David Wishart - Illegally Dead

‘How many?’ I said.

‘Twenty-one,’ Hyperion said. ‘And I couldn’t even be sure I was right.’

Marilla, perched on a stool of her own next to Clarus, hadn’t spoken, but her fingers touched his arm.

‘The medicine’d been switched, so ipso facto it had to be murder,’ I said. ‘You can’t get past that.’

Hyperion looked even more unhappy than ever. ‘Oh, but I can,’ he said. ‘Too easily, I’m afraid. You know slaves, Marcus. If they don’t always act as we would in their place that doesn’t mean they’re stupid, only that their priorities — and their fears — are different from ours. The bottle was on the table in open view, and it had a loose-fitting glass stopper. Let’s say one of them knocked it over accidentally while he was cleaning. It’s quite within the bounds of possibility that to cover the accident up and save himself a beating he would replace the contents with water. In which case, of course, Hostilius wouldn’t have drunk any of the medicine at all.’

‘Yet he died. You said yourself — ’

‘I said that I wasn’t infallible; that my initial prognosis could have been wrong, and that the perceived symptoms, both as they were described to me and as they showed themselves after death, point neither one way nor the other. Also, if the liquid in the bottle was only water then Hostilius could have missed two of his doses, which in his condition would be crucial. I repeat — and I must stress this — I’ve no incontrovertible proof of deliberate murder. Only the suspicion of it.’

‘But — ’

‘Corvinus.’ He leaned forwards and put his hands palm down on the table. ‘Listen, please. I’m afraid there are no buts, not in this regard. If you’re ready, for your part, to wager twenty-one innocent lives that the facts show otherwise, then I am not. And I’d think the less of you for it.’

‘He’s right, dear,’ Perilla murmured. Marilla nodded, a brief, sharp bob of the chin.

True. I wouldn’t think much of myself over a bet like that, either. I sighed. ‘Okay, pal,’ I said. ‘Assuming the thing was deliberate, let’s see where we are and what we’ve got. You say the medicine bottle was on a table in Hostilius’s bedroom. So in theory, given the proper opportunity anyone in the house could’ve had access to it, right? Slave or family?’

‘Yes.’

‘Fine. We’ll come back to the who in a moment. Hostilius took the medicine in wine. When?’

‘In the morning, before breakfast. At least, those were my directions. Whether he followed them, as a general rule or on that occasion, I don’t know.’

‘Did he dose himself? Or was the dose mixed in front of him? Or was it left ready-mixed in the cup?’

‘Again, I don’t know, you’d have to ask Scopas. All I know is that the cup and stoppered wine flagon were sitting together on the tray with the medicine bottle.’

‘Scopas?’

‘His major-domo.’

Bugger; and if Scopas had been the one responsible? ‘Fine. So let’s shelve the how for later consideration and think about the who. Forget the slaves, what about the family? Was he married?’

There was a slight but noticeable pause. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Marcia’s chin lift and Clarus and Marilla exchange a brief glance.

Uh-oh.

‘Yes,’ Hyperion said. ‘His wife’s name is Veturina.’

‘Hyperion,’ I said wearily. ‘If you don’t tell me I can’t help. Separate bedrooms, was it, or something worse?’

This time the pause was longer before Hyperion said carefully: ‘The first. But I don’t think you should — ’

‘It isn’t quite as simple as what you’re thinking, Marcus,’ Marcia cut in. ‘Or what I assume you’re thinking. Oh, I know nothing of Hostilius’s private life — I scarcely knew the man personally — but I do know that there was a…difficulty about him. He was a very difficult person, and not only where his wife was concerned.’

‘You mean he didn’t get on with people?’ I said.

‘I’m afraid there was more to it than that,’ Hyperion said. ‘The problem was clinical, it first showed itself some eighteen months ago, and it was becoming progressively worse. Hostilius would suddenly take it into his head that people were cheating him, or injuring him in some way and then make accusations which were completely unfounded and made no logical sense.’ He must’ve seen the look on my face because he held up a hand. ‘Corvinus, I am not stupid, and I do understand the implications there if we’re considering murder. Nevertheless, I’m speaking not only as the man’s doctor over the course of many years but as a lifetime resident of Castrimoenium. We’re a small community, and we may have secrets but — small communities being what they are — they don’t stay secrets for long. In Veturina’s case, the accusations were predictable, in the clinical sense: that she was stealing his money and that she was having affairs behind his back. He made them to me himself, sometimes in her presence; he made them to everyone. Believe me, both are nonsense.’

I glanced at Marcia. Like I say, Marcia is no one’s fool, and if she wasn’t a lifetime resident herself she’d spent more time up here in the Alban hills than most of them had clocked up.

‘Hyperion is right,’ she said. ‘Again I don’t know Veturina sufficiently well personally to give an absolute opinion, but I know nothing whatsoever against her. Quite the reverse. Despite the differences in their respective backgrounds by all accounts she’s been a loyal, honest and devoted wife, latterly under extremely trying circumstances.’

‘The differences in their backgrounds?’ I said.

‘Her father kept — still keeps, I understand — a wineshop in Bovillae. She and Hostilius had been married for over thirty years.’

‘Children?’

‘Two, but they died in infancy. They have — well, I suppose you’d call her a stepdaughter, although there was never a formal adoption. The orphaned child of Hostilius’s cousin. She’d be about Marilla’s age now, or slightly younger.’ Marcia must’ve noticed my expression, because her lips tightened. ‘Marcus, listen to me. I do realise that when a husband is poisoned the wife is an obvious suspect, and I don’t wish to seem dogmatic or seek to prejudice you in any way. But I do think that if you jumped to that conclusion without careful thought you would be making a very silly mistake.’

Yeah, well, maybe; certainly I took the point. All the same, despite Marcia’s five-star encomium and Hyperion’s caveats if we were talking murder here then we’d be fools not to consider this Veturina, especially given the ostensible family circumstances. And some people are good at keeping secrets. Still, that was for the future. ‘Okay,’ I said, ‘we’ve got a wife and a stepdaughter. Anyone else in the house? Family, I mean?’

‘Just one,’ Hyperion said. ‘Veturina’s brother Castor. Hostilius took him on a few years ago as the law firm’s jack-of-all-trades.’

‘Her brother? He doesn’t have a place of his own?’

‘No. He isn’t married, and the house is one of the biggest in town. When Castor moved from Bovillae Hostilius gave him the use of the east wing.’

‘What’s he like?’

‘Youngish, much younger than Veturina, middle thirties. Good looking. He and Veturina are very close, more like mother and son.’

‘Uh-huh. Eye for the girls?’

‘What makes you ask that?’

‘Just filling in the gaps. Besides, young and good looking were the first choices you made.’

‘Oh. I see.’ Hyperion hesitated. ‘Then…yes, he has, a little. But he’s a conscientious worker, too, by all accounts, and by no means unintelligent. Quite a likeable man all round.’