She opened the filing cabinet. The top drawer was stuffed with folders, seemingly in no order. She shuffled through them, but they were mostly historical, dealing with political maneuverings dating back for years. One of the folders was labeled with the name Chuck Warren. Another, immediately behind it, bore the name of Birch Fairmont. She was tempted to look, but for the time being she ignored them and moved to the second drawer.

The folder she wanted was at the front, as if it had been recently reviewed. The name on the tab said Justin Kiel. Peach pushed the tight folders apart and tried to squeeze the file on Justin out of the drawer, but before she could get it, she heard a muffled noise breaking the dead silence of the office. It was the street door opening and closing on the other side of the building.

Someone was coming inside.

Peach slammed the drawer shut. She switched off the flashlight and stumbled to Bush’s office door. She pulled it closed behind her and crab-walked to the first open cubicle, where she threw herself inside, hugging the wall. Overhead, the fluorescent lights flickered to life, bathing the entire room in a bright, noon-time glow. She heard footsteps and whistling. Someone walked down the corridor, passing immediately next to the cubicle where she was hiding, and she recognized an aroma that she’d smelled only moments earlier.

Cologne.

Ogden Bush. He was here in the middle of the night.

She heard the man continue to his office door. His keys jangled in his hand. He pushed the key into the lock, but then she heard something that made her hold her breath. The door shoved open under his hand. It wasn’t locked. She hadn’t closed it completely when she made her escape.

The jangling stopped. The whistling stopped.

Bush retraced his steps. She could sense his closeness. He was so near her that she could hear the measured in-and-out noise of his breathing.

‘Hello?’ he called, his voice smooth and suspicious.

Peach waited. She kept as still as one of her mannequins.

‘Is anyone there?’ Bush demanded.

He waited, listening, as a full minute passed. Then another. Peach squirmed, uncomfortable in the tight space beside the cubicle wall. An overwhelming desire to pee made her squeeze her knees together. Finally, Bush turned back, and she heard him go into the office and close the door behind him. She decided to press her luck and get away, but as she unfolded her legs and crawled to the cubicle doorway, she heard his door open again. She didn’t have time to hide. If he stopped, if he glanced inside the cubicle, he would see her.