David Wishart - Illegally Dead

He was grinning. ‘All in fun, just winding you up, boy. Twelve days it was.’

Gods! ‘Never mind the exact fucking date! What killing?’

‘Some mad bugger went for one of the local worthies with a knife, middle of the street, broad daylight, no reason. Could’ve saved himself the trouble, in the event, because the worthy pegged out himself not long after. No connection, natural causes.’

‘Chap by the name of Lucius Hostilius.’ Pontius was pouring a cup of wine for himself. He took a sip and put it down on the bar. ‘The worthy, I mean. Local lawyer, or was.’

My brain had gone numb. ‘You said a killing. So who was killed?’

‘The man with the knife. You mind, Corvinus?’ Gabba hooked my jug over and topped up his empty cup. ‘Hostilius was lucky, he’d his partner with him, big strong bugger able to handle himself, and he did good and proper.’ He clicked his tongue. ‘Five seconds later and it was Goodnight Alexandria fair and proper.’

‘Who was the knifeman?’

‘I never heard a name myself.’ Gabba took a long swig. ‘Pontius?’ Pontius shook his head. ‘Don’t think there was one, in the end. He wasn’t a Castrimoenian, whatever, and whoever the bastard was he hadn’t been living easy. Dressed like a tramp, stank to high heaven.’

‘Why did he do it?’

‘I told you, no reason, bugger was out of his tree. The pair of them were just crossing the street minding their own business when he runs up, draws a knife and goes for Hostilius.’

‘He wasn’t hurt? Hostilius, I mean?’

‘Nah. The blade caught in his mantle-fold. That gave his partner the chance to pile in, get the knife off of the bastard and skewer him.’

‘This partner got a name?’

‘Acceius. Quintus Acceius.’

‘Many people see this?’

Gabba’s eyes narrowed and he set his cup down. ‘Ten or a dozen, maybe,’ he said. ‘I told you, it was broad daylight in the main street. What is this, Corvinus? You sure there hasn’t been a murder?’

‘Uh-uh. Just interested.’

‘The hell with that, boy! I know interested, and that wasn’t it, not by a long chalk.’ He turned to Pontius. ‘Know what I think? I think Lucius Hostilius got the heave after all and our Corvinus’s been Sent For.’

Fuck! ‘Gabba — ’

‘That true, Corvinus?’ Pontius said.

Things were slipping fast here. He might look like a cow’s backside and soak up more wine than a sponge, but Gabba could see through a brick wall with the best of them. And drop a juicy titbit like murder into the casual conversation at Pontius’s and it’d be all over town before you could say ‘oops!’.

Fuck was right.

‘Yes, indeed.’ Gabba emptied his cup again and reached for my jug. ‘My belief, Pontius old mate, for what it’s worth, is that someone slipped the legal gentleman a noxious foreign substance on the sly and someone else has rumbled the fact and called our lad down to finger the perp. What do you say yourself?’

‘Gabba — ’

‘Of course I could be wrong. Put your head out the door and check for flying pigs.’

Jupiter! I tried again. ‘Gabba, watch my lips. There has not been a murder. Okay?’

‘You know your right eyebrow twitches when you lie?’

So must Sisyphus have felt when he saw his fucking rock roll back for the umpteenth-millionth time. I sighed and poured myself another shot of wine before the bastard finished the jug for me. ‘Look, just get the hell off my back, will you?’ I said. ‘We’re spending a few days with our adopted daughter and Perilla’s aunt, right? No other reason, that is it. Finish, end of story.’

Gabba shrugged. ‘Have it your own way, consul,’ he said. ‘Not that it surprises me, mind. Word is the man was asking to be stiffed.’

‘Is that so, now.’

‘Could’ve been the wife did it. Could’ve been the partner.’ He winked. ‘Could’ve been the both of them together, wouldn’t be the first time that’d happened. Convenient, that’s what I call it.’

‘Nah, I don’t believe that one. Quintus Acceius isn’t the philandering type.’ Pontius picked up my jug and shook it. ‘Looking a bit empty already, Corvinus. You want the other half?’

‘Yeah, why not?’ I said sourly. ‘I might strike really, really lucky and have some of it to myself this time.’ Shit. Well, I’d tried. And so long as I didn’t actually confirm anything there was no comeback. ‘I thought you said his partner saved this Hostilius’s life. Why should he kill him seven days later?’

‘Did we mention exactly when the gentleman died, Pontius?’ Gabba gave me a beatific smile. ‘I suppose we must’ve done.’ Bugger! ‘Never mind. Well, Corvinus, the general consensus of local gossip is that relations between the two weren’t exactly amicable. Chiefly because on separate occasions Hostilius had accused the man in public of screwing his wife and told Acceius’s own wife to her face, ditto, that she was no better than a whore. Both loudly, at length, and with full appropriate embellishment. That do you for motive?’ I said nothing. ‘Me, I wouldn’t blame either of them for getting rid of the bastard just on general principles. He was an embarrassment all round and getting worse.’

‘Come on, Gabba!’ Pontius grunted, setting down my fresh half jug. ‘Have a bit of charity. Everyone knew he couldn’t help it. Besides, the man’s dead. “Nothing but good”, remember?’

An easy-going lad, Pontius, but he was beginning to sound a little tetchy. Gabba in full flow tended to have that effect on people. Tactful and politically correct were two things the guy wasn’t.

‘Maybe so, maybe so.’ Gabba took another careful sip of his wine. ‘Of course, if Wonder Boy the great detective isn’t looking for motives to murder Lucius Hostilius then he won’t want to know about Fimus either. That right, Corvinus?’

‘For the gods’ sake!’ Pontius had been leaning on the bar. Now he straightened and turned away. ‘That’s it, Gabba, enough’s enough! You’ve had your fun, but the joke’s over.’

‘Fimus?’ I said. The word means dung.

‘Marcus Maecilius, “Lucky”’s second son.’ Gabba was grinning. Pontius still had his back to us.

‘Yeah? So if he’s got a handle already then why Fimus?’

‘Ah, well, now, I’m glad you asked that. Nothing to do with non-existent murders, of course, but of marginal interest in itself. Would you happen to have any of that wine spare?’ I sighed and slid the new half jug over. Gabba refilled his cup. ‘Fimus is your solid agricultural type, you see, close to the earth and redolent of nature at her most basic, and he’s also only got one eye.’

He waited, expectantly.

‘Uh…so?’ I said finally.

‘One eye? Fimus as in Polyphemus? It’s what we simple folk out here in the sticks call a bilingual pun, consul, combined with a recherche literary illusion.’

Oh, shit!

‘The word’s allusion, Gabba, boy,’ Pontius murmured, turning round. ‘Literary allusion.’

‘By gods, your wine must be getting better.’ Gabba took a swallow. ‘No, same old dishwater. Must’ve been just a slip of the tongue after all.’

Pontius snorted, and I grinned despite myself. ‘Gabba, just tell me straight, okay?’ I said. ‘About how this Fimus fits into things.’

‘No, I’ll tell you.’ That was Pontius. ‘Fimus and Hostilius were talking together. Then Hostilius starts shouting, he calls Fimus a thief and a liar and smacks his face. That’s all that happened, Corvinus. All there was to it.’

‘Yeah? When was this?’

‘Eight or nine days ago in the square outside.’

‘You know why?’

‘No, Fimus wouldn’t say, nor Hostilius either. Fimus just walked off and left him standing. That’s it. All there is.’