David Wishart - Illegally Dead

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.

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.’