Illegally Dead by David Wishart Page B

face and close-cropped bristly grey hair, more like a prizefighter than a major-domo. Not that he was young: I’d put him sixty, at least, which was probably - although I’d never asked - about Lucius Hostilius’s age. He was sitting on a bench outside the servants’ quarters, whittling a stick.
    ‘Valerius Corvinus, sir?’ He laid the stick and the knife to one side and stood up. Slow, broad-vowelled local-Latin voice, with nothing servile about it. This guy knew what he was worth. He was probably bang-on, too.
    ‘Yeah. Sit down, Scopas.’ He did, and I sat down on the bench beside him. ‘Know why I’m here?’
    ‘Of course. Because the master was murdered, sir. We’re grateful.’
    I frowned. ‘Grateful for what?’
    ‘A lawyer’s slave knows a bit of the law. Should’ve meant the thumbscrews by rights, now, shouldn’t it?’
    ‘So long as you give me all the help you can, pal, you won’t find me objecting.’
    ‘All the same, like I say we’re grateful. And I’ll help you as far as I’m able to, gladly. Lucius Hostilius was a good master in his day. The best.’
    ‘You been his head slave long?’
    ‘Since he and the mistress moved here from Bovillae, sir, fifteen years back.’
    ‘That when Quintus Acceius became a partner?’
    ‘Nor. He and the master’d been partners six or seven years by then.’
    ‘Any particular reason for the move?’
    ‘Lawyer in Castrimoenium died, Bovillae had a lawyer already. Still does, old Publius Novius.’
    ‘Uh...what’s this Acceius like, by the way? You see much of him around here?’
    Long pause: Scopas gave me a level stare and sucked on a tooth. No fool, this guy.
    ‘He’s a good man,’ he said at last. ‘A good friend to the master, while he was himself, and a good friend to the mistress. A good friend.’ He stressed the last word. ‘And if you’ve been told anything more, Valerius Corvinus, sir, then you forget it, because it isn’t true. That said, yes, he’s in and out frequent, on business and to dinner, him and his wife. Or they were, while the master was well.’
    ‘He’s married?’
    ‘To Seia Lucinda, sir, lady from one of the biggest families in Bovillae. Father and grandfather were purple-stripers like yourself. Big poultry-breeding business, they had. Still have, the brother runs it now.’
    ‘When was the last time Acceius was here?’
    ‘Oh, that’d be about twelve or thirteen days ago, the day after that bit of trouble in town. You’ve heard about that?’
    ‘When the guy attacked the pair of them in the street? Yeah; I’ve heard of that. You know anything about it?’
    ‘No, sir. Nothing no one else doesn’t. But it left the master very shaken. He stayed at home the next day and Quintus Acceius brought the business here.’
    ‘What business was that? Do you know?’
    ‘No, sir, I’ve nothing to do with that side of things, anything like that you’d have to ask the gentleman himself, or Fuscus in town. He’s the master’s clerk.’
    ‘Not your mistress’s brother?’
    Was it my imagination, or did Scopas hesitate? If so, it was only for a split second. ‘No, sir, Castor’s just a messenger, a gopher, no disrespect intended. He wouldn’t know either, no more than me. But it wasn’t anything out of the usual, as far as I know. Acceius didn’t stay long.’
    ‘Does he usually?’
    Pause; then, deliberately, eyes on mine: ‘No longer than necessary, sir, this last year, anyway. And always with the master present. He was very careful about that, master being as he was.’
    Yeah, well, that was me told. The adultery angle was looking less and less likely. ‘So tell me about the day Hostilius died,’ I said.
    Scopas stood up. ‘You’ll want to see the room itself, sir. The mistress said you would.’
    ‘Sure. If you don’t mind.’ I got up too.
    ‘It’s the other side of the house, overlooking the garden. If you’d like to follow me.’
    We went through a narrow arched passageway and round the edge of