‘Oh, but there is, Kemp. And it’s not in any bank vault, either. It’s out in the open where anyone can get at it. And you know what? Transport is already provided.’

It was coming. She was on the edge of spilling it. I pushed her again. ‘For God’s sake,’ I said. ‘No one leaves seven million dollars lying around like that. You’re in cloud cuckoo land.’

‘Who said anything about seven million dollars?’ asked Bette. ‘You’ve got to think big, Kemp. You’ve got to think of twelve million bucks.’ She laughed when she saw the expression on my face. ‘Twelve million. In cash. What do you think of that?’

‘I think you’re nuts.’

She grinned. ‘Okay, you go on thinking that, Kemp. I’ll just collect my dough.’

She was slipping away so I made a last desperate attempt to reel her in. This time I targeted vanity’s close cousin, hubris. ‘You couldn’t handle a job that size, even if that kind of money really was ripe for the picking.’

She bristled. ‘Let me tell you something, you arrogant bastard. I’ve been working this out for two years, ever since I came to this crappy island, ever since I saw the tourists in the casinos pushing handfuls of dollars at the cashiers. Of course, I wasn’t allowed to gamble myself – the saintly Mr Salton had just made that illegal for residents – but I asked myself a question. You know what that question was?’

I had a good idea but I didn’t say. I wasn’t about to interrupt her flow. ‘You tell me,’ I said.

‘I asked myself, where do all those greenbacks go? They’re not legal currency here on Campanilla – residents don’t use them – so what the hell happens to all those lovely bills?’

‘Shipped back to the States?’ I mused.

She shook her head violently. ‘Oh no, not to the States. They’re too valuable for that. I studied it, Kemp. I studied it real good. I learned about international economics and damn near twisted my mind into a pretzel. You know what a Euro-dollar is?’

‘US currency that’s held in European banks?’

‘Damn right. Those places are stuffed full of American dollars – fifty-five billion of them, in fact. I hear Uncle Sam is real worried about that but I don’t lose any sleep over it. Those Europeans are so anxious to get hold of American dollars that there’s a thing called a Euro-dollar premium. You ever hear of that?’

I nodded. ‘In certain circumstances a dollar outside the States is worth more than one inside.’

‘You’re on the ball,’ she said. ‘Sometimes up to thirty per cent more. Now where the hell do you think all those Euro-dollars come from?’