‘Hanna knew eighteen months ago,’ I said. ‘As I told you, coppers can keep secrets. Was she the cause of the quarrel?’

Jill nodded miserably. ‘I was stupid. I tackled him about it before I had any real proof. He never lied to me, so he admitted it. But he said he’d broken with her, that he hadn’t seen her for six months. I told him I didn’t believe him.’

‘Even though he never lied to you?’

‘What was his mistress but a constant, unexpressed lie?’ cried Jill passionately.

‘It so happens he was telling the truth.’ In a sad, sad way, I thought. ‘They didn’t see each other in the last six months.’

She sank into a chair and her face was now paper white so that a dusting of freckles stood out against her skin. She looked bleakly into the past and her hand went nervously to her mouth as she breathed, ‘My God!’

‘You’ll have to talk to Hanna,’ I said.

‘I can’t do that. David mustn’t be dragged down.’

‘He’s dead, Jill,’ I said gently. ‘It won’t matter to him now.’

‘It will to his name, to his reputation.’

My recent run-in with Hosmer had reminded me of the power of reputation, but this was different. ‘It’s too late, Jill. David’s political opponents already know. This thing must be cleared up once and for all, especially after what happened to Owen Ogilvie.’

She looked at me blankly. ‘What about Ogilvie?’

‘Don’t you know? He was killed – murdered – just after he left Negrini’s casino.’

She closed her eyes and I thought she was going to faint. ‘Oh, that poor young man,’ she whispered. ‘He showed me a picture of his wife and child in his wallet. He was so proud of them.’ She opened her eyes. ‘Why was he killed?’

‘Because he was going about asking questions about how David Salton died.’

Her hands were trembling. ‘It could have happened to you, Bill.’

‘It nearly did,’ I said grimly. ‘They had a go at me yesterday afternoon.’ I told her about it.

‘But why?’ she said helplessly. ‘What was it about David’s death?’ She stood up again and walked to the window. ‘You’re right. This business must be cleared up. I’ll talk to Hanna.’ She paused uncertainly. ‘It gives me a motive, doesn’t it? It makes me a suspect. Hell hath no fury …’ Her voice tailed away.

‘You can’t be suspected of Ogilvie’s death,’ I said. ‘You were with me when he was attacked. And the two go together – they must. You weren’t even in the country when they took a crack at me.’ Uneasily I wondered how many murders could be commissioned with forty million dollars. As I said before, suspicion is corrosive.

John came into the room, walking cat-footed. ‘You are wanted on the telephone, sir.’