‘Why?’ My tone was automatically defensive. I didn’t want to get involved in this — not now.
‘ 93 ‘I do not understand you.’ She was staring at me with a puzzled, frustrated look. ‘The other day you are willing to help and then—’ She hesitated and I could see she didn’t know what line to take. ‘What happened when you go to see this man, Sismondi?’
I couldn’t face the look of helplessness in her eyes and my gaze fell. I saw then that I was holding the picture of Sansevino in my hand.
Caselli was talking now. He said, ‘We have spoken with Signor Sismondi. He said you behaved very strangely. The only persons present were the Contessa Valle and Signor Shirer, an American. Perhaps you can tell us why you behave so strangely, yes?’
An idea took hold of me. Caselli was a police officer. I knew that. If I could implicate Shirer, if I could start them making inquiries. … I thrust the photograph towards him, my thumb over the uniform. ‘Do you recognise that man?’ I asked him. He peered forward. His breath smelt faintly of garlic. ‘He has no moustache now.’
‘Yes. That is the American the signorina speak of. It is Shirer.’
‘You think it’s Shirer,’ I said. ‘But it isn’t. His name’s Sansevino. You go and see this fellow you think is Walter Shirer at the Nazionale. Go and talk to him. I think maybe—’
‘Ah, here you are.’ It was Hacket who had interrupted me. ‘I’ve just ordered a car so maybe we can go out to the airport together, eh?’ He had halted, looking from me to Hilda Tucek and the police officer. ‘Is anything wrong?’
‘Nothing,’ I said quickly. And then to Caselli, ‘You can keep the photograph. It may help Shirer to remember what he did at the Villa d’Este.’
Caselli stared at the photograph and then at me.