White murder marcus corv.., p.31
White Murder (Marcus Corvinus Book 7), page 31
‘Thank you, sir.’
‘And if you should see any good truss shops on your wanderings, then –’
‘Marcus!’ Perilla snapped.
‘Yeah. Right. Sorry, it was just a slip. That’s all, sunshine. Have a good day.’ Bathyllus exited, and I stretched: the long day was catching up on me. ‘Hey, lady. You fancy an early night? I mean, if we’re going to be woken up by Meton’s broccoli it might be an idea to get some sleep in first. And I don’t trust these nuts.’
‘They look all right to me,’ Perilla said. She paused. ‘Of course, there was the time at your mother’s that Phormio produced dates rolled in dyed mustard seeds...’
We stared at each other, then at the nuts. True, the poppy seeds did look grey rather than black. Carefully, I reached over, dipped a finger and tasted. Bastard!
‘Let’s skip dessert,’ I said.
‘Very wise, I think.’
Disgruntled slaves are bad enough, but a rogue chef definitely has the edge. The drunken rhino wouldn’t even come close.
30.
I gave breakfast a miss, left Perilla to have a quiet word in private with Meton – that fate I wouldn’t wish on anyone, but for him I’d make an exception – and headed down to Public Pond. Despite the threat of the broccoli I’d had a good night’s sleep, and it was a beautiful morning with the sun bathing the upper Caelian to my left in a golden sheen studded with poplars. Lippillus wasn’t no Valgius: he’d’ve been at his desk practically by first light, but depending what his deputy on the night shift had left for him he might already be out and about. I picked up a couple of hot sesame bread rings from a bakery near the temple of Honour and Virtue and munched on them as I walked.
Public Pond, taking in as it does the south-easterly Aventine rise and the Remuria, is a pretty rough district, although the eastern half between the high ground and Ardeatina Road on the outskirts of the city is a lot more open. The Watch house itself is in the tenement area, near the Capenan Gate: close by the region’s northern and western boundaries, in other words, which is good planning because that’s where nine tenths of the crimes are committed. Lippillus had had the commander’s job for four or five years now – he’d been promoted when Perilla and I were living in Athens – which just shows you that occasionally the buggers who run the city manage to get things right, because despite being a no-name and looking like a disreputable dwarf the guy was shit-hot.
I’d just missed him: a B-and-E, the squaddie on the desk told me, down the road at Mercury’s Spring.
‘B-and-E?’ I said.
‘Breaking and entering. A wine store. The big one by the tack and saddlery factory.’
‘Right.’ I bit a chunk out of my second bread ring and set off again. Well, at least it wasn’t far: Mercury’s Spring was only a few hundred yards the other side of the gate, and I’d do better joining him there than waiting for him to get back. That was another thing about Lippillus. Most regional Watch commanders saw the job as an opportunity to dump the actual work load on their squaddies; he’d be out there himself sniffing around. Delegation’s necessary, sure, and so is paperwork, but make too much of it and you can lose the plot. Lippillus believed in keeping his hand in. Me, I’d be the same, which was why we got on so well.
I found the place no bother, largely because of the usual knot of gawpers: a cement blockhouse with bars on the windows and a door hanging from its hinges with the heavy iron crossbar pulled from the hasps and lying in the roadway. Crude, and Jupiter knew what the buggers had used to yank it free; maybe a chain fastened to the yoke on a pair of oxen. Lippillus was standing in the entrance talking to a little old bald-headed tunic with literal tears in his eyes. Clearly, the bereft owner. He gave me a nod and a ‘hang-on’ wave, and I kicked my heels until he’d finished.
That took about two minutes. At the end of them he left the tunic to be sucked in to one of the commiserative groups of gawpers and came over.
‘Hey, Corvinus,’ he said. ‘What brings you down to the Pond?’
That could wait: the guy was obviously busy. ‘Problems?’ I raised an eyebrow in the direction of the still-sobbing tunic.
Lippillus grinned his evil-goblin grin. When I’d first met him in the dim-and-distant past I’d taken him for a twelve-year-old. He’d picked up a good few creases, a touch of grey and a receding hairline since then, but he still looked like the first soft breath from Zephyrus’s downy cheeks would send him bowling arse over tip. Not that the impression was borne out by the facts. I’d seen Lippillus sort out two squaddies almost literally twice his size and weight without even breaking stride, and they weren’t putting it on, either.
‘Nah,’ he said. ‘Just Coryphus and his brother from Butcher’s Alley celebrating their mum’s birthday. Happens every year, never varies. They break in, take two jars of Massic and one of whacky Falernian and spend the Megalensia pissed as newts. The mother too.’ He nodded towards the wrinkled tunic, who seemed to have cheered up considerably and was chatting to his gawper pals. ‘The gods know why old Thanno there doesn’t just send the booze round a couple of days before and save us all a lot of trouble.’
‘He seems pretty cut up about it anyway.’
The grin widened. ‘Thanno? The old bugger enjoys the attention. Besides, the Butcher’s Alley twins aren’t bad lads. Once they’ve sobered up they’ll be back round full of apologies and with the first instalment of the payment. It’ll take them to the Winter Festival, sure, but Thanno’ll get his money. And Coryphus is a blacksmith. This time ten days the door’ll be good as new.’
‘How did they bust the bar? Tame elephant?’
Lippillus chuckled. ‘Uh-uh. They just pulled, one either side. They’re big boys, that pair. Get it from their mother. That lady could lift a hippo in each hand. So, Corvinus. What can I do for you?’
‘It may take a while. You got the time?’
‘Sure. You can tell me over breakfast. I usually grab a roll in the baker’s round the corner from the Watch-house, but I didn’t have a chance this morning.’
‘Suits me, pal.’ We walked back the way I’d come, towards the Capenan Gate. ‘How’s Marcina?’ Marcina was Lippillus’s stepmother and de facto wife, a big beautiful African lady with vowels you wouldn’t believe.
‘Expecting.’ That got me another grin. ‘You wouldn’t credit it after all this time, but there you are. She’s due in another couple of months.’
‘Congratulations. Perilla’ll be pleased.’
‘Looks like twins, from the size of her. Either that or the kid’ll take after her side. Perilla well? How about that adopted daughter of yours?’
‘She’s still with Perilla’s Aunt Marcia in the Alban Hills. The old girl’s hitting eighty, but she’s fit as a flea and the kid loves it up there. Too much to bring her to Rome. We see her occasionally.’ I fought down the smallest twinge of envy. ‘Holidays. That sort of thing.’
‘Yeah. Right.’ We walked on in silence for a bit. ‘So. What are you mixed up with this time?’
‘You hear anything about the death of a Whites driver?’
He stopped. ‘Pegasus?’
‘That’s the lad.’
‘Knifed in an alleyway in the Eighth District ten days or so back. Sure I heard. Story is that it was an open-and-shut case. Killed for his purse.’
‘Wrong, pal. Whatever the motive was, it wasn’t robbery. And if the purse was missing it was taken later as a blind. Trust me. I was there.’
He gave me a sharp glance and carried on walking. I’d thought he’d ask me more questions but he didn’t. In fact, he clammed up completely. Interesting.
We reached the bakery. It was bigger than the holes-in-the-wall you normally get, and the owner had put two folding tables in the spaces either side of the oven. I’d bet the place would be pretty popular in winter, and there was enough room on the pavement outside to shift them there when the temperature rose. At the moment, though, we had it to ourselves, except for the big guy with hairy, flour-dusted arms marking the sections on a trayful of flat round loaves.
‘The usual, Quintus,’ Lippillus said. He cocked an eye at me. ‘You eaten yet?’
The sesame rings had filled a gap, but I could always manage a bit more, if only to be sociable. ‘Make that two, Quintus,’ I said. The big guy nodded, wiped the flour from his hands with a rag and reached down a wooden platter from a shelf. All done at the considered pace of an arthritic sloth. A man of few words and careful and deliberate habits, evidently.
‘So.’ Lippillus took one of the chairs and set his elbows on the table. ‘You want to ask me about Titus Valgius, right?’
I said the guy was smart. I hadn’t missed the tone, either: flat and level as a Paduan’s back garden. ‘Among other things.’
‘He’s a colleague, Marcus.’
‘He might also be a murderer. Or at least an accessory to murder.’
That got me another sharp look. ‘Delicatus?’
So he knew the name, and the fact that he’d made the jump without any prompting was interesting again. ‘Yeah. That’s the theory I’ve been working on, anyway.’
‘Shit.’ He closed his eyes, and for a moment he looked grey and tired. I waited. Finally he opened them again. ‘Okay. Let’s have the gory details.’
I told him; not the whole thing, just the Natalis side. Half way through Quintus the Baker set the platter with a couple of rolls and a bowl of honey-and-curds in front of us, but Lippillus ignored them.
When I was finished, he said: ‘You’ve told the city judge’s office about this?’
I shook my head. ‘No. I threatened to, but if push came to shove I’ve no actual proof. Not even for the missing purse. Like I say, it’s just a theory.’
‘It squares.’ The goblin face was grim. ‘Look, we’re not having this conversation, okay? If anything comes of it then fine, we talk to the city prefect, but I’m taking my commander’s hat off now for the duration and as far as I’m concerned it doesn’t go any further. Agreed?’
‘Agreed.’
He broke off a piece of his roll, scooped up some of the honey-and-curds, chewed and swallowed. ‘Valgius is a worm,’ he said. ‘And Delicatus is a snake. Everyone in the business knows the Eighth District Watch are rotten, but so long as no one important gets hurt no one cares.’ His voice was matter-of-fact, and if I hadn’t known him I would’ve thought he didn’t care either. Which would’ve been about as far from the truth as you can get. ‘The key word there, Marcus, in case you missed it, was “important”. Up to now, the bastards have had their pal Sertorius Macro to sweep up their messes. Usually they don’t even need him, the threat’s enough to discourage any complaints. But if you’re right then maybe this time they’ve overreached themselves.’
‘Yeah. I had the impression Valgius knows that, and he’s shit-scared.’ I helped myself to the curds. ‘You think he’s capable of murder?’
‘Not Valgius. Not personally. Delicatus, though, sure, no problem.’ Lippillus kept his eyes on the food, and I noticed that when he wasn’t speaking his mouth was a hard, sour line. Understandable; these two bastards weren’t ordinary crooks, they were Watch. And to make it worse, friend though I was, I was an outsider. ‘There was an...incident two, three months ago. Small-time villain had his throat slit in an alley off Tuscus. Delicatus found the corpse himself, or that’s what he claimed. Then it transpires that they’d been seen walking into the alley together, with Delicatus twisting the guy’s arm behind his back. He didn’t deny it, either, just made some private comment to the effect that it was the bugger’s own fault for not checking his personal list against the Watch’s.’
Yeah. Right: Crispus’s protection racket. I said nothing.
‘Result: no action to be taken. File and forget.’ Lippillus was stabbing a chunk of roll viciously again and again into the curds-and-honey. ‘That’s only the most recent incident, mind. There’ve been four or five similar over the past three years. And probably a lot before them because it was only when Macro took over the Praetorians and backed Valgius for the Eighth District commander’s job that Delicatus could risk crawling out from under his stone. Now he doesn’t bother covering up for himself. He’s no reason to, not when he has his immediate boss’s approval and no one else dares say boo because of Valgius’s connections. Plus he’s doing a good job, no one would argue with that. The Eighth District is one of the quietest in the city. And when push comes to shove who’s going to nail a fucking Watchman for ridding Rome permanently of a few fucking crooks?’
I shot him a sideways glance: Lippillus didn’t swear, or not often. And he didn’t get so coldly angry, either. Maybe I should back off. ‘Yeah,’ I said quietly. ‘Yeah, okay, pal. That’s enough. Point taken.’
He looked up. The hard eyes didn’t thaw any or his mouth lose its line, but he shrugged. ‘Fine. I’m sorry. So in brief, Marcus, your answer’s yes. Murdering charioteers isn’t exactly in Titus Delicatus’s line, but if my colleague Valgius put him up to killing your Whites driver then he’d’ve done it neatly and professionally with no compunction whatsoever.’ He tossed the mangled bit of roll out of the open doorway. ‘Satisfied? Next question.’
‘You sure you want to go on with this?’ I said.
He was quiet for a long time, staring after the roll. ‘You think we’re proud of what the bastards are doing around Market Square, good track record or not?’ he said finally. ‘Any of us? Or maybe that we’re proud of ourselves for ignoring them?’ He turned back to face me. ‘Corvinus, believe me, if Valgius and Delicatus do end up facing a murder charge then every honest Watchman in the city may feel that little bit dirtier by association but he’ll want to shake your hand. And I’ll be first in the queue. No, I don’t want to go on with this, because talking about these two makes me sick and ashamed to my stomach, but that isn’t relevant. Ask your next question.’
Hell. ‘Okay,’ I said. ‘For the theory to work, Valgius has to have a connection with Minicius Natalis and the Greens faction. Not necessarily a clandestine one.You any idea what that could be?’
‘No problem there. They’ve been friends for years. Valgius has always been a big Greens supporter – that’s genuine, by the way, nothing to do with sucking up to Gaius – and he used to spend a lot of time at the stables when Natalis was top driver. In fact, that’s how he got his job as Watch commander. When Prince Gaius and his mates – including Macro – took Natalis on as a protégé Valgius got sucked into the group as well. Or he crawled into it, rather.’
Uh-huh. Well, that was pretty decisive. ‘Incidentally, I heard the last Greens boss died under suspicious circumstances. Anything you can tell me about that?’
‘Not a lot. He took a sudden belly-ache, it got worse, and he was dead inside a day. Sure, it could’ve been poison, and there were rumours to that effect, but there were no obvious signs.’ He frowned. ‘Not that you’d expect them. Minicius Natalis is no fool. He may be crooked but he’s careful. If he were mixed up in anything like that he’d cover his tracks.’
Something tugged at the back of my mind and was gone. ‘Titus Valgius told me he’d reopen the case. Of Pegasus’s murder, that is. You think that’s likely?’
‘I told you, he’s a worm. Delicatus is the one with the guts. If you put the frighteners on him and if like I say he thinks he’s overreached himself then it’s possible. Without backing from Macro he’s nothing and he knows it. My guess is he’ll go through the motions, run around asking questions like a blue-arsed fly and do nothing with the answers. That way he’s covered. But it’s an Eighth District matter. There I can’t help you.’
Well, I couldn’t expect anything else. ‘One more thing,’ I said. ‘Not concerned with Valgius. You know anything about the senior consul? Lucius Vitellius?’
‘How do you mean?’
‘He’s brother-in-law to the Blues faction master Sextilius Acceptus. And I understand he’s also friendly with the cartel boss Eutacticus. I was just wondering about a triangle, that’s all.’
He was staring at me. ‘Corvinus, Eutacticus is not someone you want to mess with.’
‘Yeah, I know,’ I said drily. ‘So everyone tells me, and personal experience bears them out. Even so.’
‘If there was anything going on then I wouldn’t know about it. Not specifically, certainly not officially. Eutacticus is one of the city’s respectable crooks. He’s worth ten million in his sandals, he’s on first name terms with half the senate, he gets his dirty work done at third or fourth hand, and tracing a connection would be about as easy as carrying a handful of snow across Libya. Even then, the chances of getting a charge to stick aren’t worth quoting. The consul sails pretty close to the wind. He’s been mixed up in two or three property scams, but you show me the broad-striper who hasn’t. Acceptus I haven’t come across, not in that way. He’s a hard nut by reputation where business is concerned, although no harder than most, and a bad loser. Sorry, that’s all I can tell you.’
‘Bad loser?’
‘Not in the gambling way. Acceptus is no gambler. If he plays he has to win, and he usually does, somehow.’ I must’ve made some kind of movement, because he shook his head. ‘No. Nothing illegal. I told you, Acceptus is clean. On the surface, at least, which might only show how clever he is. If the three of them are working together then you’re dealing with a collection of very smart cookies.’
Yeah; put like that, I could see I might be: Eutacticus the wealthy organised crime boss, Vitellius with his political clout and Acceptus with his single-minded approach, united by a common racing interest. There might be mileage there right enough. I stood up and pulled out my purse. ‘Okay. Thanks, pal.’
