The Last Judgement

‘Jorgssen. It trades in engineering parts. All over the world. Mr Ellman was always flying off somewhere, before he retired.’

‘Did he have any interest in paintings?’

‘Good heavens, no. Why do you ask?’

‘Just that we think he may have gone down to Rome to buy a painting.’

She shook her head. ‘No, that’s not him at all. Mind you, he still did some business, occasionally, when they needed him.’

‘And where was that?’

‘South America. He went there last year. And he went to France at least three or four times a year. He still had contacts there. He had a long phone call from there only the day before he left.’

A slight contact, here, but nothing to get excited about yet. Flavia noted down the name of Jorgssen. She would need to have it checked out.

‘This phone call. Was he planning to go to Italy before?’

‘I don’t know. He certainly didn’t tell me he was going away until just before he left.’

‘Did you happen to hear what this call was about?’

‘Well,’ she said, reluctantly, anxious not to give the impression of someone who made a habit of listening in on her employers’s conversations. ‘A little.’

‘And?’

‘Nothing out of the ordinary. He said very little. At one stage he asked, “How important is this Muller deal to you?” and—’

‘Whoa, there,’ Flavia said. ‘Muller. He said Muller?’

‘I think so. Yes. I’m sure.’

‘Does the name mean anything to you?’

‘Not at all. Of course, Mr Ellman had so many business acquaintances—’

‘But it’s no one you’ve heard him mention before?’

‘No. Anyway, then he said he was sure it could be done with no trouble and mentioned some hotel.’

‘The Hotel Raphael?’

‘Maybe, yes. Something like that. I mean, he didn’t say much. Listened, mainly.’

‘I see. And you don’t know who made the call?’

‘No. I’m afraid I’m not being much help.’

‘You’re doing fine. Most helpful, in fact.’

She brightened at that, and smiled.

‘How do you know the call came from France?’

‘Because he said that it would have been simpler to have organized things better in Paris first.’

‘Ah.’

‘And the next morning, he said he was off to Rome. I told him not to get tired, and he said that it might well be the last time he ever did one of these trips.’

He was right there, Flavia thought. ‘Meaning what?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Was he a rich man, Mr Ellman?’

‘Oh, no. He lived off his pension. It was enough but not a lot. He gave a lot of money to his son, of course. Far more than he should have done. Ungrateful hound. Do you know, when the cheques didn’t arrive promptly enough for him last year, he even had the nerve to come here and bawl his father out? I would have sent him packing, myself. But Mr Ellman just nodded his head and did as he was told.’

Madame Rouvet did not like this son.

‘I see. And when did he get Swiss citizenship?’

‘I don’t know. He came to live and work in Switzerland in about 1948; but when he became a citizen I’m not sure.’

‘Does the name Jules Hartung mean anything to you? He died a long time ago.’

She thought carefully, then shook her head. ‘No,’ she said.

‘Did Mr Ellman have a gun?’

‘Yes, I think so. I saw it once, in a drawer. He never took it out, and the drawer was normally locked. I don’t even know if the gun worked.’

‘Could I see it?’

Madame Rouvet pointed to a drawer in a cabinet in the corner. Flavia went over, tugged and looked in. ‘It’s empty,’ she observed.

Madame Rouvet shrugged. ‘Is it important?’

‘Probably. But it can wait. Now then, what I would like to do is look at any files or accounts Mr Ellman may have had.’

‘Might I ask why?’

‘Because we need to make a list of business acquaintances, colleagues, friends, relations. All people to interview to build up a picture. Who did he know in Rome, for example? Did he go there often?’

‘Never,’ she said firmly. ‘Not in the eight years I’ve worked for him. I don’t think he knew anyone there.’

‘But still. Someone knew him.’

With evident reluctance, she agreed to this, then led her out of the sitting-room into a small room, a cubicle almost, just big enough for a desk, a chair and a filing cabinet. ‘There you are,’ she said. ‘It’s not locked.’

With this Madame Rouvet remembered herself and went off to make some coffee. Flavia initially refused it, but then she reflected how long it had been since she last slept. She felt OK at the moment, but you never knew. Besides, it got the woman out of the room.

She started at the front of the filing cabinet and worked her way through to the back. Tax forms, gas bills, phone bills — no calls to Rome over the past year — electricity bills. Letters to landlords — he rented the apartment rather than owned it. All the stuff of a decent, middle-class, professional life, with not the slightest hint of impropriety.

The sheaf of bank statements was also of no major interest. Meticulously balanced every month; Ellman was a man who lived within his income, and judging by the figures, that income was as modest as his tax forms suggested.