Illegally Dead (Marcus Corvinus Book 12)

by David Wishart

  ‘Yes. There wasn’t anything else I could do.’

  ‘You went home first? Came back here?’

  ‘Not for long. Just long enough to pack some clothes, borrow some money from my sister.’

  Liar! I thought, but that I couldn’t prove; not yet, anyway. And Veturina would back him to the hilt, I’d bet on that. Probably Scopas, too. ‘So where did you go?’ I said.

  ‘To a girlfriend of mine. In Bovillae. Her name’s Stratyllis.’

  ‘You’ve been there all this time?’

  ‘Yes.’ He must’ve noticed the look on my face. ‘Yes! She’s a dancer, she’s got an attic flat in a three-storey building near the town granaries. You can check if you don’t believe me. It’s the one with the oil shop on the ground floor.’

  ‘You missed the scene between your sister and your brother-in-law?’

  ‘Yes! I told you, I wasn’t here when he got back. Do you think I’d wait around?’ He looked sullen. ‘If you don’t trust Veturina to confirm it you can ask Paulina. She would’ve been there, I expect.’

  ‘Paulina? The ward? She’s gone to stay with her aunt in Rome.’

  Castor frowned. ‘She hasn’t got –’ he began. Then he clammed up, so suddenly that I could almost hear his teeth click.

  Everything went very quiet. ‘Hasn’t got what?’ I said finally.

  ‘Nothing.’ He took a sip of his wine. ‘I’m just back, Corvinus, I didn’t know. Veturina didn’t mention it.’

  ‘Paulina hasn’t got an aunt in Rome to go to, has she?’ I kept my voice very soft. ‘So where the hell has she gone?’

  ‘I don’t know! I told you, I’m just back myself! All I know is, she was here when I left. Ask Veturina.’

  ‘Yeah,’ I said, getting up. ‘Yeah, I’ll just do that now.’

  It took me the best part of half an hour and the threat of a full-scale torture of the household slaves to drag the information out of Veturina that her ward had disappeared the morning of Hostilius’s death with what she could pack into a carpet-bag. Or so Veturina said. Veturina had no idea where the girl had gone or why she had gone at all. Or so Veturina said. Some clothing had disappeared at the same time from the slaves’ washing line, boy’s clothing that, when worn with a freedman’s cap and roughspun cloak which had also disappeared, would guarantee that no one would look twice at the wearer, let alone see a fifteen-year-old girl on the run from her upper-class family. Or so Veturina said. Not that I believed the bitch for two consecutive seconds, no more than I believed that shifty brother of hers. They were both lying through their teeth and covering like mad, I’d bet my last copper coin on that. It was only a question of why.

  I was simmering nicely as I collected the mare from her mooring-ring by the horse trough; certainly in no mood to give the big red-haired guy in a slave’s tunic crossing the courtyard in the direction of the east wing more than a passing glance.

  Which, as it turned out later, was one of the biggest mistakes I’d ever made.

  17

  I was feeling pretty sick when I got back home later that afternoon and reported to Perilla on the terrace. Sick and frustrated and very, very angry.

  ‘I’ve sent word to Libanius that he’s got a missing kid on his hands and that she’s been missing for ten days without a fucking dickey-bird from her guardian,’ I said. ‘That’s all we can do. Unfortunately.’ I downed a good half of the wine in my cup at a swallow. It tasted sour. ‘Me, for two pins, Roman citizen or not, if I were Libanius I’d take the bitch in and sweat her. Her and her sodding brother both.’

  ‘Gently, dear,’ Perilla said. ‘You don’t know the girl’s come to any harm. And if Veturina’s telling the truth then she genuinely -’

  ‘That woman wouldn’t know truth if it sodding jumped up and bit her. And where genuinely’s concerned –’

  ‘Marcus, that is enough!’ Perilla adjusted a fold in her mantle. ‘Veturina may be guilty of the sin of omission but there is no evidence that she has actually committed a crime.’

  ‘Gods, lady, they’re working a double act, those two! Whether Castor’s covering for her or she’s covering for him or they’re each covering for the other I don’t know, but it’s happening, and the result is that all I’m getting from both of them is a mixture of stalling, lies and half-truths. It’s like wading through fucking glue!’ I gulped down the rest of the wine and reached for the jug. ‘And if there isn’t something rotten behind it all then I’ll eat my mantle.’

  ‘Very well,’ Perilla said. ‘Let’s have your case. Against Veturina first, omitting her personal motives for killing her husband, which I’m perfectly willing to concede.’

  ‘Okay.’ I took a deep breath. ‘Three members of the household went missing either the day before Hostilius died or on the day of the death itself: Cosmus the slave, her brother and her ward. She didn’t mention any of them until - this is the point - she was faced with hard outside evidence. Cosmus, fair enough, I’ll accept that as far as not reporting him over the wall immediately is concerned she may’ve had other things on her mind. But she lied to me about when Scopas actually told her that he’d gone, and she certainly lied deliberately first to last about Castor and Paulina.’

  ‘Her reasons?’

  ‘Assuming she’s guilty as hell? Or at least knows more about Hostilius’s death than she’s saying?’

  ‘Yes. Go on.’

  ‘Cosmus because he was supposed to disappear altogether and his body turning up so soon was an embarrassment. Castor...well, we’ll leave Castor for the moment, because he’s the biggie. Paulina...’ I hesitated.

  ‘Paulina?’

  ‘Because she heard something, or knew something, or suspected something. Maybe as a result of that last scene between Veturina and Hostilius, the day before he died. Something that was too dangerous to let her pass on.’

  ‘Such as what?’

  ‘Perilla, I don’t know, right? I can’t even make a decent guess. But whatever it was she couldn’t be allowed to repeat it.’

  Perilla was quiet for a moment. ‘You think she might be dead, then?’ she said.

  I nodded. I felt empty. ‘Yeah. Yeah, I do. There’s a good chance of it, anyway.’

  She laid aside the book resting in her lap, that she’d been reading when I arrived. ‘Marcus, this is sheer supposition, and nonsense at that! Veturina’s no murderer, you said that yourself! To kill her husband out of kindness, yes, but –’

  ‘Castor’s not Veturina.’

  ‘You think he’s capable of murder? Of killing not only the slave-boy but his own niece?’

  ‘Foster-niece. If that.’

  ‘Don’t split hairs. You know what I mean.’

  I sighed. ‘Yeah, I know; valid point. Search me, Perilla, I’ve only met the guy once. He’s crooked to the core, sure, absolutely, no question; but a murderer? It’s possible; I think he might commit murder if it’d get him something he really wanted, or he was desperate enough, but I could be wrong. Where Paulina’s concerned I hope I am.’

  ‘All right. Let’s have Castor. Again, I’ll concede the motive, because we’ve been through that.’

  ‘Not quite. Oh, I know the details now of his spat with Hostilius, or at least what he told me they were, which isn’t the same thing, and that’s fine as far as it goes. But we’ve got another strand.’

  ‘Namely?’

  ‘The business of the will. The gods know what it has to do with Hostilius’s death, if anything, but I’ll bet you a gold piece to a poke in the eye that Castor knows more about it than he’s saying. That’s an avenue to chase. As far as the actual murder goes...you want the scenario with Castor as the killer?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Okay. General motive as we said: Hostilius is blocking his career and treating him and his sister like dirt. Add to that, now, that he’s been nailed for unprofessional conduct, possibly criminal, and - again possibly - some underhand jiggery-pokery involving Maecilius’s will. Fair?’

  ‘Fair.’


  ‘So he decides, there and then, to kill Hostilius. Only he’s got a major problem because if he does kill him it has to be more or less straight away, to stop him blowing the whistle. Unfortunately the quarrel’s been witnessed, and if Hostilius is too obviously stiffed then he’s the prime suspect. Unless –’

  ‘Unless he disappears from the scene forthwith and Hostilius’s death seems due to natural causes.’ Perilla was frowning. ‘You know, dear, this is quite clever.’

  ‘Then he has his stroke of genius involving the medicine bottle, which gets round the obvious murder snag. The only problem now is that he can’t manage things without help, witting or unwitting, because ostensibly from now on he’s shacked up with his girlfriend in Bovillae, with whom ten gets you fifty he’s since arranged an alibi.’

  ‘The help being Veturina.’

  ‘Right. How much the lady knew or guessed about what was going on beforehand I don’t know, but let’s be charitable and say she only made the connection much later, when Libanius told her about the medicine. Anyway, Castor rides back to the villa, explains the situation - that he’s had an almighty row with Hostilius and has to leave first thing in the morning - and clears off out of the way –’

  ‘Hold on, Marcus. What about Scopas? Wouldn’t he have known, if Castor was in the house?’

  ‘Scopas could be squared, lady; after all, Veturina and Castor are family, and if push came to shove, given the circumstances, he might well support them over Hostilius. Besides, as far as he was concerned the actual murderer was Cosmus.’

  ‘Yes, what about Cosmus?’

  ‘I reckon you can play him two ways, depending on how much of a cold, calculating bastard you think Castor is. Not that it matters all that much, because it comes to the same thing in the end. Scenario one is that Cosmus’s involvement wasn’t deliberate on Castor’s part. Maybe the boy suspected something for some reason and kept his eyes open, maybe it was a total accident, but he finds out what’s going on and Castor has to take him into account. Scenario two is that Castor set him up from the start so as to have an insurance policy in case things went wrong.’

  ‘The first seems much more likely.’ Perilla was twisting a strand of her hair. ‘It’s the same argument we used for Veturina: recruiting Cosmus would’ve been more of a risk than a benefit.’

  ‘Yeah.’ I took a sip of wine. ‘Fair enough. Besides, the impression I’m getting of Castor is that he’s someone who can improvise and think on his feet. The same goes for Veturina. Remember, the subject of Cosmus didn’t come up until his body was found, and like I say I don’t think that was supposed to happen, not until all this had blown over anyway. My bet is that Castor thought that if he had to kill him - which he did, for safety - he might as well turn a profit on the deal, make him an insurance policy after all. When he did his trick with the medicine bottle, he stole the ring and so on out of the desk drawer and gave them to Cosmus. Then if things went pear-shaped in future –’

  ‘Marcus. Wait. Are you saying that Cosmus wasn’t in Hostilius’s room at all?’

  I nodded. ‘It was Castor, the whole thing. If Veturina saw anyone at all from her room coming out through the portico - and I’d bet good money that she didn’t - it was her brother. Like I said, they’ve been covering for each other: Castor makes sure that, if a murder is suspected, there’s a ready-made murderer provided with a ready-made motive of simple theft; while Veturina conveniently remembers seeing said murderer leaving the scene of the crime. It fits. It’s perfect.’

  ‘Then Castor gives Cosmus the stolen articles and tells him to run off to the Bavius farm where he –’ Perilla stopped. ‘I’m sorry, but that doesn’t make sense.’

  ‘What doesn’t?’

  ‘If Cosmus hadn’t been directly involved in the murder, then why should he run? Especially with stolen goods from the dead man’s room in his possession. The boy may’ve been stupid, but he can’t’ve been that stupid. He would have suspected he was being used, surely.’

  ‘Fine. So what’s to stop Castor from having planted the stuff on the body after he killed the kid but before he pitched him down the well?’

  ‘That’s...more viable.’ Perilla was looking thoughtful. ‘You’d still have to explain how he persuaded Cosmus to go to the Bavius place and stay there, mind. And if he did manage to invent a plausible reason for sending him to an empty property, one that didn’t involve the element of subterfuge where the boy was concerned, how would he know that Cosmus wouldn’t tell someone where he was going, or keep his presence there a secret? I’m sorry, Marcus, but it still raises serious questions of practicality.’

  ‘Yeah.’ I frowned. Bugger: she was right. In any case, it was pure theorising. What we needed now were hard facts. ‘Okay, never mind. That’s as far as we can go at present. Leave it.’

  ‘Very well. So what’s the next step?’

  That was the biggie; worse, it was a question I really, really didn’t have an answer to. ‘The gods know. Follow up the business with the will, at least; that’s a loose end that needs tying. Apart from that’ - I took a morose swallow of wine - ‘just hope like hell that somewhere there isn’t another body.’

  The problem with the last one was that the cold feeling in my gut told me that there was. It was only a matter of time before we found it.

  18

  I was over at Six Cedars fairly prompt the following morning. It was an old-fashioned working farm, which meant the farmhouse itself was part of a rambling complex of stables, workshops and storage rooms centred round a rough-cobbled courtyard that was definitely seriously bucolic in parts. I made my way carefully past the worst spots and knocked on the door. A slave opened it, a house-slave, sure, but not the neatly-tunic’d variety; strictly functional, like the rest of the place.

  ‘Yes, sir?’ he said.

  ‘Is the master in?’ I said.

  ‘Master’s up in the top field harvesting beets, sir. Mistress is in the solar, if you want to see her instead.’

  ‘Yeah, that’d be fine.’ What was her name? Bucca had told me. ‘Uh...Faenia, isn’t it?’

  ‘That’s right, sir. Oh, no need to wait, I’ll take you straight through. Follow me, and mind your head. The lintels is a bit low.’

  I went in. He wasn’t kidding: the place must’ve been built when Cato was in rompers, and not by anyone who’d much time for spacious rooms and high ceilings. Dark, too. He led me through a maze of stone-flagged corridors to a room at the end of a passage with a door that was six inches of solid oak.

  ‘Here we are, sir.’

  He opened the door for me, and light spilled through: a big room full of old-fashioned, heavy furniture and with a big south-facing window. The woman sitting by an easel at the far end of it turned as I went in.

  I’d never met Fimus, but as old Maecilius’s son he had to be in his late fifties at the very least. If so then his wife was a good fifteen or twenty years younger; no spring chicken, sure, but not much more than half way through her forties. She wasn’t a bad looker, either: her figure might be what you might charitably call ‘comfortable’, but she’d a pretty enough face and a nice smile.

  ‘Yes?’ she said.

  ‘Valerius Corvinus,’ I said. ‘I’m –’

  ‘Oh. Lucius Hostilius’s death.’ The smile had set. She put down the paintbrush she’d been using, and it rolled unnoticed off the table and onto the floor. ‘A dreadful business. Shocking.’

  I looked at the picture on the easel: one of these standard still lifes you get, with a dead hare and assorted vegetables. The actual bits and pieces were arranged on a small table in front of her, and there wasn’t much resemblance between them and the painting. Forget the hare: even the carrot looked suspect.

  ‘Unusual hobby,’ I said.

  ‘Yes. I’ve painted since I was a girl. One of our slaves taught me.’ She glanced towards a settle against the white-plastered wall, but then her eyes came back to me and she said: ‘What can I do for you, Valerius Corvinus?’

&nbs
p; I was having to revise my ideas about Faenia pretty drastically. I’d expected a fairly typical Latin farmer’s wife, stolid, grey-haired and country-spoken, and this lady wasn’t her. Oh, sure, she had the rural Latin burr, but it’d been smoothed out so much as to be practically unnoticeable; and an artist? Not a very good one, granted, but all the same I reckoned you could count the number of artistic Latin farmers’ wives on the fingers of one hand and still have three or four left over. Not that there’d be all that many more Roman matrons ditto, mind you. ‘Uh...it’s a bit embarrassing,’ I said. ‘Your husband had a...call it a disagreement with Hostilius the day before he died. No hassle, lady, I’m just filling in the corners, but I was wondering if he’d care to tell me about it.’

  Was it my imagination, or did the eyes shift? ‘Marcus is out in the fields at the moment,’ she said. ‘I can get one of the slaves to take you to him if –’

  ‘Unless you can tell me about it yourself, of course. I understand it could’ve had something to do with a missing will.’

  She stood up quickly; no smile now, there was a definite tremor in her voice and a redness in her cheeks. ‘No, I’m afraid you’d really have to speak to Marcus himself,’ she said. ‘It’s no problem, I’ll get Venustus to take you.’ She walked past me to the door, opened it and shouted: ‘Venustus!’

  I hadn’t moved. ‘Your father-in-law stayed with you here?’ I said. ‘In this house?’

  ‘The...the other way round. We lived with him.’ She was sounding nervous as hell now, and her eyes were fixed on the corridor outside. ‘Venustus!’

  ‘Only your brother-in-law said that he’d made a new will just before he died, and that he thought your husband’s father had delivered it to his lawyers.’ I kept the conversational tone. ‘Maybe it didn’t get that far. Maybe it did.’ I shrugged. ‘Maybe it never existed in the first place. It’d be nice to know for sure.’

  I might as well have been talking to the wall for all the attention she was paying me. ‘I’m sorry about this,’ she said, and there was a definite tremor in her voice. ‘He must’ve gone back to the kitchen, and he’ll be out of earshot. I’ll show you to the front door myself and there’ll be someone outside who can take you to Marcus. Follow me, please.’