‘You’ve got the facilities for the job, haven’t you?’
He shrugged and started eating again. ‘Who knows? Who knows how to do the bloody job? Who knows if there’s a fuckin’ job to do even?’
‘What about the spooks?’
He almost choked on a bit of steak. A waiter hovered nearby while Tobin coughed and plunged. I saw movement by the door and a pale face peer anxiously through the smoke. ‘I’m all right, all right.’ Tobin waved the waiter away. ‘They’re the biggest headache of all. Top secret this, fuckin’ top security that. Some of those bastards literally can’t talk, can’t tell you their own names. I don’t know what they’re thinking.’
‘Mostly about their pensions,’ I said. If Tobin hadn’t been Tobin I might have told him about January’s suspicions, but the time to start trusting people like Tobin was when the priest was saying nice things about him over the grave.
‘I don’t like you, Hardy, never did. And nothing’s changed. Your mate Evans did me a bad turn and I was lucky to get out from under. But that’s not your fault. I don’t like Parker either.’
‘You’d have liked my Mum,’ I said.
‘Your smartarse talk’s another thing I don’t like. But I think we can do each other some good on this. You’d be on a good screw from January and the longer you can keep the job going the better for you. And I’m in no hurry. You follow me?’
‘No.’
‘Suppose you get a line on who planted the bomb. You tell me. We mount surveillance, tap phones, use all the technology crap they’ve given me and really make a circus of it. You’re on a daily rate and expenses. I can help you out a bit there. We move when we’re ready and we both look good. What d’you say?’
I had to keep eating although I didn’t have any appetite. Tobin had gone up in his world which meant that he’d got smoother and slimier than when he’d wanted to used the rubber hose on me in Balmain. Eating concealed expressions I didn’t want him to see.
‘What about the bomb?’ I said.
‘Standard sort of thing-gelignite, not much of it. Battery and timer.’
‘Planted when?’
‘Within 24 hours.’
‘By a pro?’
‘Not necessarily. They tell me there’s books you can learn this stuff from.’ He laughed and spooned up some chocolate goo. ‘D’you know we’ve got a whole library at the unit? They fitted us out with all these books-biographies, technical manuals, novels even. I haven’t read one of ‘em and I don’t think any of my blokes have either.’
‘Ken didn’t look like a reader.’
‘I’d rather have Ken with me than…Max bloody Harris at some of the interviews I go to. You want a brandy?’
‘No.’
‘I will.’ He lifted both hands and made a series of rapid movements with his fingers. Then he slumped back in his chair, belched loudly and laughed. ‘Got a deaf ‘n dumb waiter here. You gotta learn the sign language for brandy and coffee. Funny, eh?’
‘Oh, yeah, hilarious. So that’s all you’ve got? No leads? And the thing could’ve been put together by an HSC student?’
‘Hey, that’s an idea.’ Tobin unwrapped a fat cigar and watched approvingly as the brandy was poured into a balloon glass. The waiter lit his cigar and he puffed luxuriously. ‘The bomb could’ve been meant to kill the girl-planted by a jealous kid at her school.’
‘You’re disgusting, Tobin.’
‘Have some coffee, Hardy, and climb down a bit. Why’re you working for a politician except for the money?’
He wasn’t dumb, he’d hit the spot. I sipped coffee and tried to think objectively, professionally. ‘What do you think of January?’
‘He’s okay, good in fact.’
‘What?’ I couldn’t believe I was hearing something unqualified and positive from Tobin.
‘January’s okay. All that peace and no bombs and missiles stuff is shit of course, but compared to most politicians he’s a prince. He doesn’t go around spreading the dirt on his mates. He doesn’t pump you for more dirt than he already has.’ He waved the cigar and lifted the balloon. ‘You should see how most of ‘em carry on. Cunts!’
You’d know. I thought, but I drank some more coffee and didn’t say anything. Tobin drank his brandy and drew on his cigar. He did some more nodding at the shadows and then folded his napkin. He leaned forward across the table and I could smell all the sweet, strong, corrupt flavours on his breath.
‘You haven’t responded to the proposition, Cliff,’ he said quietly. ‘But I know you’ll see it my way.’
‘Why?’
He started to ease his bulk up and away from the table; it was going to be a long, slow process and I thought he might even need the waiter’s help. ‘Because whether you come through or not I have to find the guilty party. And who knows who the fuck it might be? It might be that good-looking Bell woman January and you and everyone else including me would like to screw. Or it could be you.’
7
I spent the next few days checking on the material in Trudi Bell’s file. I phoned organisations and snooped around their premises. I tried to unscramble acronyms like CLAOP (Committee for the Liberation of All Oppressed Peoples) and I did a tour of the area around January’s office looking at all the graffiti on the walls. I checked on everyone who’d had an appointment with the Minister in the last month and had come to the office. I drew blanks on everything.
I asked Trudi Bell what contact she’d had with Tobin and she shuddered. ‘Ugh, don’t call it contact.’
‘Has he been around much?’
‘Not much. He rang a couple of times to talk about nothing. He asked me out to dinner.’
‘I had lunch with him the other day. I don’t think I could’ve survived dinner. What did you say?’
‘I said no.’
‘What did he say?’
‘He implied I was screwing Peter. I let him think what he liked.’
‘How is the Boss? I haven’t seen him for a few days.’
‘Nor have I.’ She looked at her watch. The weather was getting warmer and she was wearing a T-shirt and white denim skirt. There was a faint trace of last summer’s tan on her arms. ‘He’s due in. He’ll be late, but not very late.’
We were by Trudi’s desk in the restored office. If you looked closely you might see signs of the bomb damage but you’d need good eyes. There was a smell of fresh paint and an air of fresh enthusiasm among the people in the room. The word processors were hammering and the light from the hard-pressed photocopier was like a strobe. Mutual dislike of Tobin had somehow drawn Trudi and me back into working harmony.
‘This place is buzzing,’ I said. ‘What’s up? A leadership challenge?’
She laughed. ‘No, it looks like Peter’s getting an invitation to give evidence to a Senate Committee.’
I looked blank. So far as I knew Senate Committees sat every day looking into everything and achieving nothing.
‘In Washington,’ she said.
‘Ah, that’s different.’
‘You bet your life it’s different. This Committee’s looking into the whole security system of the South Pacific-bases, tests, arms sales, the lot. Peter’s got plenty to say on all those subjects. Facts and figures too.’
‘The big time. All right. But what’re we waiting for?’ I looked around the office. People were checking their watches and collecting in one corner of the room as if they were going to watch the last game of the fifth set of the Wimbledon final on TV.
‘Telex,’ Trudi said. ‘Due any minute now.’
There was a hush. The traffic sounds from the busy street seemed to become muted as keys stopped clicking and the photocopier light died.
The door flew open and Peter January marched in. He was impeccably dressed and toileted and he skipped across towards Trudi’s desk. He leered as he placed one of the health food store’s bags on top of Trudi’s papers.
‘Oh, that Magda,’ he said. ‘Makes my blood race.’
‘Have you been pinching bums again, Peter?’ Trudi shifted the bag to one side.
It was on the tip of my tongue to say something like, ‘How’s Karen?’ but I held it back. I didn’t know whether Trudi knew about Karen or whether January wanted her to know. Besides, there seemed to be something forced in January’s display of lechery, as if his heart really wasn’t in it. Maybe he was really thinking about the telex.