Illegally Dead (Marcus Corvinus Book 12)

by David Wishart

  ‘The prosecutor was Publius Novius.’

  ‘That’s right. He was the only other lawyer in Bovillae, still is, the old bugger’ll outlast us all. Proper sharp he is, too, does a roaring trade. You don’t put much past Novius.’

  ‘Just how straight is he? As a matter of interest.’

  The old man gummed his winecup. ‘Oh, well, now,’ he said. ‘We’re talking lawyers, sir, they’re another breed. He’s straight enough by his lights, far as I know, but like I said he’s sharp, and he knows his business backwards. Not one to let a chance slip, if you get me, so long as he thinks he won’t be caught out. Hostilius was different, I’d a lot of time for him. That partner of his, mind...well, him and Novius had a lot in common. Smart as a whip, sure, but a pusher, desperate to get on, up to every trick he could get away with and too smooth-tongued by half. No, I wasn’t too taken with young Quintus Acceius.’

  ‘You remember his wife? His first wife?’

  ‘Nah, I never met her, can’t even remember the name, and the family wasn’t from around here. Father was in the perfume trade in a small way down in Capua. She didn’t keep well, died having their first.’

  ‘He was fond of her?’

  Veturinus shrugged. ‘She was his wife, that’s all I know, sir, and like I said I never met the girl. I never heard nothing to the contrary, certainly.’

  ‘How about the second wife? Seia Lucinda?’

  ‘Oh, now.’ He chuckled. ‘She was a different kettle of fish altogether. Big family around here, the Seii. Poultry breeders, supply most of the local butchers and send out as far as Rome. She was a catch, right enough, although word at the time was she’d done the chasing. A wild girl, young Seia was. They made a proper pair, those two.’

  Yeah, that checked with what Gabba had told me. Interesting. ‘Did -?’

  - but that was as far as I got before the door opened and we got the Invasion of the Slaughterers, Part Two. Things got rapidly hectic, and I turned back with a sigh to my wine and sausage. Ah, well; I couldn’t complain, certainly not. I’d got a name for the dead woman, cast-iron proof that Acceius had known her, and possibly - possibly - the scent of a reason why he’d want her dead and burned. There were still some googlies in there, though, by the gods there were, especially with old Veturinus’s description of the younger Acceius. Even if the guy was a liar to his boots - which he was - and guilty of something - which he also was - a lot of that just didn’t square. We’d just have to see what the chat with Publius Novius produced.

  I spent a leisurely half hour finishing off the wine and sausage and pushed the cup and plate across the counter. Veturinus Junior looked up from his conversation with one of the slaughterers.

  ‘You want a refill, sir?’ he said.

  ‘No, that’ll do me for the present, pal.’ I stood up. ‘You have a latrine I can use?’

  ‘Out the front door and round the side to the back. Thanks for your custom, Valerius Corvinus. Give our regards to my sister when you see her.’

  ‘I’ll do that.’ I left.

  The latrine was a lean-to affair on the far side of a small yard full of the sort of junk you get in nine back yards out of ten; stuff that’s either waiting to be thrown out properly and never will be or that someone thought might come in handy at some future date but wouldn’t get round to using until the Greek kalends: empty wine jars, the remains of a cart that looked like it’d sat there providing a home for beetles and wood-lice for the past thirty years, a bedstead frame that was more rust than honest iron and a pile of nameless rubbish forming the remains of a half-hearted bonfire. The latrine itself, though, was relatively up-market, with cement flooring, a hole-in-the-floor toilet and a urinal slab with the guttering leading into a collecting bucket. I used the slab, adjusted my tunic and turned round...

  ‘Hey, Roman.’

  There were two of them, big guys, filling the space between the dead cart and the wall of the yard, blocking the entrance to the alleyway that connected it with the street. The one on the left was red-headed, and although I couldn’t quite place him he looked vaguely familiar. On the other hand, I’d no problem recognising the two as a pair because I’d seen them both earlier that morning, propping up the wall outside the draper’s near Mundus’s house waiting for someone who obviously hadn’t been their mistress to come out. Mind you, on that occasion they hadn’t been swinging blackjacks and looking like they were just dying to try them out on me. Little details like that tend to fix your attention.

  Bugger; so much for premature senility clouding the judgment. When the hairs on the back of my neck had prickled, I should’ve listened.

  The guy on the left took a step forward. ‘Broken arms or broken ribs, friend?’ he said. ‘Which is it to be? Your choice.’

  Something clicked in my brain. Finally. ‘You’re one of the slaves from the Hostilius place,’ I said. ‘I saw you when I was over there last, three days ago. Who sent you? Castor or the widow?’

  ‘Oh, now, then.’ He paused, glanced at his pal, then back to me. ‘Okay, so maybe you don’t have a choice after all.’

  Slowly, deliberately, he tucked the blackjack into the belt of his tunic, reached behind his back, drew out a knife and grinned.

  Oh, shit. Nice one, Corvinus. I looked around for a weapon. Zilch. Whatever junk the Veturini, senior and junior, had thrown out over the past thirty years or so hadn’t included lengths of two-by-four or useful sections of lead piping. Or not within grabbing distance, anyway. Of course, there was the collecting bucket...

  They were moving as I turned, but I got a grip on the thing and swung it just as Blackjack was closing in on my right side. Stale urine might not figure all that prominently in the military manual as an offensive weapon - not offensive in the army sense of the word, anyway - but a gallon of it in the face at point-blank range ain’t something you can ignore, and Blackjack reeled back spluttering and cursing. The wooden bucket itself caught Red-head on the shoulder: not enough to do any real damage, but it threw him off-line. I moved in and made a grab for his wrist, driving my own shoulder into his chest.

  He ducked under my left armpit and shoved hard. My heels met the concrete ledge of the latrine floor and I went arse over tip backwards, pinning the guy’s head between the inside of my elbow and my chest, my right hand pushing down against his neck, forcing it lower. There was a dull thud as his skull hit the floor. He grunted and went limp.

  One down and out, or hopefully so, anyway. I rolled sideways, letting go and trying to ignore the stab of pain as my elbow met the concrete; just as Blackjack came at me for a second shot. There was a flash of metal in his right hand: another knife. Fuck; we weren’t out of the woods yet, not by a long way. I lashed out desperately with my foot, felt it connect against his shin and saw him stagger. Good, but not good enough; and I was still on my back.

  The bucket was where I’d dropped it, just within reach. I grabbed it and swung it round, bottom up, as the knife came down straight for my chest. There was a thunk! as the point bit deep into the wood. I held the bucket steady for a split second, then heaved upwards and to the side, wrenching the knife from his hand, and tossed the whole boiling away from us as hard as I could. Blackjack swore and grabbed at my throat, thumbs pressing against my windpipe. I brought my knee up into his groin, and he gasped; his grip relaxed and I rolled again, forcing myself out from under him into clear space, scrabbling onto my hands and knees, then to my feet.

  I was just in time. I’d scarcely got upright before he hit me again with a roundhouse punch that caught my shoulder, knocking me sideways. I managed a straight left that rattled his teeth but didn’t stop him, and he came at me with both fists swinging...

  ‘Hey!’

  He turned his head; not by much, but the break in concentration was enough. I planted another left, then swung a punch of my own that met square with the side of his jaw and sent him sprawling against the latrine wall.

  ‘What the hell’s happening here?’

  One of the sl
aughterhouse lads, latrine-bound himself; no quick thinker, obviously, because he was just standing at the exit to the yard like a bovine third actor in a play, but it was enough for Blackjack. The guy staggered to his feet, broke into a stumbling run, pushed him out of the way and hared off down the alley fast as a professional sprinter.

  I moved over to the nearest wall and leaned against it, gasping my lungs out.

  The slaughterer hurried over. ‘You okay, sir?’ he said.

  ‘Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.’ I caught my breath, finally, and stood up straight. ‘Thanks, pal.’

  ...which was when he noticed Red-head, and his eyes widened.

  ‘He dead?’

  ‘Search me. I was too busy to check. You want to do it for me?’

  He flashed me a worried look, then did, turning the body over. The forehead was a mess of blood and the eyes were closed. ‘Nah, he’s breathing,’ he said. ‘Just stunned.’

  ‘Pity.’

  That got me another nervous look, but I ignored it. I wasn’t feeling too charitable at that point towards Red-head, myself.

  ‘So what happened?’

  ‘They jumped me. After my purse.’ No sense in complicating things, not with Brain of Bovillae here, anyway. I was still in one piece, relatively unscathed, with all my bits attached, and that was enough to be thankful for. ‘Do me a favour, pal, you and your mates inside.’

  ‘Sure.’

  There was a length of half-decent rope beside the remains of the cart. I picked it up, took it over to Red-head and used the two ends to tie his wrists and ankles. ‘Keep an eye on him in case he wakes up, see he doesn’t do a runner, while I nip round to the local Watch-house and have someone collect him.’

  ‘You’ve got it. No problem.’ He watched with slack-jawed fascination while I tied the final knot and pulled it tight.

  ‘Great. Oh, and if you want to use the facilities you’d better replace the bucket.’ Not that, with the latrine floor already awash with the best part of a gallon of fuller’s delight, there was much point to that, really, but it’s the thought that counts.

  I left him staring and headed for the alley.

  So: Veturina or Castor? One of them, certainly, and my bets were on the second: Red-head had been on his way to the east wing when I’d seen him, so he was probably Castor’s slave rather than Veturina’s, and a physical attempt to put me out of the game seemed more Castor’s style than his sister’s. On the other hand, I didn’t trust Veturina the length of my arm, and I wouldn’t be too surprised to find I was wrong. At least I’d got one of the murdering bastards alive, and this time I wouldn’t object too strongly about what methods the authorities used to get the truth from him.

  27

  I was bang on time the next day for my appointment with Publius Novius. He must’ve been in his seventies, easy: a little guy with a face wrinkled like a prune whose pricey, well-starched mantle looked like it’d been meant for someone twice his size. There was nothing old about the eyes that considered me across the office desk, though. These were bright as a bird’s, and sharp as a razor. I thought maybe he’d comment on the state of my tunic - rolling around on a wineshop latrine floor in a fist-fight with two homicidal muggers doesn’t improve your sartorial elegance any - but if he noticed he was too polite to mention it.

  ‘So, Valerius Corvinus,’ he said. ‘How can I help you? My clerk said it was private and personal. The first I can understand, the second is a little more problematical. Oh, yes’ - he held up a hand - ‘I know who you are, you needn’t bother explaining that. We don’t have many murders in Latium, and word does tend to get around. Especially when the victim is a lawyer.’

  Hell. Well, I couldn’t reasonably have expected him not to’ve heard of me altogether. And it might actually make things easier in the long run. ‘I’ve just got a couple of areas I thought you might be able to help me with,’ I said.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘The first is a trial twenty-one years ago, where you prosecuted and Hostilius and his partner defended. A burglary and murder. The two accused were brothers, Lupus and Senecio Brabbius.’

  He’d blinked at the start, when I’d mentioned the trial, like he’d been surprised; but then his expression had settled into what I’d bet was careful indifference. Interesting. ‘The Brabbii brothers,’ he said. ‘Oh, my goodness, now, that is going back! Just give me a moment to recollect.’ His fingers tapped the desk. ‘A silversmith’s shop by the precinct of Mercury, wasn’t it? The pair were interrupted by the owner, who got himself knifed in the process. Let’s see...Vexillius, was that his name? No, Vectillius, Titus Vectillius. The jury found both men guilty, the elder brother was sentenced to death and the younger to the galleys. Is that right?’

  ‘Yeah, that’s it. You’ve a good memory, sir.’

  ‘I’m a lawyer, Corvinus. Of course I have.’

  ‘You remember the details of the trial itself?’

  If I hadn’t been looking for the slight flicker in the eyes I’d’ve missed it; but I was, and it was there. ‘Not every detail, no,’ he said. ‘But in broad terms I think I do. It wasn’t a difficult case, from my side. The pair were caught immediately after the crime, within minutes, at most. Lupus had a silver bracelet in his possession, which certainly came from the shop, and also a knife, which was why he was the one to be executed. The defence tried to argue that he had picked the bracelet up in the street after the real perpetrators had fled in the other direction, and also that the arresting party were mostly drunk at the time so their evidence was suspect, but they couldn’t get round the knife. Or the fact that Lupus and his brother were running when they were stopped.’

  Check. ‘So it was a unanimous verdict? On the part of the jury, I mean?’

  Another slight flicker. ‘Yes. Yes, it was.’

  ‘You see, I was wondering whether...well, the word is that at that point in his career Quintus Acceius wasn’t quite so...scrupulous as he is now.’ I had to go delicately here; after all, it was only an idea, but it was one that fitted, and if I was right it’d go a long way towards explaining the whole boiling. Besides, Novius was being cagey over something; that I was sure of.

  ‘Were you, indeed?’ Bland as hell; but the eyes had sharpened. ‘And?’

  ‘I sort of thought that, if he couldn’t do much about the strength of his case, he might’ve tried working on the verdict angle instead.’

  Silence. Long silence. Novius was frowning and drumming his fingers again on the desk. Finally he said: ‘It was a long time ago, Corvinus. People - especially young lawyers, just starting out - make mistakes, mistakes that they bitterly regret later. Quintus Acceius and I have had our differences over the years - we’re frequently on opposing sides in court, for a start - but I have always had every respect for him professionally. Even then he was, not to put too fine a point on it, brilliant; much more capable than his partner. It would have been a shame to have ruined such a young man’s career over a moment of idiocy.’

  Bull’s-eye! ‘So he bribed the jury?’ I said.

  ‘No.’ Novius sighed. ‘He meant to bribe the jury. It never happened, because I got wind of it in time. One of the more honest members came to me privately and told me he’d been approached, and I had a quiet word with Acceius before things could go any further. He had no option but to drop the plan, of course: if he’d persisted I’d have taken the whole matter straight to the judge, he would have been facing prosecution himself and his legal career would have been over before it had properly started. I made that very clear to him.’ He rubbed his temples. ‘I need hardly say that this is totally confidential. As I said, it’s ancient history now, no actual crime was perpetrated, and to my almost certain knowledge and belief it was an isolated incident. A single, stupid mistake.’

  A single, stupid mistake. Yeah, that phrase, or something like it, had cropped up before, and it sent all sorts of bells ringing. The bribery aspect raised another question as well, but although it was important it had nothing to do with Novius and I
didn’t ask it. Finally, everything was beginning to fit together. ‘Okay,’ I said. ‘Let’s move on to the second area.’

  ‘Second area?’

  ‘Yeah. Castor. Lucius Hostilius’s brother-in-law.’

  Novius’s face...froze. There was no other word for it. ‘What about him?’ he said.

  ‘You were helping the guy out. He wanted to be a lawyer himself, but thanks to his brother-in-law he wasn’t getting anywhere in Castrimoenium. You were...oh, I don’t know; training him as an apprentice might be overstating it, but supplying him with books, talking him through cases, things like that. Yes?’

  ‘I...took an interest, certainly.’ He’d leaned back in his chair and put the tips of his fingers together, touching his lips. ‘Although I can’t think why that should be of any –’

  ‘Cosmus. He used to be one of your slaves, didn’t he?’

  That got me a long, slow stare. ‘I had a slave by that name, yes,’ he said at last.

  ‘You knew he was the one who...let’s say poisoned Lucius Hostilius?’

  Novius stood up abruptly. ‘I think we’ll have my clerk in here,’ he said. ‘If you’re going to accuse me of –’

  ‘I’m not accusing you of anything,’ I said. ‘Or not of arranging a murder, anyway. But if you’d like your clerk to hear the next bit then go ahead and call him, pal. It’s no skin off my nose.’

  He glared at me for all of five seconds. Then he sat down again. ‘Carry on,’ he said tightly.

  ‘You sold Cosmus to Marcus Tuscius, the local slave dealer, thirteen months ago. He was bought two days later by Veturina, Lucius Hostilius’s wife, and her brother Castor.’

  ‘Really? I wasn’t aware of that, but if you tell me he was then no doubt it’s so.’

  ‘Now correct me if I’m wrong, pal, but I’d bet a gold piece to a kick in the teeth that the transaction didn’t postdate the start of your association with Castor by all that much. And there’s the question of what you were getting in return for your interest in him.’