Old Bones (Marcus Corvinus Book 5)

by David Wishart

  'No problem.' Lippillus grinned. 'The Three-and-Four commander's Ummidius Quadratus. He's a nice guy, and he doesn't like crooks. Especially crooks he can't get to. If we can nail the Owl he'll pick up our cookshop tab and whistle while he does it. He might even throw in a couple of jars of Caecuban to make up the difference.'

  'That desperate, eh? Fair enough.' I turned to go. 'Thanks, Lippillus. I'll see you at the cookshop.'

  'Right.' He was already bending to re-examine the corpse. 'Order Setinian. Their Falernian stinks.'

  I cut across the Palatine for old times' sake, even if it did mean climbing unnecessary stairs. Mind you, I hardly noticed the extra effort involved: one thing about a holiday in Caere, your calf muscles end up like knotted cord. I had meant to make a detour to take in our old place but I changed my mind: that was finished with, and I've never been one to cling to the past. Still, it would've been nice. In front of the House of Augustus and the slightly grander Palace of Tiberius, where the Wart, of course, wasn't, and hadn't been for some time, was the usual crowd of gawping tourists, and I had to push my way through: these bloody Egyptians get everywhere, and they don't move for you, either.

  Nice curses, though.

  Finally I cut my losses, went down Cacus Staircase into the Velabrum and turned right along Tuscan Street. I spotted Lippillus's cookshop straight off; sure enough, it had tripe with fennel on the board, and I'd bet it would be as good as the guy had said. I'd timed it perfectly; the sun was just past its full quarter and I wasn't all that far now from the Market Place and the Capitol.

  This could be tricky. Having been away from the political scene for so long – and I'd never been part of it in any case – I wasn't sure how things were going to go. If I was lucky, I'd find that the relevant praetorian official was one of my old cronies. That, at least, was a distinct possibility: most of them would be in pretty senior positions by now, and they were the guys I needed, especially if they had a pedigree you could measure by the yard. Prominent Italian provincial families like the Cominii might still not have the clout of the Junii Silani or the Aemilii Lepidi, but things in the social world were changing fast and you couldn't be sure any more who was related to who. And unless your bastard was a bigger bastard with better connections than the bastard you were trying to nail you might as well go home and grow radishes.

  That's how the world works. You can knock it, sure, but you can't change it. Not even Augustus could do that.

  I found the praetor's office and waited for the guy on the desk to finish picking his nose and ask what I wanted.

  'Caere?' he said. 'That's part of the Latium district. The rep's office is third corridor, second on your left.'

  'Who is the rep, pal?' I said. 'You know?'

  'Search me. I only know the offices. These buggers come and go like punters in a cat-house.' And he went back to bursting his boils.

  I made my way down the corridor, found the door and knocked.

  'Come in.'

  My heart sank. Shit. I knew that voice. Forget lucky; forget persuading the guy to mount an investigation, too. I might as well try whistling Pindar's Second Pythian through my left ear.

  I pushed the door open.

  'Hi, Crispus,' I said.

  36.

  If anyone is ever nicked for pissing on my grave after I've gone it'll be Caelius Crispus. Not that it's my fault, I've got no particular down on the guy; it's just that whatever evil-minded god or goddess arranges these things has managed to bring me into contact with the oily little bastard more than either of us have liked, and it's invariably led to tears. His, mostly, but like I say that isn't my fault. Call it fate.

  The clang of his jaw hitting the desk when he saw me had been almost audible. Now he was looking at me like I'd just taken my head off and waved it at him.

  'Oh, gods,' he said. 'Marcus bloody Corvinus.'

  I closed the door behind me, pulled up a chair, sat down, and grinned at him across the desk. 'How are you, Crispus?' I said.

  No answer; he was still in shock. I tried another angle. 'This is a surprise. I thought you worked in the Treasury.'

  A muscle beside his right eye twitched. He was still staring like if he did it long enough I'd fade into philosophical atoms.

  'I moved,' he said.

  'So I see.' I looked round. 'Nice office. I like your taste in dadoes.'

  'You still married to that Perilla female?'

  'Last time I looked.' I don't know what Crispus has against Perilla. Sure, she was largely responsible for getting him chucked out of the Happy Bachelors' Club when we gatecrashed their tutu evening on the Pincian, but you can only hold a grudge for so long. And she didn't mean it.

  Well, not really.

  Well...

  'What the hell are you doing back in Rome?' The guy was slowly getting some of his bottle back. He looked a better colour, too. 'I thought you'd settled permanently in Athens.'

  Good; we'd got past the social niceties stage and down to business. I gave him my best smile.

  'Actually,' I said, 'that's why I'm here. We're holidaying with my mother and stepfather at a place called Vetuliscum. Near Caere.'

  Crispus frowned. 'Vetuliscum? That rings a bell.'

  'It should. We had a couple of murders there and you'll be trying the case in five days' time.' That was another total bummer; with Crispus on the bench and me defending Papatius had about as much chance of staying alive as a fly in a meat-grinder. Still, the effort had to be made. 'I thought you might be interested to know that the guy they nailed didn't do it.'

  'Is that so?' He puffed up like a Calabrian doughnut. 'Don't you think that as the judge I'm the best person to decide that?'

  Uh-huh. Same old Crispus, right in with both feet. Yeah, well, some openings are too tempting to ignore, however polite you're trying to be.

  'You want a straight answer to that?' I said. 'And with or without the colourful language?'

  'I'm the praetor's representative, dammit!' he snapped.

  'Only because you've got something on him he wouldn't want made public when he runs for consul.'

  It was a shot in the dark, sure, but I was fairly certain it would hit the target. Crispus and I went back a long way. He might be well on the sunny side of respectable these days, but I'd bet his modus operandi hadn't changed since I'd saved his balls for him – literally – ten years before. Crispus lived and thrived by knowing things about important people, things that in most cases if they came out would get the buggers the Rock, or at least make animal lovers everywhere seriously displeased. From Treasury clerk – disgraced Treasury clerk, thanks to me – to praetor's rep for a whole district was quite a hike, but a praetor makes his own appointments. Whatever seedy hold the guy had over his boss it must've been a beaut.

  Hit the target it did. Crispus went white, and then puce. He opened his mouth to say something but no sound came out. I smiled at him and waited.

  'All right,' he said. 'Who do you think did it?'

  'A guy called Aternius.'

  'That name's familiar as well.'

  'He's the investigating officer.'

  There was a long silence.

  'He is what?' Crispus's eyes were bulging. If he'd been an older man I'd've thought he was having an apoplectic seizure.

  'The investigating officer. The bastard in charge of the case. His uncle's the Caeretan mayor. One gets you ten he's mixed up in it too.'

  There was another long silence. Only this one was longer than the first, and you could've used it for pickling walnuts. When it had finished, Crispus said quietly: 'Get the fuck out of my office. And don't come back until hell freezes over, if then. You understand?'

  I sighed. Ah, well. It had been a thought. But I'd known as soon as I walked in the door I was onto a loser. I stood up.

  'Right,' I said. 'Thanks, pal. I'll see you around.'

  'Not if I see you first.'

  I was on my way out when he said: 'Corvinus! Wait a minute!'

  I turned. 'Yeah?'
<
br />   'What makes you think this Aternius is responsible?'

  'He and his uncle are involved in a property scam. Then there's the possibility that–' I stopped. Maybe it was the gleam in his eye that warned me, but I suddenly decided baring my soul to the praetor's rep wasn't such a hot idea after all. Not if the rep was Caelius Crispus. 'Never mind. Thanks for your time.'

  'Don't mention it. Just go away and don't come back.' He was already shuffling memo tablets like a good administrator should. 'And tell that bitch of a wife of yours to keep her distance.'

  I left him to his dadoes.

  It wasn't quite noon when I came down the Capitol steps and pushed my way through the Market Place crowds. An hour before I was due to meet Lippillus. Hardly worth going anywhere: I'd've liked a stroll through the Subura, but I'd no sooner have got there than I'd've had to come back. Also my stomach was rumbling. I took a right down Tuscan and headed for the cookshop.

  It was busy already, and most of the tables were full: a good sign, because cookshops where you're liable to end up with gut-rot half an hour after you've eaten tend to be pretty empty, even if they are in the city centre. That's if they manage to hang onto their licences at all: a couple of stonemasons or a pig-herder knocked off their perches by a stew that glows in the dark might slip by unremarked in the wilds of the Thirteenth District, but when you've got punters from the Public Health and Sanitation Department up the hill among your customers that kind of thing gets noticed. I parked myself at a table by the door and followed Lippillus's advice by ordering up a jug of Setinian, plus a plate of cheese and olives to keep me going until it was time for the tripe.

  That had been a narrow squeak; in fact, I might've already scuppered myself as far as the trial went. Now Crispus knew there was something whacky about Aternius I wouldn't put it past the bugger to indulge in a little pre-trial blackmail. If – when – the case came to court he might well have come to an arrangement with the Cominii whereby in return for a backhander the accused was found guilty whatever evidence there was to the contrary, because the alternative would be to reopen the whole can of worms; and that, if he was guilty himself, Aternius couldn't risk.

  Which meant that Papatius was more cooked than ever. After that little interview I couldn't even hope for an unbiased judge. Nice one, Corvinus. I'd've done better to have stayed at home.

  So where the hell did I go from here? Aternius was the murderer, sure he was: of Navius by proxy, Clusinus, maybe Bubo, actually, and Hilarion probably. The theory fitted the facts like a glove. My only problem was proof, and that I didn't look like getting. Nohow, no way, never.

  I hadn't got any further thinking about it when Lippillus showed up. I'd been hoping that he'd solve the problem once I'd explained it with a brilliant flash of insight, but he didn't. Ah, well. That was fair enough. The one drawback to Lippillus is he's a Roman first and last, in the city sense. If the murders had happened in the Subura, or even up on the Janiculan, he'd've been full of ideas because Rome's his patch, it's relevant. Anything beyond the city boundaries, forget it. It's not that he's not interested or willing to help, it's just as if his brain refuses to work outside the fourth milestone, over little things like murders, anyway. So in the end we ate our tripe, drank the wine, ordered another jug and talked about how life had treated us since we'd seen each other last. Then I fought him for the bill and we set off to talk to Publius the Owl.

  37.

  The Sacred Way's one of the oldest streets in Rome, a blend of magnificence and squalor. The squalid element's made up of buildings that look like they've been around since Brutus threw out the Tarquins. Their walls are timber and mud-brick, with more patching and holes than a street-sweeper's tunic, and every so often in among the graffiti and scrawled adverts for personal services a black streak from pavement to roof that could've been made by one of Brennus's cookfires. Most of them are used for storage or as squats by the city's drifting population, but some are mansions belonging to hard-line Republican families that've been living in them since Cincinnatus ploughed his first furrow and ain't never going to move nohow for no one.

  The newer properties are a lot more upmarket. They only date back fifty or so years to the time when Augustus was on his marble-for-brick jag, and they stand out like ivory false teeth in an old woman's grin. The Owl's shop was one of these, on a prime corner site with a nice view of the Palatine to the south. Even from the outside, it smelled of money. Crooked or not, the guy must've been pulling it in hand over fist. There was a slave on the door, which again made sense: upmarket traders don't encourage riff-raff on the lookout for somewhere to shelter from the rain or a quick see-and-grab, and a bouncer's standard equipment. He wasn't the usual gorilla squeezed into a sharp tunic to make him blend with the decor, either; we got a bow that wouldn't've disgraced a high-class major-domo.

  Impressive.

  The inside was impressive, too, more like a private house than a shop, even down to the pool in the middle and the hole in the roof above to let in light and catch the rainwater. No counter, and although there were more statues and bits of furniture around than you'd ever get in an ordinary property they weren't obtrusive. Money again: the trick, when you're dealing with the market the Owl was obviously targeting, is not to show everything you've got at once. Bulk's vulgar; space makes room for a bigger price tag.

  The guy himself fitted the part. Forget the greasy shopkeeper in a tunic with bits of last night's dinner sticking to it: the Owl was sitting in a chair like a consul's. He rose and came over smiling.

  'Good afternoon, gentlemen,' he said: shit, we had a real smoothie here. 'And how may I help you?'

  'The name's Valerius Corvinus,' I said. 'This is Watch Commander Flavonius Lippillus.'

  'Yes?' The Owl's eyes flicked to Lippillus and a lot of the smoothness disappeared. 'How interesting. Correct me if I'm wrong, but I thought the commander of the local Watch was Ummidius Quadratus. With whom, may I say, I'm on excellent terms.'

  'Come off it, Owl.' Lippillus was grinning. 'Save that for the customers. Quadratus wouldn't touch you with gloves and a ten-foot pole.'

  The guy stiffened and blinked slowly. 'Owl' was right: his eyes were grey and round, with the biggest, blackest pupils I'd ever seen. There was a drowsiness about him, too, that didn't quite square up: maybe he was on something, like that whacky qef stuff the Parthians use for recreation. He stared at Lippillus for a long time then turned back to me.

  'What exactly is it you want?' he said.

  That was better; me, I've always preferred short sentences and simple grammar. 'You're Aulus Bubo's brother, right?'

  Another long pause. The eyelids went down and up. 'Aulus is dead. I had the news from his wife three days ago. Unfortunately I wasn't free to attend the funeral.'

  'You were pretty close, I understand. Partners, even.'

  'We're in the same business, yes.'

  'He supply you with stuff to sell to the rich punters here?'

  'Sometimes. Naturally enough. The Roman market is more buoyant, and as you say the customers have more to spend.'

  'You know where the goods came from?'

  Pause. 'Where do antiques usually come from? Aulus had his sources of supply, as do I: private individuals, auctioneering firms, even collectors who for reasons of their own decide to part with a particular piece.'

  'Crooks?'

  He blinked again. This time I was the one to get the death-stare. ''That is defamation,’ he said softly. ‘No doubt your friend here will confirm the fact if you know no law yourself. Also that it's actionable. Now if you're not bona fide customers I'd be grateful if you would leave my premises before I call my slave and have you removed forcibly.'

  So we were back to the long sentences. Lippillus grunted and muttered something profane under his breath, but we'd agreed in the cookshop that this was my show. I didn't move. 'You ever hear of a guy called Clusinus?' I said. 'Titus Clusinus?'

  'No.'

  He was lying; sure he was.

 
; 'How about Gaius Aternius?'

  His eyes shifted. 'I've warned you once,' he said. 'I won't do so again. You're clearly not here for legitimate commercial purposes and I would like you to leave.'

  I moved up close, and he flinched. 'What's the penalty for robbing tombs, pal? Maybe you can tell me that. Also, why your law-abiding brother should have his head stove in with a hammer.'

  For the first time the Owl's bland face showed a spark of expression and his tongue licked out over his lower lip. 'Aulus always did think too little of security,' he said. 'He was killed by a casual robber.'

  Yeah, I might believe that at a pinch, but the Owl clearly didn't; the guy was shit scared, and it showed. I had my lever and I knew it.

  'He thought enough of security to build a new strongroom under his shop,' I said. 'One he never got round to using. What was he planning to put in there that he didn't already have? Tomb goods that his crony Clusinus stole for him and he was going to ferry down to you when he'd collected enough?'

  The Owl glanced at Lippillus and his mouth opened but no sound came out.

  'Your brother's dead.' I lowered my voice. 'So's Clusinus. That's two out of three. Now if I were feeling particularly bloody-minded I'd walk out of here right now and forget the whole thing. Sure, the murders happened in Caere but I have the feeling that whoever was responsible wants the partnership completely dissolved with no loose ends. You a betting man, Owl? You want to bet he doesn't know about you or where to find you, or that he hasn't got the fare to Rome? Because that's just what you're doing here.' Silence. I turned away. 'Ah, the hell, Lippillus, let's –'

  'I wasn't involved. At no point was I involved. I wish to make that perfectly clear.'

  I turned back. Got the bugger!

  Big grey eyes blinked at me. 'It was Aulus's scheme. Aulus and Clusinus. I asked no more than my usual commission.'

  Yeah, sure; and my name was Tiberius Caesar. 'Go on,' I said.

  There was a single bead of sweat on the Owl's forehead. 'Clusinus came to Aulus. He said he'd found a way into a tomb. He couldn't get there very often but if Aulus would handle what he brought out he was willing to make a deal for a cash advance and a half share of the proceeds. That's all I know.'