Michael Pearce - A Dead Man In Trieste

‘No,’ said Seymour, surprised.

‘It is what my father-in-law is always saying to me. Pointedly. When I leave work at what I think is a reasonable time.’

‘Why? Who is left?’

‘The boss. It is a Trieste saying, I think a foolish one. However, it is very popular with small businessmen.’

If he remembered rightly, the boss at the Edison, from what James had said, was a man named Machnich. Who also happened to be the person James had had dealings with over the venture of starting up cinemas in Ireland, if that had actually happened. And also the person, if James’s rambling account could be trusted, to whom Lomax had given business advice. Seymour thought it was time he looked at those dealings a little more closely.

When Seymour got back to the Consulate, he asked Koskash if there was any record of the occasions on which Lomax had offered help to James Juice and also, possibly, to some Trieste businessmen, over setting up a cinema in Ireland.

‘Oh, yes,’ said Koskash, ‘there’s a big file.’

He brought it in and gave it to Seymour.

Seymour began to work through it. Lomax’s contributions appeared to be almost entirely technical and legal. He advised on Irish Customs regulations and on necessary licences and permits. On how to secure local banking facilities, on things to be borne in mind when renting premises, on employment law in Ireland. He seemed to know a lot about it; not just the theoretical requirements but how they were translated into practice on the ground. Reading it, Seymour was impressed. So far he had been inclined to dismiss Lomax as just an advanced nut. Going through what Lomax had written, however, he found a sharp, practical mind at work. It was a new side of Lomax that he was seeing. What was it that Koskash had said? That they had all said. That he was actually very good at his job.

And his role appeared to have been confined to giving advice. There was no hint that he had been involved in any other way, no hint of any personal financial involvement, for example, as Seymour had half suspected there might be. The actual financial side of it wasn’t, in fact, at all clear. But so far as James personally was concerned the financial arrangements were clear. They were contained in some separate pencilled notes. It looked as if as well as providing general advice to the group of Trieste businessmen behind the enterprise, Lomax had been giving James some private advice on the side. There was nothing underhand, just a few practical points, offered as a friend, that James should bear in mind. Advice probably much needed, thought Seymour.

It was beginning to fall into place now; a man with actually a good business idea — surprisingly — approaching a group of businessmen for backing. And then, gradually, the more astute backers taking over and the original visionary somehow getting lost to view. James, as he had said, had had the imagination; but not, Seymour suspected, any practical business or political sense at all.

Lomax had eventually had both of these and, reading between the lines, Seymour thought he could see him offering advice fairly to the Trieste businessmen but at the same time trying gently to see that James didn’t get taken for too much of a ride.

The principal backer appeared to be, as James had said, Machnich.

‘The owner of the Edison?’

‘That is right, yes,’ said Koskash. ‘And much else in Trieste besides. His principal business is a large carpet shop.’

‘What sort of man is he?’

‘What sort of man?’ Koskash grimaced. ‘A businessman of the Trieste variety. That is to say, at heart, small. His business is big now but he likes to run everything as if he was still running a small shop. He has to know everything, almost do everything, for himself. As soon as he can’t, he begins to get nervous. That, I think, may be why the Dublin venture never came to anything. He has a big idea and then the bigness of the idea frightens him.’

Even so, thought Seymour, the sort of man who would eat James alive. And Lomax too? Not if Schneider were to be believed and not on the evidence of the notes in this file. On this evidence, Lomax was a sharp customer.

When he had finished going through the file Seymour closed it and put it away in the out-tray and sat thinking. He thought for quite a while and then made up his mind. There was something he had to do and he might as well do it now.

He went into the front office where Koskash was at his desk working and then pulled up a chair and sat down exactly in front of him.

‘Koskash,’ he said, ‘it is time we had a talk.’

‘Certainly,’ said Koskash, putting down his pen.

‘Koskash,’ said Seymour, ‘you have not been entirely honest with me.’

‘Haven’t I?’ said Koskash, surprised. ‘I am sorry you should think that.’

That man the other night, the one I gave the papers to: he wasn’t a seaman, was he?’

‘Wasn’t he?’

‘He wasn’t British, was he? This is the British Consulate and you would only have power to issue papers to British nationals.’

‘Not necessarily. If they are crewing on British ships — ’

‘I looked at your copy, Koskash. It was made out as for a British national. Why was that, Koskash?’

‘I–I do not know.’

‘You lied to me, Koskash. You knew he wasn’t a seaman.’

Koskash looked uncomfortable.

‘I am sorry,’ he said.

‘Who was he, Koskash?’

Koskash shook his head.

‘I am afraid I cannot say,’ he said.

‘This won’t do, Koskash. I’m afraid you have to say. This is the British Consulate and the man wasn’t British. You were issuing British papers to a man who wasn’t British. And not even a seaman. Why was that, Koskash? Why did you do it? Was it for money?’

Koskash jumped as if he had been stung.

‘No!’ he said. ‘No. Not that, never! I would never do a thing like that for money!’

‘Then why, Koskash?’

Koskash just shook his head.

‘I am sorry,’ he said. ‘I am very sorry.’

‘I am afraid, Koskash, that I need to know.’

He waited.

‘Shall I help you? What I think you were doing was helping someone to leave the country, someone who couldn’t leave the country in the ordinary way. I wonder why that was? I can only think, Koskash, that it was because the authorities were looking for him. Was that what it was, Koskash?’

He waited, but Koskash did not reply. He just shook his head faintly from side to side.

‘They could leave the country only under a false identity, and that you were willing to provide for them. You could give them false papers, papers which would enable them to get on a ship. Why, Koskash, why were you doing that?’

Koskash found his tongue.

‘I am sorry,’ he said. ‘I am truly very sorry. But I cannot tell you that.’

‘But you must, Koskash. Otherwise I may have to go to the authorities. Mr Kornbluth, say, or, more probably, to Mr Schneider.’

Koskash closed his eyes as if in pain but shook his head again dumbly.

‘I do not want to do that, Koskash, but I am afraid I may have to. If you won’t tell me anything. You have been abusing the trust Mr Lomax placed in you.’

‘No!’ said Koskash.

‘But yes! This is the British Consulate. The British . And you have been issuing false papers under its name. You have been taking advantage of your position here for purposes of your own.’

‘No,’ said Koskash. ‘I would not do that. I would never do that. It would not be honourable,’ he said earnestly.

‘But, Koskash, that is exactly what you have been doing. You have been making out papers secretly — ’

‘No!’ said Koskash hoarsely.

Seymour stopped.

‘No?’