The January Zone

by Peter Corris

  ‘Have you now. Funny-looking paper. How come I didn’t see the others?’

  ‘You saw photocopies. That’s all your boys asked for.’

  Tobin banged the table with his fist. The boy and girl serving the food looked up in alarm. Tobin smiled at them and waved his hand. ‘No trouble, we’re the police.’

  ‘But you paid,’ the girl said.

  Tobin smiled at them and turned back to look at the note. ‘I have to do everything. We should’ve had the originals.’ He picked the paper up and sniffed it. ‘Funny smell. ‘Course, anything’s possible in Hardy’s wallet. Is that it? That the lot?’

  I shrugged. ‘Trudi Bell thinks she might know the voice. Might have heard it. She’s trying to place it.’

  Ken was scribbling notes. ‘Where is she?’ he said.

  ‘My place.’

  Tobin leered. ‘You lucky dog.’ He popped the last of his chips into his mouth and chewed noisily. ‘Well, I’d call it promising. Quite promising. We’ll take Sammy into town and get him to talk to one of the faggot artists. See what comes of that.’

  ‘I’m too sick, Lloyd.’

  ‘You’ll be sicker if you give me any trouble. I’ll get one of our flash lab men to analyse this paper, Hardy.’

  I nodded. I was almost dead on my feet. I could feel control of the whole thing slipping away from me but I was too tired to do anything about it. Tobin looked fresh and keen. He stood up and hauled Weiss to his feet by the collar.

  ‘I’d say a meeting is called for. I want to see January and the rest of you in the morning. Let’s make it 10 o’clock in my office. Right?’

  I had enough pride left in me for a couple of small challenges. ‘Make it 11. We might have something on the voice by then. And don’t let him near a telephone.’

  ‘Don’t worry, Hardy. Sammy’s going home to my place. His sister can make him a nice cup of tea and put him to bed. You don’t look like you’re going to be much use to Trudi tonight. Give her my best.’

  26

  GUNTHER took hold of the leg I put through my front door; he growled; he didn’t try to get to the bone but he didn’t let go. Trudi came down the stairs shrugging herself into my towelling dressing gown.

  ‘Gunther, off!’

  ‘ “Off”? I’d never have thought of “off”. I might have said “down”. What would’ve happened? Would he have killed me?’

  Gunther backed away, sat on his haunches and watched me. He was a big, sleek, black dog, very big, black and sleek. Trudi patted his head and laughed. ‘No, if he was happy with his grip he’d just hang on.’

  ‘What if he wasn’t happy?’

  ‘Could’ve got messy. You look like death. What’s been happening? Want some coffee or tea?’

  I walked around Gunther and Trudi hugged me. Gunther growled but didn’t move. ‘You haven’t found any tea here, have you?’

  ‘I brought some.’

  ‘Tea self-destructs here. No, thanks, love. I want a big glass of wine and a couple of headache pills.’

  We went out to the kitchen. She made herself some tea and I took my medicine. I told her about my evening’s work and she told me she’d located someone who’d get a report on the tape back to her first thing in the morning.

  The cold white wine cut through the mists in my brain and the pills were smoothing things out. ‘Any calls?’

  She shook her head. ‘Still nothing from Helen?’

  ‘Nope. What’s new with Peter?’

  ‘Oh, God, you haven’t seen the television, have you? They’ve been all over him. He’s a hero. And he looks amazing—he’s worried sick about Karen but it comes across as great statesman-like concern. He’s more popular tonight than Paul Hogan.’

  I grunted and finished the wine. ‘Won’t do him any bloody good if this goes wrong. Can you get in touch with him? I mean now?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Would you mind? Tell him he has to be in Tobin’s office at 11.’

  ‘Yuck. D’we really have to deal with that slob?’

  ‘No choice. You haven’t put a face to that voice, I suppose?’

  ‘I’ve been close but it keeps slipping away. I’ll ring Peter.’

  I was only dimly conscious of her using the phone. I had some more wine and I suppose I dozed. She shook me awake. ‘Get up to bed. I’m in the spare room.’

  I blinked. ‘Can’t afford to sleep in. Have to set an alarm.’

  ‘No need. Gunther wails like a banshee at seven thirty.’

  ‘Great. Has he met the cat?’

  ‘They agreed to differ. I’ll see you in the morning, Cliff.’

  The door to the room Cyn used to do her drawing in and which Hilde had occupied and where clients and friends had slept at odd times over the years was closed when I got up the stairs. Gunther was curled up on the carpet outside but it wasn’t Gunther that kept me from going in and it wasn’t fatigue. It was something else. I crawled into bed half dressed; I heard aeroplane engines; telephones rang; I smelled dirty socks and marijuana smoke; a 150 watt bulb was burning in the ceiling but none of it could stop me falling into a deep, dreamless sleep.

  I didn’t hear Gunther howl, I wouldn’t have heard an elephant trumpeting in the next room. Trudi woke me up by turning off the light and opening the blind. She was dressed and she had coffee and toast balanced on the bread board.

  ‘Couldn’t find a tray,’ she said.

  I sat up. ‘There isn’t one. Thanks, Trudi. Did you get on to January last night?’

  ‘Yes. He’ll be there. Get this into you. I’m expecting a call about the tape at nine.’

  She went away and I ate the toast and drank the coffee. A gallon wouldn’t have been enough. When I got downstairs to make more she was on the phone saying yes and no and shaking her head. She was making notes but not very energetically. It didn’t sound too promising.

  ‘Okay, thanks, Lee. Yeah, I’ll let you know.’ She hung up and looked at her notes.

  ‘What?’ I said.

  ‘Not much. Nothing really. Possibly Irish…’

  ‘Tobin’ll like that.’

  She grimaced. ‘But a long way back. The thing is the speaker has overcome a stammer. It’s left him with some strange speech patterns but there’s nothing, you know, exotic or specific. Jesus, I’m sure I’ve heard that voice. I wish to Christ I could remember.’

  ‘Easy. Maybe Tobin’s got something.’

  ‘The only thing he’s got is a filthy mind.’

  I poured the water into the glass beaker over the grounds and set the plunger in place before I realised that I wasn’t using the percolator. Plunging was Helen’s favoured method and this was her machine. ‘Tobin’s not stupid. He wants a good result for himself. I just wish we had something on him to keep him honest.’

  ‘Im-possible. Oh! No, shit!’

  ‘What? What’s wrong?’

  ‘I was so close to placing the voice just then.’

  ‘Give it a rest, love. Your brain’ll seize. Have some more coffee. Christ, I wish Helen’d ring.’

  We drank coffee and looked at the paper. The News had January on the front page. The headline read: JANUARY ZONE—A BEAUTIFUL THING! The article quoted the Indian Prime Minister, who was in Australia for a few days, to this effect. ‘Peter January’s idea of oceanic zones of peace and freedom has seized imaginations around the world,’ the reporter wrote. I gave up on the article when I got to the bit about ‘the new wave’ sweeping across international discussion. Trudi was right about Peter: he looked tired and strained in the centre page photograph but full of zeal and energy. A leader of men, and women.

  Tobin’s office was in the new police building in Darlinghurst. The building wasn’t finished, there was scaffolding around part of it, and pneumatic drills were hammering not too far away. After some fast talking and a phone call to the right place I managed to gain entry to the building’s underground carpark. There was no parking in the streets for blocks around, presumably as a precaution against the sort of bombin
g they’d had in Melbourne.

  We rode the lift up to the reception area. I had an impression of high security—light beams, heavy doors, TV cameras.

  ‘I’d better wait for Peter here.’ Trudi said. ‘He won’t like any of this. I’ll try to smooth him down. You go on and see if you can get Tobin to behave reasonably.’

  ‘OK.’ I snapped my fingers suddenly. ‘Quick! The voice! Anything?’

  She shook her head and I took the lift to the third floor. Tobin’s office was inside a series of other offices, like the last in a set of Chinese boxes. He and Ken were there with papers spread out on the desk. For once Tobin wasn’t eating, but there was a smell in the air suggesting that he’d tucked into something not too long ago. Ken glowered at me but Tobin was effusive.

  ‘Sit down, Hardy. Where’s your boss and Trudi?’

  ‘They’ll be along.’ I sat and looked around. Nice office—grey carpet, big bullet-proof glass window, filing cabinet, mini-bar. It was a long way from the detectives’ room in Balmain where I’d first seen him.

  ‘Do any good on the voice?’ Tobin unbuttoned his waistcoat which was constricting him. He wore another expensive suit and ditto accessories. I couldn’t be sure but I think his hands were manicured.

  ‘No. No luck.’

  ‘We’ve done better. D’you know we’ve got equipment here you wouldn’t believe. There’s a camera that can take a picture of a nose hair and make it as big a baseball bat.’

  I grunted my lack of interest and looked out the window. It was a nice day; Tobin had a window full of blue sky with a bit of tree low down in the left corner. He waved a paper at me. ‘Interesting, that note January got. Standard sort of wrapping paper, cut down with scissors. All sorts of crap on the scissors and the paper.’

  ‘Like what?’

  Ken turned away to close a filing drawer as if this frank talk with a civilian was painful to him. Tobin looked benign. ‘Cornflour, wholemeal flour stone-round, some honey, bit of peanut oil.’ I realised why Tobin was feeling so good—he was talking about food. ‘Does this mean anything to you?’

  My dislike of him welled up. ‘No. Does it mean anything to you that the voice could be Irish originally and the guy’s overcome a stammer?’

  ‘Irish is good. Take a look at the drawing.’ He passed a sheet of cartridge paper across.

  ‘How’s Sammy?’ I said before I turned the paper over.

  ‘Got the shakes. Can you believe a man losing his guts like that when he had his big break right there in his hand?’

  ‘Wouldn’t happen to you, eh, Tobin?’

  ‘Give me a chance and just watch me.’

  I looked at the drawing. All identikit pictures tend to look the same and I couldn’t say this one did anything for me. It certainly didn’t flatter the subject—dark, stringy hair, a narrow forehead, thin nose and mouth. No Robert Redford, not even a Jack Nicholson. There was a noise behind and I turned to see January, Trudi and Gary Wilcox come into the room. Ken looked even more angry at this mass invasion of the citadel. Tobin got up from behind his desk and extended his hand to January.

  ‘Minister. Ms Bell.’

  January was pale, his skin had not much more colour in it than the bandage on his head. His right hand was still bandaged but more lightly. He nodded at Ken and introduced Wilcox who did some nodding too. I turned towards Trudi, still holding the drawing. She gasped and her finely plucked eyebrows shot up. She almost staggered and grabbed at my shoulder for support. She stared at the drawing.

  ‘Jesus Christ,’ she gasped. ‘It’s Charles!’

  27

  TOBIN jerked to his feet. His soft, swelling belly hit the edge of the desk and he sank back into his chair half-winded. ‘Who the fuck is Charles? Excuse me, Minister.’

  The words came out of Trudi in an uncontrolled rush. ‘He’s the health food man. I mean…the shop…two doors away.’

  ‘Shop? What shop?’ Tobin was excited and fighting to regain his breath. His voice was strained and rising in pitch.

  January took control. He pulled a chair up for Trudi and motioned for me to sit too. Gary and Ken were behind him so he was the only one standing in the centre of the room which was the way he liked it. ‘Calm down.’ he said. He took the drawing from me, examined it and nodded. ‘This is a good likeness of a man named Charles who is known to me and my staff. Inspector Tobin, I take it you had this made up from a witness’s description?’

  Tobin was impressed. ‘That’s right, Mr January.’

  ‘It fits,’ Trudi said. ‘It fits everything. His wife…’

  January held up his hand. ‘Let’s keep this in perspective. Cliff, I gather you have an understanding with Inspector Tobin?’

  ‘That’s right. A deal—he agrees to soft-pedal things and I’m on the spot at all stages to protect your interests. Mrs Weiner’s safety is the big concern.’

  ‘Good. You have my authority to act on those terms. I want to be consulted at every stage.’

  It was too much for Ken. He practically spluttered as he took a step away from the wall and towards January. ‘Now, hold on. We can’t…’

  ‘Shut up, Ken.’ Tobin had himself under control now and was seeking his share of the initiative. ‘I want to handle this discreetly as Hardy says, but I have to ask you this—has this man…Charles, any reason to take violent action against you?’

  ‘No,’ January said firmly. ‘But he may believe he has.’

  ‘That’s acceptable, Mr January. You’ll understand that there are procedures to follow.’

  ‘I should hope so. I’ll leave it to you. Gary, come with me. Trudi, I want you to act as liaison between Hardy and me.’

  Trudi nodded. She was doing her best to keep anger, contempt and possibly several other emotions under control. ‘Where will you be?’

  ‘Party HQ until early afternoon and, ah…this number after that.’ He took out a gold pen and waited until Gary handed him a card. He wrote and passed the card to Trudi. Then he turned to look down at me. I took another close look at the drawing. I could scarcely remember Charles but I had a clear picture of his wife. January coughed and I looked up. ‘Do it right, Cliff. I want to be there when anything happens.’

  I nodded. ‘We’ve got a minimum force agreement, I think.’

  Tobin nodded.

  ‘Good,’ January said briskly. ‘I’ll be talking to the State Police Minister within the hour, Inspector.’

  ‘Talking?’ Tobin said.

  ‘I’m sure you understand. Come on, Gary. Hardy, a quick word outside.’ I followed them out of the office. January grabbed my shoulder and dug his fingers in. It was his bandaged hand he was using and there was plenty of strength in it. ‘I never touched her!’ he hissed. ‘It was all an act!’ He let go and moved off quickly.

  I went back into the office. Ken had turned to the window and was muttering. Tobin stood up taking care to miss the edge of the desk. ‘If you’d care to wait outside, Hardy, Ms Bell? My colleague and I have arrangements to make. Could you give me the address, Hardy? And the lay-out as best you can. What’s where, and the staff position.’

  ‘What arrangements?’

  ‘A simple look-see first. Nothing heavy. Just to see if he has other premises, somewhere to put the woman. No contact and a report back to here which I’ll let you in on.’

  I told him the address and Trudi gave him some of the other information he wanted. We went out of the office and walked down a corridor to a waiting room that had a TV set, magazines and a café bar.

  Trudi’s hand shook as she accepted the plastic container in which the paper cup of coffee sat. ‘That’s it,’ she said fiercely. ‘I’m finished with that cold-blooded bastard. His woman’s lying somewhere with a bloody gag in her mouth and all he can think of is how to handle it discreetly.’ She gulped some coffee. ‘And you’re just as bad!’

  The coffee was lousy; I couldn’t imagine Tobin drinking it, even rum-spiked. ‘It looks that way, I agree. But don’t forget Karen Weiner’s got a lot
at stake as well. Have you met her?’

  ‘Once or twice.’

  ‘I’d say she was a tough nut. At least as tough as January. It could be that he’s handling it just the way she’d want him to.’

  Trudi snorted her disbelief. ‘What about you? Are you going to sit around and watch them protect their areas first, last and always?’

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘I don’t trust Tobin. He wasn’t really interested in the lay-out of the health food shop and he didn’t even ask us about vehicles. He’ll do whatever will work out best for him. Big question is, will Charles be there?’

  ‘He’s always there. I’ve never been in the place and not seen him around.’

  I nodded. ‘That’s useful. Tobin’ll sniff that out too, but he’ll be careful, so at least we’ll have a bit of time.’

  ‘To do what?’

  I left the coffee on top of the machine. ‘I’m going to get hold of Mike Borg and try to beat Tobin to the punch.’

  ‘Thank God. A good idea at last. What can I do?’

  ‘Something important but not much fun. You stick here until you can get Tobin to give you some idea of what he’s got in mind.’

  ‘Oh no, Cliff, I…’

  ‘Look, you can play it any way you like. You can abuse him, threaten him. Don’t be nice, be an impossible bitch.’

  ‘That sounds better.’

  ‘When you know something just get out of here.’

  ‘And then what? D’you want me to sit around at your place watching Gunther and the cat?’

  ‘No. First you ring somewhere I can ring. Somewhere you can leave a message. Can you trust anyone…near the office?’

  ‘Julian. He’ll be in the pub. He’s always there.’

  ‘Right. Ring him and tell him what’s happening. Then you go…’

  ‘Where? Where do I go?’

  ‘God knows what it’ll be like near the office. Does the roof of that building the health food store’s in meet the other roofs? I mean is it flat across a couple of roofs?’

  ‘No, I don’t think so. Who looks at roofs? Can’t swear to it but I think it’s got a sort of attic.’