White Murder (Marcus Corvinus Book 7), page 27
26.
I found the tenement and went up to the fourth floor. The place was pretty run down, even for tenements, with rubbish stacked on the landings, gaping holes in the plaster that showed the lath beneath, and an even stronger smell than you usually got, which is saying something. The door looked like it’d been put together from planks taken from a cannibalised cart. I knocked. A thin, middle-aged woman in a threadbare tunic opened up.
‘Yes?’
She looked washed out; not just washed, but wrung dry, like every bit of colour had been leached out of her, physically and mentally. I could smell boiling cabbage.
‘Your name Leuce?’ I said.
‘Yes.’ That was a whisper; there wasn’t even a scrap of interest in it.
‘Your nephew Philematius sent me. I need to talk to Stephanus.’
‘He’s inside.’ She stepped back. Not even the obvious question ‘What about?’ The eyes were blank.
I went in. Compared to this room, the landing had been in top-notch shape. There was a brazier in the middle with about a spoonful of charcoal burning in the basket. On top of that was the cabbage pot. Apart from the cooking arrangements the furniture consisted of two mattresses, a couple of shelves, mostly empty, and a chair. The kid sitting in the chair had a sort of twisted look to him. He must’ve been late teens – he’d’ve needed to be, to get inside a wineshop – but he looked about twelve.
‘Stephanus?’ I said.
His head came round slowly. His eyes had the same washed-out expression as his mother’s. ‘Yeah. That’s me.’
The woman had sat down on one of the mattresses. She picked up what could’ve been a dishcloth, turned her back to us and started darning.
‘My name’s Marcus Corvinus,’ I said. ‘I’m investigating Pegasus’s death.’ A shrug. I waited, but there wasn’t anything else. ‘The Whites’ master of stables told me you’d been caught trying to poison one of the horses. He said you’d been duped into it by a stranger in a wineshop. You like to tell me the story in your own words?’
‘Nothing to tell. The man gave me the powder and ten silver pieces on account. I was stopped at the gate. Finish.’
‘You ever see the man before?’
‘Nah. He was one of the Greens. That’s all I know.’
‘He tell you that?’
‘Uh-uh. I asked him straight out, first thing. He didn’t answer, but he was annoyed as hell. He was a Green, all right.’
‘Okay, let’s take it from the start. You were in the wineshop –’
‘Nah. Or only for a minute. It’s old Sosius’s place round the corner. I only went down there to deliver a bit of ma’s mending. He was waiting for me when I came out.’
Well, at least he was talking. ‘What kind of man was he?’ Another shrug. ‘Old? Young? Big? Small? Well-dressed?’
‘‘Bout average. Just a man.’
Hell. ‘What did he say? Exactly?’
‘He asked if I’d like to make thirty silver pieces.’
‘And you said?’
‘What do you say to that? I just looked at him. Then he took out a purse and showed me. So I asked him what I had to do. He brought out the package.
‘He told you to put the powder in Polydoxus’s drinking water.’
‘Yeah. Just that. It would’ve been easy. Security’s tight before a race, but we were into the slack season between the Plebbies and the Festival. I could of done it no bother.’
The woman turned round and stared at him, but she didn’t say anything. Then she went back to her stitching.
‘He tell you what it would do?’
‘Nah. But I’m no fool. It was only a horse. And thirty silver pieces would’ve got us out of this dump.’
Well, I couldn’t argue with that: from the looks of things, the two of them could’ve lived for a year on thirty pieces of silver. If you can call it living. ‘What then?’
‘He gave me ten on account, said I’d have the rest when the job was done. Then he walked away.’
‘You didn’t see him again?’
‘Nah. Next morning I turned up at the stables as usual. The bastard on the gate must’ve nosed something because he grabbed me straight off. Once they’d found the package that was it. I thought they’d kill me, but they didn’t.’ He looked down at his twisted legs and grinned. ‘Shoulda done, though. The arm’s okay now, but with these I’m not going nowhere.’
‘You didn’t call in a doctor?’
He looked at me; just looked. Sweet gods, we were in a different world here, and I should’ve known better than to ask. There ain’t no doctors in the tenements. I pulled out my purse; too late now, of course, but late’s better than never. There were eight silver pieces and some coppers. I emptied the lot into his lap. ‘Thanks for your help,’ I said.
He fingered the coins. I turned round. The woman was staring again. I moved towards the door, trying to make it look like I wasn’t desperate to get out.
‘Hey.’
My hand was on the latch. ‘Yeah?’
‘I don’t know if it’s any good, but the guy who gave me the powder had a tooth missing.’ His finger pointed to his top jaw, just right of centre. ‘That one there.’
‘Fine. Thanks,’ I said. I opened the door. ‘By the way. How old are you, son?’
That got me another grin; a proper one, this time. The cash seemed to have perked him up. ‘Today’s my fourteenth birthday.’
Oh, shit. I left.
Once outside in the clean air I stopped to think. What now, exactly? The tooth business had been an unexpected bonus, but I doubted if anything would come of it. If I’d been able to persuade Natalis to parade his staff one got you ten that one of the buggers’d have a missing incisor, but that wasn’t a viable option. As far as the case was concerned, I was up against a brick wall. Sure, the evidence pointed pretty straight to the boss of the Greens, but I didn’t see how I could get any specific proof.
At times like these, all you can do is try a little cage-rattling and see what jumps up. Natalis was the obvious first target, but there was no harm in dragging a stick across Acceptus’s bars as well. Like I’d said to Perilla, although the Blues guy might not have form so far he was getting there.
If I hadn’t cleaned out my purse I would’ve gone round the corner to Stephanus’s wineshop and thought about tactics over half a jug of wine. As it was, we’d just have to play things by ear. I set off back towards Triumph Road and the Greens’ stables.
Socrates the troll was manning the gate, if ‘manning’ is quite the right word here. He didn’t look too happy to see me, which was fair enough since I’d punched him in the balls on the last occasion.
‘Is Titus Natalis coming out to play?’ I said.
That got me an uncomprehending scowl. ‘What?’
Yeah, right; maybe it had been a bit overambitious semantically. I tried again. ‘The boss in?’
‘You got an appointment?’
Three syllables! Wow! Education is a wonderful thing. ‘No, but –’
‘Then eff off.’
Well, life is never easy. Still, unless the guy was down at the Circus bribing the slaves who operated the starting gates to monkey with the mechanism, I was going to see him. Time for the first gentle shaking of the cage. ‘Take the greasy little bugger a message,’ I said carefully. ‘Tell him I know about the scam with Pegasus and Polydoxus. And you’d better be back here and nodding before I can count to a hundred, pal, because if you’re not the next stop’s my friend at the city judge’s office.’
He stared at me, his jaw working, and I reckoned I was about a fingernail’s breadth from being mashed to pulp against the door-jamb. I stared back. ‘One...two...three...’
He turned. The gate slammed behind him and I could hear the bar clang into place. Yeah, well, that should just about do it. If I listened hard I could probably catch the screams of rage from here.
I’d reached ninety-four when he came back. ‘The boss’ll see you,’ he said.
‘Fine.’ I went in past him.
He hadn’t moved. ‘One thing I want you to remember, Corvinus,’ he growled. ‘From me, personal.’
‘Yeah? What’s that?’
‘The boss ever wants you stomped, you are fuckin’ stomped. And I’ll laugh while I do it, right? Now follow me.’
We walked the hundred yards to the admin block in silence. The troll knocked on the office door, showed me in and then closed it behind me. Well, at least this time I wouldn’t have him breathing down my neck. And it meant that Natalis wanted the interview to be private. Good sign.
He was sitting behind the desk screened by the huge gold chariot-and-horses monstrosity. If I’d thought Socrates had been unfriendly, the big guy was just bouncing with love and goodwill compared with Natalis. The glare I was getting would’ve roasted chestnuts.
‘Sit down, Corvinus,’ he growled.
I gave him my best smile, pulled up the fancy tooled-Cordoban-leather chair and sat.
‘Now. What the hell is this about?’
‘You had a deal going with Pegasus. You planted him on the Whites, the idea being that he’d get rid of Polydoxus from the inside.’
There was a long silence. Finally, he leaned back in his chair. ‘That’s garbage,’ he said.
‘Okay. So throw me out and I’ll take the story to the city judge’s office.’
You could’ve heard an ant cough. The little piggy eyes measured me. Natalis might’ve been an ace driver at one time, but he was running to fat so fast it was a sprint.
‘You’ve got no proof,’ he said at last.
Well, at least we were making progress here: garbage to no proof. I didn’t want to split on Cammius, but I needed the handle. And I hadn’t made him any promises. ‘Sure I do,’ I said. ‘He was seen having a go just before he died.’
That rocked him. He covered well, but I’d caught the flicker. ‘Yeah? Seen by who?’
‘Two witnesses.’
‘You’re lying. Cammius found Pegasus messing around with his top horse, he’d have his balls on a griddle. Or he’d’ve killed him himself. My guess, that’s just what he did.’
‘Cammius didn’t want Pegasus, he wanted the guy who put him up to it. Killing Pegasus wouldn’t be in his interests.’
‘Is that so, now?’ Natalis showed a sudden flash of teeth. ‘Pity the bastard’s dead and can’t talk, then, isn’t it?’
I crossed my legs and gave him another of my very best smiles. ‘Oh, no. Quite the reverse. The fact that he’s dead sort of points the finger pretty neatly.’
The grin faded. ‘How do you mean?’
‘Pegasus’s wasn’t the first attempt on Polydoxus. There was a kid called Stephanus after the Plebbies that some bastard suckered into trying to smuggle poison inside the Whites’ compound. Then there was one of your muckers-out. His name I don’t know, but he tried to do the job with a surgeon’s knife. I reckon the city judge might just take these two incidents into consideration when he’s calculating the cui bono of Pegasus’s mouth being shut. And you, pal, are it.’
If I’d thought the guy was angry before, now he was livid. Forget roasting chestnuts; the look I got would’ve melted rock. He glanced behind me at the door, and I wondered if he was going to yell for Socrates, in which case I was in real trouble. Rattling cage bars can have its drawbacks, especially if you’re on the wrong side of them at the time. He didn’t, though. Instead he leaned forward as far as he could until the gold charioteer’s head was practically stuck up his left nostril. ‘Fuck the city judge,’ he said quietly. ‘He doesn’t matter. Fuck you, too. There’ll be no case, not ever. There’ll be no case because –’ He stopped, and his jaw snapped shut.
Silence. The pause lengthened as we stared at each other over the speeding metal horses. Light dawned, and not too pleasantly, either. Shit; he might as well have finished the sentence because we both knew what the ending was going to be. And looking at him I knew he knew I knew.
There’d be no case because Pegasus had been killed in the Eighth District, where Titus Valgius the Greens-fancier was Watch commander and had the backing of Sertorius Macro. Who, in his turn, was the local stand-in for the arch-Greens-fancier Prince Gaius. And barring the Wart himself – and probably not even him, now – against that egotistical bastard there wasn’t no court of appeal; nowhere, nohow, never...
I was up the creek without a paddle. Hell, without a sodding boat! Knowing that Natalis was guilty wasn’t enough; proving it wasn’t enough. If I wanted his hide pinned up in Market Square then I’d have my work cut out in spades.
I stood up. Well, I’d got my wish, although ‘rattled’ wasn’t exactly the word I’d use for the master of Greens at this precise moment. And I’d also got a confession of sorts. For what it was worth.
‘Fine, pal,’ I said. ‘But it doesn’t rest there. I’ll just have to see what I can do from the other end.’
‘You do what you like, Corvinus.’ He’d sat back again. ‘Just don’t come crying to me if you find yourself up an alleyway of your own one of these days. And you can tell your friend Cammius that if he wants to mess with the big boys then he can take his chances as well. Now get out of my office. I’m busy.’
I left.
Well, that had gone down a bomb. Still, I hadn’t been completely bluffing. Nobbling racehorses – let alone murdering drivers – is a serious business, and in race-mad Rome it isn’t taken lightly; not where there’s any sort of proof, anyway. There were a lot of powerful vested interests, and they weren’t all in favour of the Greens. Also, I doubted that Gaius was personally involved in any of this, or even knew about it: the bastard was on Capri sucking up to the Wart, and say what you liked about the old devil Tiberius was no racing fanatic, and by his lights he was fair. Looking the other way was one thing, but when it came to pulling Natalis’s chestnuts out of a very public fire even our crown prince might think twice about what it might cost him in goodwill. Macro, too. The city had had enough of the arbitrary use of power: Sejanus had only been dead for three years, and people – especially the ones with broad purple stripes on their mantles – had long memories. Gaius and his city rep might have clout by the bucketful but they were still being careful how they used it.
So. Maybe taking things from the top down wasn’t such a bad idea after all. Certainly it was worth a shot. And the logical place to start was with the bastard who’d tried to bury the case originally: the Eighth District Watch commander, Titus Valgius.
No time like the present. I set off down Triumph Road for Iugarius and the city centre. The Eighth District Watch headquarters were on Tuscan Street, just behind Julian Hall. Valgius hadn’t exactly struck me as the conscientious type – not like my pal Decimus Lippillus over at Public Pond – but this late in the day he should be in his office. If I could needle him into some sort of investigation then maybe we were in business again. Certainly the situation had changed; I had a lot more hard evidence, for a start, and if I could persuade Cammius to go public over the attempts on Polydoxus then I’d got Natalis by the short hairs.
I hesitated as I drew level with Renatius’s wineshop. Sure, my purse was empty but it’d been a long morning, it was past noon and I could murder a cup of wine with a bit of bread and cheese for ballast. At least Renatius would give me credit. I went inside.
Charax and his bone-idle cronies were in residence; in fact, they didn’t look like they’d moved since the last time I’d been here. He raised his cup.
‘Afternoon, consul.’
For the Charaxes of this world life is one long party. I gave him a nod and walked over to the counter.
No Lucius this time; Renatius was on his own. ‘Hey, Corvinus!’ he said, ‘What can I get you?’
Maybe I’d better nail my colours to the mast right away; especially with drain-mouth Charax there to angle for free drinks. ‘I’m financially embarrassed today, pal,’ I said. ‘Half a jug of the usual and some bread and cheese on the slate?’
‘Sure, no problem.’ Renatius grinned, hefted the flask and poured the Spoletian into a half-jug measure.
‘Know the feeling, consul,’ Charax said cheerfully. ‘Disappointment in the City, right? Life can be a real bitch.’
His pals sniggered. I sighed. ‘Shut up, Charax.’
‘Right, sir. Shutting up forthwith. Beg your pardon for any umbrage caused.’
Renatius was cutting bread. ‘So,’ he said. ‘Any news on the Pegasus front?’
‘I’m looking into it,’ I said cautiously. ‘You hear any more yourself from what’s-his-name? The Watch guy with the penchant for purses?’
‘Delicatus.’ He arranged the slices on a plate, added a wedge of cheese and pushed it over. ‘Nah. Bugger’s never been near me since. Not that I expected it. We’ve had quite a few gawpers, though, nosing down the alley. These ghouls give me the shivers. It isn’t even as though they come inside for a cup or two to pay their ticket.’
‘Yeah.’ I filled my own cup and took a long swallow of the Spoletian. Beautiful. Like I say, Renatius doesn’t run no Pincian club, but his wine’s honest and after a hard morning’s cage-rattling it slipped down like the best Caecuban. I started to relax.
‘Hey, Corvinus!’
Hell; Charax again. I didn’t even turn round. ‘Yeah?’
‘Renatius here tells me the bastard who did it holed up where we’re working. Atellius’s place just across the street. That be right, now?’
‘Uh-huh.’ I topped up my cup. ‘Probably, anyway.’
‘Only it was a funny thing. When we went back some bugger’d spoiled the wet plasterwork.’
I stiffened. ‘What?’
‘Sure. Dirty great slather like he’d put his hand against it with his weight behind him. You reckon that was your boy?’
Jupiter! I faced him. ‘It could’ve been.’
‘That’s what I thought. Well, when you catch the bastard tell him he owes us for another half hour’s smoothing time.’ His sycophantic cronies laughed.
I went back to my wine. It didn’t matter that they’d destroyed the evidence, sure – one hand-print’s much the same as another – but it showed that that part of the theory checked out. Whoever had murdered Pegasus had waited his chance in the tenement across the road. Cool customer was right.
