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      ‘As far as I’ve been able to uncover, he’s been a model citizen his entire life. He was a good student all through school and university. He was consistently active in everything from food drives to young parliament. He’s a champion of the Buy Local movement in his home province, and he gets his hands dirty for more than just photo ops – he spent four days in the muck rounding up livestock that got loose during that big forest fire last summer.’

      ‘I don’t want to hear about his résumé in community activism,’ Roe snapped, and leaned forward in his seat. His dark eyes glittered and his lip curled. ‘If you haven’t gotten personal already, might I suggest you do so.’

      ‘This isn’t the Eighties, Michael. It’s not as easy to out someone any more.’

      Simon typically found that the best tactic when it came to impatient clients was to let them vent, but he knew Roe was going to come around to Murray’s sexuality and it annoyed him.

      In his career as a professional dirt-digger, he’d come across a roster of sexual deviants and general fuckwads, but Matthew Murray was not one of them. Liking dick was barely a scandal when Simon started, let alone these days.

      Roe bared his teeth. ‘Don’t give me that shit, and don’t expect me to believe you’ve developed some morals since you were sprung from rehab.’

      Snap and retreat.

      ‘So, he’s got a boyfriend. So what?’ Roe went on. ‘I’ll tell you what: even though it’s been a decade since same-sex marriage became legal in this country, the tolerance for most only extends to ignorance. No one wants to think about what happens behind closed doors. What was that famous statement back in the Trudeau era? Something about government staying out of the nation’s bedrooms?’

      ‘Actually, it’s “There’s no place for the state in the bedrooms of the nation,”’ Simon interjected, only because it was an opportunity to show that he knew something that Roe didn’t, ‘and yes, I know that there’s still a certain “ick” factor amongst voters even when they say sexual orientation doesn’t matter.’

      ‘So what’s the problem?’

      ‘The problem is that unless you want me to drive to Sussex and suck his dick, there’s no way to get any dirt on his sexual practices. What do you expect to do with it anyway? Send out a press release saying that Matthew Murray prefers anal beads over a plug?’

      ‘Don’t be crass,’ Roe grumbled, and grabbed a pen from the desktop. He tapped it against the surface obnoxiously, and Simon couldn’t tell whether it was to annoy him or just Roe looking for something to do with his hands. ‘I’m talking about the sort of thing that would put people off. If he’s so community minded, doesn’t it stand to reason that he’s active in other communities?’

      Simon had to resist the urge to laugh. ‘Like what? BDSM communities? Partner swapping? In covered bridge country?’

      ‘You’re right, it’s almost as incredible as anonymous sex parties for the wealthy in Tatamagouche.’

      Snap and retreat.

      Out of Roe’s sight, Simon drummed his fingers on his knee, trying to beat out his annoyance over Roe’s reference to parts of Simon’s own life that had come to light recently. ‘Actually, it was closer to Shediac, in New Brunswick. Tatamagouche is in on the Nova Scotia side of the border.’

      ‘My point, and I’m disappointed that I have to make it to someone with your supposed calibre, is that the filthy details matter. You can sit there with that stupid smile on your face and pretend that you’re not some massive fuck-up with no skills beyond those I’m paying you to use, but the fact remains that I am paying you to destroy Murray’s chances of becoming the next leader of the party.’

       If only you were half the candidate, half the man Matthew Murray is …

      Simon didn’t lose his poise. He’d never been a hothead in his youth, but he’d rarely censored his sharp tongue until he started this less than illustrious career. In moments like this, when he came across a rotten prick like Michael Roe, he thought it might be easier to bite off his own tongue and swallow it.

      ‘Murray may have no reason to hide in the closet, but that doesn’t mean it’s empty,’ Roe went on. ‘Open it. Find something I can use against him, even if you do have to suck his cock to get it.’

      Simon simmered inside, but he was calm. ‘That’ll cost you extra.’

      ‘Give me something that will knock the cocky look off of Murray’s face, we’ll talk Christmas bonuses.’

      His tone said ‘get out’ but Simon didn’t move. Roe was his boss, but Simon wasn’t one to be dismissed. He waited a moment longer, unnecessarily adjusting the buttons on his cuffs. As rain began to patter against the window pane, he kept his gaze on the man on the other side of the desk.

      Then he spoke.

      ‘There’s another component to the services I offer that you might want to consider.’

      Roe barely spared Simon a glance. ‘Such as?’

      ‘In addition to digging things up, I’m also very good at burying them.’

      The second look Roe gave him almost made Simon giddy, until the politician’s mouth twisted into an ugly smile.

      ‘I assume you’re referring to the late Senator Taureau’s many indiscretions.’

      ‘He never lived long enough to see his reputation fall apart,’ Simon replied.

      ‘But fall apart it did, and I intend to keep mine long after I’m in the ground.’

      ‘With all due respect, that’s what my last employer said.’

      Roe raised a brow. ‘And with all due respect, Mr Reeve, you were stupid enough to take a job with the white-trash royalty of Scarborough.”

      Snap and retreat.

      Simon had had enough. He stood and draped his coat over one arm.

      ‘I’d think about it if I were you,’ he said casually, even as his throat burned. ‘Everyone thinks they’re bulletproof until someone comes along and shoots a big hole in the middle of their forehead – speaking from experience.’

      He shot Roe a venomous smile and left the office.

      One he was in the elevator, he closed his eyes and tipped his head back.

       Prick.

      Then again, he knew Roe was a prick when he took this job. He knew right from the start that Roe was hell-bent on destroying Murray’s bid for the leadership – and any chance of him becoming the next leader of this country – at any cost.

      Michael Roe was a bastard. It hardly made him an anomaly in politics, and usually the vote came down to one bastard or another, but every so often you’d get someone like Matthew Murray. Someone young and fresh and friendly who would make the entire country fall madly in love with him.

      He undid the button of his jacket and, as it popped free, he burned with the reminder that it wasn’t the same size he wore a year ago, and neither was the flesh beneath it. He’d traded a steady diet of cocaine and whiskey for drive-thru in front of the television and kissed goodbye that dream of having washboard abs again.

       A fucking snake in the grass for a bastard like Michael Roe, a black hole of debt that didn’t seem to be getting any smaller, and now to top it all off I’m getting a fat ass.

      He sighed and forced himself to think about the task at hand.

      Roe was right. No closet was empty, and with someone as young as Murray there wouldn’t be skeletons but fresh corpses. It would be easy to follow the stench of decay.

      Simon Reeve had been a damn good bloodhound once. He still was, he told himself daily, ignoring the fact that the last year

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