‘Jesus,’ Trudi said. ‘Have you tried to reach her?’
January took a gulp of his drink. ‘I haven’t done anything! You’ve been with me the whole time for God’s sake. What can I do?’
‘Ring her,’ I said.
‘I might get her husband, or what if the police are already involved? I could…’
‘Yeah. Give me the numbers. I’ll ring.’
He clicked a pen and was about to scribble numbers on the envelope the note had been in when I snatched it away. ‘Not on that. Something else.’
Trudi gave him a slip of paper. ‘That’s home, that’s her city apartment and that’s her office number.’
‘What kind of office?’
‘It’s a…sort of travel consultancy. They advise business people on travel deals. Small show, just her and two others.’
I took the paper. ‘You really like to fraternise, don’t you? Back in a minute.’
The phone sat beside a vase of flowers in front of a mirror. The flowers were faded and drooping and I had to brush some petals aside to use the phone. At the home and apartment numbers I got no answer. A woman answered the office number and told me that Mrs Weiner had gone interstate.
‘Are you sure of that?’ I said.
‘Why, yes. She telephoned from the airport.’
‘This wasn’t a scheduled trip, then?’
‘Who is this?’
I hung up and went back to the table thinking that I’d handled something that already looked bad very badly.
‘What?’ January said.
‘They say she’s out of town.’ I picked up the note. ‘I’m sorry, Peter, but it looks like there could be something to it.’
‘So what do we do?’
They looked at me as if I should have the answers. I didn’t. ‘It’s almost 6.30. We don’t have any breathing space. You’d better do as it says.’
‘The women,’ Trudi said. ‘The earlier note said something about the women.’
‘Yeah, he’s been watching.’ I read the note through again. ‘It doesn’t say which telephone.’
‘Christ, that’s right! I’ve got home, office, Canberra…’
‘Ten to one on the office.’ I finished the drink. ‘This is the bomber and the sniper for sure. He’s got local knowledge. Where does she live?’
‘Vaucluse. The apartment’s in the city.’
‘You’ve gone there with her?’
January nodded.
‘You’ve had company. C’mon, we need a taxi.’
We got to the office a few minutes before seven. Trudi bustled a late-working staffer out and pulled a tape recorder from a drawer. She hooked it up to January’s personal phone and got ready to route any incoming call to the number. We sat and waited.
The phone rang and January snatched it up so quickly Trudi hardly had time to activate the tape recorder.
‘January.’
‘I hate you, Mr January.’ The voice was muffled but not faint. ‘I hate you and by the time I am finished with you everybody in this country will hate you.’
‘Where’s Mrs Weiner?’ January’s voice was surprisingly strong and firm. The needle jumped on the recording dial.
The caller laughed. ‘Mrs Weiner? Your whore, your adultress? She’s here with me. If she’d stayed with her husband she wouldn’t be in such terrible danger now. And believe me, January, she is in terrible danger.’
‘What do you want?’
‘I want revenge on behalf of all husbands. For all the women you’ve dirtied…’
‘You’re mad!’
‘No, I’m not. I advise you not to say things like that to me. I can destroy you by making one telephone call. I can produce evidence of your adultery with Mrs Weiner. If I was to tell the newspapers about it or the men who come to your office, the Party men, what would happen to you and your January zone then?’
January grimaced at me. I mimed talking to him and moved my hands to suggest drawing out. January nodded. ‘I don’t understand. Are your motives political or…’
‘No! Politics is shit! You are shit! The thought of someone like you as the member for this area makes me sick.’
‘I haven’t dirtied any wives.’ January was using his sincere voice.
‘You have dirtied mine.’
‘I’m sure there’s a misunderstanding.’
Meeting, I mouthed.
‘If we could meet…’
‘No.’
‘Let me talk to Mrs Weiner-Karen.’
‘No!’ There was some hysteria in the voice now and I motioned to January to slow things down.
‘Tell me what you want. Anything reasonable…’
‘I want you to suffer. I’ll call again in 24 hours. No police or I’ll kill her and tell the newspapers and everybody what a piece of shit you are. What a coward, what…’
‘Listen to me!’ January shouted. ‘You are sick! You need help! It’s not too late, don’t do this. I can…’
The line went dead. Trudi stopped the recorder. January sank back in his chair; his body had been rigid and sweat was breaking out under the bandage around his forehead. He put his hand up to wipe it and winced when he touched the injury. ‘Jesus Christ. We’re dealing with a madman. You couldn’t reason with someone like that.’
‘You did fine,’ I said. ‘We got a lot.’
‘What d’you mean?’ Trudi said. ‘He didn’t talk any sort of term or anything.’
‘We’ve got a voice. He let the handkerchief or whatever he was using slip a bit near the end and we got a clearer sound. He’s a local-he talked about “this area”, as if he was a bloody ratepayer or something. He’s watched your office. He knows the comings and goings. It’s something.’
‘For the police, maybe,’ January said. ‘But it cuts the other way-if he can watch us he can see the police.’
‘He has to be the bomber.’ Trudi re-wound the tape. ‘That means he’s got nothing to lose. He killed the kid.’
‘That’s the bad part,’ I admitted.
‘What’s the good part, for Christ sake?’ January had opened his drinks cupboard and taken out a bottle of Scotch.
I put my finger on the Play button of the recorder. ‘That we’ve got 24 hours. Put that stuff away and let’s get some coffee. We’ve got a hell of a lot to do.’
23
Trudi got the job of copying the tape of the telephone call and trying to locate someone discreet who could advise on accents and speech patterns. The caller had some distinctive quirks of speech, a strange rhythm when he was in full flight. It meant nothing to me but it seemed possible that an identification of accent or background could narrow the field. January was making a list of ‘possibles’-married women with whom he’d been associated who might possibly have psychotic husbands. We looked up from the sheet of paper.
‘I can’t think of one.’
‘Try,’ I said.
‘I’ve got to talk to Hogbin and some others.’
‘And the press,’ Trudi said.
‘Christ, yes. They’ll be at me soon.’
‘You’re an old professional at that, Peter. I saw you at work in America. You can handle it.’
‘What’re you going to do?’
‘See if I can track Karen Weiner a bit. What’s the address of the city flat?’
He told me and I wrote it down.
‘What does she drive?’
‘Yellow Gemini.’
‘Where’s the hubby?’
‘Could be anywhere.’ January wrote a name on the page.
‘See if you can find out.’
‘We need Gary,’ Trudi said. ‘When’s he due back, Peter?’
‘Could be tomorrow.’ He wrote another name.
‘I’m off. I’ll stay in touch. You can go to my place to sleep if you like, Trudi.’
‘Thanks. What about you?’
‘We never sleep. See you.’
Karen Weiner’s flat wasn’t what I expected. No doorman or security system, no closed-circuit TV. It was in an old building, recently renovated, close to the Darling Harbour development. Four storeys, sandstone blocks, big windows, a bit of last century elegance in the middle of this century vulgarity. The building had been a bank or commercial house of some kind; the upstairs windows were narrow but long and they opened out onto small balconies around which some new ivy was twisting.