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reason is always lurking here, and shove it in, covering it with a folded cardboard box. I keep the pepper spray on me, carefully tucking it into the folds of the bow at the back of my dress where it’ll stay put, if not exactly hidden. Then I head back to the side of the door, moving the bucket an extra foot in front to give myself a bit of wiggle room, and I settle in to wait. At least it’s summer and the air is warm.
    I don’t have to wait for long. I’m leaning against the wall, eyes half-closed, when I hear the tell-tale rattle of the inside bar being pushed. I quickly sidestep left to avoid the door hitting me as it opens, but keep myself pressed against the wall so that the secret smoker won’t see me unless they actually turn around. The door swings open noiselessly and a man steps out, cigarette already dangling from his mouth. From this angle, I’m pretty sure it’s one of the security guards. He cups his hands and lights up, not moving from the entrance. I curse inwardly and concentrate on not breathing too loudly. At least this location is fairly central, so there’s a loud hum of traffic to mask any sounds that I make.
    I watch his profile intently. He sucks hard on the cigarette, gazing off into the distance, but his feet still don’t move away from the door so there’s no way I can edge behind him and sneak inside. He smokes all the way down to the filter and, just as I’m sure he’s going to do no more than ground the butt into the tarmac with his heel and head straight back inside, he walks forward to the bucket to drop it in. I swiftly tiptoe behind him and duck inside, bolting up the stairs before he comes back in. I can only think that he must have paused to move the bucket back to its original location because I’m already at the second floor, my heart pounding, when I hear the door clang shut. I grin to myself. There’s nothing like a nicotine addict with OCD. Then I bound up to the tenth floor where Tam will be waiting.
    The fire exit opens onto the main corridor of Tam’s suite. I know from experience that at this time of day the other investigators will either be out on jobs or in the social room, regaling each other with inflated stories of their mornings’ exploits. Equally, the receptionist will be far too concerned with her phone to pay attention to anything other than the front door. All this means that I only have to sneak past Arzo, Tam’s PA, to get into his office. But Arzo is no push-over like the others and I want a chance to observe Tam before confronting him so, rather than heading directly to his sweeping corner office, I scoot into the ladies’ restroom. It’s time to put my Die Hard Bruce Willis’ skills into action. I’ve always thought it would be possible, considering the entire building is finished with dropped ceilings, but I’ve never actually tried it before. There’s no time like the present.
    I hop into one of the cubicles but don’t bother locking the door. I don’t want someone to wander in and wonder why there’s an empty toilet with a locked door. Women with full bladders are neither patient nor good-humoured. Carefully lowering the seat, I step up and onto the cistern then reach up and push aside one of the large ceiling tiles. The space above is dark and filled with pipes which will make it difficult to move around but I am determined.
    I curve my fingers round the metal bracket and slowly pull myself upwards, unsure how much of my weight the structure will hold. It creaks and bends slightly but I decide I can make it, so I push my body further up, keeping away from the polystyrene panels where I’ll be sure to fall through. There’s not much space at the top, forcing me to bend my torso down and forwards to shimmy my hips through. It’s a tight squeeze but once they’re past, I wiggle forward so I can pull up my legs. The hardest part is edging backwards so I can replace the tile. Advancing through this space is difficult enough while lying