There was a click and the door opened three inches. ‘Yes?’ enquired a warm, female voice.

‘Miss Tomsson. My name is Kemp. I’d like to see you for a few minutes.’ She was invisible behind the door, which was secured by a burglar chain.

‘What about?’

‘I represent a London insurance company and …’

‘I have enough insurance.’ The door began to close.

I rammed the palm of my hand flat against it. ‘Hold it! I’m not selling.’ The door began to open again and stopped with a jerk at the regulation distance of three inches as the chain tightened. ‘I want to talk to you about something else.’

‘What?’

‘David Salton, to start with.’

There was nothing but silence from the other side of the door. I waited a while then said, ‘Miss Tomsson?’

‘What about David Salton?’

‘You tell me.’ I glanced up and down the quiet corridor. ‘But maybe you’d prefer to do it in private.’

There was another calculating pause. ‘All right,’ she said, and the chain rattled as she took it off. I pushed gently on the door and it swung open and I saw Leotta Tomsson walking away, silhouetted against the light from a big window overlooking the sea. I closed the door and followed her.

When she swung around to face me she took my breath away. Six feet of unadulterated loveliness – copper-gold skin, tawny-streaked blonde hair, hazel eyes and the physique of an athlete. She was as unlike Jill Salton as it was possible to be. Although both were beautiful, to compare them would be ridiculous, like asking which is the more beautiful, a perfect tree or a perfect sunset. I was learning a lot about David Salton and I gave him full marks for his taste. I also suspected I was looking at the cause of the quarrel with his wife on the day he disappeared.

Leotta wore a short white robe and fidgeted nervously with the belt. ‘What did you say your name was?’

‘Kemp. William Kemp.’ I looked at her consideringly. ‘Don’t the jungle drums reach this far? You must be the only person on Campanilla not to have heard of me.’

‘I haven’t been out for a couple of days,’ she said. ‘There wasn’t anything on the radio.’

I smiled. ‘I haven’t got that far, Miss Tomsson, but I dare say I will.’

Her fingers plucked at the belt. ‘Well,’ she said. ‘What do you want?’

I looked around the apartment, which was big and simply furnished in an austerely expensive way. I thought I could detect a sort of incense – the scent of burning five-pound notes – but I always have that illusion in the vicinity of the rich. ‘May I sit down?’

‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘Of course.’