White murder marcus corv.., p.28
White Murder (Marcus Corvinus Book 7), page 28
‘You think you will catch him, Corvinus?’ Renatius said.
‘The gods know.’ I took a swig of the Spoletian, then bit into the cheese and followed it with some of the crusty bread. ‘If I’m lucky.’
‘I’d go for one of the Greens myself,’ Charax said.
My jaws stopped moving. ‘Yeah, Charax? And why would that be?’
‘These tricky sods’re capable of anything.’ Oh. Right. The Accusation on Principle: our cowboy builder friend was an ardent Blue. He wouldn’t even touch cabbage. ‘With Pegasus gone the Whites are shafted for the Plebbies. Then there’s the business with Valgius. It makes sense.’
I almost choked on my cheese. Gods! Under that apelike skull pulsed a brain after all!
‘You got the solution to the Parthian question as well, Charax?’ Renatius had poured himself a cup of wine and was sipping it. One of the cadre of pals declared UDI and sniggered.
Charax ignored both of them. ‘You mark my words. Minicius Natalis is the lad, sure as eggs is eggs. I’m not saying he used the knife himself, the bugger’s too fly for that, but he was the mind behind it.’ He paused. ‘What they call the grey eminence.’
‘The what?’ That was the UDI man.
‘The grey bloody eminence, you dork. The power behind the throne.’
‘You mean like Prince Gaius?’
Charax set down his cup and grinned. ‘Ah. Funny you should say that, my son. Now that’s another thing –’
But my ego had taken enough of a bashing for one day. Perilla was bad enough, but if sodding Charax was going to solve the case from basic principles in five minutes flat while he was taking a break from not renovating tenements then I just didn’t want to hear him do it. I bolted the rest of my cheese and bread, swallowed down the Spoletian and went for the door.
27.
Titus Valgius was out to lunch when I got to the Watch-house, and from the jaundiced look on the desk squaddie’s face when he told me I had the impression that he hadn’t put in much of a morning before that. Not altogether unexpected, and at least I had Renatius’s bread, cheese and Spoletian inside me to compensate for lost time. I sat on a bench and twiddled my thumbs until he came rolling in.
‘Rolling’ was right, or the nearest thing to it. Wherever the guy had been they obviously served their lunches liquid and he’d had at least a jug. Not that I had any quarrel with that – I’m all in favour of lunch in a cup – but layabouts like me are one thing, servants of the Senate and People of Rome are another. Getting pissed on the company’s time just isn’t the Roman way.
I stood up and he blinked at me like a constipated owl. Or maybe a constipated hippo would be nearer the mark. Whether or not he’d had anything solid down his throat in the past couple of hours the bugger clearly didn’t stint himself at other times, because you could’ve used his mantle to gift-wrap a German beer barrel. If Valgius was fighting the flab then he’d lost the equivalent of Cannae.
‘Who the hell are you?’ he grunted.
You can take an instant dislike to some people. This bastard was about as simpatico as an enema. ‘The name’s Marcus Valerius Messalla Corvinus,’ I said. ‘I ran across your stooge Delicatus at Renatius’s wineshop eight days or so ago when he concealed evidence in a murder case.’
Valgius goggled. I glanced sideways at the squaddie. He was staring past us at the wall, and you could’ve carved your initials on his expression.
‘In my office,’ the commander of the Eighth Watch said softly. ‘Now.’
Well, at least I’d sobered him up. He led the way. It was like following a grain barge into dock.
‘Office’ was a misnomer, if I ever heard one. The gods knew how he got away with it, but the room was fitted out like a cat-house reception hall. There was a desk in the corner, sure, but it had that untouched look that things have when they’re only for appearance sake. The really lived-in part had a couple of velvet-upholstered couches with gold beading, a bronze table that looked like it’d started life somewhere east of Ephesus, a wine set that could’ve belonged to old Julius’s millionaire pal Crassus and enough drapes, hangings, soft-pile rugs and fripperies to fit out a queen of Palmyra’s boudoir.
It also smelled of scent.
‘Nice place,’ I said.
‘Sit down,’ he snapped, then lowered himself onto one of the couches. It creaked. He reached for the wine jug, poured a cup – one cup – , drank and set the cup down. ‘Now. What the devil is this all about?’
‘The murder eight days ago. Of the Whites charioteer, Pegasus.’
‘That’s done and settled with. Pegasus was stabbed by person or persons unknown. Motive robbery.’
I resisted the urge to ask how more than one person could’ve inflicted a single stab wound: the guy would only have concluded, quite rightly, that I was taking the piss. ‘Come off it, pal! He wasn’t robbed. I saw the body myself before your squaddies arrived. He still had his purse.’
‘That’s not what my man Delicatus says. Or the two officers who were with him.’ I was getting a look that would’ve made a cobra take up crochet. ‘Furthermore, I understand your claim was not corroborated by any of the other people present. And, Valerius Corvinus, don’t you dare call me “pal”!’
Well, at least the fact that Delicatus had reported the incident showed that he hadn’t been playing a lone game. Not that I thought it was likely: he’d be a fool to try any funny business without the backing of at least his immediate boss. ‘The purse was there, friend,’ I said. ‘Delicatus knew it, his squaddies knew it, and by extension you know it. And the only reason I can see for pretending otherwise is to bury the case, which is exactly what’s happened. And that leads naturally to the question why.’
Valgius hadn’t looked like he could inflate any more without bursting, but he did. He wasn’t just a hippo in a mantle now; he was a purple hippo. ‘Are you accusing me and the men under my command of perverting the course of justice?’ he said.
‘Yeah. I’d say that was a fair inference. What do you propose to do about it?’
His mouth opened and shut; that he hadn’t been expecting, and it’d rocked him. We stared at each other for a good half minute. Then he said, more calmly now: ‘What proof do you have that the man was murdered? For anything other than the cash he had on him, that is?’
‘First, it was premeditated. The killer had followed him to the wineshop and waited in the empty tenement across the street until he came out. I have the evidence of the workmen in the wineshop that he left his handprint on some wet plaster.’
‘That doesn’t show premeditation. Any ordinary thief could have done the same.’
‘Second, he was involved in a scam with Minicius Natalis the master of the Greens faction to get rid of the Whites’ champion racehorse Polydoxus.’
The piggy eyes shifted. I’d been waiting for that, and I didn’t miss it. ‘You can prove it?’
‘I can’t, but the Whites’ master Lucius Cammius can. He caught the bastard in the act.
There was a long pause. Valgius passed his tongue over his lips. ‘That’s a very serious allegation,’ he said. ‘Natalis is a prominent man. To suggest that he would countenance any shady business is –’
‘Look, pal.’ I leaned forward. ‘You asked for proof. I’m pointing you in the right direction. Officially. The very least you can do is take it as grounds for reopening the case. Or opening it, rather, because hitherto thanks to you and your goons there hasn’t been a fucking case to reopen. You want to take the whole thing to the city judge, that’s fine with me. But if you do you’ll have to explain why the fact that it’s Titus Natalis who’s at the sharp end should make a difference.’
He was rattled now. The jowls were shaking up and down like a scared pig’s. ‘Natalis isn’t entirely devoid of influence. The Greens have very powerful backers who –’
‘You a betting man, Valgius? Because that’s what it comes down to. What you’re betting on is that when the shit flies off the shovel Macro and his boss Prince Gaius will step in and blow the whistle. Me, I’d go the other way. They might’ve done at the start, but things’ve moved on since then. And if they don’t then when Natalis is pegged out for the crows you’ll be down there with him. That I’ll see to personally. You want to risk that, you can go right ahead.’
He was looking grey. ‘Very well, Valerius Corvinus. You may...have a point. Certainly your...allegation regarding the attempt on the Whites’ horse gives rise to...some doubts.’ He gulped for air. Bugger; that was all I needed. For the Eighth District Watch commander to peg out in his office and Delicatus to come back and find me standing over another corpse was a complication I could do without. ‘Leave it with me. I’ll...have a word with Titus Delicatus. There may have been...a misunderstanding. Also with Lucius Cammius.’
‘Fine.’ I stood up. ‘I’ll expect developments. And if there aren’t any, friend, then I’ll be paying the city judge’s office a visit myself.’
I left him reaching for the wine jug.
Well, that had been pretty satisfactory. I’d had to break confidence with Cammius, mind, but it’d been the only way to get things moving again. The main thing was I’d slapped a couple of substantial punches into Titus Natalis’s midriff. The master of the Greens wouldn’t like that; he wouldn’t like it at all.
I was grinning as I came down the steps back onto Tuscan. Enough for one day. I thought about going back to Renatius’s and having the other half of the jug, but maybe home would be a better idea. Besides, Charax’d still be there, and I found that guy wearing. The little bout of cerebration had come as a surprise, though. Who would’ve thought the lead-swinging bastard had it in him? Especially the bit about Natalis being...
I stopped. Wait a minute. Wait just one minute.
Grey eminence. Charax had described Natalis as a grey eminence. Meaning, in this context, that the guy might have been behind the murder but it wouldn’t’ve been his hand on the actual knife.
Right. So much was obvious, sure. Natalis wouldn’t be the real murderer. A wealthy public figure like him, especially one who had any number of gorillas on call, wouldn’t do his own killing, no way, it was too risky and just too infra dig.; that was so self-evident that I hadn’t even put it into words inside my own head. The thing was, though, precisely because I hadn’t done that I’d missed out on the next logical step, the one that Charax had made. There had to be a hand on the knife. If Natalis did arrange the killing, then who was the actual killer? If I could find him and get him to talk then I had the bastard cold...
‘You going to stand there all day, squire, or would you maybe consider moving?’
‘Hmm?’ I glanced round. A guy with a handcart piled high with cobblestones was waiting to get past, and waiting none too patiently. ‘Oh, yeah. Yeah, right.’ I shifted, and he trundled on his merry way muttering. I fell into step behind.
So who could it have been? My pal the troll on the gate would be prime: he was the right type, and his threat earlier that day suggested at least a part-time role as hit-man. Putting the frighteners on him might be difficult, but if he was the real killer – and the chances were good – then I reckoned it was worth a shot.
In that context there was another angle worth looking into. If I were Natalis, I’d want things as tight-wrapped as I could get them. Sure, having one of his own men do the job would be easy to arrange, but there were risks. He’d still have to make sure that there was no comeback, especially if things didn’t go as smoothly as he expected. Which meant he had to be certain that, when the body was discovered, there wouldn’t be any awkward questions asked like who done it and why. And that, naturally, meant squaring the local Watch.
If the murder had happened somewhere like Public Pond where Lippillus was in charge the scenario would’ve been as likely as a flying pig: faction master, clout with the ruling junta or not, Decimus Lippillus would’ve had the bastard clapped up at the first tentative approach so fast his eyes would water, and the same went for any of his squaddies because if that conscientious little dwarf caught any of his men on the fiddle he’d have their giblets. The Eighth District was a whole different ball-game. Even if I hadn’t had prior warning that their commander was crooked as a stepped-on snake that interview with him would’ve sent every bell ringing. Whatever had paid for the fancy stuff in his office it hadn’t been a Watchman’s salary, which was probably the idea of having it there on display as a hint to clients that he enjoyed the finer things in life. One got you ten that Valgius was on the make. Which raised interesting questions vis-à-vis the murder of Pegasus.
Okay; let’s try the scenario. Natalis has just discovered that his agent-in-place with the Whites has been blown and he decides to get rid of him fast. The trouble is, a straightforward killing’s risky because he knows – has to know, for the killing to be on the cards at all – that Lucius Cammius has just caught the bugger trying to poison or whatever his horse, and worse that Cammius knows who’s responsible. That being the case, if Pegasus is found stiff under dubious circumstances the chances are pretty fair that shortly afterwards Natalis will find himself handed the double whammy of attempted equicide and conspiracy to murder the beast’s driver. And because he’s guilty of both the charges will probably stick.
So what can he do? He’s got two options. One is to make the death seem natural. Tricky, even if he could get away with it. The second is to go for a simple, straightforward murder but make sure in advance that it won’t be investigated. That’s the one Natalis chooses. He does a deal with Titus Valgius to the effect that Pegasus will be decoyed into the Eighth District and –
I skidded to a mental halt. That didn’t work. It couldn’t work, no way, nohow, never. Natalis hadn’t decoyed Pegasus anywhere. The only reason for the guy being in Renatius’s at all that day was to meet Cario re the blackmail. And if Natalis hadn’t been responsible for bringing him there then a deal made in advance with Valgius didn’t make sense. Sure, in the event he’d been lucky: from his point of view the Eighth District as a location for the murder had been perfect because Valgius had covered it up anyway, but it couldn’t’ve been prearranged.
Bugger! I felt like crying.
Unless, of course...
Begin again. Assume there was a deal, because it fitted with everything bar the Cario business: Valgius was a Greens sympathiser, he was bent as a hairpin, the Eighth isn’t all that far from the stables so as a venue it wouldn’t arouse any suspicions, and Natalis could be sure that if Pegasus was decoyed there and chopped any subsequent investigation wouldn’t get past the starting gate. All that side of it was okay. The problem only came with Cario; and that was really no problem at all because Pegasus had chosen the meeting place.
I hadn’t wondered about that at the time, when I’d talked to Cario at the Whites’ stables, because it wasn’t all that remarkable. Now I did. Cario had insisted on a wineshop as the actual rendezvous, but it had been Pegasus who chose Renatius’s. Sure, it might simply have been because like I say the Eighth District’s slap next to Mars Field, but there could’ve been another reason: that Pegasus already had an appointment somewhere in the area and he was killing two birds with one stone. And if that was the case then we were in business again. When Pegasus was working undercover for Natalis they must’ve met somewhere on a regular basis to exchange information, and the Greens stables themselves would obviously be out. The Eighth was a strong possibility; maybe even - because Valgius was a Greens fan and would be willing to turn a blind eye in exchange for a sweetener or two - the Watch-house itself. All Natalis would have to do would be to send Pegasus a message by whatever route they used arranging another meeting. Then when he was safely inside Valgius’s territory –
Something cold clutched at my gut. Oh, sweet gods, I could go further! If what I’d just thought of was right then no wonder Valgius had been shitting bricks at the end there. I’d had his balls properly in a vice, only I hadn’t known it. Suppressing evidence was bad enough; that could lose him his job, at least. Knowingly providing a venue for the sort of clandestine meetings that Natalis and Pegasus were having was positively actionable, but even that might not be the worst he was guilty of. That particular crime was, if not murder itself, then at least like Natalis conspiracy to murder. And that could get him the strangler’s noose.
How could Natalis make sure – one hundred percent sure – that his pals in the Watch would play ball and see Pegasus’s death got the lack of attention it deserved? Simple: he could have them zero the bastard themselves. Better still, he could see to it that the actual killer was the investigating Watchman.
I couldn’t be certain, no way could I be certain, but I’d risk a better-than-evens side bet that the guy who’d actually knifed Pegasus was Valgius’s stooge Titus Delicatus.
Right; so what did I need? First, a tie-in between the master of Greens and the Watch commander. Valgius was a Greens fan, sure, and I’d wager after talking to the guy that he had itchy palms on general principles, but I had no proof of actual connection. Second, more than I’d got so far on Delicatus. He was bent right enough, and hand-in-glove with his boss – I knew that from the purse incident – and from what Renatius and Charax had said he had a certain reputation locally to live down to; but it was a fair step from there to murder. I wasn’t unaware, either, of the size of the potential can of worms we’d got here. Sure, even nowadays with the imperial checks and-balances in place corruption to some degree is part and parcel of public life – it’s practically a Roman tradition, from provincial governors down –but a District Watch that rotten at the core would merit more than a wink and a head-shake. If Valgius and his subordinates in the Eighth District were directly involved then the case had just moved up a notch in importance from a simple stabbing to something with much darker implications.
I could put the thing to my own friendly Watch commander, of course. Decimus Lippillus was on the inside, he’d know about any dirt that happened currently to be sticking to any of his colleagues. That, though, was the problem: Valgius was a colleague, and however bent the guy was professional ethics would be a factor. Asking Lippillus to pull the bastard’s plug just wouldn’t be fair. Besides, where dirt, slander and rumours were concerned, especially in the higher social strata, I had another option. I grinned to myself. Maybe I should have a word with my old pal Caelius Crispus.
