‘I don’t buy it,’ Walter said. ‘They’re up to something. They’re still trying to fix the race. You know what Ramona’s going to do if this comes out. She’ll throw it back in our faces and say this is another dirty trick from the Governor’s campaign. It’ll be ugly street warfare. That’s what Common Way wants, isn’t it? Let us pound each other for a few weeks, drive both of our numbers down, and then they step in and find a new candidate who vaults into the lead.’

‘Maybe so,’ Bush said, ‘but do we have a choice? Without this dirt, there’s no race at all. Ramona wins.’

Walter didn’t like being between a rock and a hard place. He liked being the rock, banging on everybody else. Even so, he couldn’t say no. He didn’t trust Common Way, but sometimes you had to give your enemies what they wanted and hope you could still screw them tomorrow. ‘Yeah, okay,’ he said.

‘We go nuclear?’

‘We go nuclear,’ Walter agreed.

‘The roll-out has to be handled delicately,’ Bush told him. ‘It can’t come from any of our usual sources. We’ve got to stay ten miles away from this. Everybody will suspect it comes from us, but we can’t let anyone prove it.’

‘Do you think I don’t know that?’ Walter asked. ‘Don’t worry. I know guys. We’ll get the story planted. This thing will land like Pearl Harbor in Ramona’s camp.’

Ogden stood up and laced his hands behind his neck, relishing the sun. ‘Excellent. It’s always a pleasure doing business with you, Walter.’

Walter didn’t return the compliment. He studied the paper in his hand and took no pleasure in it. He was already anticipating the fallout, imagining the headlines, the press conferences, the claims and counter-claims. It would be a bloodbath, but elections usually were.

‘So what do you think, Ogden?’

‘About what?’

Walter nodded at the piece of paper. ‘You think Ramona really did this? She was ready to have Deacon Piper commit murder to put her in the governor’s chair? I can’t stand the lady, but I just wonder if it’s true.’

Bush’s lips folded into an amused smile. ‘Walter, you surprise me. This is politics. What the hell does truth have to do with anything?’

56

‘Hello, Alison.’

Peach stared at the little white cross that was pushed into the ground near the highway shoulder. Pink flowers decorated it. Someone had slung rosary beads around the cross. It wasn’t a grave, but if a ghost had to pick a place to haunt, this was a pretty spot. By all rights, Chayla should have unearthed the fragile memorial and trampled it, but God had made an exception for Alison. The cross had come through the storm unscathed.