The Last Judgement

‘There you are,’ Janet said with satisfaction. ‘Lots of suspicion and likelihood, but will we ever get any proof? No. You can bet your life that on the evening Rouxel’s place was burgled, Besson was surrounded by admirers at a party a hundred kilometres away with at least a dozen people ready to swear blind he never left the room, not even to go to the toilet. All lying through their teeth of course, but we’ll never shake them. Even if we did get your Delorme to say in court that Besson gave him the picture, Besson will claim he bought it at some country auction in outer Poland. How did he know where the picture was?’

Flavia explained again about the exhibition and Besson’s suddenly leaving the organizing team.

‘Ah, yes. I remember that. That was me. I heard he was attached to the thing, so gave them a little warning that he was not the sort of person to be left in a room unguarded. Once I gave the organizer a good look at his file he took the point. Petty stuff, I know, but harassing is all we can do.’

‘That’s another thing. I was told he’d already been arrested. And his arrest seems to have prompted our suspect with the scar into action.’

Here Janet shook his head. ‘Not by us, alas.’

‘Are you certain?’

He looked mildly irritated. ‘Of course. We manage to arrest people so rarely I always hear about it. Certainly had it been Besson. Now, anything else?’

‘This man with a scar.’

Janet shook his head once more. ‘Not a clue. If you want to spend an afternoon going through the mug shots...?’

‘No. Whoever he is, he doesn’t sound like a regular art thief.’

‘Possibly not. You reckon he’s the killer?’

‘The best candidate. The trouble is, he seems too smart by half.’

‘Why?’

‘He knows so much. He knew Argyll would be at the railway station. In Rome he knew where Muller lived, where Ellman was to be found, and where Argyll was. He made an appointment with Argyll, we were waiting and he didn’t show up. It mystifies me how he knows all this.’

‘There I have no advice to offer. Anything else?’

‘Hartung. Jules Hartung.’

‘That’s going back a long way.’

‘I know. But he was Muller’s father.’

‘Not much I can say. I mean, I’ve vaguely heard of him. War crimes, right?’

‘That sort of thing.’

‘I was much too young. Besides, I come from the east; I didn’t come to Paris until the late fifties. We didn’t pay much attention to that sort of thing. So there’s not much I can say.’

‘He was Jewish. Is there some sort of deportation documentation centre? The sort of place that might hold records? Just an idea.’

‘There’s one in the Marais. It has mounds of manuscripts and all that on the war period. I could ring for you, if you wanted to go down. Give you an introduction. It might save you some time. Or I could send someone down myself. As I say, it would be quicker if you went back home.’

But she asked him to phone for her anyway. She might have time to look in before she left. Quite possibly futile, but you never knew. She asked him to go ahead, and then left, promising to ring back in the evening to see what he’d come up with. Strange that he was so keen for her to go back to Rome, she thought as she went back into the street.

12

‘And what did you do this afternoon?’ he asked when he had found Flavia again. It had been one of those afternoons. He got back, she wasn’t there. He left a note saying he’d got nowhere with Besson, and went out. She came in. She went out again. They finally met at well past seven, and Argyll gave full and complete details of his inability to extract any useful information. What had she accomplished?

‘I saw Janet,’ she said, ‘and then I went shopping.’ She was in an extraordinarily good mood, considering.

‘You what?’

‘I went shopping. I’ve been wearing the same clothes for months. And had my hair done. Just as well, too, considering what little progress you made. Just a second.’

‘Just a fifteen minutes’ doesn’t sound quite as good, and that was the time she spent in the bathroom. Even Argyll, however, no great connoisseur of these matters, was impressed by the transformation.

‘Good heavens.’

‘Is that the best you can do?’ she asked, twirling herself around and admiring the result in the mirror.

‘You look very handsome.’

‘I do not look very handsome, young man. I look gorgeous. Absolutely devastating. It was a sale. I couldn’t resist.’

She admired herself some more. ‘Years since I had a short, black and slinky. I shouldn’t have denied the world the pleasure. What about the shoes?’

‘Very nice.’

‘I think you need a bit of practice at this sort of thing,’ she said sternly, still admiring herself. ‘I know I don’t get dressed up too often, but when I do it would be nice to have a slightly more enthusiastic response. Next time, try “wonderful.” Or “fantastic.” Something like that.’

‘All right. What’s your shopping got to do with my not making any progress with Besson?’

‘Because I shall have to do it myself. I want to talk to him. Was he, or was he not, arrested? I’m going out for the evening.’

‘Without me?’