‘They’re still looking,’ I said. ‘I don’t think they have much hope of success, though.’

‘That’s terrible,’ he said. ‘Terrible.’ He made a fluttering gesture with his hands. ‘I don’t know what to say, Mr Kemp.’

‘There’s nothing much anyone can say.’ I looked at my watch. ‘I’ll come over to your office after I’ve seen Mrs Forsyth, if that’s convenient. There’s a small problem I’d like to talk over with you privately.’

IV

I didn’t get much out of Mrs Forsyth. She was about sixty, extremely slight and with a brisk, no-nonsense air about her. Yes, she had cleared Mr Salton’s effects from the office in the Learjet. No, she had not touched his suits – they were none of her affair. No, she hadn’t found anything unusual in Mr Salton’s desk drawers in the aircraft. Anywhere else? His office at El Cerco? Anywhere at all? No, nothing at all, Mr Kemp.

Thank you very much, Mrs Forsyth. For nothing.

I drove to Stern’s office and waited twenty minutes while he disposed of a client. Then I was admitted and sat down. He put the tips of his fingers together. ‘You spoke of a small problem, Mr Kemp.’

‘Not really a problem, more of a delicate situation,’ I said. ‘When a man dies, his executors sometimes come across strange things. It might be discovered that a pillar of the church has amassed the finest collection of hardcore pornography in the world, for example. What did you find out about Salton?’

‘Nothing at all,’ he said, but his eyes were watchful.

‘You are Salton’s executor,’ I said. ‘So you must have checked on Jildav Ltd. Isn’t that right?’

‘That is correct.’

‘And Jildav Ltd owns property here in Marshalltown – the only place it does on the island, besides El Cerco. Isn’t that correct?’

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘But what of it?’

‘Would I be right in saying that Jildav owns Gregory Plaza?’

Stern stood up and went to the window. He stared into the street for a moment then swung around and faced me. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘And I repeat – what of it?’

‘You live there, don’t you? On the eighth floor.’

‘I do, but I don’t see what that’s got to do with anything.’

I smiled. ‘Do you pay an economic rent, Mr Stern?’

‘That’s a damned insulting question,’ he said. ‘I pay the going rate, the same as anyone else who lives there. If you’re implying that …’

I held up my hand. ‘I’m not implying anything, Mr Stern. Just trying to get at some facts. Do you still say that you haven’t found anything about Salton that might prove to be a matter of some delicacy?’

He moved uneasily. ‘I don’t follow you.’

‘All right, I’ll spell it out. Who pays the rent on apartment 432?’