January seemed to realise that he was putting the death of Alison Marshall behind him a little too quickly. He sighed and flopped down into a chair as Trudi joined us. ‘That poor kid.’ He winced as his lacerated back came into contact with the chair. ‘You saw the parents, didn’t you, Trude?’

Trudi nodded and sat. I was too edgy to sit so I leaned against the smoke-stained wall. ‘I saw her mother. Made me glad not to be one.’

‘Bastards,’ January said.

‘Does that mean anything?’ I asked. ‘That plural?’

‘No. Judging from the kind of garbage I get in the mail it could’ve been anyone.’

‘That’s not quite true, Peter,’ Trudi said. ‘You can rule out some of the obviously harmless ones-the rues that want to organise petitions and such.’

‘I suppose so.’ January scratched at his back over his left shoulder. ‘Look, Trudi, Cliff’s coming in on this and he’s going to be around for a while. Security consultant.’ I could’ve sworn he enjoyed the sound of the words. ‘Could you fill him in? Take him through what you’ve got? I have to rush off.’

‘Sure.’ She reached into a big canvas and leather shoulder bag and extracted a thick manilla folder. ‘Hate mail,’ she said.

‘I thought it would’ve been destroyed by the bomb.’

January patted my shoulder as he swung off to leave. ‘Trudi took it home. Loves her work. See you both.’ He strode across the cracked and buckled floor nodding and grinning soberly to the workers. Trudi Bell’s eyes followed him to the door.

‘In his element,’ she said.

‘You don’t like him?’

She turned down the corners of her mouth. It was a wide, generous mouth set in an oval face. She had straight dark hair chopped off just below the ears. She was wearing a white overall with soft boots and a red neck scarf. I’d have called her well-covered rather than plump. ‘Don’t have to like him. I don’t even think about it. Compared to the other animals who could’ve got this seat he’s Bertrand Russell.’