Kemp has a very graphic imagination,’ said Ogilvie diplomatically.
Jill looked over Ogilvie’s shoulder and her face altered in recognition of someone. I swung round on my stool and saw a tall man approaching. He held out both hands. ‘Jill, I’m delighted to see you. I’m sorry I was out when you phoned, but I got the message.’ He lowered his voice. ‘I can’t tell you how shocked I am about David.’
‘I know, Gerry,’ Jill said. ‘And thank you for your letter. It was very kind.’ She indicated me. ‘This is Mr Kemp and his associate, Mr Ogilvie.’
We shook hands. Negrini was very American and not at all Italianate, despite his name. His voice was cultured and his manners smooth and he bore himself with an easy assurance. I could see how he would attract women and why the Saltons had liked him. We chatted for a few minutes and I was polite about his casino. At last he said, ‘I understand that you want to talk to me about something, Mr Kemp.’
‘Very mysterious,’ said Jill. ‘He wouldn’t tell me about it.’ The muscles of her face tautened slightly and I knew that she was looking at Negrini in a different way from before. Suspicion is the most corrosive of all thought patterns and warps the vision so that white becomes black and black white. I would have to make sure I let her off that insidious hook before I left Campanilla.
Negrini said, ‘Well, I suggest we use my office.’
‘Fine.’ I slid off the stool. ‘Owen, will you entertain Mrs Salton until I get back?’ I smiled at her. ‘Don’t lose too much on the tables.’
‘I won’t,’ she promised. ‘I don’t play – I’m not allowed to.’
‘Not allowed to – why on earth not?’
‘I’m a Campanillan resident,’ she said. ‘There’s a fine of £100 for every bet I place in a casino. That’s the law.’
I went with Negrini to his office. As we threaded our way through the crowd in the gambling hall, I asked, ‘Is that a fact that Campanillans aren’t allowed to gamble in the casinos?’
‘It is,’ said Negrini. ‘What Jill didn’t tell you is that for every bet she places I’m fined £100 too. Neither of us can buck those odds.’ We came out into the foyer. ‘And you know who came up with that little legislative gem? My own friend, David Salton.’
I probed a bit. ‘You must have been annoyed.’
‘I was – but not too much. The natives wouldn’t bring in huge sums compared with the tourists, and anyway it makes us look good. Even a gambler worries about his image.’ He stopped before a door. ‘Here we are.’
I noted the man lounging negligently in the corridor and was not surprised when Negrini didn’t have to unlock the door. We went inside and he waved me to an easy chair. ‘Drink?’
‘Scotch, thanks.’
There was a sideboard with bottles and glasses laid out. He poured the drinks and said, ‘In here you get it free. Out there you pay.’
‘And pay and pay. You must be doing well.’
‘I get along.’ He handed me a glass. ‘What can I do for you, Mr Kemp?’
‘I represent the Western and Continental Insurance Company,’ I said.
Negrini broke in. ‘I have all the insurance I need.’ He was smiling.
‘No doubt, but I’m not selling. We insured David Salton for a lot of money. Now he’s dead.’
‘I see.’ Negrini’s eyes turned hard. ‘And you’re here to figure out a way of not paying.’
‘Not at all. Insurance companies have been defrauded before but not, I think, in this case. And, in any event, the chairman of the company I work for is Mrs Salton’s uncle. He sent me here to look after her interests. At the present moment there is only one point at issue: did Salton commit suicide? If he did, there’s a clause in the policy which precludes payment until two years after his death.’
Negrini was more relaxed. He lounged against his desk, drink in hand, and said thoughtfully, ‘Yes, I can see the point of having a clause like that.’
I said, ‘The circumstances being what they are, we might even waive that clause if necessary.’
‘I can save you the trouble,’ said Negrini. ‘Salton didn’t commit suicide.’
‘Have you proof of that?’
He shook his head. ‘No proof, but you can call me as a character witness. Salton would never take his own life – he wasn’t that kind of man. He was a fighter.’
I pushed a little. ‘Did he fight you?’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘I’ve been reading his speeches. He didn’t like casinos on Campanilla. He was tough about it, too.’
Negrini shrugged. ‘All politicians have to make those sort of noises.’
‘Do you think he’d have won the election, become prime minister?’
Negrini put his glass on the desk. ‘I’m not a gambler, Mr Kemp. People who run casinos aren’t gamblers because the edge is on their side and it’s working for them all the time. Salton would have won the election, no question. To prove how certain I was of that, let me tell you that I was keeping £10,000 in that safe in easily moveable banknotes.’
‘Why? What do you think he’d have done to you?’
‘Judging by his speeches, I’d have been on the first plane back to the States,’ said Negrini with a broad smile. ‘Of course, when he died all bets were off.’
‘So if Salton was … er … assisted in his death, you’d be a prime suspect.’
Negrini was no longer lounging. ‘What the hell …?’
‘Calm down,’ I said. I’d poked him a little too hard and I still had a tricky question to ask. ‘How much did you contribute to his campaign funds?’
He stared at me with unfriendly eyes. ‘You know, Mr Kemp, I have to admire your gall. What makes you think I gave Salton a nickel?’ He snorted. ‘Why should I, when he was going to run me out of the country?’
‘That’s what I want to know,’ I said, smiling. ‘It’s been puzzling the hell out of me.’
Negrini grinned faintly and picked up his glass. He sipped the whisky and said, ‘Who told you?’
‘Does it matter? The point I’m making is that if you had something to lose by Salton’s death then you wouldn’t be a suspect if it turned out that he’d been murdered.’
‘I get the point,’ said Negrini. ‘But was he murdered?’
‘He died in suspicious circumstances and he had a lot of enemies.’
He
