Old Bones (Marcus Corvinus Book 5)

by David Wishart

  I grinned. 'The last I heard you were all for the case being solved. You changed your mind or something?'

  'No. But I have been thinking things over and I'm simply putting them into perspective.' Perilla took a sip of her grape juice. 'Certainly Papatius is the prime suspect, and he may well be guilty, but his guilt is by no means either self-evident or proven. It involves too many assumptions based on too few facts.'

  'Yeah.' I shifted on the couch. 'That's the problem I'm having. Even given that Navius and Thupeltha were an item and that Papatius had both an opportunity and a motive, two things still jar. First, why Clusinus's property?'

  'Pardon?'

  'Come on, Perilla! If the two were screwing then why choose there to do it? Papatius's farm and Navius's share a boundary. They could've met somewhere along that stretch, or anywhere either side of it. Why go in the other direction and risk a third party muscling in?'

  'Privacy? You said yourself that Clusinus's farm is quite wild. And by all reports he doesn't spend all that much time there.'

  'Fine. But if they wanted privacy then all they'd have to do would be go up into the hills. You're begging the question. Clusinus's was a conscious choice. I'm asking you why.'

  'I don't know. You're the sleuth.'

  I frowned. 'Problem is, if Thupeltha's the girlfriend and not Vesia then I don't have an answer either.'

  'What was the second thing?'

  'The Gruesomes said the affair'd been going on for a year, minimum. So if they are right and Papatius topped the guy because of it then why has it taken him so long?'

  'Perhaps he didn't know.'

  'It's possible. But in a small place like Vetuliscum? And with folk like Tanaquil and Ramutha ready to drop some pretty big hints?'

  'All right. Then perhaps he was making his mind up to it.'

  'Perilla, this is the guy who's already supposed to have broken a butcher's neck for him. And even if that was an accident there's the business of the loose-mouthed lout from Pyrgi. Papatius is no shrinking violet. Maiming-stroke-killing his wife's lover right off or holding back for a month or so I could understand; but brooding over it for a year? No way. Besides, there's another reason why he wouldn't've done it at any time.'

  'And that is?'

  'Nepos told me the land and the wineshop are in Thupeltha's name. As things are, as a team they've got a good thing going. Papatius is no sponger, he pulls more than his weight growing the vines and making the wine, but when it comes down to it his wife holds the purse strings.'

  Perilla stared at me. 'You're saying Papatius knew?'

  'About the affair? Sure. Or at least it wouldn't surprise me.'

  'And he let it go on?

  'Lady, this is the country, remember; land's important, priorities are different. As a couple they're doing well. If Papatius kicked up a stink or forced a break then they'd both lose out, sure, but he'd be the harder hit. He wouldn't be the first husband who's turned a blind eye for reasons of his own.'

  Perilla was quiet for a long time. Then she said: 'I suppose it does make some sort of sense. But what kind of man would tolerate a situation like that?'

  I shrugged. 'Like I say, it's a question of priorities. And if Thupeltha was discreet, like she seems to have been, then there's no reason why it shouldn't go on indefinitely.'

  'Marcus, theory's one thing, proof's another. How do you go about proving something like that?'

  'Simple.' I drained the cup and got to my feet. 'I talk to the lady.'

  'Now?'

  'Why not? Besides, if anyone knows what actually happened in this business it's Thupeltha. The sooner I have a word with her the better.’

  This time I walked. It was a glorious day, and although the countryside isn't my bag a quiet stroll followed by a jug of good wine and a chat with a good-looking woman aren't to be sneered at. Murder investigation or not, I was looking forward to this.

  If Papatius had been around I'd've put things off, naturally, but there was no sign of him. Mamilius neither: the terrace was empty. I went inside.

  Thupeltha was standing by the kitchen table, skinning a hare. She looked up at me and frowned. I caught a strong whiff of perfume, the cheap-and-cheerful stuff you can buy in any small town for a silver piece the pint that smells like dried lavender with overtones of cat.

  'Wine?' she said.

  Yeah, well, we were making some progress. That was the first time I'd heard the lady speak. Maybe if I stuck around we might get the length of sentences.

  'Please,' I said. 'No hurry, though. I can wait.'

  She turned back to the hare, working its hind legs through the belly-slit. Then she took a firm hold of the neck and tugged. The skin came off with a ripping sound that set my teeth on edge. She laid the skinned animal down and wiped her hands on a scrap of bloody cloth.

  'Want to go outside while I bring it?' she said.

  'Don't bother.' There were benches against the walls with folding tables beside them. I chose the one nearest the door and sat on it. 'Here'll do fine.'

  'Suit yourself.' She dropped the cloth and collected a cup from the dresser, then pulled a wine jar from the rack on the wall and upended it into a jug with about as little effort as if the thing had been empty. Jupiter, the lady was strong! If Papatius was someone to be reckoned with then his wife wasn't far behind.

  She set the jug and cup down beside me and went back to the table. Then she picked up a cleaver and began jointing the hare as if I'd stopped existing. Yeah, well, I'd known already she was no conversationalist. This was going to be an uphill struggle. I lifted the cup and sipped.

  'Nice wine,' I said.

  The cleaver came down hard, severing the hare's spine. I waited. No other answer. I tried again.

  'The name's Marcus Corvinus. I'm looking into Attus Navius's murder.'

  'I know.' So what? her tone said, and she hadn't so much as glanced in my direction. Carefully, she put the point of the cleaver against the hare's breastbone.

  'I understand you were friendly with him.'

  The cleaver paused. Thupeltha turned round slowly, like a trireme bringing round its ram.

  'Who told you that?' she said. 'Those two old bitches down the road?'

  'Were you?'

  'Tell them from me they can stuff their long noses up their own backsides.' She pushed down hard. Bone crunched. 'As for you, you can drink up and go.'

  I sighed. 'Listen. Under normal circumstances I couldn't care less. But my stepfather's facing a murder rap, and if he didn't do it, which he didn't, then I intend to find out who did. You were the last person to see Navius alive, which makes you a prime witness. At the very least. You understand?' Her eyes shifted, but she didn't answer. She moved over to the vegetable basket by the door and pulled out a bunch of turnips. 'You were seen following him in the direction of Clusinus's farm. Half an hour later he was dead.'

  Thupeltha paused. 'You think I killed him?' she said. Her face was as expressionless as her voice.

  'No.' I laid the knife I'd got from Nepos on the table in front of me. 'You recognise this?'

  She put down the turnips and came over. I thought she'd pick the knife up but she didn't; only looked.

  'It's Attus's,' she said.

  'You're sure?'

  'I've never been one for lying, Corvinus, and I won't start now. That's Attus's knife. You can believe me or not.'

  I put the thing back in my belt. 'Okay. You know where it was found?'

  'I can guess. Between his ribs, yes?'

  Well, the lady was cool enough. 'You any idea who put it there?'

  'Of course.'

  I blinked. That had come out so flat I thought I'd misheard somehow, or she'd misunderstood the question.

  'Uh...hold on, Thupeltha,' I said. 'Are you telling me you actually saw the murder?'

  'No. I said I knew who was responsible for Attus's death. There's a difference.'

  'Okay. So who?'

  'Attus himself.'

  I sat back. 'You're claiming it
was suicide?'

  'No.'

  'Jupiter, lady! Then what..?'

  Her thick lips twisted in a grin. 'I'm not claiming it was suicide. I'm telling you it was.'

  This was something I hadn't expected. 'Hang on,’ I said. ‘If you didn't see Navius die then how the hell do you know he killed himself?'

  She shrugged; if I hadn't known the pair had been lovers I'd've thought she couldn't care less. She pulled the turnips towards her, picked up a small vegetable knife from the table and began to top and tail them.

  'Thupeltha?' I said when it didn't look like I was going to get any more of an answer. 'What makes you so sure Navius committed suicide?'

  The blade – it was paper-thin, and honed so sharp I could've shaved with it – slipped through the turnip's flesh like a sigh.

  'Because when he left me he said that was what he was going to do.'

  8.

  'You want to tell me about it from the beginning?' I said quietly.

  Another shrug; I had the idea that whatever I suggested would be received with the same total lack of interest. She pulled up a stool and sat down. The stool creaked beneath her weight.

  'The cats are quite right,' she said. 'The affair started eighteen months ago, at the Spring Festival.'

  'Who started it?'

  She smiled, suddenly and unexpectedly. Helen might've smiled like that when Paris suggested a trip to Troy. She'd've been a few stones lighter, mind, but the effect would've been the same. I felt my hair crinkle. 'He did,' she said. 'Let's get that clear from the start. I'm no cradle-snatcher.'

  I nodded. Yeah, that made sense. It fitted in with the picture I was building up of Attus Navius, too: 'He made the running all the way, right?'

  'Not all the way. He was a nice enough boy, good-looking, very polite. To me, at least. And he was good in bed, too, when we got that far. Which was about three days in.'

  'Uh-huh.' I sipped my wine and tried to match her matter-of-fact tone. 'Did your husband know what was going on?'

  'Naturally. I told him myself. I always do.'

  Gods! 'And he didn't mind?'

  She sighed. 'Corvinus, understand this. All Larth is interested in are his vines. Or my vines, if we want to be accurate. We don't sleep together. I won't say we never have, but it hasn't happened all that often because Larth just isn't that way inclined. Or any other way for that matter, if that's what you're thinking.'

  'You have an arrangement.'

  'We have an arrangement. I'm up front with him, I never take more than one lover at a time and in every other way I'm a good wife. In return he leaves me alone and spends his time making the best wine in the district from my grapes.'

  'Sounds like a fair bargain to me.'

  'Don't sneer. It suits both of us and we're happy enough. Larth's only interfered once, and he was quite right to do so.'

  'The butcher from Caere?'

  'Juno, you have been busy! The cats again, was it?' I didn't answer. 'That's right. The man's name was Marcus Poetelius, not that it matters. He couldn't keep his mouth shut.'

  'So your husband shut it for him?'

  She ignored me. 'That's my first condition, and his. The second is that there's no long-term commitment either side. Poetelius broke the rules.'

  'What about gossip?'

  'There's always gossip, however careful you are. I don't mind it, within reason, and nor does Larth. If it gives sad old women like the cats any fun then they're welcome. Men are a different thing. If Larth heard a man say one word against me, or even heard of it, he'd kill him. Everyone around here knows that, and the threat's enough.'

  'Only with this guy Poetelius it wasn't.'

  'No.' That was all, but the implication was clear. Jupiter, this was weird.

  'So Navius broke the rules as well,' I said quietly.

  'Attus was no braggart. Not by nature, at least.'

  'The second of the conditions, then. He wanted a long-term commitment.'

  She nodded. 'You're clever, Corvinus,' she said. 'Very clever. Yes. He wanted me to divorce Papatius and marry him.'

  'And when you refused he threatened to kill himself.'

  'He did more than threaten. I told you.'

  'Yeah.' I took a sip of wine. It tasted sour. 'One question. Where did this happen?'

  Her eyes shifted. 'A few hundred yards down from where he was found. There's a grove of holm-oaks just –'

  'Yeah. I know where you are. You met there often?'

  For the first time she looked uncomfortable. 'No.'

  'So why this time?' No answer. 'Was it your choice or his?'

  'It was mine.'

  There was something wrong here. Thupeltha might not be lying but she wasn't telling the whole truth, either. I was being deliberately shut out of a whole chunk of the story, and whatever that was it was crucial.

  A different venue, not Navius's choice, on someone else's land...

  ...and then I had it. Shit! I'd been a fool!

  'You hadn't gone there to meet Navius at all,' I said. 'You'd gone to see Clusinus.'

  There was a long silence. Finally, Thupeltha got up, walked towards the door and leaned against the jamb with her back to me.

  'Clever's right,' she said.

  'One lover at a time. You'd already given Navius the brush-off and Clusinus was the guy's replacement. Navius knew, and he didn't like it. He followed you and tried to persuade you to change your mind.'

  She still hadn't turned. 'He'd been working in the corner of his property beside the road,' she said. Her voice was flat, expressionless. 'He saw me leave. I didn't see him until I was at the grove.'

  'Was Clusinus there already?'

  'No. I was early. I turned round and there he was.'

  'And then you had your argument and the kid threatened to kill himself.' She nodded. 'He make any other threats?'

  She went very still. 'Such as what?'

  'To make a meal of the situation in public. To blow the whistle on you and Clusinus.'

  She whipped round, glaring. 'Why should he do that?'

  'Jealousy's a good enough reason, lady.' I held her eyes. 'And I get the impression it's the sort of thing he might do.'

  'He might. Or might've done, rather. But in the event he didn't, did he?'

  That came out cold as a Riphaean winter. Gods, the poor bastard!

  'Okay,' I said. 'What happened next?'

  'When he saw I wasn't going to change my mind he left me and ran off. That was the last I saw of him.'

  'Uh-huh. And what –?'

  She put a finger to her lips and glanced quickly over her shoulder. A man came in, pushing past her like she was just an obstacle in the way; the bald-headed guy I'd seen fixing the vine. He was carrying a truss of early grapes. He set them on the table, nodded to me but ignored Thupeltha, then fetched a cup from the dresser and poured wine into it direct from the flask. I noticed he lifted it easily with one hand.

  Thupeltha had picked up her knife again and was back to slicing turnips.

  'Nice day,' I said.

  Papatius grunted, sat down and drank. Obviously a born communicator like his wife.

  'The name's Valerius Corvinus.' I waited. Nothing. 'Helvius Priscus's stepson.'

  'Is that so?' The tone showed he'd have been just about as interested if I'd said my name was Tiberius Caesar.

  'I've been asking your wife some questions about Attus Navius.' Thupeltha's eyes flicked up, then down again. She went over to the unlit stove and began laying it with sticks and charcoal. 'She's been very helpful.'

  'Navius is dead. There's an end of it.' Papatius drained his cup and got up to pour another. Deliberately, I leaned back so that the knife in my belt was visible. Papatius glanced at it without interest, then away. He came back to the bench and sat down.

  'Yeah,' I said. 'That's the point, pal. Only there are different kinds of dead, and I'm still not sure which category he fits into, murdered or suicide.'

  'You say you've asked Thupeltha. She'll've told you
clear enough.' He took a swallow of wine. 'The boy killed himself.'

  I emptied my own cup and refilled it from the jug. 'Yeah, well, that's still a moot point. Sure, he might've threatened it, but no one saw him actually die. Or did they?'

  He set the cup down slowly. 'What do you mean?'

  'Vipena's sisters saw you follow him up the road towards Clusinus's place. I just thought maybe you might've –'

  I stopped. Thupeltha's head had come up and she was staring at Papatius, her mouth open.

  She hadn't known! Thupeltha hadn't known!

  Papatius didn't move. He didn't look at Thupeltha, either; his eyes were fixed on me.

  'Maybe I might've what, Corvinus?' he said. His voice was level; too level.

  My brain was racing. 'Seen something,' I said.

  'I was going that way, sure.' He was looking at me like he would've cheerfully hauled out my guts and strangled me with them; he could've done it, too. 'But I wasn't following Navius. I was on my way into Caere. If it's any business of yours. And I didn't see nothing.'

  'Yeah. Yeah, right. That's fine, pal. It was just an idea.'

  'Then another time keep your ideas to yourself.'

  'I'll do that. I most certainly will.' I finished off the cup and got to my feet; there was still a quarter of the jug left, but I'd got what I came for and I had the impression I'd outstayed my welcome. Papatius hadn't moved, but he was sending out what definitely felt like bad vibes. 'Thanks. I'll see you around.'

  I'd got as far as the door when Thupeltha called out:

  'Corvinus!'

  I turned. 'Yeah?'

  'That'll be a silver piece. For the wine.'

  'Oh. Right. Sure.' I took the coin out of my purse and laid it on the table. 'Nice talking to you both.'

  There was no answer from either of them. I left.

  I was sorry I wasn't a fly on the wall. With me out of the way the next ten minutes would've been interesting.

  . . .

  As I walked back, I thought about where all that had got me, apart from within spitting distance of a few busted ribs. Sure, Navius could've killed himself like Thupeltha had said. Suicide made a lot of sense; all there was against it as a solution was its simplicity, and I wasn't stupid enough or vain enough to take that as a valid argument. It fitted with the nature of the wound, for a start – I wouldn't care to slit my throat myself, and cutting your wrists is messy and too long-drawn-out – and also with Navius's character, as far as I'd been able to piece it out. Killing himself was just the sort of stupid thing the moonstruck young bubblehead might've done, and he'd had the knife to do it with. Last but not least, he'd told Thupeltha he was going to finish things, and whatever faults that lady had I didn't think lying was one of them. Not out of any moral compunction, mind; the bitch just couldn't be bothered to make the effort.