‘We’re all spies at this place, Peach. Isn’t that what you’re doing, too? You didn’t need to sneak in here. If you wanted answers about something, you could have talked to me. Exactly what do you want?’

Peach stabbed the button on Bush’s phone. The short message played on the speakerphone. ‘Who is he?’ she asked.

‘He’s a contact of mine,’ Bush said.

‘He works for you.’

‘Lots of people work for me. You work for me, too.’

‘No, I work for Diane Fairmont.’

‘We both do,’ Bush said.

‘That man calls himself Curtis Clay,’ Peach went on. ‘He called my home and pretended to be a cop. I caught him in Justin’s apartment.’

‘What were you doing in Justin’s apartment?’ Bush asked with a wink. ‘You see? I told you, we’re all spies. None of us is innocent.’

‘Who is he?’ she repeated.

Bush picked up a small pewter replica of the Bok tower from his desk and played with it between his fingers. He didn’t answer. She smelled his cologne, and she watched his ruby ring glint under the light. His face was a mask, but she knew he was thinking fast. Looking for a way out.

‘What do you know about Justin’s death?’ Peach asked.

‘I only know what the police tell me, Peach.’

‘I don’t believe you. You kept a file on Justin. He wanted to talk to you the night before he was killed. Why did he want to see you?’

‘I have no idea,’ Bush told her calmly. ‘We never spoke. This is the first I’m hearing about it. I think you should go home, Peach. The storm is getting bad. The office is closed. You shouldn’t be here.’

‘My next call is to Ms Fairmont. I’m going to tell her everything.’

Bush shrugged. ‘She knows what I’m doing.’

‘We’ll see.’

Peach watched the man’s face. She wasn’t a poker player, but she knew a bluff when she saw it. She picked up the phone and punched the number for Ms Fairmont’s house. Ringing buzzed through the speakerphone. Before there was an answer, Bush leaned casually across the desk and depressed the button on the receiver to cut off the call. ‘All right, I think we can arrive at a compromise,’ he said. ‘The fact is, there are things that Diane is better off not knowing. Candidates think they want to know everything, but really, they don’t. It’s what we call plausible deniability.’

‘I call it lying,’ Peach said.

‘Whatever. Okay, you want to know who that man is? His name is Curtis Ritchie. He’s a private investigator, and yes, I use him from time to time. There’s nothing unusual about it. It’s common practice. I asked him to gather some information for me on Justin’s activities.’

‘He told me he was a St Petersburg cop.’