Part 44 (1/2)
”You are too complimentary, Madame Lytton. I was never of the first rank, I admit that, but not once did I drop a ballerina on her derriere.”
”Bless you, Sergei, that is true,” Anya said. ”Always strong.”
”Well, this is a pleasure,” said Mrs. Lytton. ”One doesn't expect to find genuine artistes at these affairs. What brings you here tonight?”
”It is more a question of who, Madame Lytton. I am the reluctant guest of the local gendarmerie. I am, as they say, helping them with their inquiries.”
”How exciting. Is it top secret?”
”Hardly, Madame, they believe the gentleman at the microphone may be guilty of a crime. More than one, actually.”
”Really? My goodness. This evening is turning out to be much more fun than I antic.i.p.ated. I think I'll have a small gla.s.s of wine.”
Sergei was full of juicy gossip about Rudolph Nureyev and Erik Bruhn and other stars of the ballet world, and Mrs. Lytton was hanging on every word. Anya decided it was time for her to visit the man again. The candidate was about to make a speech. Anya wasn't interested in the substance, she'd heard it before, only in the manner of its delivery.
He's developed a twitch, she thought. He's started wiping his palms on his jacket, he has to refer to his notes in order to locate the next talking point in a speech he's given many times before. Each time she applauded he lost his place. Or perhaps it was what was happening on the other side of the room that was bothering him. The campaign overseers appeared to be having a heated discussion about something. Anya could only guess what was so important, but the sight had a cheering effect.
”We don't pull this off we're in so much trouble,” Stacy said.
”We're in trouble?” It appeared that Adele had regained her appet.i.te: her mouth was full of macaroon. ”Ha! Check it out. There's a gaggle of party hacks in the corner working on damage control already.” Three men were huddled at the rear of the reception hall. ”I think the big boys are wondering if they bet on the wrong horse.”
”Kinda late in the game to find a replacement.”
”Maybe, but better than having your man busted on the floor of the House of Commons. The woman with the phone growing out of her ear is probably calling party HQ. His a.s.s'll be off the ticket in a fartbeat.”
”Wish we had more to hit him with.”
Adele helped herself to a few more cookies. ”That guy Cam's looking shaky. I asked him if he was aiding and abetting and he nearly p.i.s.sed himself.” Cam was standing apart from the meeting in the corner, wiping his nose and squeezing the crease between his eyebrows. Adele had another bite of macaroon. ”Why don't you take a run at him? You might handle him better than I would. I think he scares easy.”
”I'll be gentle.”
”Not too gentle.”
”Hi there. It's Cam, is that right?”
”Yes.”
”I'm Detective Crean, Dockerty PD. And you are Mr. O'Grady's right-hand man, is that right?”
”I'm his special a.s.sistant. For the duration of the campaign.”
”You don't get to go to Ottawa?”
”What? Oh, no, this isn't full-time with me. I sell real estate.”
”So this is a sideline?”
”Well, it's a bit more than that.”
”Have you known Mr. O'Grady long?”
”No, not long.”
”Like back when he was on the police force?”
”Oh, no.”
”How about when he ran for city council? Did you work on that campaign?”
”No. This campaign is actually the first time I've been involved . . . with him . . . in his political career.”
”And how involved are you? Special a.s.sistant sounds like an important job. You, what, look after all the details, right?”
”Yes. Details. I'm the detail person.”
”So you pretty much know everything about his day-to-day activities. For the duration of the campaign, I mean. What? Five weeks? Something like that? Where he goes, what he does. You have his entire schedule, don't you?”
”Yes. I'm supposed to.”
”Supposed to.”
”Well, I can't account for every . . . it's not like I'm with him every minute . . . of every day . . . for the entire campaign.”
”Of course not. The man needs some privacy, after all.”
”Yes.”
”But he would have to be on call, wouldn't he? You have to be able to get hold of him. If something should come up.”
”Yes.”
”What sort of things might come up, do you think?”
”Oh, I don't know, changes in schedule perhaps, reporters wanting a comment about something . . . things like that.”
”And he's always available?”
”Well . . . yes. Usually.”
”Usually. Is he ever unavailable?”
”Well, once or twice there's been miscommunication.”
”I see.”
”Nothing that had a serious impact. He missed a meeting once. His cellphone was off and I couldn't reach him.”
”You remember when that was?”
”I'd have to check.”