Solid Citizens (2 page)

‘Uh … I don’t want to hurry you, pal,’ I said. ‘But do you think you could be just a tad more explicit?’ Before we all died of old age and boredom.

‘I’m sorry, Corvinus. Quite right, quite right.’ He cleared his throat again. ‘To be brief, Libanius told me about that terrible business involving Lucius Hostilius last year here in Castrimoenium and how good you’d been in, ah, bringing things on behalf of the Castrimoenian Senate to a satisfactory conclusion. He thought you might be able to help us in a similar way.’

Gods! Well, one of us had to spell it out, and from the looks of things it wasn’t going to be mealy mouthed Nerva here.

‘You mean there’s been another murder,’ I said.

He winced like a dowager confronted by a dirty picture. ‘Ah … not to put too fine a point on it,’ he said. ‘Yes. Yes, there has. That is indeed the case.’

Hell. Oh, I knew it had to be something like that – Libanius wouldn’t have sent the guy to me if he’d only wanted a recommendation for a good wine to serve with duck – but just before the Winter Festival, for the gods’ sake! Like he’d said, I was on holiday here. Perilla would definitely be unchuffed, for a start. The lady gets really, really serious about murders at holiday times.

Even so, I was still slightly puzzled. Murders aren’t nice, but they can happen even in the most well-regulated families. It still really didn’t account for the guy’s embarrassment.

‘OK,’ I said. ‘Who was the victim?’

‘Our censor-elect. Quintus Caesius.’

Well, that explained the high-powered emissary, anyway. A single provincial censor is appointed every five years in place of the town’s normal two chief magistrates, taking up office on the first of January. Like his Roman equivalent, his prime job is to revise the list of senators and citizens, cutting out the dead wood. But it doesn’t stop there: he’s also responsible for the settlement of the community’s finances for the next five-year period, which means he has the power to choose new contractors to handle the sources of that finance, such as publicly owned land, commercial businesses and the like, and to terminate any existing contracts, as he sees fit. The operative phrase being that last one. Oh, sure, technically any decisions he makes are only recommendations and so subject to full senatorial approval, but human nature being what it is they usually go through on the nod. Plus, because for that particular year he’s on his own at the top, with no equally empowered colleague to queer his pitch if he has a mind to, given that said senate has a hundred members who are generally more interested in getting through the day’s agenda and home for a cup of wine and an early dinner than actually thinking of the implications of what they’re voting for, so long as he’s careful and a good talker he can do whatever he likes.

All of which means that a censor is a pretty big cheese. Ipso facto, he also has to be a pillar of honesty, morality, sobriety and rectitude, the best exponent the community can show of traditional provincial family values. At least, that’s the theory. Don’t laugh. It could technically happen, although the chances of these qualities coinciding with an interest in politics is well within the flying-pigs category.

‘So how did he die?’ I said.

Nerva cleared his throat yet again and swallowed before he answered. His expression had gone wooden. ‘He was, ah, found with his head beaten in at the back entrance to the local brothel.’

I stared at him. The silence lengthened. Finally, I said: ‘Ah.’

I could see now why he’d had difficulty getting down to the nitty-gritty: now the dreadful truth was out, the guy was literally glowing with embarrassment, so brightly you could’ve used his face to roast Winter Festival chestnuts.

‘“Ah” is right!’ he said. ‘It’s appalling!’

It had its funny side, too, mind, but Nerva wouldn’t’ve seen that, so I kept my face straight.

‘So was he actually on his way in or out when it happened?’ I said.

He pursed his lips primly. ‘I don’t know.’

‘Oh, come on, pal! You must know that, at least!’

He gave me a look that would’ve curdled milk. ‘I don’t know, Corvinus,’ he said slowly, ‘because I haven’t asked. Nor do I intend to. My task – with the full approval of the Bovillan Senate, naturally – is simply to put the matter completely into your capable hands, if you’ll accept the charge. As an outsider …’ He stopped.

Yeah, well, I could see where he was heading. If there was dirt to be dug – and there undoubtedly would be – then the solid citizens of Bovillae would rather not know the details; while if a visitor from Rome were to do the digging none of them need be personally, embarrassingly, involved in the investigation. Nevertheless, the guy wasn’t getting off that easily.

‘OK,’ I said. ‘Let’s get some facts at least, things that you
do
know. First of all: when did this happen?’

‘Two nights ago. At least, the body was found yesterday morning, as I said in the alleyway behind the brothel.’

‘He couldn’t’ve just been passing the door?’

‘No. The alley is a dead end. And all the other buildings are shops and storehouses. They would have been – in fact, were – locked and shuttered for the night.’

‘The brothel owner tell you anything useful? About exact timing, for example?’ He just looked at me. Yeah. Right. Got it. ‘OK, forget that. I can find it out for myself. Next. Who do you think might’ve done it?’

‘How should I know?’ he snapped. ‘That’s your job to find out, surely.’

I sighed. ‘Come on, pal! I’m not asking you to make an accusation, but I need somewhere to start. What about a straightforward mugging? That’s the most likely solution.’

Nerva shook his head. ‘Unfortunately, it isn’t – in fact it’s most improbable. A mugging might well happen in Rome, yes, but not in Bovillae. We have our share of crime, certainly, but not that sort. Besides, his purse was still on his belt.’

‘So it was deliberate. He was targeted.’ No answer, but the guy was looking more and more uncomfortable. ‘Fine. So what about enemies? Who did he know locally who might want him dead?’

Nerva bridled. ‘Really, Corvinus! I already said Bovillae isn’t Rome. Quintus Caesius was a highly respected and respectable member of the community, and a major public figure. He didn’t mix with people of that stamp. And our prominent citizens do
not
go around committing murder!’

Jupiter. Not a flicker to show he was aware of a contradiction here. Still, that was par for the course where good old-fashioned Romans like Silius Nerva were concerned. I closed my eyes briefly. ‘OK,’ I said. ‘No problem. I’ll put it another way. Had he had any recent quarrels that you know about? Any violent disagreements?’ He hesitated. ‘Come on! You’re not helping here!’

‘There was the incident with Quintus Roscius, naturally. It was a disagreement, yes, if you care to use that word. But it wasn’t violent.’

‘Suppose you tell me about it.’

‘It happened two days before the murder, in the main street. Roscius came up to Caesius and they … had words.’

‘About what? And who’s this Roscius?’

‘One of the local small farmers.’ Nerva was looking embarrassed again. ‘Caesius is – was – in property. Buying and selling. As I understand it he and Roscius had a business arrangement and there had been some disagreement over the interpretation of the terms.’

‘More specifically?’

‘I’m sorry, Corvinus, I can’t help you there. You’d have to ask the fellow yourself. He’s quite easy to find – in fact, you’d pass the end of the track up to his farm on the way into Bovillae from here, just before the town limits.’

Can’t help you
or
won’t help you?
Me, I was inclined to the latter. I’d the distinct feeling that this case was showing all the signs of closing ranks and dragging feet. Caesius had been very much one of the local Great and Good, and these guys have Principles, very much with the capital attached: they don’t peach on their own, particularly where a bit of sharp practice or a slightly dubious business deal is concerned. You never knew when it might get reciprocated and you’d find yourself shopped down the river.

‘OK,’ I said. ‘So tell me more about Caesius himself. Married? Family man?’

‘He was married, until a few months ago when his wife died. There were no children.’

‘So who inherits?’

Another hesitation, this time with a pursing of the lips. ‘His younger brother, I suppose. Lucius. But you’d have to ask Publius Novius about that. Novius is—’

‘The family lawyer.’

He looked surprised. ‘You know him?’

‘We’ve met.’ Yeah, although maybe
collided
was a better word. I’d run into Novius a year or so back, in connection with the Lucius Hostilius business. He might not be an actual crook – the jury was still out on that one – but he certainly wasn’t above a bit of legal skulduggery when he thought he could get away with it.

‘Oh, excellent!’ Nerva had brightened; this was the way things should go, with the Old Pals’ network swinging into smooth operation and no embarrassing slugs in the salad of life. ‘Then there should be no problem. He’s a splendid fellow, isn’t he, old Publius; one of the best. Marvellous for his age, and very helpful.’

‘Yeah. So I found.’ I kept the dryness and sarcasm out of my voice. ‘Anything else you can tell me?’ In addition to the miserable pittance I’ve finally managed to screw out of you, you closed-mouthed bastard. Gods!

‘No. No, I don’t think so. Or nothing of much importance, anyway. You’ll take the case for us?’

‘Yeah. I’ll come over to Bovillae and ask a few questions, if you like. Starting tomorrow.’

‘Splendid!’ He got to his feet, looking relieved. I half-expected him to wash his hands in the ornamental pool. ‘Anything more I can do to help, just ask. I’m an easy man to find.’

‘Actually, there’s something now,’ I said. ‘I’ll need Caesius’s address, so I can have a word with his major-domo.’ A good rule, when you’re digging the dirt, is to talk early on to the bought help. Caesius’s major-domo might not be too forthcoming in the event – there was such a thing as loyalty – but he would sure as hell know about his master’s private concerns, if anyone did.

‘Yes, of course,’ Nerva said. ‘It’s in town, the big old house near the Arician Gate. Easy to find. The major-domo’s name is Anthus. Not that he’ll be able to tell you much.’

Par for the course, so far. Ah, well.

‘Thanks, pal,’ I said. ‘I’ll be in touch.’

We shook hands and he left quickly, oozing relief from every pore in his not-inconsiderable body.

Now I had to break the news to Perilla. The hard ones first.

She got back about an hour later, with Marilla and – unfortunately – Placida. The hellhound did her usual haven’t-seen-you-for-years dash at me, put her paws on my chest and licked my face. I fended her off.

‘Don’t encourage her, Corvinus,’ Marilla said. ‘She’s not really supposed to be in here before she’s had a bath. She found something dead up by the Maecilius place and rolled in it before we could stop her.’

Aaargh! Mind you, in our brief bout of physical contact I’d sort of half-concluded that already. Plus from the smell of her breath she’d gone on to eat most of it after she’d finished. Ah, the joys of owning a dog. If, indeed, Placida qualified as such, which I doubted. Me, I’d put her in a category that included the Lernaean Hydra myself.

Perilla had grabbed her by the collar and hauled her back.

‘Lupercus? If you would?’ she said through gritted teeth, the major-domo having edged in behind them. ‘Quickly, please!’ The brute’s claws scrabbled on the marble floor tiles and the panting and slavering grew more frantic.

‘Certainly, madam.’

Placida was removed, and fresh air returned slowly to the world.

‘So.’ Perilla took a deep breath and gave me a brittle smile. ‘How was your morning, dear? Did you have a nice time?’

‘Uh, it was OK. Quiet.’

‘But Lupercus said that you had a visitor.’

Bugger! How had the blabbermouth managed to squeeze that one in between opening the front door and hauling off our ballistic boarhound? ‘Ah … Yeah. Come to mention it, I did at that.’

‘A senator from Bovillae, no less. What did he want?’

There was no escape, so I told her the basics while she sat down on the other couch and stared at me. Hard.

‘Oh, Marcus!’ she said when I’d finished. ‘
Not
just before the Winter Festival! We’re on holiday! And you said you’d do it, I suppose? Look into things for them?’

‘More or less. It was sort of difficult to refuse.’

‘Why would you want to do that?’ Marilla was perched on the third couch, grinning. ‘I think it’s fantastic. Clarus will, too. And of course if you need any help …’

‘No,’ I said firmly. ‘I will
not
need any help. Besides, it happened over in Bovillae.’

‘That’s only four miles away. And Clarus knows people there. We could …’

‘No. That’s final.’ Jupiter! Marriage hadn’t cured the ghoulish streak in her, anyway. ‘I can handle this perfectly well on my own, Princess. Just forget it, right?’

‘We’ve got your mother and Priscus arriving, too,’ Perilla said. ‘Marcus, I do wish you’d think before you agree to things and upset all the arrangements. I mean, it’s only a murder after all.’

Said without a blink. Sometimes I wonder about the lady’s sense of priorities. ‘Look, Perilla …’

Bathyllus shimmered in. This business of having two major-domos in the house simultaneously was going to be confusing, particularly since each of them ignored the other’s existence. Still, I supposed Lupercus had his hands full at present with fumigating the hellhound, and we’d brought it on ourselves.

‘Lunch is served,’ he said.

‘Good. I’m starving,’ Marilla said. ‘Any sign of Clarus, Bathyllus? He said he might be back.’

‘No, madam. He sent word to say he’d be delayed and you were to start without him.’

Madam
. We were getting the perfect butler act here. I suspected the little guy was making a point: where
savoir-faire
and a general awareness of what was Done and Not Done went, some major-domos had what it took in spades, while others were only fit to sluice down the dog. I grinned at him and got a poached-egg-eyed stare back.