Mrs Bell!’ The shout came from the house below and in front of the loft.
Trudi scrambled up from the floor and rushed to the window. ‘It’s all right. Mr Jamieson. An accident.’
‘Are you all right?’
‘Yes. I broke a window. Nobody hurt.’
We turned on some more lights and surveyed the damage.
‘Shit,’ Trudi said. ‘Look at my bedroom.’
I looked sharply at her but she meant the stack of room dividers. A bullet had hit them, passing through and gouging the wall behind. Another had hit the light. Trudi went to the end of the room and poured us both some wine. She shoved things around and then gave a low moan. ‘I had some cigarettes here, I’ll swear.’
I went over and took the glass. ‘I didn’t know you smoked.’
‘I stopped.’
‘You’ll be okay without,’ I said. ‘Have some wine.’
‘Yeah.’ We both drank and she grinned at me. ‘I woulda won.’
‘I think you’re right. You’d have been cooler than me at 20-20.’
She sniffed and drank. ‘It’s nothing after the bomb. God, that poor little kid.’
We drew close and stood with our arms around each other, still holding our glasses. We stood like that for a long time and then I took her back to Glebe watching the rear vision mirror all the way.
I circled the block and checked every parked car before I stopped. Inside, I made her some tea and put her to bed in the room Hilde used to occupy. I went out the back way and checked the area thoroughly again. When I got back she was asleep.
We didn’t tell January or anyone else about the shots. Glazing is one of the few practical jobs I can do. I replaced the window panes; Trudi bought a new light and partitions. She stayed five nights at my place and moved back to her loft a few nights before we were due to fly to Washington. Helen had rung one night when I was out and left a message on the machine that she’d call again in 12 hours. I didn’t get the message and Trudi answered when she rang. Helen hung up. I tried to call her at the radio station where she worked part-time and was told she was on leave. I didn’t want to ring her at home. I never had.
I was bad-tempered after the phone disaster which was probably why Trudi moved back. Things were cool between us. I sat with the phone wondering whether I should call the Broadway Agricultural Company. Instead, I called Frank Parker. I felt the need for some non-political company and conversation and I could rely on Frank and Hilde to give it to me. Frank often needed the same sort of thing and Hilde, who was researching some jawbone speciality too ghastly to mention, was always good for some academic dental stories.
Inspector Parker was interstate on business. I put the phone down and it rang immediately. I considered flicking the recording machine on but I wasn’t that far gone.
‘Hardy.’
‘Cliff, Trudi.’
There was need in her voice. I love to be needed, I thought, almost as much as I need to be loved. Speak up, can’t hear you.’
‘I can’t yell, I’m in the office. There’s been another letter. Peter’s under big pressure all around. I don’t want to worry him with it.’
‘Don’t. Stay there. I’ll come in.’
The office was humming; there was energy in everybody’s movements and they were practically jostling each other to get at the phones and filing cabinets. Trudi had a phone to her ear when I walked in. She said something quick into it and slammed it down. I looked enquiringly at her and she grimaced.
‘My ex,’ she said. ‘Let’s go somewhere.’ She grabbed a manilla folder from her desk, mouthed ‘Out’ to Gary who nodded, and we headed for the door. On the street I had to scuttle to keep pace with her.
‘Why so busy?’
‘Getting stuff ready for Peter.’
‘I mean you, now?’
‘Oh, that man, he drives me crazy.’
‘Peter or your ex?’
‘All men.’
I couldn’t think of anything very useful to say to that. We went to the Bar Napoli and I ordered the coffee. Trudi passed the folder across to me. Inside was a cheap envelope with ‘PETER January’ printed on it in scratchy, half dry ballpoint. There was a square of paper, like butcher’s wrapping paper but smaller. Using the same pen and mixing up the cases someone had written: ‘I wiLL KiLL ALL THe WOMen’. There were photocopies of both. Trudi sipped her coffee and looked agitated.
‘He’ll need to be a better shot,’ I said.
‘What?’
‘Must’ve driven him crazy up there on the viaduct, getting all lined up, night scope and all, and you bobbing and weaving.’
‘Christ, do you actually think this is funny?’
I drank some of the good, strong coffee. ‘No, but I don’t see what harm a joke can do, as long as it doesn’t stop us being careful.’
‘What does it mean-all the women?’
‘God knows. This is the same paper as the other one, isn’t it? The “touch her and I kill you” one?’
‘I think so. Yes.’
‘It’s probably the sniper which doesn’t mean that it’s the bomber. Not necessarily.’
‘So, what d’you think?’
I finished my coffee. ‘I think there’s someone around, close by, who hates Peter January. Maybe for personal reasons, maybe for political things. That doesn’t help much.’
‘Why not?’
I pointed out the door to the busy street. ‘This is one of the closest packed parts of Sydney. We’ve got every kind of ethnic group here, we’ve got people who’ve been let out of psychiatric hospitals, we’ve got trendies, we’ve got Fascists. Have you ever taken a good walk around this place? I have. There’s temples for sects I’ve never heard of. People have got illuminated shrines in their front gardens. I’ll bet there’s an illegal immigrant with a history of mental disturbance and a Family Court problem within a hundred feet of us right now.’
She burst out laughing. ‘God, you make it sound dangerous.’
‘Maybe it is, unless you stick real close to your work, your pub and your house.’
‘I’m sorry about Helen and the phone call. Have you explained?’
‘I can’t reach her. What about you and your ex?’
She shrugged. ‘He’s ex as ex can be. He’s crazy, but…’ Our eyes fell on the note. ‘He’s never threatened to kill me.’
‘You know what I think?’ I said.
‘What?’
‘I think it’s a bloody good thing we’re all going to Washington the day after tomorrow.’