David Wishart - Solid Citizens

‘More or less,’ I said easily. The barman came over and set the jug and cup down beside me. I paid and poured, then held the jug poised. ‘You want some of this?’

‘If it’s going spare, sure. Mine’s dead.’

I filled his cup. ‘Health,’ I said, and sipped from my own. Actually, maybe I’d misjudged the place, because it wasn’t bad stuff, certainly a lot better than I’d been expecting. Mind you, if you can’t get a decent house wine in the Alban Hills then where else can you get it? And Aricia wasn’t far away; the landlord probably had family connections with the vineyard.

Lucius took a good long swallow and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

‘Mind if we talk?’ I said.

‘Suit yourself. You’re buying, and I’m not doing anything special.’

I glanced behind me. There was one small table with a couple of stools, squeezed away in a corner. ‘Over there?’ I said. ‘It’s more private.’

‘I’ll be saying nothing that I’d be ashamed gets overheard,’ he said. But he picked up his cup, levered himself off the stool and walked carefully to the table. I followed and sat down opposite him. ‘Now. Talk away.’

‘You weren’t at the funeral,’ I said.

His face with its three-day-old stubble split into something between a grin and a snarl. He wasn’t doing so well in the teeth department, either. I reckoned four or five, all told, but I might’ve been overgenerous. ‘Bugger that,’ he said. ‘I’d no truck with my brother when he was alive and I’ll have none with him now he’s dead.’ He drained his cup at a gulp and edged it over in my direction. Wordlessly, I refilled it. ‘Shock you, that, does it? Offend your nice Roman-patrician sensibilities? Well, disapprove all you like. I’m no hypocrite, and I don’t do platitudes.’ He must’ve noticed my expression, because he said, ‘Also, I’m a drunk by choice and inclination. That doesn’t mean I’m a monosyllabic oaf. So don’t patronize me either, right?’

Jupiter! Talk about having a chip on your shoulder! The one this guy was carrying around was so big you could use it as a doorstop.

‘I wasn’t going to, pal,’ I said. ‘And no, it doesn’t shock me at all. Still, you’re his heir, aren’t you?’

‘Indeed I am, seemingly.’ He half-emptied his newly refilled cup and smacked his lips. ‘ The Caesius now. The only living representative of the family. No surprises there, then.’

‘How do you mean?’

‘“Concerning the dead, nothing except good.” That how the old tag goes? Well, since I can’t in all honesty manage the qualifi-cation without gagging I’ll settle for the first option and say nothing. I can afford to, after all; I reckon I’m worth a good million plus now, thanks to dear brother Quintus, what with his own money and my late sister-in-law’s dowry, and if that means drawing a line under his sacred memory then so be it.’ He belched. ‘Pardon. He had his head beaten in, they tell me, coming out of our local knocking shop. That right?’

‘Yeah. More or less.’

‘Couldn’t’ve happened to a better person. And that fact in itself is a glittering wonder and marvel to all who knew and loved him. Or didn’t, as the case might be.’ He chuckled to himself and took another swallow of wine. I said nothing. ‘So. Rest his bones, whatever the truth of it. Concerning the dead and so on; I’ve no quarrel with him now. How’s your investigation going? If I’m allowed to ask?’

I shrugged. ‘As well as can be expected. I’ve just started. As you say, I’m just doing the rounds of the suspects at present.’

‘That’s nice. I’ll tell you what.’ He struggled to his feet, swaying. ‘Put the interrogation on hold for a minute, will you, while I take a leak round the back. The old bladder’s not what it was. I promise I won’t run.’

‘Sure. No problem,’ I said.

‘You’ll excuse me, then?’

I waited while he staggered out of the door and closed it behind him. Then I got up and went over to the bar.

‘Yes, sir,’ the barman said. ‘You want the other half?’

‘No. Just the answer to a quick question, pal, if you will. Four nights ago. Was Lucius in here at all, do you remember?’

He shot me a look. ‘The night of his brother’s murder?’

‘Yeah, that’s right.’

‘Sure. Same as he always is, from the time we open right up until closing time. He was where you’re sitting now, talking to Roscius.’

I stared at him. ‘ Roscius ? You mean Quintus Roscius?’

‘Yeah. Farms just outside town on the Castrimoenium road.’

Shit! ‘He a regular?’

‘He comes in now and again.’

‘Pally with Lucius?’

‘Not especially, but it was a quiet night, what with the weather being so bad. They were the only two in the place.’

‘Until closing time, you said. Sunset, would that be?’

‘About an hour after.’

‘That late?’

‘I wasn’t in any hurry. Lucius is a good customer, and I didn’t have the heart to throw him out. My brother has an olive farm, and he lets me have the oil cheap. It’s not the best stuff, third pressing standard if that, but it’s good enough for the punters I get from around here. And keeping open the extra hour sometimes is good for business. These days, you have to make use of every edge you can get.’

‘They leave together?’

‘Yeah. When I closed up.’

‘Thanks, pal.’ I went back to my seat. Bugger! There went straight-as-a-die Roscius’s alibi! When the bastard had told me he’d been at home the evening of the murder he’d been lying through his teeth!

Lucius came back in and sat down with a sigh. ‘That’s better,’ he said. He topped up his cup from my jug. ‘Now where were we? Oh, right. Your investigation. You’ve just started, you say.’

‘Yeah.’ No harm in putting out a few feelers and seeing if they produced any result. ‘I was round at Publius Novius’s earlier. The lawyer.’

‘I know who Novius is. Scumbag.’

‘He tells me that you were disinherited in your father’s will, ten or so years back. That so?’

Lucius scowled. ‘My father never made that will, Corvinus. Oh, sure, we’d had nothing to do with each other for twenty-odd years before that, but he wasn’t the bastard that Quintus was. He wouldn’t’ve done that to me, disinherited his own son.’

‘Hang on,’ I said carefully. ‘You’re saying the will was a fake?’

‘Of course it was. It must’ve been. I’m telling you, my father would never have cut me off without a penny. Quintus and that slimy lawyer pal of his cooked the will up between them. Did Novius tell you I challenged it?’

‘What?’

‘No, he wouldn’t, the canny bastard. Certainly I did. In open court. For all the good it did me.’ He emptied his cup again; at this rate I’d have to get the other half jug after all, but at least it didn’t seem to be having much effect. If anything, the old guy seemed to be sobering. Mind you, it was only halfway through the morning, and he was used to it. ‘Novius and Quintus and their like lead the senate by the nose. They are the senate. And the senate provide the aediles, and the aediles do the judging. Two solid citizens and a jury stacked with their pals against a drunk with a grudge? What do you think the verdict’d be?’

Yeah, well, that was true enough, whatever the ins and outs of the rest of it: you couldn’t buck the Old Boy network, whether it was in Bovillae or Rome, once they’d made their minds up about something. I took a sip of my own wine. ‘Still,’ I said, ‘your brother carried on paying your allowance.’

‘Novius told you about that as well, did he?’ Lucius said sardonically. ‘Talkative little shit, isn’t he? Oh, yes, I got that regularly enough every month, for what it was worth. Then, at least. But did he mention that Quintus had stopped it recently?’