The Other Side of Silence by Philip Kerr Page B

I almost added, “But so much sadness, too. It’s a beautiful, sad world, I think, that has some beautiful, sad people in it,” only you don’t speak to cops like that when they’re asking questions. Not if you want them to leave you alone.
    â€œIs bridge a game involving money?”
    â€œIt can be. But not for us.”
    â€œHow did you meet?”
    â€œWe were introduced. I can’t remember by who. Someone at the Voile perhaps.”
    â€œTwo years isn’t very long. Surely you can remember.”
    â€œYou would think so. Perhaps the barman at the Voile. Maurice. Nice fellow. Good barman.”
    The questions were arriving fast now, like a boxer’s jabs, snapped in from one man and then the other. I’d fought this bout and many others like it before, however; so I tucked myhead down into my shoulder, lifted my left to cover myself against a sucker punch, and prepared to defend myself at all times.
    â€œWere you ever at his apartment in Nice?”
    â€œNo. He never asked me.”
    â€œAnd the casino? Did you ever go there?”
    I pulled a face. “I don’t like casinos very much. For one thing, I don’t have any money I can afford to lose. And for another, I don’t care for the odds. And I haven’t even mentioned the architecture. Most casinos look like opera houses and I never much liked the opera.”
    â€œIs money important to you?”
    â€œNot especially,” I lied. “As a matter of fact, I’ve always found it very purifying to be without much of it. Especially when you see what a lot of the stuff can do to people.”
    â€œWhat about Spinola? Is he short of money, do you think?”
    â€œNo. But then he hasn’t showed me his checking account.”
    â€œDoes he have any enemies?”
    For a moment I thought about the gun he’d given me that was now on top of my lavatory cistern and then shook my head. All of a sudden I seemed to have so many guns and so little documentation for any of them. I felt like a forgotten armory.
    â€œNone that he’s mentioned.”
    â€œWhat about friends?”
    â€œThat’s what I say. What about them? Inspector, Spinola’s my only real friend. I can’t say if the same is true for him. I certainly hope not, because I’m not much of a friend.”
    â€œWhat about women?”
    â€œHe doesn’t talk about them that much. He’s careful like that. Too careful, perhaps. Because I imagine there must have been someone.”
    â€œWhy do you say so?”
    â€œInspector, he’s an Italian. And a good-looking Italian at that. Not to mention the fact he’s unmarried. I can’t imagine him letting those three things go to waste in a place like the French Riviera.”
    â€œAnd you’re a German.”
    â€œWhat can I say? I’ve not been as lucky with women as he is, I expect.”
    â€œThat’s not what I meant.”
    â€œAll right then, how about this. Germans and Italians—we have a habit of forming alliances. By the way, you have my apologies for the previous alliance.”
    â€œWhere were you last night?”
    â€œLast night? I had dinner at the Villa Mauresque. With Mr. Somerset Maugham, the famous writer. He’s a very private sort of man, as I expect you know, but I’m sure he won’t mind confirming my alibi. Assuming I need one.” I lit a cigarette and paused, checking out their sweating, swarthy faces, which were almost as creased and nondescript as their clothes. “Look, would you mind telling me what this is all about? Is Monsieur Spinola in some kind of trouble? Is he all right? I think now would be a good time to tell me if something has happened. And why you’re asking me all these questions.”
    Up to now we’d been doing just fine using the present tense; but then, the way cops do sometimes, they changed it, they went straight to the past tense with just a short,