Food for the Fishes (Marcus Corvinus Book 10)

by David Wishart

  ‘I’m sorry to disturb you, gentlemen,’ I said. ‘Valerius Corvinus. I was told I’d find Gaius Frontinus here.’

  ‘That’s Gaius Calpurnius Frontinus,’ the little guy said. Obviously, he was proud of the name, but if he was one of the Calpurnii then I’d eat my mantle. ‘How can I help you? I’m afraid I’m rather busy at present, as you can see, but if you make it brief –’

  ‘I was given your name by Licinius Philippus in Baiae,’ I said.

  The effect was magic. The guy literally flowed over. ‘How is Philippus?’ he said. ‘Well, I trust? Cleisthenes, you’ll forgive us for a moment.’

  The lanky guy didn’t have much choice - I reckoned from the way he was acting he owed Frontinus serious money, and that the account had just become due - but he put a brave face on it. ‘Certainly. I’ll just...that is, I’ll...’ He gave me a nod and slipped out, closing the door behind him.

  Yeah, well; I couldn’t fault the value of Philippus’s introduction, anyway. Frontinus beamed at me. ‘Now, Corvinus,’ he said. ‘How can I help you? I assume it’s a loan. Let me say now that I’m sure there will be no difficulty where anyone recommended to me by Licinius Philippus is concerned.’

  ‘No, I’m fine at present, thanks.’

  He looked blank. ‘Really? Then I don’t quite see why –’

  ‘Philippus said I should talk to you about a guy called Aulus Licinius Nerva.’

  ‘Did he, indeed?’ The tone was guarded. ‘In what connection?’

  ‘Was he one of Philippus’s recommendations too?’

  ‘No, he wasn’t. I get very few recommendations from Philippus. He’s a very discriminating man, very discriminating, and most careful who he lets use his name.’ He frowned and looked at me like he was reconsidering that particular judgment. ‘In actual fact the recommendation came from one of my other customers who is, I understand, a cousin of Licinius Nerva’s business partner.’ He blinked at me. ‘Now, Valerius Corvinus. Could I possibly ask you what your interest is?’

  ‘I understand Nerva was arranging to borrow some money.’

  ‘That is certainly the case.’ The guy was wary now, no question, and I reckoned that he was within a hair’s-breadth of telling me to get lost, but obviously Philippus’s recommendation was still working its magic. The guy had paid off his debt right enough. ‘Of course. Quite a considerable sum, in fact.’

  ‘To finance buying a decommissioned grain barge. Yeah, I know that. What I don’t know is what security he offered.’

  Silence; long silence. ‘I do not believe,’ Frontinus said at last, carefully, ‘that that’s any business but his and mine. Not even if you are a friend of Philippus’s. I’m sorry, Corvinus, but if you’ve come all the way from Baiae just to ask me that then –’

  ‘Nerva’s father was murdered six days ago. His brother was murdered the day before yesterday. Maybe that’s relevant.’

  ‘Murdered?’ I’d rocked him; I could see that. The rheumy eyes - they had traces of ointment in the corners - opened wide.

  ‘Yeah. The old guy was found in a fish tank. The brother had his throat cut in an alley. I’m looking into both deaths.’

  ‘Oh, my goodness.’ There was a chair beside the desk. Frontinus collapsed into it. ‘Oh, my! That does put a...rather different complexion on things. A completely different complexion, in fact. You’re sure? That the deaths weren’t...accidental?’ I nodded. ‘But that’s terrible! Simply dreadful!’

  ‘Yeah,’ I said, and waited.

  ‘You see, Nerva wanted to raise the money on his future prospects.’

  The hairs on the back of my neck stirred. ‘Is that so, now?’ I said carefully. ‘And how would that work, exactly?’

  ‘Oh, it’s a common enough arrangement.’ Frontinus was looking sick. He took a handkerchief from his mantle-fold and dabbed at his lips. ‘The principal is guaranteed by a promissory note payable in full when the borrower comes into his inheritance. Subject to verification that the amount involved will be sufficient to cover it, of course. Interest is paid by the calendar month, naturally; that’s quite separate. The rate depends on the age and...durability of the testator.’

  ‘What happens if the borrower dies before he inherits? Or if something goes wrong?’

  ‘He signs a paper allowing me to sell up his own assets to the value of the amount borrowed, before the estate passes to his own heirs. And, of course, I’m very careful to ensure that these assets are sufficient in themselves to cover the debt, which Licinius Nerva’s were, if only just.’ The ointment-smeared eyes blinked at me anxiously. ‘Murdered? You’re sure they were murdered?’

  ‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘No doubt of it. Believe me.’

  ‘Oh, my!’

  ‘So did Nerva actually borrow the money from you?’

  ‘Oh, yes. The contract was signed and I handed over the draft on the spot. Mind you, when he gave me his receipt he did say’ - Frontinus faltered - ‘he said - oh, my goodness! - that he hoped to repay the principal in full very shortly. That he had...prospects in view.’ Another anxious blink. ‘Both of them? The father and the brother, both murdered?’

  ‘Uh-huh.’ Sweet holy gods! I’d got him! ‘When was this, by the way? When he signed the contract?’

  The guy swallowed. ‘Ah...six days ago,’ he said.

  The day of the murder.

  Bull’s-eye!

  I left Frontinus having a fit of the horrors in Cleisthenes’s chair and went back outside. It fitted; Jupiter, did it fit! With Frontinus’s draft in his mantle-fold Nerva legally had the cash he needed to fund his half of the barge scheme, sure, but there were strings attached. Pretty considerable strings. Moneylenders like Frontinus weren’t in the business for their health, and interest rates were crippling, especially if the loan was a big one, and it had been: Frontinus’s mention of the fact that Nerva’s own total assets were just enough to cover it proved that. The interest rate couldn’t be less than ten or eleven percent, which meant that the monthly repayments wouldn’t be peanuts, and I knew that Nerva had a serious ongoing cash-flow problem already. So if the length of the loan was tied in with his inheritance the cost of waiting until his father dropped off the tree naturally, or until the grain barge started turning enough of a profit to pay back both interest and principal, if it ever did, would’ve made a serious hole in his bank balance. Possibly even a fatal one. And he’d be involved in a hell of a lot more ongoing expense before that happened.

  On the other hand, with both his father and brother out of the way he could use company money to pay off the balance straight off. No need even to wait until his actual inheritance came through. And he would’ve saved what would amount over time - if he could put off bankruptcy, that is - to a small fortune in the process. For a guy like Nerva I’d say that the combination of factors was a pretty fair incentive to murder. Good enough for me, anyway.

  I picked up the mare from where I’d left her fraternising with a couple of carters’ mules at the horse-trough, mounted up and set off for the four mile ride back towards Baiae.

  Short as the interview with Frontinus had been, it’d been a good morning’s work. We’d nailed the bastard, no question: borrowing money on his future prospects was the clincher. And the fact that he’d signed the contract the day of the murder and told Frontinus that he hoped to pay off the principal almost before the ink was dry put the lid on things.

  Okay; so how had it worked on the ground? What was the order of events here?

  First of all, Nerva approaches Frontinus. He isn’t thinking yet of murdering his father - at least, pace Florus, not seriously - but he needs a lot of money that he doesn’t have, quickly. On Florus’s cousin’s recommendation he goes to Frontinus. Frontinus suggests the inheritance option, and Nerva jumps at it because it gets him off the hook. Only in the short term, though: once he has the cash in his pocket he knows he’s home and dry as far as the barge deal is concerned, sure, but he still has the interest to worry about, and in his current financial position fi
nding that on a regular basis is going to be no joke. So he decides - this was where Frontinus’s info re the early repayment prospects came in - to sound out his father again and put the scheme to him as a proper business proposition meriting company funding; maybe, this time, dangling the bait of a preferential deal. Only in the event it’s no go: Murena - this is the afternoon of the murder - tells him to forget it; he’s up to his neck in expense already with the Juventius estate, planning on more, and he can’t afford to fund his son’s pie-in-the-sky projects. There’s a quarrel, and Nerva stalks out, stymied.

  Right. So far, so good. On his way home, he does a bit of thinking. He’s got no love for his father - neither of Murena’s sons do - so that’s no barrier. Murena isn’t going to budge now, that’s certain, and without him Nerva is screwed, or as near to it as makes no difference. On the other hand, if his father were out of the picture he’d have control of the company purse-strings. Except for his brother Titus, of course, but maybe he can get round Titus. Or something. Okay; so say Pappa Murena meets with an unfortunate accident. He’s subject to fainting fits, and it’s his habit to visit the fish tanks of an evening after dinner. Say he has one of his turns, falls into a tank and drowns...

  Nerva goes back to the farm, waits for his father and kills him, tipping his corpse into the eel-tank. Job done, inheritance and so loan secured.

  Then, four days later, when things have died down a little and suspicions are elsewhere - he’s still pressed for time, remember - he sends his brother a message: he’s got something to say to him; would Chlorus come round at once? He’s decided that he won’t bother trying to persuade him; or maybe - which seemed more likely, from what the guy had said when I talked to him myself in the wineshop - he’s tried already and Chlorus won’t play ball. Worse, he knows the approach has been made, and he may have guessed why, plus gleaned the implications. So Chlorus has to go too, and quickly. Message sent, Nerva lures his brother down an alleyway and slits his throat...

  Yeah; it would work. Sure it would. The theory fitted like a glove - motive, means, opportunity, the lot. According to Florus, who was too frightened and too stupid to lie, Nerva had no alibi for either of the two evenings in question, he’d motive in spades, and in either case means weren’t a problem. Aulus Nerva was the man, and thanks to Philippus I’d got him.

  All I had to do now was prove it. That was the tricky part.

  When I got back to the villa, Mother and Priscus were just getting into the carriage. She stopped when she saw me.

  ‘Hello, Marcus. Did you have a nice ride into Puteoli?’

  ‘Yeah. Yeah, it was okay.’ Mother has never really got to grips with the idea that horses and me don’t go naturally together, and riding isn’t something I do because I enjoy it. I dismounted and handed the mare over to one of the stable skivvies. ‘Where are you off to?’

  ‘Neapolis, dear. Not my favourite town, but Titus has a friend there with a unique collection of Samnite arms and armour. There’s a cuirass he wants to look at. At least’ - she fixed Priscus with a beady stare - ‘that’s what he says he wants to do, and it had better be.’

  ‘Mmmaaa!’

  ‘I shall be keeping a very close eye on Titus. When I’ve dropped him off at his friend’s I intend to do a little shopping. The shops in Neapolis are excellent, and I have the fifteen gold pieces which you and Perilla so kindly recovered to spend.’ She sniffed. ‘Perilla told me all about that at breakfast, by the way. Well done, dear. Perhaps you have your good points after all, although they are rather unconventional.’

  ‘Ah...right. Right. Thanks, Mother.’

  ‘They really are a dreadful pair, that Florus and Nerva. Quite beyond the pale. Perilla says that you think Nerva murdered his father and brother for control of the business.’

  ‘Yeah. At least, that’s how it’s beginning to look.’

  ‘I’m not in the least surprised. I’ve never trusted those flashy types, and Licinius Nerva is altogether too louche to be anything but a bad hat. What do you intend doing about him?’

  I’d been wondering that myself. Theories were one thing, but hard proof was another. ‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘Go round and face him with it, I suppose. The main thing is the guy’s alibi, or lack of one. If I can push him on that then maybe we’ll get somewhere.’

  ‘That’s it, dear. Exert a little pressure. He’s bound to crack. That sort always do.’

  Well, I wasn’t absolutely sure about that. Still, it was worth a try, especially now with what I’d got from Frontinus. Murena dying the same day Nerva signed the loan contract was just too pat, and the fact of the quarrel put the lid on it. ‘Where’s Perilla?’ I said.

  ‘Inside. But she’s coming with us. She was just leaving a message for you with Bathyllus in case you got back after we’d gone.’

  I went up the villa steps and met Perilla coming through into the lobby from the atrium.

  ‘Oh, hello, Marcus,’ she said. ‘You’ve just caught us leaving. Or would you like to come to Neapolis too?’

  I kissed her. ‘No thanks, lady. I’ve been half way there and back already this morning, and another couple of hours in a carriage would finish me. Besides, if the options on offer are Samnite armour and Mother’s shop-till-you-drop then I’ll pass.’

  ‘Hmm,’ Perilla said. ‘So what are you doing?’

  ‘I thought I’d take a walk down to the harbour, drop in at Aulus Nerva’s and do a bit of cage-rattling.’

  She frowned. ‘Marcus, I wish you’d be less flippant. And more careful. You think Nerva is the killer, don’t you?’

  ‘Yeah. I’d put a fairly hefty bet on that.’

  ‘Then he’s a very dangerous man. He’s murdered twice, in cold blood, and I doubt if he’d have any compunctions about murdering again. I do not want to come back from a shopping trip in Neapolis to find you laid out in the atrium with a pair of coins over your eyes.’

  I laughed. ‘Don’t worry, lady. I’m not booked for the urn yet. Nerva wouldn’t dare touch me.’

  ‘I wish I was as sure of that as you are, dear. But be careful, anyway. Now I really must be going. We’re late enough starting as it is.’

  I waved them off and set out for Nerva’s.

  24

  Actually, I didn’t go straight there. I’d got one loose end to tie up first, and checking Ligurius’s alibi wouldn’t take me all that far out of my way. The guy himself wouldn’t be at home, sure, but that was all to the good: if he was the killer (and it was still possible; I was keeping an open mind on that one, even with Nerva firmly in my sights) and he had been fibbing then he sure as hell wasn’t going to change his story for the asking now, not when he was home and dry with Chlorus safely in his urn. I’d just have to hope he had nosey neighbours.

  The first problem was finding the place. ‘Not a salubrious area’, Catia had said, and even allowing for the lady’s snobbishness she wasn’t far wrong. That part of Baiae was a maze of tiny streets and seriously-run-down property, as bad as the Subura in Rome, easy. Also, because trades like the fuller’s tend to bunch for obvious reasons - if you’ve ever smelt a fuller’s vat you’ll know what at least one of these is - even when I’d got the right bit I was spoilt for choice.

  Mind you, Baiae’s not Rome, and we were working on a much smaller scale here. I only had to ask at three possible addresses before I struck lucky with the fourth. It was a one-man business, and the guy stripped to his loincloth and treading a small vatful of half-submerged mantles was evidently the owner, proprietor and staff.

  ‘Uh...excuse me, pal,’ I said.

  The guy stopped treading. ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Someone called Ligurius live here?’

  He grinned. ‘Ligurius? Sure. Flat above. He won’t be around at the moment, though. Not until after sunset. Works over at that fancy fish farm on the Bauli road.’

  I was trying hard not to breathe: fullers like their piss well-matured, and I reckoned this guy was really choosy where the selection of his raw materials
was concerned. ‘Yeah, I know that,’ I said. ‘I didn’t want to see him personally. I just wanted some information.’

  The grin vanished. ‘What kind of information?’

  I took out my purse and extracted a couple of silver pieces. His eyes went to them, but he was still frowning.

  ‘You friendly with him at all?’ I said.

  ‘We split a jug of wine together in the evenings, sometimes. He’s on his own, like me, and he’s a good neighbour.’

  ‘You actually live here? On site, as it were?’

  ‘Where else would I live?’ He jerked his chin towards the shop. ‘There’s a back room. Big enough for me, I’m not married either.’ Yeah, well; I could see - or rather smell - why that might be. Still, there were worse trades, and fullers’ wives tended to be ladies with pre-cauterised sinuses. ‘Most of the time, though, I’m out here in the fresh air.’

  Great. Perfect, in fact. Maybe this was going to work after all. ‘Uh...he have many visitors?’

  That got me a glare. The guy was looking really suspicious now. ‘Look,’ he said. ‘What’s this about? If you’re some sort of town officer you can keep your money and clear off. Gaius Ligurius never done nothing illegal in his life. He’s not the type.’

  ‘No hassle, friend,’ I said. ‘Absolutely no hassle. And this isn’t official, I’m just checking up on something he told me. I was just wondering if you remembered a particular visitor, in the evening, six days back.’ I described Chlorus.

  The frown vanished and his face split into a gap-toothed grin. ‘Scowler? The boss’s son, Chlorus? Sure. He comes round a lot on fish farm business. I do his mantles, sometimes. Yes, he was here, no problem.’

  ‘You’re certain?’

  ‘Sure I am. Something about a chancer in Pompeii ordering fish and not paying for them. Ligurius told me later, after he’d gone and we got the wine out.’ He spat neatly to one side. ‘These Pompeian buggers, I wouldn’t trust them that far.’

  Well, there went that theory. Still, it’d been an outside chance, at best. And at least it finally cleared Ligurius from the list. Which left Nerva.