David Wishart - Illegally Dead

Yeah, well, that was fair enough. And if Marilla wanted to get in on the act then that was her business. ‘Okay, I said. ‘Point taken. I’m sorry.’

We went off to view the body.

They’d got him in an outhouse, laid on a couple of boards raised on trestles: a kid of about fourteen or fifteen from his size, wearing a tunic that was upmarket for a slave but carefully darned in places. Fairish hair, plastered over his forehead, and a string of cheap glass beads round his neck. It wasn’t obvious from first glance how he’d died, but his mouth was half-open in an ‘Oh’ of surprise. He’d had good teeth. His eyes were open, too. Not that you could see the colour.

‘Yes,’ Hyperion said, ‘that’s Cosmus.’

Marilla was hanging back, wide-eyed but still in there. Which was more than could be said for Libanius. I’d seen him lose his breakfast under similar circumstances on a previous occasion, although then he’d had more reason. This time he might’ve been holding on to his lunch with more success, but from the look on his face it was a close-run thing. Well, we’ve all got our little foibles.

‘Dad? Do you mind?’ Clarus said.

‘Not at all, son.’ Hyperion stepped back. ‘Go ahead.’

I watched — we all did — while Clarus made his examination, pulling at the skin, raising the eyelids, lifting the hands and examining the nails; all with a single-minded detachment that I found impressive as hell, and truth be told on the weather side of chilling. Finally he moved round to stand behind the head. He lifted it gently and moved it from side to side in a rolling motion.

‘Well?’ I said.

‘Dead and in the water more than two days but not as long as five,’ Clarus said. ‘No broken neck, but there’s a serious wound to the back of the head. You like to help me turn him over, Dad?’

Hyperion stepped forward and took the dead boy’s legs. Together they manhandled the corpse onto its front. One arm flailed, settling itself round Clarus’s shoulder, and he brushed it off absently. Beside me, Libanius gagged and left the room.

The back of the boy’s head was a mess. No blood, of course, not after all that time in the water; but the skull was stove in like the shell of an egg.

‘Anyone got a pen?’ Clarus said.

A pen?

‘I’ll get one.’ Marilla, heading for the door and the Watch office proper. Yeah, no doubt she’d be glad to take the break, but my bet was she wouldn’t admit it, even to herself. She’d guts, the Princess, and I was proud of her. She was back in a moment, handing the pen to Clarus.

They made a good pair, these two. Not that I’d go a bomb on this particular area of their shared interests, mind.

Clarus used the flattened end of the stylus to tease the hair away and expose the edges of the wound. ‘Quite a narrow channel,’ he said. ‘But not a sword or an axe because the damage isn’t clean enough for a blade. A very thin iron bar, maybe, used from above and behind, right-handed blow. Something like a length of railing. Force must’ve been considerable’ — he reversed the pen and gently picked something out of the depths of the wound with the sharp point — ‘to have driven skull fragments that deep into the brain. He was hit from behind very, very hard. Unless the wound was caused by some sort of cross-strut on the way down, which isn’t likely, he was probably dead before he went into the water.’

‘You tell fortunes on the side, pal?’ I said.

Clarus grinned and looked up. ‘No magic, just observation. But if you need to be completely sure about that last bit then we’ll have to clear it with Libanius first. Right, Dad?’

‘Clear what?’ I said.

‘Corpses don’t breathe,’ Hyperion said. ‘If he was dead already there’ll be no water in the lungs.’

I stared at him. ‘You mean you want to cut him open?’

‘It would certainly confirm matters, one way or the other. If the boy was alive when he entered the water then as Clarus says it could still have been an accident; a freak accident, I grant you, but the possibility is there. However, if he was dead at the time then someone must have killed him first then dumped him. An examination of the lungs would tell us which it was for certain. Otherwise all you’ve got is a fair assumption.’

Gods! I was remembering a similar conversation with a doctor in Baiae not all that long ago. ‘So before they burn the poor devil you’d happily open him up?’ I said. ‘Jupiter, that is sick!’

‘There’d be little point in trying afterwards, now would there?’ Hyperion smiled. ‘And not “happily”. Feelings don’t enter into it.’

‘But — ’

He turned to face me. ‘Corvinus, this is a corpse,’ he said. ‘A slab of dead meat of no more significance than a carcass in a butcher’s shop. And the boy was a slave and a criminal, if that affects matters.’

‘It doesn’t.’

‘I’m sorry, but in this case, in practical terms, it most certainly does, if we’re to get Libanius’s approval to take things further.’

‘That wasn’t what I meant, pal,’ I said quietly. I looked at the dead kid’s face, and at the string of cheap beads round his neck. A carcass in a butcher’s shop, eh? Sweet gods, they were callous bastards, these medical types, and I’d never understand them, not if I lived to be ninety. ‘You’d do it here and now?’

‘Oh, no, I’d need my equipment and certain other facilities. The easiest thing would be to have the body transported to my surgery. In the meantime perhaps you and Clarus might go over to the Bavius farm and have a look at where it was found.’

‘Yeah. Yeah.’ Well, I’d grant that knowing for certain the kid had been murdered would be a big step forward. Even so, I still felt sick to my stomach. ‘Uh, just to fill in the gaps before we go. You said you knew him?’

‘Not to talk to, only by sight and reputation. Scopas can help you more there, and of course you’ll be talking to him yourself now.’

‘Right. Anything you can give me, though. Just to be going on with.’

‘Very well.’ Hyperion hesitated. ‘He wasn’t popular with his fellow-slaves.’

‘Any particular reason?’

‘He…well, you can’t tell now, of course, but he was a very…pretty boy. And he used his prettiness.’

Uh-huh: pretty, not good-looking. ‘With the master, you mean?’

‘Oh, no, Hostilius was not that way inclined. At least, not to my knowledge.’

‘With the mistress, then?’

Pause. ‘To a certain degree.’ Then, quickly: ‘Now don’t misunderstand me here, Corvinus, I don’t mean sexually, not at all. But Cosmus could project a sort of…vulnerable innocence when he wanted to, when he thought it would advance his interests. It was completely artificial, completely false. In fact, his true nature was quite the opposite.’

‘That so?’

‘The boy was rotten.’

Ouch. ‘Rotten’s a strong word, pal,’ I said. ‘And you sound pretty definite for someone who didn’t know him.’

‘I’m being direct because it’ll save you time, and it’s relevant to the situation. Ask Scopas. Ask any of the household. Cosmus was an inveterate liar and thief, covering up his own misdemeanours by blaming them on his fellow-slaves. Successfully, too, because as I said he had this air of innocent plausibility. Also’ — he glanced at Marilla, who was still standing by the door, watching and listening — ‘Well, he had…liaisons…outwith the household. Quite openly. Again you can talk to Scopas on that subject.’

‘Liaisons with men?’

‘Yes.’

‘You have any names?’

Again the hesitation. ‘This is gossip, Corvinus, please remember that, but one name which is mentioned is Gaius Maecilius.’