Solid Citizens

by David Wishart

  ‘Wrong,’ Clarus said.

  ‘What? Why?’

  ‘Corvinus, Lucius is an old man. Oh, yes, he could’ve killed Caesius, given a weapon, but not in the way Marilla describes. At least, I don’t think so. So in his case we’re back to the weapon problem.’

  ‘It could have been both of them, of course,’ Marilla said, ruminatively taking another bite of her sandwich. ‘After all, they left the wine shop together, didn’t they?’

  ‘Yeah, they did,’ I said. It was a fair point, and it’d make sense, too: both would’ve had to walk past the alleyway to get where they were headed, Lucius to his room above the bakery and Roscius because it was in the direction of the Tiburtine Gate, so the chances were that if they’d left the wine shop in company when they got to the alley they’d still be together. And if they’d just spent the evening slagging off their mutual bugbear Caesius, which seemed the most likely topic of conversation between the pair of them, then the bond of solidarity would already have been forged …

  Uh-huh. I’d go for that, certainly as a working theory. I turned to Perilla. ‘What do you think, lady? Possible?’

  She reached for her cup of fruit juice.

  ‘It might be,’ she said frostily. ‘I’m not going to speculate, dear. The three of you seem to be managing quite well enough already on that score without me becoming involved.’

  I shrugged. ‘OK, suit yourself, sourpuss. But as a scenario, it’s valid. Lucius certainly has motive and to spare in his own right. Double motive, in fact: with Vatinia’s death he’s now his brother’s only heir, and he’s just been told by Novius that Caesius is cutting him loose altogether, money-wise. I’d say by the looks of the guy when I talked to him he was living right on the edge already, and without his monthly allowance he’d be up the financial creek good and proper.’ I frowned. ‘That’s an angle worth looking into, by the way. From what he said – or hinted at, anyway – most of the family’s income as such was his sister-in-law’s rather than Caesius’s. Campaigning for censor – particularly against a seriously well-off guy like Manlius, desperate for the job – won’t have been cheap. Me, I’d like to know for completeness’ sake exactly how the woman died.’

  Perilla set her cup down. ‘Marcus, that is sheer nonsense!’ she snapped. ‘You have absolutely no grounds whatsoever for even thinking that Caesius might have killed Vatinia! Nothing we know about the man suggests that he’d be capable of anything like that; they’d been married for over thirty years, happily, or reasonably so, as far as we know or can assume, and he was a long-term politician. Of course she’d support him financially in running for office! As his wife, what else would she do?’

  I smothered a smile. Got you! I knew she couldn’t keep it up. Which was partly why I’d let loose that particular lame hare in the first place. Mind you, lame or not the theory was something worth checking, just on the off-chance. I’ve always been suspicious of so-called ‘ordinary’ deaths that happen too close to murders. Also, more important now I came to think of it, Caesius as the perp wasn’t the only possibility. If Lucius had planned to kill his brother in pursuit of his inheritance, to get where he was going he would’ve had to take Vatinia out of the picture as a first stage …

  ‘Fine,’ I said. ‘Point taken, lady. Maybe it was a bit over the top, at that.’

  ‘Well, then!’

  ‘If we’re working through the suspects, what about the nephew?’ Marilla said. ‘Mettius, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Yeah.’ I picked up my wine cup and took a contemplative swallow. ‘He’s a distinct possible, too. If he’s on the level about his uncle and Caesius’s dodgy legal pal Novius cooking up the charge between them that got him relegated, then he’s got good reason to bear a grudge. Plus, of course, he’s only recently come back to the town, so the timing fits.’

  ‘That’s a bit odd in itself, isn’t it?’ Marilla said. ‘I mean, if it was me Bovillae would be the last place I’d choose to live, even when I could go back. He isn’t exactly popular locally, is he?’

  I nodded. ‘Right. Oh, sure, from what I know his mother’s still there, but there’d be nothing else to bring him. Quite the reverse. So why take the trouble to come where he’s not wanted, unless he reckons he’s got unfinished business?’

  ‘Maybe he wanted to make his peace,’ Clarus said. ‘Bury the hatchet.’

  ‘From the impression I got, pal, the only place he’d want to do that was in his uncle’s head. With Novius for seconds. Which may well be what he did, more or less. The guy’s fully capable of it, if I’m any judge.’

  ‘But why should Caesius and Novius want to fabricate a charge against him in the first place?’ Marilla again.

  I turned to Perilla. ‘You like to answer that one?’ I said easily.

  She frowned. ‘Well, it’s obvious, isn’t it? At least, the simple explanation is. Lucius claimed his father’s will disinheriting him was a forgery. It was. Mettius was working for Novius at the time. He found out and tried to blackmail the guilty parties, so they got rid of him. And we all know, don’t we, from past experience, that Novius has been involved before in dubious practices concerning a will. Not directly, admittedly, and it was suppression rather than actual forgery, but still.’

  I smiled to myself. It worked every time: give Perilla a chance to show how smart she is and she can’t resist it. Oh, it had taken a while on this occasion, sure, and it had been touch-and-go in places, but the lady had cracked in the end. It looked as if we had her with us on the team after all.

  She was all right, Perilla, at base. Besides, I’d known that she knew the answer as well as I did.

  ‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘That’s more or less how I saw things. Proving it, mind, is another story, and Mettius himself isn’t saying. Which is fair enough if the blackmail side holds good.’

  ‘But why should he do it?’ Clarus said. ‘Novius, I mean. Surely he’d be taking a terrible risk? If the truth got out then he’d be facing criminal charges himself. Caesius, too. As with Manlius and Canidius, socially at least as far as Bovillae was concerned they’d both be finished.’

  ‘Sure they would,’ I said. ‘No arguments there, let alone explanations. Still, it’s a lead to be followed.’ I reached for the wine jug and poured myself more of the Alban. ‘Getting back to Mettius himself, though, there’s one more thing that makes him a prime contender.’

  ‘Which is?’

  ‘He’s the only one on the list, as far as we know, at least, definitely to patronize the brothel. That gives him opportunity in spades, even more so than Roscius and Lucius had. If Mettius was the killer, then it clears the ground of a lot of dead wood. He could’ve been there, on the inside, the night his uncle was killed and seen him leave. He could even have planned the murder in advance, if he knew Caesius would be a visitor.’

  ‘But surely that would mean the likelihood that the brothel owner was involved.’ Perilla was twisting her lock of hair. ‘Andromeda, wasn’t it? And if so then why should she be?’

  ‘Pass, lady,’ I said. ‘Another lead to follow. They’re friendly, sure – they were together at the funeral – but whether enough to warrant her helping out with a murder is as much your guess as mine. Also, it wouldn’t have been strictly necessary. Oh, sure, on her part there’s the professional confidentiality angle, but you can get round that, easy. She couldn’t be responsible for her staff, and if the girl I talked to was anything to go by they’re not the sharpest knives in the drawer. A word in the wrong place from one of them would’ve been enough. Still, it’s early days yet. There’s a lot of digging to do before we’re done.’ I looked round; Bathyllus and Lupercus had just come in. ‘Hi, little guy.’

  ‘We were just wondering if we could clear away, sir,’ Bathyllus said. ‘If you’re finished, that is.’

  ‘Sure. Go ahead.’ We waited while they loaded the dishes on to trays, studiously – I noticed – ignoring each other. Bathyllus removed my plate and Perilla’s; Lupercus did the same with Clarus’s and Marilla’s. The se
rving ones were carefully shared, turn about. I sighed: truce it might be, but it was an uneasy one, and well on the childish side at that. Fun, fun, fun.

  ‘There’s one person you haven’t mentioned, Marcus,’ Perilla said when they’d gone. ‘The antiques collector.’

  ‘Oh, yeah. Baebius,’ I said. ‘That’s because I still don’t know anything about him, barring what his freedman in the shop told me. I was planning to get his address tomorrow, pay him a visit, see how much in the running he actually is. Mind you, I’m not hopeful. The guy sounds like another Priscus. Can you imagine Priscus stalking a rival collector and beating his skull in? Because I can’t. Mother, now, sure.’

  ‘That’s not fair, dear. Vipsania’s a perfectly charming woman, even though she can be a little … overpowering at times.’ Overpowering! Me, I’d back Mother against a German berserker swinging a battle-axe any day. She’d probably insist he go back outside and wipe his feet. Get her way, too. ‘And you may be surprised. Not all collectors are as harmless as Priscus.’

  Yeah, true. We’d just have to wait and see what tomorrow brought. In the meantime, I thought I deserved a quiet afternoon, maybe involving a stroll into town and a gossip with the punters at Pontius’s wine shop.

  I was on holiday, after all. Sleuthing isn’t everything.

  TEN

  I had a leisurely breakfast the next morning before heading into Bovillae as usual. It wasn’t far, sure, but I don’t ride by choice, and covering the eight or so miles there and back was becoming a pretty tiresome routine.

  I parked the horse by the market square water trough and set off gratefully on my own two feet. First things first: Baebius’s address. I called in at the antiques shop, renewed my acquaintance with the old freedman who ran it, and came away with directions: Baebius, it seemed, lived up at the top of town, near the Alban Lake Gate.

  Before talking to the possibly homicidal antiquities collector, though, I wanted another word with Caesius’s major-domo, Anthus, regarding the death of his ex-mistress. Oh, the probability was that everything was above board – I’d only made the suggestion that it might not be to rattle Perilla’s cage, and the dead woman must’ve been getting on a bit – but it was worth making sure. Also, there was the question of the will to pursue.

  So it was the Caesius place again first, further along the Hinge. The door slave showed me through to the atrium – the ordinary couches had been put back, now the funeral was over – and Anthus came in a couple of minutes later, wearing his squeaky-clean new freedman’s cap.

  ‘Good morning, sir,’ he said. ‘A pleasure to see you again. Presumably I can help you in some way?’

  ‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘I’m sorry to bother you again so soon, pal, but I needed some more information from you, if you can give it to me.’

  ‘Certainly. Although I’m afraid as far as the master’s death goes I can’t think what else I can tell you.’

  ‘Actually, it was your late mistress I was interested in. Vatinia, wasn’t it?’

  He looked nonplussed. ‘The mistress, sir? Why on earth would you be asking about her?’

  ‘As I said, I’m just getting as many background details as I can. Indulge me, will you?’

  ‘If you insist. But …’

  ‘She was younger than your master, was she?’

  ‘By a few years, yes, but not many. Four or five, I think.’

  ‘And they were married for, what, thirty-five years, wasn’t it?’

  ‘That’s correct, sir.’

  ‘So she must’ve been well into her twenties at the time? Isn’t that a bit late for a marriage?’

  ‘The lady had been married previously, but her first husband had died. A summer fever. That marriage was childless, too.’

  ‘So she was a wealthy widow, right?’

  ‘Moderately wealthy.’ He was beginning to give me funny looks, and I wondered how far I could push this without him clamming up on me. ‘She was from a good family in Aricia, and her former husband owned quite a bit of property in Rome which of course she inherited at his death. He and the master had known each other through their shared business interests for some considerable time, so naturally their relationship was a long-standing one.’

  ‘Fine.’ I paused; this next bit was the really tricky part. ‘Her, uh, death three months ago come as a surprise, at all?’

  He frowned, but answered readily enough. ‘No, except that it was so long delayed. The mistress was never a well lady, even when she was first married. Her heart was weak, and in the last ten years or so she was a chronic invalid. The doctor said it was a marvel she lasted as long as she did.’

  Hell. That scotched that idea, then, at least as anything but an outside bet: thirty-five years was thirty-five years, and if Caesius had married her with an eye to her money knowing she was a bit tottery on her perch and not been averse to giving her a shove he’d taken his time in doing it. And if the death was a natural one it put the mockers on any involvement on Lucius’s part, too. Still, it made for one oddity. ‘I understand from your master’s lawyer, Publius Novius, that he hadn’t made a will to replace the original one of thirty-odd years back, naming her as his heir,’ I said. ‘Is that right?’

  ‘Yes. To the best of my knowledge.’

  ‘You don’t find that a little unusual? After all, the chances were that he’d outlive her.’

  Anthus was still frowning. ‘It’s not my place to say, sir. Or within my competence.’

  ‘Maybe not. But you’re the best person to ask. And it might be important.’

  ‘Very well. If it will help, then certainly.’ He hesitated, as if he was choosing his words carefully. ‘He … the master was a deeply private man, with very few friends. I don’t mean that in a derogatory way, not at all; it’s a simple fact. Oh, he was certainly no recluse; he had a great number of acquaintances, and he and the mistress when she was alive and able had a very busy social life. But none of them, even the closest, were really intimate, if you understand me.’ I nodded. ‘They were most of them very much part of his public rather than his private life. And to the master, sir, as you must always remember, his public life was everything. As far as family went, apart from the mistress there was no one at all close. Quite the opposite, as you know yourself.’

  ‘Meaning his brother and his nephew.’

  ‘Exactly.’ He ducked his head. ‘I’m sorry. I’m being long-winded and possibly unclear, but what I’m saying really does answer your question. The result of all this was that, although he may have recognized that not to make another will was short-sighted at best, there was no one – family member or close friend – whom he could conscientiously name as heir.’

  Yeah; that was more or less what Novius had told me. Even so …

  ‘Even so,’ I said aloud, ‘the result’s been that his brother inherits the property. Which, naturally, would now include your mistress’s estate as well.’

  ‘Indeed.’

  ‘He must’ve known that would happen, and the two of them had no time for each other. Your master, so Lucius tells me, had even cancelled his allowance recently. Yet he deliberately let things slide, meaning his brother gets the whole boiling after all, both his money and his late wife’s. I’m sorry, pal, but to me that doesn’t make any sort of sense.’

  Anthus hesitated again. ‘May I speak freely? Far more freely than I have a right to do?’

  ‘Sure. Go ahead.’

  ‘It’s only an idea that I have. I’ve nothing to base it on, and certainly nothing the master ever said to me, or in my presence, confirms it. Quite the opposite. But I did serve him all my working life, and I knew him as well as it was possible for any man. I truly think that Quintus Caesius wanted his brother to inherit. Certainly should the mistress predecease him, which as I said was more than likely.’

  He’d fazed me. ‘Uh … come again, pal?’ I said.

  ‘It may be difficult to believe, sir. But personally I’m convinced it’s the absolute truth. The master put off making a wil
l deliberately so that if he died first then everything would go to Lucius.’

  ‘Anthus, that makes no sense either! If he’d wanted the guy to be his heir beyond any legal doubt he’d have written a will to that effect. It’d be simple enough.’

  The major-domo shook his head. ‘No, sir. Quintus Caesius would never, ever have done that, not under any circumstances. You misunderstand.’ He smiled. ‘Frankly, I’m not sure I understand myself, and it’s difficult even to put into words. You didn’t know the master, so of course what I’m saying wouldn’t make sense to you, but trust me it does. Despite what he said to anyone, me and the mistress included, I’m convinced that he felt responsible for his brother.’

  ‘Responsible?’

  ‘For how he’d turned out, how he led his life. I hesitate to use the words “guilt” and “atonement”, but I must. Although please keep in mind that he had – and knew he had – absolutely nothing concrete to feel guilty about or atone for. That’s just the point.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘You’ve lost me completely.’

  ‘Perhaps it’s the difference between active and passive action, sir, if there is such a term. Believe me: the master disliked and despised his brother, completely and utterly. There’s absolutely no doubt about that. He was also, in many ways, a hard-minded man, and as such had no desire to make things easy for him while he himself was alive. Quite the contrary, as his decision to terminate the allowance shows. On the other hand, if he could make amends simply by doing nothing, taking no action whatsoever, and leaving things to fate, then that was a different thing. Or perhaps he considered it as such.’ He paused. ‘I’m sorry, sir, I know I’m not expressing myself clearly, but it’s the best I can do. Perhaps it’s nonsense after all.’

  ‘No,’ I said slowly. ‘Cock-eyed, sure, but not nonsense.’ Leaving things to fate. Yeah, that was one way of putting it. Me, given what was at stake, I’d rather go for tempting fate where Brother Lucius was concerned. ‘His father’s will. The one that disinherited Lucius. You know about that?’