Billy Spinoza had joined me before I reached the gate and he went through it first.
‘The car!’ he yelled.
We ran for the Mercedes and he had it moving before I could get the door closed.
‘The Electra,’ Spinoza said. ‘You see it?’
I didn’t know what an Electra was but I didn’t like to show my ignorance so I nodded and drew in several deep breaths. The Merc was really travelling now, barrelling down the wide, straight tree-lined street but heading for a roundabout which had a small forest growing on it. Spinoza slewed around a small, slow car and I caught a glimpse of a big, blue car ahead. I decided it was the Electra; I also decided that if it got to the roundabout too far ahead of us we could lose it. Spinoza seemed to think the same. He floored the accelerator and the Mercedes went faster as if it was suddenly going downhill.
We gained on the Electra. Spinoza threw the car into the sweeping roundabout, bluffing other contenders for space and racing through the gears. His dark, lean face was set in a grin as if this was the only kind of driving he really liked. Out of the last lurching, tilting turn and the blue car was less than a hundred yards ahead but drawing away.
‘Super-charged,’ Spinoza said. ‘Shit!’ He gave the Mercedes all the power available but the Electra gained. Spinoza hammered on the wheel and hissed his disgust through his teeth. ‘He’ll take a bridge and be long gone. Sorry, man, we lose.’
‘Slow down,’ I said. ‘It’s not your fault.’
He eased back and the trees and posts started to whiz past less frequently. ‘Guess not. Did you see the cocksucker?’
I told him that I’d been looking at other things like shirts and watches and he nodded as he took a turn. ‘I think there were two of them, though,’ I said. ‘There was someone up front giving him the nod. Tall, blonde guy.’
Billy grinned. ‘There’s so many just like that. If you ask me, the world’s over-stocked with tall, blonde, bad guys. Did you ah… see what happened?’
‘No. January could be in an ashtray now for all I know.’
We had to leave the car more than a hundred yards from the condominium and flash our IDs and talk fast four or five times before we could get through to the courtyard. The fire engines were there and the police cars with the flashing lights and the TV news trucks. We shoved people aside and fought our way through to the table where paramedics were squatting dealing with shocked people. Bits of glass from the broken bottles and jugs were strewn around behind the table which was blackened at the end where the microphone had been. A large pot plant standing near was scorched and there was a smell I hadn’t had in my nostrils for a long time-burning flesh.
Spinoza registered it too. ‘Like ‘Nam,’ he said.
‘Malaya.’
Trudi broke from a group and dived towards me. ‘Cliff! Cliff! Oh, God…’
I practically had to catch her. Her dress was smeared with blood and dirt but she was intact. ‘Where’s Peter?’
Her wide smile threatened to turn into an hysterical laugh but she checked it. ‘He’s gone to hospital but he’s fine. He was the hero of the hour. He calmed people down, organised everything. He gave a Senator mouth to mouth resuscitation and brought him back.’
‘Son of a bitch,’ Spinoza said softly.
‘The old judge?’
‘He’s dead. He was deaf and confused. But you saved the rest of us. That water from the jugs…it was everywhere!’
‘I wish I’d been quicker. So what’s the damage, apart from the Judge?’
‘The Senator. I think he must’ve touched the Judge when he was live. Some people got burns. Peter did. And cuts from falling on the glass.’
‘Could be worse then,’ I said. ‘You’re okay?’
‘I suppose. I was giggling a while ago. I suppose that’s shock.’
Spinoza moved a canvas chair forward. ‘Better sit down, Ms Bell. I’ll look see a bit, Cliff. Send you a drink?’
‘Two.’ Trudi sat and grabbed my arm. ‘Make it three,’ I said.
‘You didn’t catch them, did you?’ Trudi wiped her face with her sleeve and transferred some blood. I got out a handkerchief and wiped it off. Somehow I felt strange being at the scene and not having any blood on me.
‘No, we didn’t catch them.’
‘How did you know?’
I told her how and a waiter arrived with some Scotch in a decanter, a pitcher of ice and some glasses. We drank and sat quietly while the paramedics tidied up-a couple of people went out on stretchers.
‘What happened to them?’ I said.
‘There was a bit of a panic. Some people got trampled.’
The courtyard was emptying when Spinoza came up with a policeman, Mike Borg and another man who was holding a video camera.
Spinoza made a drink for Borg, the man with the camera and himself. ‘You all right, Ms Bell? Good. We got us a very useful gentleman here, Cliff.’
The useful gentleman turned out to be one Robert Klip who had filmed the proceedings in the courtyard from a balcony above with his Sony TV camera.
‘At Mrs Clephane’s invitation,’ he said quickly. ‘You can check with her.’
‘I have,’ Spinoza said. ‘She asked you to give us your fullest cooperation.’
Klip was a tall, thin man, almost bald and with devoted eyes and a sensitive mouth. ‘For her,’ he said, ‘anything.’
We experts who hadn’t managed to prevent an old man from being fried, exchanged glances.
‘Just give us the film, Mr Klip,’ Borg said. ‘We’ll give you a receipt and make sure your property is returned to you.’
Klip ejected the cassette. ‘Is that all?’
‘You’ve been a great help.’ Spinoza took the cassette. ‘I’ll leave the receipt to you. Mr Borg.’
Borg scowled and dug into his jacket pockets. Spinoza handled the cassette reverently. ‘We can go and look at pictures now, Cliff.’
‘Right. I want to take Trudi back to the hotel first and find out what’s happening to January. Where is she?’
Trudi came out of the apartment carrying her empty glass. She was pale but looked composed. ‘Peter’s staying in hospital until tomorrow. He’ll go straight from there to the Senate hearing and straight from that to the plane.’
‘God,’ I said. ‘Can he walk?’
She laughed. ‘He could run if he wanted to. This is all theatrics.’
‘It’s fine,’ Spinoza said. ‘We can mount real good security at the hospital. Keep everybody out.’
‘Except the TV and the reporters.’ Trudi said.
I drained my glass. ‘We’ve got business, Trudi. Want to go back to the hotel?’
‘What d’you mean?’ she flared. ‘ You’ve got business? I’m still working. I have to go to the hospital and orchestrate the performance.’
‘Okay, okay. We’ll take you.’
‘I’ll get a cab.’ She slammed the glass down and walked off.
‘What hospital?’ I yelled.
‘Be Georgetown University from here,’ Spinoza said.
I stumbled on a champagne bottle and picked it up. Half-full. I resisted the impulse to take a swig. ‘Are you married, Billy?’
Spinoza tugged at his tuft. ‘I don’t know. My wife went off to Mexico a year back. Maybe I’m still married, maybe I’m divorced, maybe I’m a father, maybe I’m a widower. I don’t know. Let’s go.’
We cleared another inquisitive cop and brushed past two reporters who were having a hard time finding anyone to talk to.
‘What about you? You married?’
‘Not for 10 years.’
We walked towards the Merc. The fire engine had gone and the blue lights on the remaining police cars had stopped flashing.
‘And would they be the best years of your young life?’
I waited while he unlocked the car and thought about it. I remembered the good times with Cyn; the holidays and the tennis and the few quiet nights, very few. Then the wandering years with the excited meetings and things turning sour within days, sometimes hours. Then Helen and the promises and the problems.
‘No,’ I said. ‘I wouldn’t say they were.’