“Since what?”
“Well, since we arrived.”
“Why? Wondering if it’s the last time, are you?” Her eyes gleamed with hate.
“Please, don’t be horrid.”
“Because, of course, I’m always the horrid one!”
“Now you’re putting words in my mouth. How are we ever going to get along like this?”
“So you think we can get along, do you?”
“I don’t know. I think I’m hurting you.”
“Poor girl, eh?”
“You’re hurting me, too.”
Rosemary smiled nastily. “Oh, poor Tom!”
He had stopped moving, as if paralyzed. His wife was giving him one of those looks, at once ironic and scornful, of which she alone had the secret, a tragic look he couldn’t bear, a kind of self-destructive mixture of hatred and powerlessness, a painful look she seemed able to serve up at will. For her, it was a desperate defense mechanism, for him, a vision of horror.
They were saved by the bell. At that moment, Culhane’s cell phone rang. He had left it lying on the round table in the living room. Still completely overwhelmed by the conversation they’d just had, he picked it up.
“Am I disturbing you?” the voice at the other end said, perhaps because of the voices in the background.
“No, no. Just Rosie looking at her program . . . Rosemary,” he added for no reason.
Osborne had called at exactly the right moment. Culhane’s disappointment was as great as the hope he had glimpsed the day before yesterday, after the barbecue, when they had made love.
“Any news about Ann Brook?” Osborne asked.
It took Culhane a moment or two to recover his wits. “Ann Brook? Er . . . Yes . . . Yes. Why?”
“Ann Brook was present at the reception at Sky City. So was Melrose.”
“Well, Captain Timu’s in charge of the case, but I’ve gleaned a few things. Wait, I’ll have a look for my notebook.” He came back almost immediately. “Ann Brook was a successful model,” he said. “She worked for the Kiwi Advertising Agency, kind of like their icon. Under exclusive contract, from what I gather. Unmarried. No regular boyfriends that we know of, but that still has to be confirmed.”
At the other end of the line, Osborne sounded nervous. “Do we know her movements on the night of the murder?”
“For the moment, all we know is that she was out on the town,” Culhane replied. “She was seen in a number of bars in the center, then went to a party at the house of a man named Julian Long, over in Ponsonby. Long is going to supply us with a list of party guests, which could be useful.”
Osborne breathed into the receiver—so far nobody had identified him. “Any relation of Michael Long?”
The Mayor of Auckland’s communications adviser.
“Julian’s his son,” Culhane replied, “and also a good friend of Ann Brook’s. According to him, Ann spent some time at the party, but he didn’t see her leave.”
“And what does this Julian do?”
“Not much, apparently. Kiwi, the advertising agency Ann Brook worked for, is owned by his father, Michael. Stinking rich, as you can imagine. According to Long junior, his friend Ann was alone when she arrived at the party. He also said there were a lot of people, and it was late, which is why he didn’t see her leave. We’re still looking for her car, a Mercedes coupé.”
“The site in New Lynn where her body was found is owned by Century,” Osborne added. “One of the branches of the Melrose empire.”
“Like half the sites acquired for construction in the city.”
“Anything on the circumstances of the death?”
“First indications are that she was beaten to death with an iron bar. We also know that Ann Brook wasn’t killed anywhere near the site in New Lynn. There were hardly any traces of blood near the body. It’s thought she was killed somewhere else, then dumped there.”
That corroborated his theory.
“Has her home been searched?” Osborne asked.
“Gallagher’s dealing with it. A postmortem is in progress. I don’t know if you saw the evening news, but the media are going wild. TV, radio, newspapers, everyone’s talking about it. The death of a model, can you imagine, it’s like manna from heaven!” He laughed. “Timu’s holding a press conference tomorrow morning. That may calm them down for a while. In the meantime, it’s all hands on deck.”
Osborne was silent at the other end of the line.
“Why?” Culhane asked. “Do you think Ann Brook had something to do with the burglary at Melrose’s house?”
“I have no idea.”
“And Zinzan Bee?”
“Ditto. Do you have anything more on the Tainui present at Bastion Point?”
“Of the six,” Culhane replied, “I’ve managed so far to contact two. Two pensioners who don’t remember Zinzan Bee, or much else for that matter. I’m still trying to reach the others.”
