David Wishart - Illegally Dead

‘Uh…no. Not yet.’

‘Very well. Where did you get the information?’

‘From Bucca Maecilius. You know, “Lucky” Maecilius’s elder son? He, uh, got it from his lawyer in Bovillae.’

‘Who is, presumably, the one on the other side from Acceius in the court case.’

‘Yeah. Yeah, that’s right. Guy called Publius Novius.’

‘And who might therefore have a vested interest in blackening the opposition.’

I was beginning to feel definitely irritated here. ‘Jupiter, Perilla, I’d already thought of that, okay? I’m not swallowing this hook, line and sinker but it merits chasing up, right?’

She smiled and ducked her head. ‘Yes, Marcus. I’m sorry. You talked to Quintus Acceius himself this morning, didn’t you? How did he strike you? Gut feeling?’

I could see what she was getting at. Bugger. I took a morose gulp of the wine. ‘He was nice,’ I said defensively. ‘The bastard was nice, okay? In Gabba’s words, slightly modified and upgraded, far too fucking nice and reasonable for his own good.’

‘Don’t swear, dear. It’s not my fault.’

‘Yeah, well.’ I took another swig and topped up the cup from the jug. ‘He was. And I liked him.’ The irritation boiled over into frustration. ‘Perilla, this case is turning out a total and absolute bugger, you know that? I’ve talked to two of the main suspects now, the wife and the partner. Both of them have motive coming out of their fucking ears — ’

‘Marcus!’

‘- and after the amount of gratuitous provocation they’ve had to put up with, separately and together, if it’d been me I’d’ve stiffed the bastard myself, months ago. By any sort of logic one of them should’ve killed him, or both, and he’d’ve deserved it a dozen times over. The only problem is that I’d bet a gold piece to a poke in the eye that neither of them did. Or if they did then they are bloody good actors, that’s all I can say.’ I slammed the winecup down on the marble table between us and the wine spilled. ‘Hell!’

‘Marcus, stop it.’

I frowned, then grinned and reached down for the jug beside my chair. ‘Okay. Sorry, lady. Tantrum over. But it’s frustrating.’

‘Yes, so I see. Tell me about your day, in detail.’

I took a deep breath and did.

‘So what we’ve got at present,’ she said when I’d finished, ‘barring the will business and the question of who the man who attacked Hostilius was, is the missing brother-in-law Castor as prime suspect. Yes?’

‘Yeah. Obviously whatever happened that last day between him and Hostilius is crucial, but even without it the guy has form. One’ — I held down a finger — ‘he’s got ambitions to be a lawyer himself, he has his sister’s and Acceius’s support, but he’s been stymied because his brother-in-law’s taken a violent dislike to him. Two’ — I held down the second finger — ‘Hostilius has just blown the final whistle; he’s out of the firm and out of the family home. Three’ — the third finger — ‘he and Veturina are very close, and if he’s got anything going for him at all he won’t’ve taken too kindly to the shit that both of them have been putting up with and unlike her he might well’ve been prepared to do something drastic about it.’ I paused. ‘Sound reasonable so far?’

‘What about opportunity? From what you told me Castor would’ve had none. He disappeared the morning of the day before Hostilius’s death and hasn’t been seen since.’

‘Yeah.’ Bugger. I’d been trying to avoid thinking of that one.

‘Unless of course he didn’t disappear. At least, not immediately.’

I looked at her. ‘You’re saying he went back home when he left Hostilius’s?’

‘It would be the natural thing to do, wouldn’t it? In fact, I’d be surprised if he didn’t, certainly if he intended to go away for any length of time. After all, he’d left Hostilius in town, he knew where he was. He’d need clothes, money, that sort of thing. And if he was as close to his sister as he’s supposed to be then he wouldn’t leave her without a word of explanation, would he? He might even tell her where he was going.’

Shit. She was right, of course, and when you thought about it it was obvious. The only reason I hadn’t done was it meant that sweet-as-pie Veturina was lying through her teeth; not to mention straight-down-the-line-honest Scopas, because no major-domo worth his salt could not know what was going on in his own manor. And that meant…

‘Veturina knows or suspects that Castor was responsible for her husband’s death,’ I said. ‘Or thinks he could be.’

‘Yes. Or, of course, she and Castor engineered the thing together, or at least she knew beforehand that her brother was planning it and did nothing to stop him,’ Perilla said calmly. ‘Remember, we don’t know what Castor’s quarrel with Hostilius was about, only the result. And even that might have been sufficient to tip the balance. Veturina might’ve been prepared to put up with Hostilius’s ill-treatment when it harmed only herself, but if she saw he was on the point of ruining her brother’s life as well that would’ve been another matter.’

Yeah; right. Everyone has their breaking point; it was just a question of where, and love him as she undoubtedly did, like I’d said the lady had been pushed well to the edge already. I took a swallow of wine. Shit. Whatever the explanation, one thing was clear: Veturina still had serious beans to spill. And the sooner she spilled them the better.

‘Okay,’ I said. ‘I’ll go and see her again tomorrow. Meantime, lady’ — I refilled my cup — ‘I’ve had enough. I’m giving sleuthing a break for the evening. What’s for dinner?’

‘Ah, now that was something I was going to tell you, dear,’ Perilla said nervously. ‘I don’t know if Meton’s back yet. He served us an early lunch and disappeared again immediately afterwards. I saw him heading down the drive myself.’ She paused. ‘He was wearing…well…he was wearing…a new tunic.’

‘A what?’ I stared at her open-mouthed. Gods! Meton never, never ever wore a new tunic! Oh, sure, he must’ve had one, in fact I know he did because Perilla kitted out the whole household fresh, me included, every Spring Festival, and we’d had that not long ago. But he never wore it, not new. How the slovenly bugger managed things, I don’t know — probably the way those narcissistic young prats-about-town manage to keep their designer stubble just the fashionable length — but he was a three-day-old tunic man to his grimy fingernails. Meton without grease stains and a distinct whiff of underarm sweat just wouldn’t be Meton.

‘Also,’ Perilla continued in a small voice, in the tone you’d use if you were telling someone their granny had just been run over by a stonemason’s cart, ‘he passed Alexis on the way to the gate, and Alexis thought he could smell perfume.’

Oh, shit! ‘Perfume? Meton?’

‘Now don’t overreact, dear. I’m sure there’s a perfectly rational explanation somewhere or other. And after all Alexis could’ve been mistaken.’

Mistaken, hell: empires could rise and fall in the space between Meton’s normal body odour and the scent of perfume. I’d heard enough. I turned round and yelled: ‘Bathyllus!’

The little bald-head came running up like there was a fire in the hypocaust. ‘Yes, sir.’

‘Meton. Here. Now.’

‘I…ah…don’t know if he’s — ’

‘Ascertain, sunshine. And when you’ve fucking ascertained and if he is around then tell him I want to see him as of yesterday. If he isn’t then let me know and when the bugger does get back I will personally detach his testicles using the bluntest knife I can find in his knife box. Clear?’