Not that her delivery was smooth and well rehearsed; instead, the story came out with unusual hesitations and interruptions.
Shes his mother, she started off.
Who is?
This woman in Gloucestershire.
Whose mother?
Mullers. She sent him out of France in 1943 and stayed behind. When the Germans swooped, she was picked up. She decided hed be better off where he was so left him in the care of those Canadians.
Are you sure? Bottando began, then retracted when he saw her frown. I mean, how interesting.
And she was Hartungs wife and Rouxels mistress. Isnt it a small world?
Indeed. Does this assist us in discovering why Muller was killed? Or why Ellman was killed?
I dont know. Did I tell you that Ellmans real name was Schmidt?
You did. And I have badgered the Germans mercilessly for information. I asked what they had on anybody of that name and asked why he would have changed his name. To give them a hint I suggested that they should look at army records. Specifically Paris.
Yes, well...
Bottando, having something to contribute, was not prepared to be put off. Seemed worth a try. I was quite proud of the idea. Anyway, it took them some time; poor people, working their way through every Franz Schmidt in the German army must have been a fair old task. However, they produced the goods. He was in Paris in 1943 and 1944.
We know that.
But he was no pen-pusher. The man whose name he adopted was a desk-man; Schmidt was in an Abwehr Intelligence unit. Specifically there to counter the Resistance.
We know that too. Mrs Richards told us.
Bottando looked irritated. I do wish youd tell me these things. Then maybe I could stop wasting my time on things you already know about.
We only found out this afternoon.
Hmmph! Did you know he was wanted for war crimes? he asked hopefully.
No.
Good. Well, he was. The wheels of justice go slowly but they seem to have caught up with him in 1948. They were about to arrest him when...
He vanished, went to Switzerland, changed his name and was never heard of again, Flavia said helpfully, earning herself another hurt look from Bottando.
Anyway, he said, a little disappointed. So he knew all about Hartung.
He was the one who broke the good news to the mans wife, she said. While he was torturing her.
Bottando nodded. I see. And, of course, he would have been well practised in the sort of techniques used on Muller. In fact, I think that we can reasonably conclude beyond much doubt that he did kill Muller. The torture and the gun. Sort of adds up.
But we still dont know who killed him.
No.
But do we really care? Argyll asked wearily, resuming his old theme of wanting to go home. It sounds as though whoever it was was doing a public service. If I happened to have a gun, met this Ellman/Schmidt character and found out what hed done, I might have shot him as well.
Thats true, said Bottando. But who did know what hed done? Besides, Im afraid that from an official point of view were not allowed to look at it like that. And, of course, there is always the problem that whoever shot Ellman might not be finished. Rouxel. Do we know if hes been approached by anyone?
No.
You realize, of course, that this Europa prize presentation takes place in ten days? If Rouxel is under any threat it has to be fended off. And to do that we have to know what that threat is.
But how could he possibly be under any threat? Who could be threatening him?
Bottando cocked his head. This man with the scar, for example?
Ive been thinking about him, Flavia replied. And concluding that he may well be what he says he is. He said he was a policeman. When he was chasing us.
And when he phoned Mr Argyll in Rome, assuming it was him.
And the connection with Besson indicates the same. Janet says he isnt, but somebody removed documents from that deportation centre and told the director not to help me much, and Janet was the only official who knew I was going there. And in Rome, this man rings Argyll and says he will come round at five. Argyll tells us and you ring Janet, telling him about this murder. And this man doesnt show up. I think Janet sent him a message saying, in effect, get the hell out of there.
Its most unlike Janet, though, Bottando said reluctantly. Hes normally quite scrupulous.
And so are you. But there are times when youve been leant on as well. What I cant work out is why anyone is leaning on him. But I suspect itd be no good asking.
Bottando thought about this for a while, not at all happy. Murders and things were all very well; but he did not see why the smooth running of his department should be disrupted by them. His easy co-operation with the French had been an important factor in his departments limited success for years; the prospect of its being wrecked by this case was becoming extremely worrying.
Youre going to have to sort this out quickly, he said glumly. Im not having years of friendship and careful work wrecked by one stupid picture. Do you have any idea what is going on?
Youre going to have to sort this out quickly, he said glumly. Im not having years of friendship and careful work wrecked by one stupid picture. Do you have any idea what is going on?
Yes, she said simply.
Argyll was roused from his reverie by this comment. He had been staring into space most of the time, not really paying attention to the conversation. There was something in the back of his mind, and he couldnt quite pin it down. Indeed it had been there for days; and, rather like a very small stone in the bottom of a shoe, it was causing increasing irritation. The fact that, try as he might, he couldnt work out exactly what was bothering him made it all the worse.
You do? he said. You might have told me. What is it?
I said I had an idea, she replied. I didnt say I had proof, or that the idea was right.
Im not impressed, he said.
Nor am I. But we still dont have enough information. General, did you, by any chance, have any luck with the Swiss over that phone call? The one to Ellman that sent him to Rome?
Ah, that, Bottando said with a frown. Indeed. You might not like the answer though.
Try me.
It didnt come from Paris at all; it came from Rome. The Hotel Raphael, to be precise.
The what?
As I say.
Whose phone?
Alas, we cant find that out. But we can conclude certain things ourselves, can we not?
He looked at her with that faint smile that he adopted when he had reached an answer before she had. A bit unfair, really, as hed had longer to think about it. Even so, she wasnt that far behind.
Oh, dear, she said. This was Monday, right?
He nodded.
And that was the day I could get no work out of anyone at the Interior Ministry because there was some international delegation in town. Financial liaison and supervision, or something.
He nodded again.
And Rouxels granddaughter told Jonathan that he was on the French delegation of some committee dealing with financial supervision.
Bottando nodded again.
Rouxel was in Rome that day?
A further nod.
He made that call? she asked, pursuing the matter with what she thought was fine logic.
Bottando shrugged. No, he said, spoiling it. It seemed a reasonable presumption. But at the time he was in a meeting, which he never left. A further snag is that when Muller was killed Rouxel was at an official dinner, and when Ellman was shot he was already on a plane back home. I checked and double-checked. Theres no doubt. He didnt kill anyone or phone anyone.
Which leaves this putative policeman with the scar.
It does. And if youre right, then were delving into very muddy waters indeed.
Oh, God, she said, suddenly disgusted with the whole business. What do you think?
As far as evidence goes, I dont know, Bottando replied.
Damnation, Flavia said crossly. All our leads have gone dead. Or at least, weve made progress, but it hasnt got us anywhere. All weve uncovered is long-dead detail that doesnt mean much. I wish Muller had been right. If there had been something special about that last judgement, we would at least have had something to go on.
And over in a quiet and almost forgotten corner of the room, cogs whirred. Old, rusty levers clicked over. Synapses, sluggish with disuse, flickered into hesitant life. The half-formed idea in the back of Argylls mind leapt suddenly and boldly into full and well-focused shape.
What? he said.
This painting. If we could
You called it the last judgement.
Yes.
Ah, he said, leaning back in his armchair with an air of profound relief and satisfaction. Of course. Do you know, youve never told me Im brilliant as well as beautiful.
And Im not going to unless you earn it, she said a little testily.
Logic. Hartungs letter referred to the last judgement; Muller assumed it meant The Death of Socrates, the last one to be painted.
She nodded.
One of a series of four.
She nodded again, trying to be patient.
The sales list of Rosier Frères listed Hartungs purchases. One picture by Floret of Socrates. And another. Sent to an address on the Boulevard St-Germain. The street where Mrs Richards parents lived. And Rouxel lodged. And Mrs Richards said Hartung had given Rouxel a picture. A religious one.
So?
The series was the judgements of Alexander, Solomon, Socrates and Jesus. We knew where three are; The Judgement of Jesus is missing. We assumed it referred to a representation of Jesuss trial. Before Pilate. But is that so?
Jonathan, dear
Hold on. Hartung gave Rouxel the Socrates to go with the other one. Right? Mrs Richards said so. And he still has the other one, he went on with mounting enthusiasm. I saw it. I recognized the style, not that it registered. Heavy colour, slightly wooden. Christ Enthroned with the Apostles.
She looked at him blankly.
Thats the advantage of living with art dealers of the more educated variety. At the end of the world, Christ will sit enthroned with his disciples, and he will judge Man from the Book of Life. And he shall separate them one from another. Some routine like that, anyway. Also called, as you know very well, the Last Judgement. Muller hadnt thought it through. He was after the wrong picture.
He sat back once more looking awfully pleased with himself. If there is anything at all to be found, thats where it will be.
Flavia considered this carefully. I wish youd thought about this before, she said.