A Dead Man in Trieste (5 page)

Seymour had had his doubts about the King’s Messenger bit right from the first. It was always tricky to work covertly and to work covertly abroad even more tricky; especially when it was in a field completely new to you, as foreign, in all senses, as the diplomatic world. He had been able to see the argument for doing so in this case, however, and had allowed himself to be persuaded. What he had been more worried by, at the time, had been the difficulty of explaining it to his family.

He had had enough difficulty, with their history of dissent from government in their original native lands and the normal immigrant suspicion of authority in their new land, in getting them to accept his original decision to become a policeman. Now this!

It was his grandfather, surprisingly, who had recovered first. Although fiercely anti-royalist, he was disposed to make exceptions for the country of his adoption and found a perverse satisfaction in thinking now that his family had made it in England to the extent of his grandson becoming one of the King’s courtiers, that, at last, one of his family promised to be on the inside of the power game. How wrong, thought Seymour, he was!

Seymour’s mother, who thought that to take on any post with a title was to stick your neck out, remained doubtful, and his sister, who was probably the only one with an idea of what a King’s Messenger actually was, was quietly dismissive.

His father stayed, as usual, silent. If his son was going to start travelling at the government’s expense, why couldn’t he go to the Baltic, where he might be able to do a useful bit of timber business on the side?

Now suddenly, almost as soon as he had got out to Trieste, to find himself under pressure on the covert side, was disconcerting. Schneider was sharp, no question about that. But what was he on about? He seemed to be hinting that Lomax might have played some other role in addition to that of consul. Just fancy, or was there something in it? Seymour was beginning to wonder if his briefing at the Foreign Office in London had been as full as it might have been.

He answered, however, neutrally.

‘King’s Messenger, yes. I was on my way here when it happened. Pure accident, of course.’

‘Of course. I just hope that another accident doesn’t happen.’

The artists, too, had heard the news and were in sombre mood at their table when he passed it that evening.

‘Your friend,’ said Lorenzo sorrowfully.

‘Our friend,’ said Luigi. ‘How can such things happen?’

They invited him to join them but, slightly mindful of Barton’s words, Seymour politely declined. They did not press him, thinking that he might wish to be alone this evening. He found a table by himself further on down towards the sea front.

Later on, however, he looked up to see Maddalena standing beside him.

‘I am sorry,’ she said.

He half rose and offered the chair opposite him. She hesitated for a moment and then sat down.

‘I will not stay,’ she said. ‘You wish to be alone. I know.’

‘There’s a lot to think about,’ said Seymour.

‘Yes. He was your friend. I understand.’

Seymour nodded, feeling rather fraudulent, however.

‘You will wish to find out who did it,’ said Maddalena suddenly.

‘Well . . .’ said Seymour, startled.

Maddalena put her hand on his arm.

‘I understand. We are like that, too.’

‘Like . . .?’

‘Had he no family?’

‘Not much of one. Just an aunt. And an uncle. They had looked after him, I think, when he was a child.’

Maddalena nodded.

‘They would be old, then, and not able to take it on themselves.’

‘Take it on themselves?’

‘The obligation. I understand. And so you, as a friend, must take it on.’

‘Take it on?’

‘It is a question of honour. You need say no more. I understand.’

‘Just a minute –’

Maddalena got up from the table.

‘I will leave you,’ she said. ‘You wish to be alone. I just wanted you to know that Lomax was my friend too. Perhaps more than a friend. And I wish to stand beside you. It is my obligation, too. We will work together.’

‘Yes, well, thank you, but –’

But Maddalena had already gone.

Later, on his way back to the hotel, he passed the artists again, and again they invited him to join them. Feeling that it would be churlish to refuse, he sat down.

‘Just a coffee, though,’ he stipulated.

‘You are welcome,’ said Alfredo.

‘Doubly welcome,’ said Lorenzo.

‘James has been arrested,’ said Luigi.

‘And we want you to get him out,’ said Maddalena.

‘Well, look, I don’t know that I –’

‘Lomax would have done. He was always going down to the police station. Not just for James but for any of us.’

‘It is, actually,
easier
in the case of James than it would be for us,’ said Alfredo, ‘because James is a British national.’

‘Look, I am just a Messenger.’

‘A
King’s
Messenger,’ said Maddalena with emphasis.

‘That doesn’t mean a thing. It’s a very lowly position, really.’

‘Ah, but they won’t know that.’

‘I have no official standing.’

‘Well, I think it’s very unkind of you,’ said Maddalena. ‘James is your friend, isn’t he?’

‘No! I’ve never met him.’

‘But he’s our friend. Isn’t that the same thing?’

‘Well, of course, it does make a difference, but – look, what’s he supposed to have done?’

‘Drunk and disorderly, I expect,’ said Alfredo.

‘There!’ said Maddalena. ‘It’s unjust! Everyone’s drunk in Trieste.’

‘But not always disorderly, Maddalena,’ said Lorenzo judiciously. ‘They don’t always fight.’

‘Well, James doesn’t always fight. Not always.’

‘Not when he’s completely unconscious, no.’

‘It’s usually only when they want to throw him out because he hasn’t paid.’

‘There you are,’ said Maddalena. ‘Easy! Lomax would have settled it in no time.’

‘Why don’t
you
go down?’ said Seymour.

‘They won’t take any notice of us.’

‘They won’t take any notice of
me
.’

‘Yes, they will. You’re an official. They take notice of officials.’

‘They
only
take notice of officials,’ said Lorenzo.

‘Especially foreign officials,’ said Luigi persuasively.

‘Look, I’m
not
an official. I’m just a . . .’

In the end Seymour said that he was going to see Kornbluth the next day and that he
might
, he just might, mention it in passing.

Kornbluth was pleased.

‘I think we’re getting somewhere,’ he said. ‘The ticket! It was as I supposed. It’s one of the Edison’s. And one of the new ones. Not only that!’

He paused triumphantly.

‘Something else!’

‘Something even better. One of our experts worked on it with the Edison staff and was able to establish that it was a ticket for . . .’ He paused again. ‘. . . the performance on the night that he disappeared!’

‘That’s fantastic!’

‘Pretty good, yes? I don’t always hold with experts. They’re sometimes a pain in the ass, they think they know it all, but I will say this, Ludwigsen really knows his onions. He’s pretty confident about it. It was for the ten o’clock performance. Lomax must have gone there straight from the Piazza Grande. It is the lead we were looking for. And already we have found out something else.’

‘You have?’

‘We have.’ Kornbluth paused impressively. ‘He did not go alone.’

‘Ah!’

‘He was seen with someone. A man. Apparently they often go together. That’s how they were spotted. They go so often that the usher has got to know them. He’s positive that they were there that night.’

‘Well, that
is
helpful.’

‘We’ve got the man,’ said Kornbluth.

‘Already?’

‘We sometimes move quite quickly,’ said Kornbluth with pride.

‘Clearly! And have you questioned him yet?’

‘He admits he was there. That night. And with Lomax.’

‘Well, that’s tremendous. Congratulations!’

‘Thank you.’

Kornbluth bowed acknowledgement.

‘He says it was a standing arrangement. They would usually go to a cinema, one or other of them, every week. That night it was the Edison. There was a picture that they particularly wanted to see.’

‘What about afterwards? After they left the cinema?’

‘He says that he went home. His wife confirms that. Of course, she would. But the concierge does, too. That, too, means little. And then, of course, there is the question of whether it was straight home. Well, we are looking into that.’

‘And Lomax?’

‘He says he doesn’t know. He assumes he went home. When he left, he was standing there as if he was about to. But that, too, we can check.’

He clapped Seymour on the back.

‘Things to do, yes? But at least we’re starting to get somewhere.’

‘It’s excellent!’

‘We are not always so bad,’ said Kornbluth modestly.

‘What about the other man?’ asked Seymour. ‘Do you know anything about him?’

‘Oh, yes. We are old friends. We have had an eye on him for some time. He is a
professore
in the languages school here. He teaches English.’

‘English?’

‘He is English. That is, perhaps, how your Mr Lomax came to know him.’ Kornbluth frowned. ‘But he is not a good man for a consul to know. He is disreputable.’

Another one! Seymour’s heart sank.

‘Always he is in trouble. Drinking. Fighting.’

‘Fighting?’ said Seymour.

‘Always.’

‘His name is not James, by any chance?’

‘James? No, I do not think so. It is Juice. Ah, no, I have it. It
is
James. A Mr James Juice.’

Chapter Five

Somewhat to his surprise, Seymour found himself after all walking out of the police station with him. There were no grounds on which to hold him and Kornbluth had for the moment finished his questioning. He was a tall, lanky, dishevelled Irishman who looked around at everything and everyone, including Seymour, with bloodshot, suspicious eyes.

‘There’s somebody to see you,’ Kornbluth had announced cheerfully when they entered the cell.

‘Why should I see him?’

‘He’s from the Consulate.’

‘What’s that to do with me?’

‘You’re English, aren’t you?’

‘No.’

‘He’s Irish,’ said Seymour, picking up the accent.

The man looked at him as if he was seeing him for the first time.

Kornbluth shrugged.

‘Anyway, you can go,’ he said. ‘For the time being.’

He shambled out. Kornbluth and Seymour exchanged glances, and shrugs.

Seymour followed him out and found him standing unsteadily on the pavement.

‘Can you manage? Do you want me to see you home?’

‘Home?’ said James doubtfully. ‘No, I need a drink. The piazza.’

They went there together.

‘Who are you?’ he said, after a moment.

Seymour decided he wouldn’t say ‘a friend of Lomax’s’ this time because this man actually was a friend of Lomax’s.

‘I’m from the Consulate,’ he said.

‘A replacement? Already?’

‘No. I’m a King’s Messenger. Just passing through.’

The Irishman nodded.

‘Lomax,’ he said: ‘Kornbluth said they’d found him.’

‘Yes, that’s right.’

They walked on in silence.

After a while, Seymour said: ‘You knew him well?’

‘I used to see him nearly every day in the piazza. He helped me a lot over the cinema, too.’

‘Cinema?’

‘Business.’

‘You were in business together?’

‘No, no. He just helped me. When I needed advice.’

‘And it was to do with a cinema?’

‘Yes.’ His attention seemed to waver. Then he pulled himself together. ‘Yes, business,’ he said. ‘I’m a businessman.’ He considered for a moment, then frowned. ‘No, that’s not right,’ he said. ‘I
would
have been a businessman.’ He thought some more. ‘But that’s not right, either. I
was
a businessman.’

He looked at Seymour.

‘What is a businessman?’ he demanded.

‘Well –’

‘A man who does business. And did not I do business? Ergo . . .’

‘I thought,’ said Seymour cautiously, ‘that you were a
professore
?’

‘That, too,’ said James grandly. ‘What are these things anyway? Stops on the way to identity. Bus stops,’ he said, with satisfaction. ‘Businessmen are bus stops. That seems right. I, too, was a bus stop.’

‘Ye-e-s?’

‘For a while. Briefly. The imagination can enter into anything. Even a bus stop.’

‘Ye-e-s? Yes, I’m sure. And this was to do with . . . the cinema, was it?’

‘Beacons. I think of them as beacons. Beacons of light in a dark, backward world. Marinetti says that they are outposts of the future. All art, he says, is an outpost. Well, that is true, I think. But is it an outpost of the future? Is not art outside time? Not if it is a cinema. The cinema is definitely in time. Marinetti is right there.’

James stopped in the middle of the road and spread his arms.

‘What I wished to do,’ he said, ‘was to light beacons in my benighted land. I lit one, I almost lit two. And then the money ran out.’

‘Sorry?’

‘Cinemas. “Here in Trieste,” I said, “there are twenty-one cinemas. How many are there in Dublin? One. If O’Riley’s is still going.” That is what I said to Machnich. “There is an opportunity,” I said. That is the thing about the imagination. It sees possibilities. That is why artists should be businessmen. And businessmen, artists. Only I did not say that last bit to Machnich. He might not have understood.’

‘You were going to open cinemas in Dublin?’

‘Going to? I did open them. One, anyway. It was very successful. I was going to open another when the bastard pulled the rug out from under me. “Too big a risk,” he said. “Think of the return!” I said. “What return?” he said. “The one that will come in the future,” I said. “It’s not your money,” he said. “How much have you put in?” “I’ve put in my talent,” I said. It was an unequal bargain, but he didn’t see it like that.’

‘And Lomax helped in this enterprise?’

‘Smoothed the way. The technicalities. Customs, Board of Trade, that sort of thing. It gave Machnich confidence, I think, to have Lomax advising. These things were important to him.’

‘Did Lomax put in any money of his own?’

‘Oh, dear, no! Machnich was the one with the money. He runs a big carpet shop. And the Edison, too. And one or two others. He wanted to run more. But Trieste is already full of them. “Raise your eyes,” I said. “Look outwards. Look to Ireland.” I thought I had persuaded him. But in the end he hadn’t the imagination. The money, but not the imagination.’

From the fact that Kornbluth had released James so readily, Seymour guessed that he didn’t really suspect him of involvement in Lomax’s death. He had probably worked out the kind of man James was. Seymour put him down as a batty professor who was too fond of his drink. He was involved only to the extent that he happened to be the person who had gone to the cinema with Lomax. There was nothing more sinister in it than that.

However, Kornbluth was right. They had learned something. They knew now that Lomax had gone to the Edison that night and that what had happened to him had happened after he came out. Seymour felt again the frustration of having to operate covertly. What he would have liked to do was question everyone in the vicinity and establish if anyone had seen Lomax at that point. But that was exactly what he couldn’t do. He would have to leave that to Kornbluth.

When they got back to the piazza the artists were all sitting there at the table. They jumped up when they saw James and embraced him.

‘There! You see?’ said Maddalena, placing her hand intimately over Seymour’s. ‘It was easy.’

‘What was it for this time, James?’ asked Lorenzo.

James looked bewildered.

‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘Going to the cinema, I think.’

‘But, James –’

‘Arresting people for going to the cinema?’ cried Alfredo, firing up. ‘Where will it end?’

‘I don’t think –’ began Seymour.

His voice was drowned in the general protestation.

‘They are standing out against the Future,’ shouted Marinetti.

There was a new face at the table. It belonged to a middle-aged man with tobacco-stained fingers, whom they referred to as Ettore. During a lull in the conversation Seymour asked if he was an artist too. Alas, no, he said: his talents lay in other directions. He worked in the family varnishing business. He would soon, he said, be going to England to set up a factory there. In preparation for this he was taking, God help him, thought Seymour, lessons in English from James. A little later he shook hands all round and left.

After he had gone Alfredo said that although he was not an artist he understood about artists. He was a writer and had written several novels. None of them had got anywhere and he had given up writing; but recently he seemed to have started again.

Perhaps it was the effect of Lomax’s death that they drank heavily. Seymour reckoned himself to have a good head for alcohol but he found it hard to keep level. He wondered uneasily who was going to pay and if he should. Could he put it down to expenses? Almost certainly not, he thought.

When it came to it, they all insisted that he was their guest and that there could be no question of his paying; but as they turned out their pockets it looked rather as if they were going to be his. In fact, however, Ettore had already paid.

As he was going away across the piazza he saw a newspaper seller standing there with his newspapers spread out on the ground before him. He was holding up a newspaper and shouting: ‘Bosnia crisis! The latest.’

Crisis? What crisis? Almost: Bosnia? What Bosnia?

Seymour could never resist a headline. He went across to the man and bought one of his papers.

As far as he could see, there was no mention of Bosnia in it.

‘Hey, what was all that about a crisis?’ he complained to the newspaper seller.

‘It’s still there.’

‘It doesn’t say anything about a crisis here!’

‘It doesn’t need to. I’m saying it. It’s still on. That’s the point. I don’t want people to forget about it.’

‘Yes, but the newspaper isn’t saying anything about it!’

‘It bloody well ought to be. That’s why I’m saying it.’

‘Yes, well, thanks. Don’t you think you should leave editorial comment to the editors?’

‘No. They’re all bloody Austrian. You won’t find a word about this now that it’s happened. They want to keep it quiet.’

‘Look,
what’s
happened? What crisis is this, anyway?’

‘The annexation.’

‘What annexation?’

‘Christ, where have you come from?’

‘London.’

‘Isn’t it in all the papers there?’

‘No.’

‘Well, it bloody ought to be. It’s a disgrace. More than a disgrace, it’s a conspiracy. All the Great Powers hanging together. And letting Austria hang Bosnia.’

‘Just tell me.’

‘You don’t know? Really? Christ, you’re an ignorant bugger.’

‘Tell me.’

‘Well, you know that a couple of years ago Austria annexed Bosnia. No? You really don’t?’

‘It had escaped me.’

‘What hope is there for the working class when the privileged classes are so bloody ignorant! Well, it did. Just like that. They thought no one would notice. And if you’re anything to go by, they were dead right. All right, you’re an ignorant Britisher. But you’d have thought
someone
would have noticed and said: “Hey, you can’t do that!” But they’re all in it together, the Great Powers.’

‘Yes, well, no doubt. But it’s all over, isn’t it? You said it was two years ago?’

‘It’s not all over. It’s never going to be all over. It’s going to blow up.’

‘Yes, well, maybe.’

‘It’ll blow up. And blow your world apart.’

‘Yes, yes.’

‘How do you think the Bosnians feel about it? How do you think
we
feel about it?’

‘We? What’s it got to do with Trieste?’

‘I’m speaking as a Serb.’

‘All right, speaking as a Serb: what’s it got to do with Serbia?’

‘Well, Bosnia’s bloody ours, isn’t it? Or it ought to be. It’s been part of Serbia for a thousand years. Or it should have been. And do you think we’re going to let them get away with this? Not a chance!’

Seymour went to Lomax’s apartment and began making a list of his effects. He was sitting at the small table when Maddalena came in.

‘The concierge let me in.’ She looked at Seymour. ‘But I have a key, yes.’

‘Why have you come here?’ asked Seymour.

‘To see if I could find anything here that would help us.’

‘Help us to do what?’

‘Find out who killed him.’

Seymour sighed.

‘Hadn’t you better leave that to the police?’

‘Are
you
leaving it to the police?’ she said.

‘No,’ he said, after a moment.

‘Well, I’m not, either.’

‘What were you hoping to find?’ he said.

‘Names.’

‘There aren’t any. I’ve looked.’

‘Do you mind if I look? I know the place better than you.’ ‘Go ahead.’

Some time later she came back.

‘You’re right,’ she said. ‘There aren’t any.’

‘He never put anything on paper.’

‘No,’ she said.

‘Were you looking for any names in particular?’

She was silent for a little while. Then she said: ‘Lomax helped a lot of people. I thought that one time it might have gone wrong.’

‘Do you have any particular reason for thinking that?’

She was silent again. She seemed to be turning something over in her mind. At last she said:

‘It seems silly. Trivial. It is probably nothing. But since – since it happened, since Lomax died, I have been thinking, thinking all the time. How could it have happened? How could anyone have done that to – well, a person like him? I have thought over everything, the people he knew, the things he did. But he never did a bad thing. I am sure he would never do a bad thing. So why would anyone want to kill him? I have thought and thought. And the conclusion I have come to is that it must be because of one of the good things he did. Perhaps it went wrong, or perhaps they wanted more. More than he was prepared to give.

‘Because he was quite strong, really. Stronger than you thought. I know he didn’t seem like that. Not when you first met him. When he first joined us in the piazza – Alfredo, I think it was, or perhaps Ettore, who brought him – we thought, what a funny little man! I mean, he didn’t fit in at all. He knew nothing about art, that was obvious, or about artists. He wasn’t interested in any of the things we were interested in. But he kept on coming. We couldn’t think why he bothered. He never used to say anything. He just sat there smiling, like a puppy wagging its tail. And that’s how we treated him, like a little dog, who had for some reason attached itself to us.

‘He was so grateful to be stroked. And then I saw that he was especially grateful to be stroked by me. I quite enjoyed that, any woman does, giving the occasional stroke from time to time and watching a man wag his tail. It become obvious. “You have made a conquest there, Maddalena,” the others said. I wasn’t very flattered. “Well, I’m not surprised,” I said, “A man like that!” He seemed so silly, you know, with that inane smile and his moustache, and those dog-like eyes. But gradually he grew on me. It is nice to be worshipped.’

‘And so you came to have the key to his apartment,’ said Seymour.

‘Yes. And at one time I used to come here often. Then, not so much. Only when I needed to. A woman on her own sometimes needs someone to go to. The others – Alfredo and Luigi and Lorenzo – are all right, but they are artists. They see me as a model and not always as a person. But sometimes you feel the need to be seen as a person. Well, when it was like that, I would go to Lomax.