He had been married for almost five decades. He still appreciated the appeal of young girls, but to him they were like something you admired in a museum. He’d seen too many middle-aged politicians self-destruct over affairs with pretty aides. Sometimes he thought every man who ran for office should be castrated first. There would be fewer distractions, and they might actually get something done.

‘So what do we know?’ Walter asked. ‘Tell me something.’

Ritchie popped a shrimp in his mouth and licked his fingers. ‘My alter ego, Detective Curtis Clay of the St Pete Police, is still asking questions. You can’t rush these things.’

Walter held up a hand to stop him. ‘Knock it off about that. I’m sure you’re kidding, because if you were really doing anything illegal, like impersonating a cop, I’d have to shut this operation down and get your license pulled. Right? I asked Ogden to make it damn clear that we were paying for investigative services only. If I’m ever asked to put my hand on a Bible in court, that’s what I’m going to say.’

Ritchie smirked. ‘Yeah, of course, I was kidding. I’m a kidder.’

‘So what do we know?’ Walter repeated.

‘So far, nothing much,’ Ritchie said. ‘You wanted real dirt. That takes time.’

Walter shook his head in frustration. He’d told Brent Reed to be patient, but patience wasn’t one of his own virtues. His blood pressure was always high, no matter how much medicine he took.

‘Look, Walter,’ Bush said, taking a shrimp from Ritchie’s basket, ‘we both know what the people at Common Way are like. You can’t win as often as they do without crossing the line. I don’t know if it’s bribes or wiretapping or what, but there’s something to find. I can’t dig into it myself, because we can’t have anyone finding out about our special relationship. That’s why we have Curtis here.’

‘Yeah, and what is Curtis here doing besides eating shrimp?’

Ritchie grinned. ‘It’s really good shrimp.’

‘What about this kid Justin you told me about?’ Walter asked. ‘What’s the deal with him?’

‘Rufus tipped me off that Justin Kiel was asking questions about the Labor Day murders,’ Bush replied. ‘I asked Justin why, but he clammed up. I told Curtis to start checking him out, but somebody shot the kid in the head before we could figure out what he was doing.’

‘Who did it?’ Walter asked, staring at Curtis Ritchie.

Ritchie’s brow furrowed. ‘Don’t know. I was following him, but the kid was smart. I think he made me. He went underground, and I lost him.’

‘The police think the murder was a drug thing, but it smells funny,’ Bush added. ‘He’s asking about Birch Fairmont, and then he gets popped? Makes you wonder.’