, there was no sign of the wound, and what I noticed most of all was the look of surprise on his face.

‘We’re waiting for the undertakers to come from town,’ Phrontis said quietly. ‘They shouldn’t be long. Would you like me to stay?’

‘No, that’s fine. We’ll come back out when we’ve finished. If you could arrange to have someone show us to where he was found?’

‘Yes, sir. I’ll do that.’

‘Oh, and maybe send someone over to the Roscius place, ask Quintus Roscius if he’d meet us there to give us the details. Nerva’s slave Tertius would do. He came over here with me.’

‘Yes, sir. Of course.’

He left.

‘OK, Clarus,’ I said, stepping back. ‘Do your stuff.’

I waited while he examined the body. Me, I’m OK with corpses, but like the last time I’d watched him do it I found his brisk detachment chilling. Finally, he pulled the bed well away from the wall, moved round into the space behind it, and put his hands beneath the corpse’s armpits.

‘Take a hold of his head for a second, will you, Corvinus?’ he said. ‘Don’t let it droop.’

‘
What?
’

‘I need to see the wound. Unless we roll him over – which I don’t want to do, because he’s beginning to stiffen – I have to pull him clear of the stretcher so I can get underneath. Do it quickly, please, in case anyone comes.’

I moved in and took Mettius’s head in both hands, supporting it, while Clarus heaved the body backwards.

‘That should do it,’ he said. ‘Don’t let go, right? Rigor’s setting in quite fast, and we might not be able to get it to go back the way it is now.’

Gods!

He took a metal stylus from his tunic pouch, knelt down and peered up at the wound, prodding it. Finally, he grunted with satisfaction.

‘OK, that’s enough,’ he said, straightening and moving back to the corpse’s feet. ‘Hang on for a bit longer while I pull him back on to the stretcher.’

He did. Then we moved the bed into its original position.

‘Well?’ I said.

‘He’s been dead three or four hours, but you knew that already, I suppose. Killed by a single blow to the back of the skull. From the shape of the wound, the weapon was about an inch and a half thick at its striking point. Possibly a club of some kind, but because the angle and the position suggest a lateral blow rather than a downward one, more probably a longish weighted stick. That’d account for the severity of the damage, too. The bones of the skull aren’t just broken at the point of impact; they’re completely shattered and driven into the base of the brain itself. My guess is a double-handed swipe with a lot of force behind it and plenty of leverage.’

‘So the murderer was probably a man?’

‘No, not necessarily. A strong woman in good health could’ve done it, easy. Given, as I say, a long, heavy stick and plenty of room to swing it.’

I sighed. ‘So we’ve narrowed it down to the murderer being either a man or a woman, right?’

‘More or less.’

‘Great. Score one for science. You’re not helping much here, pal.’

‘I warned you, Corvinus, I don’t do miracles. I can tell you at least that you’re not looking for a one-armed midget. Whoever hit him was as tall as he was, or not all that much shorter. Unless he was kneeling down when he got clouted, of course, in which case all bets are off.’

‘Very useful,’ I said sourly. ‘Thanks a bunch.’ The bottom line was that none of it ruled out any of the likely suspects – including Andromeda – barring maybe Brother Lucius, who probably couldn’t have mustered up the requisite strength. But then if Marilla’s theory was right – and it was the best one going, under the circumstances – he wouldn’t be doing his own dirty work in any case, would he?

Hell.

Mind you, the long, heavy stick side of things was interesting. Who did we know whose everyday job involved carrying a long, heavy stick and knowing how to use it offensively?

Right.

‘OK,’ I said. ‘If you’re finished then we’ll go and take a look at the scene of the crime.’

It wasn’t far, just out of sight of the villa complex where the cultivated land stopped and nature took over, a dip in the landscape made even more secluded by a close-packed grove of pine trees with thick, man-high bushes growing between them. The perfect place for a clandestine meeting.

A good place for a murder, too.

‘Where exactly was your master found, pal?’ I asked the slave who’d brought us.

He pointed to a patch of flattened grass just inside the clearing. ‘Just there, sir.’

Yeah. That fitted. The way things were arranged, the killer could’ve hidden behind the screen of foliage and scrub, waited for his victim to pass or turn his back, then come out and let him have it. Which is what I reckoned had happened. It’d been raining, but not heavily, and there were still clear splashes of blood on the ground.

‘Which way’s the Roscius property?’ I said.

‘We’re on the edge of it, sir. The farmhouse is over there.’ The slave pointed again, to the right. ‘About two or three hundred yards.’

‘Uh-huh.’ I looked round. Clarus was poking about in the undergrowth. ‘You find anything?’

‘No. Nothing that could’ve been the murder weapon, anyway,’ he said.

‘See if you can …’ I began, then stopped. Quintus Roscius was coming through the trees from the direction of his farm. ‘Ah. Hi, Roscius. Thanks for coming over.’

‘No problem.’ I noticed he very carefully wasn’t looking at the spot where the body had been. ‘There isn’t much I can tell you, though.’

‘Just what you’ve got will be enough, pal,’ I said easily. ‘So what’s the story?’

He shrugged. ‘I was hunting. When the dog led me down here I thought she was following a scent. Mettius was lying face down, with the back of his head all bloody. I went down to the villa and raised the alarm. That’s all there is.’

‘You usually hunt in this part?’

‘Sure. Technically, this is my land, although that wouldn’t matter much because it’s useless ground and no one around here gets uptight about things like that. You get a few deer coming down into the fields, particularly in the winter when food’s scarce. I usually leave some vegetable scraps lying around to attract them and take a walk up this way when I’m out after the small stuff. Sometimes I get lucky.’

Yeah; now he came to mention it there was a pile of old cabbage leaves and a few rotting carrots at the edge of the clearing. Fair enough. ‘Did Mettius do any hunting?’ I said.

‘Nah. Never took any interest in it. He was a town boy, and the family’s well enough off not to have to bother about keeping their larder stocked personally. They get their bailiff to set a few snares and limed twigs, sure, but that’s about it.’

‘So why would he be up here?’

He shrugged again. ‘Search me. Why not? It’s a free country, and like I say no one bothers about boundaries.’

‘You didn’t see anyone else around?’

‘Not a soul. But then again, I wasn’t looking.’

‘You’d been out for long?’

‘Not very. An hour or so.’

‘Close by to here?’

He was frowning. ‘No. The other side of my property, as it happens. There wasn’t much doing over that way, so I thought I’d try in this direction. Like I say, there was always the chance of a deer. Corvinus, what is this?’

‘Just getting the facts straight, that’s all, pal,’ I said. ‘So you, uh, didn’t have much contact with Mettius? As a neighbour, I mean.’

‘We passed the time of day occasionally, sure. He was OK, friendly enough, not stuck up like a lot of the nobs around here, and the family’s old Bovillae, like mine is. But like I said, he was a townie, not a farmer. We didn’t have much in common.’