David Wishart: White Murder

Past the workshops the buildings moved upmarket. Cement-Features led me to a stone-built block that could’ve done duty for a permanent army headquarters and through the main door.

Upmarket was right. We were in an entrance hall that wouldn’t’ve disgraced a proper town house, and the decoration had that same obsessive feel to it: a frieze, running all the way round the walls, of horses with their drivers standing next to them, the guys all in white tunics with whips and round racing helmets. Both the horses and the drivers had names written underneath, like this was some kind of roll of honour. Maybe it was, at that, but I wasn’t risking any more questions.

C-F knocked at the biggest door, waited for an answer, then opened up and stood aside.

I’d expected the usual formal lounge; what I got was a businesslike office with a big desk and stacks of book-cupboards with most of their pigeonholes filled. I’d also expected one guy, but there were two: one behind the desk, the other in a visitor’s chair to one side. The decor was more horses, including a beaut of a bronze on a pedestal in the centre that looked like it might be a Greek original.

‘Valerius Corvinus?’ The guy behind the desk stood up and held out his hand. ‘Lucius Cammius.’ We shook: the hand was hard and dry, and it gave mine a quick, sharp squeeze that fitted the character of the room. He’d be in his mid-sixties: medium height but chunky, strong face and short grey hair like a wire brush, eyes like chips of gravel. Narrow stripe on his mantle, but an accent that was pure provincial Spanish: if he was purple-striper grade then he’d clawed his way up and bought his way in. Not that I had any quarrel with that: a large slice of the hereditary variety were overbred slobs. ‘The gate man says you’ve come about Pegasus.’

‘Yeah, that’s right,’ I said.

‘Pull up a chair.’ Cammius sat down. I glanced behind me and found a no-nonsense, wood-and-leather folding stool. I pulled it over and sat on it. ‘This is Gaius Acceptus. He heads the Blues.’

The second guy nodded. He was a good ten years younger than Cammius and definitely a step up the social ladder: chiselled patrician features, well-barbered, wearing his smart narrow-stripe mantle like it was a natural extension of his character. The sort of man you’d expect to find fronting a top-notch team, or any other successful business, and being totally in control. Knowing it, too. ‘Pleased to meet you,’ he said. The voice fitted the appearance: top-drawer, bland, quietly confident.

‘Now, Corvinus.’ Cammius rested his hands on the desk. ‘I’m told that you’re not Watch. Nor are you from the city judge’s office, and that doesn’t leave much. What’s your involvement and what’s your angle?’

Straight to the point, no messing. Well, that matched the rest. I cleared my throat. ‘I was in the wineshop at the time of the murder and I saw the body. The Watch seem to think the motive was simple robbery. It wasn’t.’

Things went very quiet. Acceptus flashed me a sharp look, but Cammius’s expression didn’t change. He leaned back in his chair. ‘You sound pretty sure of that,’ he said.

‘I am.’

His eyes held mine. I felt that I was being turned inside out, assessed. Finally he grunted and said: ‘All right. Care to tell me why?’

‘Like I say, I saw the body myself, before the Watchmen arrived. The man’s purse was still on his belt and it hadn’t been touched.’

‘Watch Commander Valgius says different.’ I noticed the grammar slip. Also that Acceptus’s straight-bridged nose twitched and he pursed his lips. ‘I’ll ask you again because it’s important. You say you’re sure. How sure, exactly?’

Problems with grammar or not, the guy was no hayseed: the grey eyes were level, and very, very smart. ‘One hundred percent,’ I said. ‘The purse was there, then it wasn’t.’

Acceptus laid his fingertips together and touched the praying hands to his lips. Cammius grunted again.

‘You’re accusing the Watchmen of stealing it.’ he said. Statement, not question.

I had to go careful here. Carefully. Whatever. ‘I was with the corpse when the guys turned up. When they’d finished the purse had gone.’

‘Then your short answer’s yes.’

I shook my head. ‘No. I’m saying the purse was removed. And that it had to have been removed by the Watchmen. That’s a different thing from claiming theft.’

‘Maybe it is. But what other reason could there be?’

I was beginning to feel uncomfortable. The interview was turning into an interrogation with me at the blunt end, and although the Blues boss had moved his chair back slightly and crossed his legs as though he were staying outside of things he was still taking a keen interest. ‘Delicatus and his pals were Greens supporters. So is Valgius. The dead man used to drive for the Greens before he switched.’

Cammius held up a hand. ‘Hang on there a moment. Let’s get this straight. You mean the Watch – or the Eighth District branch of it – are claiming that Pegasus was killed by an ordinary thief so they can drop the case? Or at least supply an uncomplicated motive for the killing?’

‘Yeah.’ Smart was right. ‘More or less.’

‘That isn’t likely. Watchmen don’t do that kind of thing. Especially Watch commanders.’

I shrugged. ‘You’re in the business, sir, I’m not. I’m only going by what happened.’

‘Actually, the fellow has a point, Lucius,’ Acceptus said. ‘I know Titus Valgius of old and he’s a stinker. Now it’s none of my concern and I wouldn’t dream of advising you, but I wouldn’t trust him more than half. And Pegasus was a damn good driver, streets ahead of your other lads. Given luck he could even have won you a race or two come the new season. Corvinus here is right; Valgius wouldn’t be sorry to see the back of him.’

I could almost hear Cammius’s teeth grate at the plummy vowels and the drawling tone, but his answer was quietly spoken. ‘Oh, judging by last season’s results I think we’ll do well enough against the Greens, Gaius, even without Pegasus. Better than your lads’ve been doing lately, certainly. And luck won’t come into it.’ Acceptus’s smile disappeared like it had been washed off with a sponge. Cammius turned back to me. ‘As to your theory, Corvinus, I’m afraid whatever Gaius says I still don’t believe the City Watch would falsify evidence.’

Fair enough; but if I wanted to take the case any further I needed to go selectively deaf at this point. ‘The other thing that intrigued me,’ I said, ‘was that the guy was obviously expecting someone to join him. I was wondering if maybe you could suggest who that could have been.’

That hit home, with both of them. Acceptus gave me a sharp look and the Whites boss went very still. ‘Really?’ he said.

‘Yeah. He was sitting opposite the door and keeping his eye on it like he expected someone to walk through it any minute. I can’t be certain this time but from the way he was acting I’d lay good money.’

‘And the person didn’t appear subsequently?’

‘Uh-uh. At least if he did he didn’t announce himself.’

Cammius’s fingers tapped the desk several times, then stopped abruptly. He turned to Acceptus. ‘Gaius, Valerius Corvinus and I have to talk this over. You’ll excuse me and we can finish our business later.’

Acceptus didn’t move. ‘Perhaps as head of the senior faction,’ he said, ‘it would be better if I stayed.’

‘No.’ Cammius didn’t snap, but the note of finality in his voice was obvious. ‘Pegasus was a Whites driver and this is a Whites matter. It won’t take long, and I must insist.’

I could almost hear the air crackle. The Blues faction master got to his feet. Slowly. He wasn’t happy, I could see that; or maybe ‘fit to be tied’ describes it better. ‘Very well,’ he said. ‘I’ll be free later in the day. Perhaps you’d be kind enough to drop over then. When you have a spare moment, naturally.’ You could’ve used the tone to keep fish fresh in August.