‘I’ve got some news too,’ Marilla said.
Oh, yeah, right; Meton. Forget the case, this was important. ‘Go ahead, Princess,’ I said, steeling myself. ‘Did you see her? Did they meet?’
‘Yes, in the vegetable market. You were right, she is very good-looking, isn’t she?’
Hell; I was hoping against hope that somewhere there’d been a mistake. ‘You hear anything they said?’
‘No, they were too far away, and we - Clarus was there as well, of course - we didn’t like to get any closer in case Meton spotted us. They were...I know it sounds silly, but I think they were buying artichokes. At least, she was because she was the one who paid, but Meton was doing all the handling and all the talking. That’s right, isn’t it, Clarus?’
Clarus nodded.
Jupiter! Well, if it’d been anyone else then yes, it would’ve sounded silly. We were talking about Meton here, though: only our food-fixated chef could use the criteria for choosing a good artichoke as a chat-up line. Which I’d bet was what he’d been doing. If this seduction went through - and I’d guess, thank the gods, from what I’d seen myself and what Marilla was saying that we were only in the early stages here - then if they finally did get the length of going to bed together as far as a practical knowledge of culinary ingredients, their choice and preparation, was concerned the lady would be world class.
‘Okay,’ I said. ‘So what happened then?’
‘They bought some leeks.’
I sighed. ‘Just skip the blow-by-blow account of the vegetable purchases, Princess.’
‘Very well. When they’d bought the...artichokes, leeks, beetroot, carrots and dill, wasn’t it, Clarus?’ - nod - ‘they walked back towards the town square. They stopped for a minute, then they split up. Meton went...where did he go, Clarus? You followed him.’
‘To the meat market. At least, that was where he was heading, but I think he saw me and got suspicious because he gave me the slip before he got there. Sorry, Corvinus.’
Damn! If Meton knew he was being watched now, trailing him another day would be much trickier. Still, the woman was the important one of the pair. Meton we could always find. ‘What about Renia, Princess?’ I said.
‘Oh, that was okay. I followed her to Ceres Temple Street. She’s got a house about half way along, next to the baker’s. At least, that’s what I assumed, because she went in there and didn’t come out. And there’s a locksmith’s sign next to the door.’
Right, that seemed to be pretty conclusive. I’d get together with Perilla and we’d move on to the next stage. ‘Great,’ I said. ‘Well done.’
‘Let Clarus tell you about the body now,’ Marilla said.
Oh, yeah; the Caba woman. I turned to Clarus. ‘Go ahead, pal.’
‘I think she was dumped.’
‘What?’
‘Corvinus, I don’t believe she was killed where she was found at all. Of course, I haven’t been up there myself, but I’ve talked it over with Dad, who has, and he agrees.’
‘Hang on, Clarus,’ I said. ‘What leads you to think she was dumped?’
‘The condition of her tunic. You wouldn’t’ve had a chance to spot it for yourself, and neither would Dad, because she was lying face-up and the front and sides of her tunic are clear. But the back’s covered with cement dust. At least, I’m almost certain that’s what it is. And it couldn’t’ve got that way where she was found.’
‘Maybe she just had a dirty tunic.’
‘Uh-uh. I told you, the front and sides were clean. Or clean of cement, anyway. And the back was caked in places to the depth of my fingernail, especially just under and level with the shoulder-blades, like she’d been pulled over the stuff. My guess is that she was loaded onto a wagon that’d been carrying cement, driven up into the woods then hauled out by her feet.’
‘What about the cart they took her home in?’
He shook his head. ‘That was the first thing I checked. Wood shavings, sawdust, sure, plenty of that, but no cement. Not a trace. Besides, the slaves left her on the stretcher so she could be lifted out easily. Her back didn’t touch the boards.’
‘So what do you think?’
‘Like I say. She was killed elsewhere, loaded onto a cart with a good quarter inch of cement dust on its floor, probably covered over with a tarpaulin and taken up to Caba to be dumped. Caba’s a sensible choice, and not just because it’s wild country. There’re plenty of carts use that road anyway, with the quarry being there. No one’d think anything about it. And Dad says you can see the road for half a mile in each direction from the start of the cart-track. That’s important. All it’d take would be for the killer to make sure there was nothing coming that might see him when he turned in and again when he left and he’d be perfectly safe.’
I whistled. ‘You do anything for an encore, pal? Like pull live chickens out of hats?’
He grinned. So did Marilla.
‘He’s good, isn’t he?’ she said.
‘He is bloody brilliant! We can take it further, too.’
‘Can we?’
‘Yeah. Horses, mules, donkeys, no problem, anyone can get one of these at five minutes’ notice. But a cart? Uh-uh, that’s tricky, not everybody has one of these, not in town, anyway. And you couldn’t risk borrowing or hiring one, not if you were going to use it to transport a corpse, because later someone might just make the connection. On the other hand, if you’d got a cart already then -’
‘Oh, gods,’ Clarus said softly. ‘Bucca Maecilius.’
‘Spot on, pal. At least, one gets you ten. I’d take a small side bet on his brother, mind, because he’s a farmer, but Bucca’ll do nicely to begin with.’
‘Why should Bucca kill the woman?’
I shrugged. ‘Tell me who she was and I might have an answer. In the meantime, bring those eyes and that brain of yours round to his yard tomorrow morning and we’ll sweat the bastard, together, see if he’s got answers of his own.’
‘What about -?’ Marilla said; which was exactly when Bathyllus buttled in.
‘Dinner, sir,’ he said.
I stood up. Fair enough, sleuthing over for the day. Well, at least Meton was still alive and cooking, and after the ride into Bovillae and back my stomach thought my throat was cut.
I hadn’t mentioned it to Clarus, but after what he’d told me that theoretical complication re the Brabbii had just moved up a slot and become a definite possibility.
24
I met up with Clarus by prearrangement just after dawn outside the gates of Bucca Maecilius’s yard. No Marilla: if there was likely to be trouble - and trouble was a distinct possibility - then impassioned pleas, scathing sarcasm, tantrums and strident demands to be included notwithstanding the lady was out.
We went through the open gateway. No sign of the man himself, but like before there were a couple of carts parked next to the stables. I lifted the tarpaulin on one of them and Clarus took the other.
‘Corvinus?’ he said quietly.
‘Yeah?’
‘Come and have a look.’
I went over. The floor of the cart was covered in a thick layer of cement dust, like a bag of the stuff had burst and spread its contents over the width of the boards. The dust had been flattened and drawn in lines in a wide strip from the centre of the cart to the back, as if something big had been pulled out over the open tailgate.
Bull’s-eye!
‘Well done, pal,’ I said. ‘Full marks. If –’
‘Wait.’ He reached past me to where a splinter of wood stuck out from the tailgate itself, picked something up and held it out. I looked. A single brown thread. ‘The dead woman’s tunic was brown,’ he said. ‘It could be coincidence, of course.’
Coincidence nothing, that put the lid on it for me. We’d got the bastard by the balls. ‘Let’s go inside,’ I said.
There were three horses in the stables, better-fed and healthier beasts than I’d’ve expected but no prizewinners. Bucca was lying in one of the empty stalls, snoring his head off.
There was an empty wine flask in the straw beside him.
I went over, took hold of the front of his tunic and heaved him to his feet. ‘Come on, pal,’ I said. ‘Rise and shine.’
His eyes opened, then widened. ‘Corvinus?’
‘Well remembered.’
‘What the hell do you want at this time of the morning? It’s hardly –’
‘Me and young Clarus here were interested in one of your carts. The one you used to transport that body up to Caba.’
‘Never mind the –’ he began; and then his brain must’ve caught up with his ears because suddenly he was very, very awake indeed. ‘Oh, shit!’
I grabbed him by the sleeve as he turned to run and hauled him back, then ducked the roundhouse punch he threw and planted one of my own under his ribs. He went down gasping.
‘Did you have to do that, Corvinus?’ Clarus said.
I grinned. ‘Uh-uh. But consider the bugger subdued.’
Clarus shook his head wearily. ‘Let’s get him outside,’ he said.
We half-escorted, half-carried Bucca out of the stables to the cart and propped him against it. ‘Now, pal,’ I said. ‘Let’s have the details. Who was she, and why did you kill her?’
‘I never!’ He was still wheezing and clinging to the side of the cart for support, but he was getting his colour back. ‘Corvinus, I never touched her, I swear it! You’ve got to believe that! I don’t know who she is, either. Why should I kill a fucking woman I’ve never seen before in my life?’
‘Bucca, read my lips,’ I said. ‘In about ten minutes’ time I am going to hand you over to the town magistrates to be charged with strangling a woman, name unknown, and taking her body in this cart up to the woods near Caba, where you dumped her. This will happen, friend, whatever you say, whether you deny it or admit it or opt to stay completely silent or whistle the fifth fucking Pindaric Ode through your teeth. What happens afterwards, though, depends totally on you, now, so you had better use those ten minutes wisely. Which means in telling me the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. Because, sunshine, if you lie, or hide anything or even think of playing the smartass, and I find out, which I will, then so help me Jupiter I will see you nailed. Understand?’
He swallowed. ‘Yes.’
‘Good. Do you know who she is?’
‘No.’
‘Did you kill her?’
‘No!’
‘But you did transport the body to the woods near Caba and try to hide it?’
Another swallow. Then, very quietly: ‘Yes.’
‘Okay, pal. These were the only straight questions. You’re on your own now. Let’s have the story.’
He took a deep breath. ‘I...found her three days back, first thing, when I got up. She was lying over there’ - he pointed - ‘behind that pile of rubbish. She was...I could see she was dead straight off because her face...oh, gods! –’
‘Yeah. Right,’ I said. ‘Never mind that. Carry on.’
‘Can I be sick? Please?’
‘Later.’
‘I panicked. Corvinus, I fucking panicked! I told you about the people in this town and me, they wouldn’t give my version two minutes’ credence. If I’d reported her then a month down the road I’d be looking at the strangler’s noose myself, no question. So I...bundled her into the wagon, put the tarpaulin over and drove up to Caba. I knew the road up there, I go up it five, maybe six times a month, so there’d be nothing unusual about me and my cart being seen. The bit of woodland where I hid her, as well. I hauled a load of charcoal from there to Bovillae once, three years back, I thought that’d be perfect. I...drove a couple of hundred yards up the track, well out of sight of the road, pulled her out and covered her with what I could find. Then I came straight back. That’s it, that’s all that happened, I swear it!’ He looked at me wild-eyed. ‘I was desperate, right? There was nothing else I could do!’
I sighed. ‘Yeah. Yeah, okay.’
‘You believe me?’
‘I believe you. Only you’d better be telling the truth.’
‘I am! I swear I am!’
‘Fine. Let’s go, then.’
‘You’re taking me to the magistrates?’
‘Yeah. I said.’
‘But –!’
‘Look, Bucca. Whoever killed this woman and dumped her on your doorstep is no friend of yours. He’s killed once, he might decide to kill again, and you, pal, might be next on the list. So yes, I am taking you to the magistrates. Locked up safe in the town hall cellars is probably the best place for you.’
He was staring at me. ‘You think it was deliberate? I mean, choosing here?’
I shrugged. ‘Your guess is as good as mine, friend. The difference is, whether I’m right or wrong it’s no skin off my nose either way. Whereas –’ I left the rest of it hanging.
‘Oh, shit!’ He turned away abruptly and threw up. Most of it was wine. Well, I’d told him he could, later, so I couldn’t really object..
I waited until he’d finished and had wiped his mouth on his tunic. ‘You any idea yourself who was responsible?’ I said. ‘Or maybe why?’
‘No! The only real enemy I’ve got is my brother, and Fimus wouldn’t do anything like this! He’s a stiff-necked bastard, true, but he’s not that much of a bastard, and he’s no killer, no way, never!’ He paused. ‘You don’t think it was him, do you?’
‘No,’ I said. ‘I don’t think it was Fimus.’
‘Then who?’
I took him gently by the arm. ‘Let’s go, Bucca.’
We dropped him off at the town hall, with a mention of the horses to be looked after in the stables, and I took Clarus to Pontius’s for a cup of wine. This early not even Gabba was in evidence and the place was empty, but I wanted absolute privacy for the next bit, so we carried the winecups - and some bread and cheese; there hadn’t been much time for breakfast - outside onto the terrace.
‘You didn’t think Bucca was responsible from the beginning,’ Clarus said as we settled down at one of the tables. ‘For killing the woman, I mean.’
‘No.’ I took a sip of the wine.
‘Then who was?’
‘Quintus Acceius.’
He stared at me. ‘What?’
‘I know why, too. And who she was. Not her name, just who she was.’
‘Corvinus, I’m sorry, but you’re not making sense.’
‘She was Senecio’s sister. Or his wife, or his girlfriend, or whatever. Senecio’s something.’
He sat back. ‘Ah.’
‘“Ah” is right, pal. The bastard lied to us from start to finish. He wasn’t attacked by a man at all; he was attacked by a woman. The attacker didn’t run off; he killed her and dumped her body in Bucca’s yard.’
‘But Acceius wasn’t attacked anywhere near Bucca’s! He’d’ve had to lug the corpse all the way across town!’
‘Who says where he was attacked?’ I paused for the penny to drop. ‘Right. Acceius does. No one else, there were no witnesses. Just like we’ve only got his word for what happened. Oh, sure, he’d have to cross town to get to your father’s, bleeding like a pig all the way, I never said it was easy. But at least he’d have his story, and if the body was discovered and the whistle blown the Caba gate would be a quarter of a mile off.’
‘It was still a risk. A small town like Castrimoenium, with an attack and a death on the same night. The two would have to be put together.’
‘You’re not thinking, pal. Of course they would, they have been. Acceius couldn’t do a thing about that; the killing was by no choice of his, it wasn’t planned, all he could do was cover the best he could at the time, and that wasn’t much. Me, I think he did bloody well, under the circumstances.’
‘All right.’ Clarus hadn’t touched his wine: like Alexis, he wasn’t a drinker. ‘What happened?’
‘The woman - we don’t know her name, call her Nemesis - had been following him ever since Senecio died, waiting her chance; I knew that, he told me himself he had the feeling he was
being watched. Now I don’t know the exact circumstances - that’s something we’ll have to get from the bugger himself - but I’d guess he kept to the truth as far as he could, so I’d bet he was coming back from seeing a client. Only the client was somewhere up by the Caba gate, not the Bovillan. Then things happened like he told us: Nemesis was waiting in ambush, she came out of an alleyway as he passed and stabbed him. The difference was, he didn’t slug her - he couldn’t’ve done, because her face wasn’t marked - but he did catch at the necklace round her neck and strangle her.’
‘Hold on, Corvinus. You said he was keeping to the truth as far as he could. So why not just say there was a struggle, the attacker dropped the knife and ran away? Why invent the punch?’
‘Because Acceius is a smart cookie. The guy thinks, even when he’s desperate, as he had to be. Thinks on his feet, too; he has to, he’s a forensic lawyer. If Nemesis’s body was found - as it was - with no signs of a hefty punch to the face that’d be another reason for claiming she and the fictional attacker were different people. Not much of a reason, sure, but it’d help, and he’d need every edge he could get. Acceius was careful to tell us he’d really socked the man, remember, probably knocked out or damaged a few teeth. My bet is that after the woman was dead he bruised his own knuckles against the wall to give the story credence. Possible? You’re the medical expert.’
‘Possible. Dad might’ve seen a difference, sure, if he’d treated the damage, but he didn’t bother. Not with that slice to the side and back to worry about.’
‘Right.’ I took a swallow of the wine. ‘Then there was the real poser, the problem of the body. Now that’s the really interesting part. The guy’s been attacked, knifed. He’s killed the attacker, fine, but he’s a lawyer, he knows all about killing in self-defence. Like when he killed Senecio. And there’d be no question that he had been attacked and that the intention was murder, not with the wound he’s carrying, so legally he’s safe enough. But what does he do? He doesn’t yell for help or hammer on the first available door. Instead, he lugs the corpse into Bucca’s yard and dumps it, then drags himself all the way across town practically past his own front door just to pretend he was nowhere near the fucking place. Now unless he’s got something major to hide, and I’d bet a rotten fig to a flask of Caecuban that he has, that is weird.’
Illegally Dead (Marcus Corvinus Book 12) Page 18