She laughed. ‘That came out more like Cary Grant.’

‘That’ll do,’ I said. ‘Okay, I’ve got what he’s against. I suppose we can throw in crime and corruption too. What about weekend trading?’

‘I don’t think you’re taking this seriously.’

‘I have trouble taking politicians seriously, it’s true. If January’s such a maverick how come he’s as high in the government councils as he is? What is he, a junior Minister?’

‘Without portfolio. It’s complicated. I think they needed someone to look like a genuine leftie somewhere along the line and Peter fitted the bill. They probably planned to dump him when things cooled off but he got attention, made these causes his…’

‘Turf?’

‘I was going to say fief.’

‘Ah, so your name is really Gertrude.’

‘No! I was never a Gertrude! Never! Stop joking.’

‘I’m sorry. I can’t take the political game seriously but the death of that kid’s a different matter. And I don’t like bombing. Don’t like it at all, not in Sydney.’

‘I think I begin to see what you’re on about. You want to keep Sydney the way it was?’

‘Is, no, was. Shit, I don’t know. I’d like to catch the bomber and show everyone what a miserable human being he is…’

‘Or she. You should see the mail.’

‘Him or her. We need a good example to show bombing isn’t glamorous.’

‘Mm, I think Peter would agree with that.’

‘I don’t care whether he does or not. Now, we know what he’s anti. What’s he pro?’

There was a crash behind us in the corridor as a load of timber hit the ground. A bald head came around the scorched door jamb. ‘January?’

‘Right,’ Trudi said.

A stocky man in khaki shirt and pants came into the office and looked around. ‘Jeez, this is a mess. Is he here, Mr January?’