David Wishart - Old Bones

That had been a narrow squeak; in fact, I might've already scuppered myself as far as the trial went. Now Crispus knew there was something whacky about Aternius I wouldn't put it past the bugger to indulge in a little pre-trial blackmail. If – when – the case came to court he might well have come to an arrangement with the Cominii whereby in return for a backhander the accused was found guilty whatever evidence there was to the contrary, because the alternative would be to reopen the whole can of worms; and that, if he was guilty himself, Aternius couldn't risk.

Which meant that Papatius was more cooked than ever. After that little interview I couldn't even hope for an unbiased judge. Nice one, Corvinus. I'd've done better to have stayed at home.

So where the hell did I go from here? Aternius was the murderer, sure he was: of Navius by proxy, Clusinus, maybe Bubo, actually, and Hilarion probably. The theory fitted the facts like a glove. My only problem was proof, and that I didn't look like getting. Nohow, no way, never.

I hadn't got any further thinking about it when Lippillus showed up. I'd been hoping that he'd solve the problem once I'd explained it with a brilliant flash of insight, but he didn't. Ah, well. That was fair enough. The one drawback to Lippillus is he's a Roman first and last, in the city sense. If the murders had happened in the Subura, or even up on the Janiculan, he'd've been full of ideas because Rome's his patch, it's relevant. Anything beyond the city boundaries, forget it. It's not that he's not interested or willing to help, it's just as if his brain refuses to work outside the fourth milestone, over little things like murders, anyway. So in the end we ate our tripe, drank the wine, ordered another jug and talked about how life had treated us since we'd seen each other last. Then I fought him for the bill and we set off to talk to Publius the Owl.

The Sacred Way's one of the oldest streets in Rome, a blend of magnificence and squalor. The squalid element's made up of buildings that look like they've been around since Brutus threw out the Tarquins. Their walls are timber and mud-brick, with more patching and holes than a street-sweeper's tunic, and every so often in among the graffiti and scrawled adverts for personal services a black streak from pavement to roof that could've been made by one of Brennus's cookfires. Most of them are used for storage or as squats by the city's drifting population, but some are mansions belonging to hard-line Republican families that've been living in them since Cincinnatus ploughed his first furrow and ain't never going to move nohow for no one.

The newer properties are a lot more upmarket. They only date back fifty or so years to the time when Augustus was on his marble-for-brick jag, and they stand out like ivory false teeth in an old woman's grin. The Owl's shop was one of these, on a prime corner site with a nice view of the Palatine to the south. Even from the outside, it smelled of money. Crooked or not, the guy must've been pulling it in hand over fist. There was a slave on the door, which again made sense: upmarket traders don't encourage riff-raff on the lookout for somewhere to shelter from the rain or a quick see-and-grab, and a bouncer's standard equipment. He wasn't the usual gorilla squeezed into a sharp tunic to make him blend with the decor, either; we got a bow that wouldn't've disgraced a high-class major-domo.

Impressive.

The inside was impressive, too, more like a private house than a shop, even down to the pool in the middle and the hole in the roof above to let in light and catch the rainwater. No counter, and although there were more statues and bits of furniture around than you'd ever get in an ordinary property they weren't obtrusive. Money again: the trick, when you're dealing with the market the Owl was obviously targeting, is not to show everything you've got at once. Bulk's vulgar; space makes room for a bigger price tag.

The guy himself fitted the part. Forget the greasy shopkeeper in a tunic with bits of last night's dinner sticking to it: the Owl was sitting in a chair like a consul's. He rose and came over smiling.

'Good afternoon, gentlemen,' he said: shit, we had a real smoothie here. 'And how may I help you?'

'The name's Valerius Corvinus,' I said. 'This is Watch Commander Flavonius Lippillus.'

'Yes?' The Owl's eyes flicked to Lippillus and a lot of the smoothness disappeared. 'How interesting. Correct me if I'm wrong, but I thought the commander of the local Watch was Ummidius Quadratus. With whom, may I say, I'm on excellent terms.'

'Come off it, Owl.' Lippillus was grinning. 'Save that for the customers. Quadratus wouldn't touch you with gloves and a ten-foot pole.'

The guy stiffened and blinked slowly. 'Owl' was right: his eyes were grey and round, with the biggest, blackest pupils I'd ever seen. There was a drowsiness about him, too, that didn't quite square up: maybe he was on something, like that whacky qef stuff the Parthians use for recreation. He stared at Lippillus for a long time then turned back to me.

'What exactly is it you want?' he said.

That was better; me, I've always preferred short sentences and simple grammar. 'You're Aulus Bubo's brother, right?'

Another long pause. The eyelids went down and up. 'Aulus is dead. I had the news from his wife three days ago. Unfortunately I wasn't free to attend the funeral.'

'You were pretty close, I understand. Partners, even.'

'We're in the same business, yes.'

'He supply you with stuff to sell to the rich punters here?'

'Sometimes. Naturally enough. The Roman market is more buoyant, and as you say the customers have more to spend.'

'You know where the goods came from?'

Pause. 'Where do antiques usually come from? Aulus had his sources of supply, as do I: private individuals, auctioneering firms, even collectors who for reasons of their own decide to part with a particular piece.'

'Crooks?'

He blinked again. This time I was the one to get the death-stare. ''That is defamation,’ he said softly. ‘No doubt your friend here will confirm the fact if you know no law yourself. Also that it's actionable. Now if you're not bona fide customers I'd be grateful if you would leave my premises before I call my slave and have you removed forcibly.'

So we were back to the long sentences. Lippillus grunted and muttered something profane under his breath, but we'd agreed in the cookshop that this was my show. I didn't move. 'You ever hear of a guy called Clusinus?' I said. 'Titus Clusinus?'

'No.'

He was lying; sure he was.

'How about Gaius Aternius?'

His eyes shifted. 'I've warned you once,' he said. 'I won't do so again. You're clearly not here for legitimate commercial purposes and I would like you to leave.'

I moved up close, and he flinched. 'What's the penalty for robbing tombs, pal? Maybe you can tell me that. Also, why your law-abiding brother should have his head stove in with a hammer.'

For the first time the Owl's bland face showed a spark of expression and his tongue licked out over his lower lip. 'Aulus always did think too little of security,' he said. 'He was killed by a casual robber.'

Yeah, I might believe that at a pinch, but the Owl clearly didn't; the guy was shit scared, and it showed. I had my lever and I knew it.

'He thought enough of security to build a new strongroom under his shop,' I said. 'One he never got round to using. What was he planning to put in there that he didn't already have? Tomb goods that his crony Clusinus stole for him and he was going to ferry down to you when he'd collected enough?'

The Owl glanced at Lippillus and his mouth opened but no sound came out.

'Your brother's dead.' I lowered my voice. 'So's Clusinus. That's two out of three. Now if I were feeling particularly bloody-minded I'd walk out of here right now and forget the whole thing. Sure, the murders happened in Caere but I have the feeling that whoever was responsible wants the partnership completely dissolved with no loose ends. You a betting man, Owl? You want to bet he doesn't know about you or where to find you, or that he hasn't got the fare to Rome? Because that's just what you're doing here.' Silence. I turned away. 'Ah, the hell, Lippillus, let's -'