Solid Citizens

by David Wishart

  I sighed. ‘Come on, pal! I’m not asking you to make an accusation, but I need somewhere to start. What about a straightforward mugging? That’s the most likely solution.’

  Nerva shook his head. ‘Unfortunately, it isn’t – in fact it’s most improbable. A mugging might well happen in Rome, yes, but not in Bovillae. We have our share of crime, certainly, but not that sort. Besides, his purse was still on his belt.’

  ‘So it was deliberate. He was targeted.’ No answer, but the guy was looking more and more uncomfortable. ‘Fine. So what about enemies? Who did he know locally who might want him dead?’

  Nerva bridled. ‘Really, Corvinus! I already said Bovillae isn’t Rome. Quintus Caesius was a highly respected and respectable member of the community, and a major public figure. He didn’t mix with people of that stamp. And our prominent citizens do not go around committing murder!’

  Jupiter. Not a flicker to show he was aware of a contradiction here. Still, that was par for the course where good old-fashioned Romans like Silius Nerva were concerned. I closed my eyes briefly. ‘OK,’ I said. ‘No problem. I’ll put it another way. Had he had any recent quarrels that you know about? Any violent disagreements?’ He hesitated. ‘Come on! You’re not helping here!’

  ‘There was the incident with Quintus Roscius, naturally. It was a disagreement, yes, if you care to use that word. But it wasn’t violent.’

  ‘Suppose you tell me about it.’

  ‘It happened two days before the murder, in the main street. Roscius came up to Caesius and they … had words.’

  ‘About what? And who’s this Roscius?’

  ‘One of the local small farmers.’ Nerva was looking embarrassed again. ‘Caesius is – was – in property. Buying and selling. As I understand it he and Roscius had a business arrangement and there had been some disagreement over the interpretation of the terms.’

  ‘More specifically?’

  ‘I’m sorry, Corvinus, I can’t help you there. You’d have to ask the fellow yourself. He’s quite easy to find – in fact, you’d pass the end of the track up to his farm on the way into Bovillae from here, just before the town limits.’

  Can’t help you or won’t help you? Me, I was inclined to the latter. I’d the distinct feeling that this case was showing all the signs of closing ranks and dragging feet. Caesius had been very much one of the local Great and Good, and these guys have Principles, very much with the capital attached: they don’t peach on their own, particularly where a bit of sharp practice or a slightly dubious business deal is concerned. You never knew when it might get reciprocated and you’d find yourself shopped down the river.

  ‘OK,’ I said. ‘So tell me more about Caesius himself. Married? Family man?’

  ‘He was married, until a few months ago when his wife died. There were no children.’

  ‘So who inherits?’

  Another hesitation, this time with a pursing of the lips. ‘His younger brother, I suppose. Lucius. But you’d have to ask Publius Novius about that. Novius is—’

  ‘The family lawyer.’

  He looked surprised. ‘You know him?’

  ‘We’ve met.’ Yeah, although maybe collided was a better word. I’d run into Novius a year or so back, in connection with the Lucius Hostilius business. He might not be an actual crook – the jury was still out on that one – but he certainly wasn’t above a bit of legal skulduggery when he thought he could get away with it.

  ‘Oh, excellent!’ Nerva had brightened; this was the way things should go, with the Old Pals’ network swinging into smooth operation and no embarrassing slugs in the salad of life. ‘Then there should be no problem. He’s a splendid fellow, isn’t he, old Publius; one of the best. Marvellous for his age, and very helpful.’

  ‘Yeah. So I found.’ I kept the dryness and sarcasm out of my voice. ‘Anything else you can tell me?’ In addition to the miserable pittance I’ve finally managed to screw out of you, you closed-mouthed bastard. Gods!

  ‘No. No, I don’t think so. Or nothing of much importance, anyway. You’ll take the case for us?’

  ‘Yeah. I’ll come over to Bovillae and ask a few questions, if you like. Starting tomorrow.’

  ‘Splendid!’ He got to his feet, looking relieved. I half-expected him to wash his hands in the ornamental pool. ‘Anything more I can do to help, just ask. I’m an easy man to find.’

  ‘Actually, there’s something now,’ I said. ‘I’ll need Caesius’s address, so I can have a word with his major-domo.’ A good rule, when you’re digging the dirt, is to talk early on to the bought help. Caesius’s major-domo might not be too forthcoming in the event – there was such a thing as loyalty – but he would sure as hell know about his master’s private concerns, if anyone did.

  ‘Yes, of course,’ Nerva said. ‘It’s in town, the big old house near the Arician Gate. Easy to find. The major-domo’s name is Anthus. Not that he’ll be able to tell you much.’

  Par for the course, so far. Ah, well.

  ‘Thanks, pal,’ I said. ‘I’ll be in touch.’

  We shook hands and he left quickly, oozing relief from every pore in his not-inconsiderable body.

  Now I had to break the news to Perilla. The hard ones first.

  She got back about an hour later, with Marilla and – unfortunately – Placida. The hellhound did her usual haven’t-seen-you-for-years dash at me, put her paws on my chest and licked my face. I fended her off.

  ‘Don’t encourage her, Corvinus,’ Marilla said. ‘She’s not really supposed to be in here before she’s had a bath. She found something dead up by the Maecilius place and rolled in it before we could stop her.’

  Aaargh! Mind you, in our brief bout of physical contact I’d sort of half-concluded that already. Plus from the smell of her breath she’d gone on to eat most of it after she’d finished. Ah, the joys of owning a dog. If, indeed, Placida qualified as such, which I doubted. Me, I’d put her in a category that included the Lernaean Hydra myself.

  Perilla had grabbed her by the collar and hauled her back.

  ‘Lupercus? If you would?’ she said through gritted teeth, the major-domo having edged in behind them. ‘Quickly, please!’ The brute’s claws scrabbled on the marble floor tiles and the panting and slavering grew more frantic.

  ‘Certainly, madam.’

  Placida was removed, and fresh air returned slowly to the world.

  ‘So.’ Perilla took a deep breath and gave me a brittle smile. ‘How was your morning, dear? Did you have a nice time?’

  ‘Uh, it was OK. Quiet.’

  ‘But Lupercus said that you had a visitor.’

  Bugger! How had the blabbermouth managed to squeeze that one in between opening the front door and hauling off our ballistic boarhound? ‘Ah … Yeah. Come to mention it, I did at that.’

  ‘A senator from Bovillae, no less. What did he want?’

  There was no escape, so I told her the basics while she sat down on the other couch and stared at me. Hard.

  ‘Oh, Marcus!’ she said when I’d finished. ‘Not just before the Winter Festival! We’re on holiday! And you said you’d do it, I suppose? Look into things for them?’

  ‘More or less. It was sort of difficult to refuse.’

  ‘Why would you want to do that?’ Marilla was perched on the third couch, grinning. ‘I think it’s fantastic. Clarus will, too. And of course if you need any help …’

  ‘No,’ I said firmly. ‘I will not need any help. Besides, it happened over in Bovillae.’

  ‘That’s only four miles away. And Clarus knows people there. We could …’

  ‘No. That’s final.’ Jupiter! Marriage hadn’t cured the ghoulish streak in her, anyway. ‘I can handle this perfectly well on my own, Princess. Just forget it, right?’

  ‘We’ve got your mother and Priscus arriving, too,’ Perilla said. ‘Marcus, I do wish you’d think before you agree to things and upset all the arrangements. I mean, it’s only a murder after all.’

  Said without a blink. So
metimes I wonder about the lady’s sense of priorities. ‘Look, Perilla …’

  Bathyllus shimmered in. This business of having two major-domos in the house simultaneously was going to be confusing, particularly since each of them ignored the other’s existence. Still, I supposed Lupercus had his hands full at present with fumigating the hellhound, and we’d brought it on ourselves.

  ‘Lunch is served,’ he said.

  ‘Good. I’m starving,’ Marilla said. ‘Any sign of Clarus, Bathyllus? He said he might be back.’

  ‘No, madam. He sent word to say he’d be delayed and you were to start without him.’

  Madam. We were getting the perfect butler act here. I suspected the little guy was making a point: where savoir-faire and a general awareness of what was Done and Not Done went, some major-domos had what it took in spades, while others were only fit to sluice down the dog. I grinned at him and got a poached-egg-eyed stare back.

  ‘Yes, sir?’ he said. ‘Did you wish to comment?’

  ‘No, Bathyllus. Lunch it is.’

  We went through to put on the nosebag. As to the murder, when push came to shove I wasn’t particularly worried. The lady would come round, Festival or no: Perilla couldn’t resist a case, any more than I could. The difference was that she would never admit it.

  It was only a matter of time, really.

  TWO

  I rode over to Bovillae mid-morning the next day, wearing my heaviest cloak because it was raining cats and dogs, with a cutting wind from the north. Par for the course: the weather had been unsettled for days now, with rain being the default. Not my favourite Winter Festival weather, by a long chalk.

  Nerva had said that Quintus Roscius, the guy who’d had the set-to with Caesius in the street a couple of days before he died, owned a farm on the Castrimoenian side of town. I passed quite a few tracks on the way – most of the rural properties in the Alban Hills are smallholdings, those that haven’t been bought up by wealthy punters from Rome and converted into luxury homes-from-home, that is – but there was no indication as to which one was his. Besides, it was a case of first things first. Roscius and his spat with the dead man could wait until I’d had a talk with the brothel-keeper.

  I reached Bovillae, left my horse – not my usual mare, who was back in Rome, but the quietest nag I could find in the villa’s stable – at the snazzy drinking trough on the edge of the market square, and got directions to the brothel from the first likely looking passer-by. It turned out to be quite close, in one of the side streets a bit further along the main drag, just past the burned-out shell of a large building with a weed-strewn courtyard and, from the carved-phallus plaque by the door and the graffiti on the surrounding masonry, easy to identify. I knocked – these places are open all hours, to catch the passing trade – and was let in by the door slave.

  ‘Boss around, pal?’ I said. ‘I’m not a customer. It’s business.’

  ‘I’ll check, sir,’ he said. ‘If you’d like to wait here?’

  ‘No problem.’

  He padded away into the interior. I took off my sodden travelling cloak, hung it up to drip on one of the pegs behind the door, and cast an assessing eye over the lobby itself. The decoration was predictable stuff, at least the painting on the main wall was, a frieze of self-consciously bare-breasted dancing girls brandishing tambourines above their heads and wearing what looked like fringed bootlaces round their middles. Someone had scrawled a graffito in the corner recommending Phyllis. I hoped she wasn’t the squint-eyed one immediately above the lettering, but if the frieze was intended to show who the establishment had on offer it was so old and worn that in any case the lady was probably a grandmother by now. Upmarket here we definitely weren’t. Still, Bovillae was only a provincial town with a limited clientele, so you couldn’t expect too much.

  The slave came padding back. He was at least as old as the frieze.

  ‘The mistress says that’ll be fine, sir,’ he said. ‘If you’d like to follow me I’ll take you to her.’

  We went down a corridor with doors on either side. One of them opened as we passed, and a girl in the obligatory bootlace but without a tambourine looked out briefly, grunted, and shut it again. At the end of the corridor, before it took a turn to the left, the old guy stopped and opened the final door.

  ‘Here we are,’ he said. ‘Just go in.’

  After the lobby I hadn’t been expecting anything fancy, but I was met with a comfortable, well-lit sitting room hardly bigger than a cubbyhole, most of which was taken up by a couch with a woman lying on it reading a book. Not a bad looker, late thirties, well made up and wearing an impressively coiffured wig, with a Coan silk scarf wrapped round her neck.

  The woman laid the book on the table. The scarf slipped down a little as she bent forward, and in the light from the lamps I caught a glimpse of the scar tissue it covered, the red, puckered flesh of a serious burn. It wasn’t, from the look of it, all that old either.

  ‘This’ll be about the murder, will it?’ she said.

  Business-like and to the point. ‘Yeah, that’s right,’ I said.

  ‘I was expecting someone to drop round. Pull over that stool behind you, sit down and make yourself comfortable.’ I did. ‘Carillus, the customer in Number Five’s time is up. Give him a knock in passing, please.’

  ‘Yes, madam.’ The old guy closed the door at my back. I could hear him shuffling off back down the corridor, then the sound of a double-knock.

  The woman was giving me a long appraising look.

  ‘You aren’t local, are you?’ she said finally.

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘The name’s Marcus Corvinus. I’m just visiting from Rome. Castrimoenium, not Bovillae.’

  ‘Mm.’ I had the feeling she was filing the information away carefully for future reference, and her eyes hadn’t moved from my face. ‘Pleased to meet you. I’m Andromeda. Opilia Andromeda.’ A freedwoman; yeah, well, it made sense for a brothel-keeper, although I’d’ve thought she was pretty young not only to have her freedom but to be the owner of a business into the bargain. ‘So why you, Marcus Corvinus?’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘As someone to be looking into a Bovillan murder. Why a visitor?’

  I shrugged. ‘Because Silius Nerva of the local senate asked me to.’

  I got the distinct impression that the answer hadn’t satisfied her, which was fair enough because it didn’t really say anything. Still, the really interesting thing was that she’d asked the question. I gestured at the book beside her.

  ‘Anything interesting?’ I said.

  She frowned. ‘Oh, just a bit of Alexandrian froth. I need to be here all day to keep an eye on things, and I have to pass the time somehow.’

  Yeah, right. Only I’d caught a glimpse of the tag on the roller before she’d put the book down, and it’d looked more like a copy of Plato’s Gorgias to me. In the original. Sure, it was none of my business how she spent her mornings, and she could read what she liked as far as I was concerned, but even so it was interesting that she’d taken the trouble to lie. I filed that one away on my own account.

  ‘Well, then.’ She raised herself on the couch and turned to face me fully. ‘Back to the business of the old man’s murder. What do you want to know?’

  ‘Anything and everything you can tell me.’

  ‘Such as what, to start with?’

  ‘Was he a regular customer?’

  ‘Over the past two or three months, yes, fairly regular. Before that, only occasionally.’

  ‘The past two or three months? Why just then?’

  ‘His wife died in September. That could have been the reason – it sometimes is, with a certain type of client – but I really can’t say for definite.’

  Delivered coldly and clinically. She could’ve been a doctor giving a case history. ‘He was, uh, quite active for his age, then?’ I said. Nerva hadn’t told me what that had been, but if he’d been elected censor he must’ve been touching sixty, at least, and she’d referred t
o him as an old man, so it seemed a logical deduction.

  ‘Well, now, Corvinus.’ Andromeda smiled and lowered her head. ‘That isn’t a question I can answer personally. You’d have to ask Lydia.’

  ‘Who’s Lydia?’

  ‘His favourite partner. Oh, he’d go with one of the others willingly enough when she wasn’t available, but he always asked for her.’

  ‘Was she the girl he was with the evening he died?’

  ‘Yes, that’s right.’

  ‘Could I talk to her now?’

  ‘Certainly, if you want. She’s occupied at present, but she shouldn’t be long. When you’ve finished with me I’ll fetch her for you.’

  ‘Thanks. That’d be great.’

  ‘So.’ Her hand went to the silk scarf, and she tugged it back down until it covered her lower neck completely. ‘What can I tell you myself?’

  ‘Just the basic background details would be useful. Nerva didn’t give me any of those.’

  ‘Yes, well, he wouldn’t, would he?’ She smiled. ‘All this is so dreadfully sordid and embarrassing for him and his cronies in the senate, is it not? A prominent man like Quintus Caesius being found dead outside a brothel.’ I said nothing. ‘Which details did you want exactly?’

  ‘The time frame, for a start. When did he arrive and leave?’

  ‘He arrived just after sunset and left about an hour later.’

  ‘That his usual time for visiting?’

  ‘Yes. Or perhaps slightly earlier than usual. He never came before sunset, when the shops in the alleyway were open and there would be people to see and recognize him. A very cautious man, Quintus Caesius. One of his most signal traits.’ This time she didn’t smile, but it was there in her eyes.

  ‘And he always left through the back door?’

  Andromeda laughed. ‘But of course! Corvinus, he was a highly respected and very familiar public figure! Cloaked and hooded or not, there was always a chance that he’d be known. He came in that way, too, by arrangement. It’s very private; if you’d carried on past this room and round the corner you would’ve seen that for yourself.’