Free A Dead Man in Trieste by Michael Pearce Page A

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.
    ‘But it wasn’t just me. We all turned to him when we were in difficulties, when there was some business problem or trouble with the authorities. Whenever James got put in prison, for example. And he always knew what to do. He would always be able to sort it out. In the Austrian Empire it is always