‘What do you mean? The Governor is a sleaze. He surrounds himself with sleazy people.’

‘You can be a sleaze and still be set up,’ Annalie said.

‘What are you saying? Do you think I had something to do with that? Because I didn’t.’

‘I never said you did, but sometimes special projects go on behind the scenes. People get recruited to do things they don’t want to do.’

Peach’s eyes widened. ‘Justin? That’s who you mean, isn’t it? You think Justin was involved in setting up the Governor’s aide.’

‘I don’t know. Is it possible?’

‘No!’

‘And yet you don’t think his death was about drugs.’

Peach stood up so fast that the chair spilled into the water behind her. Her leg buckled under her weight, and Annalie leaped to her feet and kept her from falling. Peach shrugged off the woman’s help. She realized that she’d said far more to Annalie than she ever intended. Annalie was good. And smart. She knew a lot more about humint work than she was letting on.

‘Let’s go,’ Peach said.

‘I’m sorry. I had to ask. I need to know what I’m getting into.’

Peach splashed toward the wet, sandy fringe of the beach. Seagulls scattered into the air. ‘You’re wrong about Justin.’

Annalie grabbed her shoulder and stopped her. ‘Maybe I am, but that doesn’t explain why you went to Justin’s apartment. What were you looking for?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Don’t insult me, Peach. I know that’s not true.’ Annalie dug in a pocket. ‘Were you looking for this?’

She held up a small book bound in fraying green cloth. Much of the gold lettering on the cover had flecked away. It was the book of poetry by William Blake that Peach had given to Justin. She’d thought she lost it when she fell from the apartment window. ‘Give me that,’ she said.

‘There’s an inscription,’ Annalie told her. ‘I looked through the book when you were in the drug store. “Then they followed / Where the vision led,/And saw their sleeping child / Among tygers wild.” That’s from a poem called “The Little Girl Found.” It’s not a man’s handwriting. Is it yours? Did you give Justin this book?’

‘Give me that!’ Peach repeated, ripping it out of her hand.

‘The Little Girl Found. Is that you?’

‘That’s none of your business.’

‘You loved Justin, didn’t you?’

‘I said, that’s none of your business.’

‘Did he love you?’

‘Why do you care?’ Peach asked. ‘What difference does it make?’

‘Because if he loved you, maybe he told you his secrets.’

‘He didn’t.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘I didn’t find a thing in his apartment,’ Peach said, and the bitterness was obvious in her voice.