Osborne spotted Gallagher in a gray suit at the foot of the platform, together with Moore, the new Chief Medical Examiner. The garish lighting gave the occasion a distinctly showbiz feel. Everybody who was anybody in the city was here: Osborne recognized most of the faces. He grabbed a glass of Australian champagne, wondering what a girl like the one he had met in the elevator was doing in a place like this.
Timu’s speech came to an end, and he stepped down off the platform, looking distinctly self-conscious, to make way for Phil O’Brian, who was applauding and smiling for the cameras. Not that there was any reason to smile: Timu had drawn a particularly grim picture of the city, a city where criminals got out of prison as often as they entered it, where safety couldn’t be guaranteed, especially in private houses, where robberies all too often led to murders and rapes.
Amelia found Osborne among the potted plants. “Bored?”
“Yes.”
“Then have a drink.”
“That’s what I’m doing.” He showed her the empty glass he’d thrust into the compost.
“Oh.”
In her black pants and fluorescent green sneakers, Amelia looked quite girlish among all these people. Osborne liked her. She had kept a cool head when confronted with the appalling sight of the body on the beach. Most of all, she seemed like a bright girl.
“Do you know that guy?” he said, pointing out the flashy-looking fifty-something man standing beside Phil O’Brian.
“Michael Long,” she replied. “The mayor’s communications adviser.”
“Ah.”
With his thick hair, his carefully groomed forelock, his tan, and his well cared-for teeth, he looked more like a Greek shipping magnate or the kind of crooner who appealed to ladies of a certain age. As Osborne nodded distractedly, Amelia moved closer to him. The mayor was getting ready to speak, while the flashlights popped. In the midst of the silvery heads in front of the platform, Osborne spotted Ann, the girl from the elevator, on the arms of two not very intelligent-looking young men, probably in their late teens.
“And those two big lumps over there?” he asked.
Amelia got up on tiptoe to see where he was looking. “O’Brian’s sons,” she replied. “They’re twins.”
The mayor’s sons were in tuxedos that were way too big for them, and still in the grip of acne. Next to them, Ann was scanning the crowd, searching for a familiar face. Inevitably, her eyes met Osborne’s. She smiled above the perms, and gave him a discreet wink before turning her attention back to the platform, where O’Brian had begun speaking.
“Do you know her?” Amelia asked.
“Who?”
“Don’t play all innocent, it really doesn’t suit you.”
Amelia was relatively flat-chested under her T-shirt but the way she held her shoulders made up for the lack.
“We met in the elevator,” he said. “No big deal.”
“Do you often meet girls in elevators?”
“Oh, you know . . . ”
She shook her head—what a pity.
At that moment, Tom Culhane appeared. “Ah, there you are!” he said to Osborne. “We were wondering if you were coming!”
“Here I am.”
The tone wasn’t very pleasant, but Culhane was used to it by now and, in proper British style, feigned good humor. “Well?” he said, looking toward the platform. “What do you think?”
Phil O’Brian was talking about the results achieved by his opposite number Rudy Giuliani, the former mayor of New York, and his policies on crime. Although he didn’t mention it by name, it was clear he was referring to the principle of zero tolerance.
“I think it’s bullshit,” replied Osborne by way of analysis. “Why, Culhane, what do you think?”
Culhane laughed, for want of any better response. Phil O’Brian was hoping to be reelected by flattering the most primitive instinct of his “fellow citizens”: fear. Changing the subject, Culhane made a few trite remarks about his wife—Rosemary wasn’t feeling very well, apparently, but beneath his deceptive smile, he was the one who seemed anxious.
“By the way,” Osborne said, “does anyone know why the Maori TV channel has shut down?”
“Aetoraoa?” Culhane said. “Oh, of course, you were in Australia. It went bust.”
“Really?”
“Bad investments, especially in high-tech shares at the start of the boom, which, as everyone knows, didn’t last. The public channel reinvested its money when the wind started to change, but Aetoraoa lost most of its capital.”
Osborne pretended to understand. Amelia wasn’t even listening.
“I’m going to get a drink,” she said. “Will you come with me?”
She was expecting Osborne to reply, but it was Culhane who took her by the arm. “Good idea!”
Amelia pursed her lips: Tom always had a kind word for her, but tonight she would have preferred it if he’d stayed with his sick wife, his mistress, or his dog, as long as he left her in peace! But Osborne stayed where he was, next to the potted plants, while the sergeant dragged her over to the buffet.
On the platform, Phil O’Brian was coming to the end of his speech. The justice system would be ruthless and uncompromising when it came to criminals, and he wanted them to know it. The silvery heads nodded in unison while the lights flashed. Steve joined his son for the photographers and raised the mayor’s arm in the air as if he had just won something. A brief moment of electoral communion. Now they could all get drunk in a civilized manner. Everyone seemed to know everyone else. They converged on the buffet. Among them were Nick Melrose and his daughter. He was introducing her to Steve O’Brian, who, in spite of his years, was still an influential figure in political circles.
Her face ghostly white under the powder, Melanie Melrose was a skinny blonde in an evening dress that was too large for her and didn’t really suit an eighteen-year-old. Smiling too much to allay suspicion, she clung to her father, who was showing her off to these people as if she was a precious jewel. It was only after she had shaken umpteen unknown hands that she finally let go of his arm.
Osborne waited for Melrose to be caught up by the crowd before approaching his treasure. “I need to talk to you,” he said, taking her by the elbow.
