There’s a lot of waiting and time killing in this game, always has been. I had a meal and a glass of red in a pub near the racecourse, walked around for a bit and then squeezed into a barely legal parking spot close to Jane’s block of flats. If the car that had followed Bobby showed up again I’d get another chance to follow it. Didn’t happen. The Alfa returned and Bobby drove into the block’s parking area. Looked as though Jane had parking rights Bobby could use. I stayed put and a light came on in a corner flat on the second floor. Two figures came out onto the balcony and merged into one figure. I drove home feeling more than a touch of envy at their closeness. I’d had my share of assignations and I missed the feeling they can give you. I told myself I was just in a pause, not retired.
My house seemed even emptier and more lonely than it usually did. Megan was urging me to sell it, get something more cheerful, more manageable. She was right but I had trouble with the idea. I’d had the house a long time, ever since my marriage to Cyn, and it was imbued with memories, some bad, mostly good. I’d made love there, spilt blood and had some of my own spilt. There’s been times when I was flush with money and other times, like now, when funds were low. I knew I should find a way to shake all this loose and go somewhere else, but I was back in business and somehow that seemed to make keeping the house and the memories all the more important.
I went through all this with a large scotch to wash down my night-time medications. Not exactly the doctors’ recommendation, but I resented taking the pills so much I needed some compensation. My thoughts drifted back to the Bobby Forrest case and I told myself I’d made some progress. Hard to say what conclusions to draw, but that wasn’t unusual this early in the piece. I’d turned on many more lights than I needed to work against the emptiness of the house and I promised myself I’d stop doing that. Now I went through turning them off. The power bill would be colossal if I kept it up and I wasn’t afraid of the dark.
I phoned Bobby the next morning to tell him he had been followed, but by a man.
‘A man? Well, she said she knew people.’
‘Right. Are you going to be out and about today?’
‘Yeah, I’ve got a meeting with a producer at ten, a lunch with some friends and then I thought I’d drive out to where they’re going to be shooting my next film. Just to take a look.’
‘Where’s that?’
‘Parramatta. I have to do a river swim there and I want to get a look at the spot. Swimming in rivers can be tricky. Haven’t been out there for a while.’
‘Do you do your own stunts?’
‘Mostly. It’s fun.’
‘What? Falling from high buildings?’
He laughed. ‘No, I leave that to the experts. But things like swimming and fight scenes. I like them-you have to get the timing just right.’
No doubt , I thought. The last thing he’d want would be a broken nose. I’d got the timing wrong a few times in the real thing.
‘Jane again tonight?’
‘No, she’s busy. What she calls the slush pile.’
‘Okay. I don’t want to alarm you, but if you see a white Commodore on your trail, keep driving for as long as you can. Circle back towards the city and call me. I’ll try to catch up with you.’
‘A white Commodore. Okay.’
‘Don’t be heroic if you spot it. Just call me.’
‘What will you be doing, Cliff?’
‘Finding Miranda. If I can.’
I could hear the relief in his voice. ‘That might mean I won’t have to contact her.’
‘Might.’
I was tired of thinking about the name Miranda as if it was in inverted commas. Bobby had told me he’d mostly communicated with her via the dating site and by mobile but that he’d had some emails from her. I asked him to forward them to me before he went about his business for the day.
‘They’re embarrassing,’ he said.
‘Just do it, please. I need to get a feel for her style.’
‘I gave you her address.’
‘You gave me an address. How do you know it was really where she lived? She might’ve been playing it cautious on a first date. I bet you didn’t tell her where you lived that time.’
‘You’re right. Shit, I wish I’d never. . All right, I’ll forward the bloody emails now.’
Not the smoothest conversation with a client, but I needed his involvement. I drove into Pyrmont, bought a takeaway long black and went up to the office. The mail box was half full of ‘to the occupier’ junk with only a couple of bills directed specifically at me. I’d given Bobby my bank details and when I checked online his payment was in, making the balance look temporarily respectable. My inbox held a message from Megan, one from the Dendy cinema telling me what was playing and what was coming up, and three forwarded from Bobby. My darling Bobby I can’t understand why you are treating me so cruel. You know what a beautiful pair we make together. I have your picture up everywhere in my place, in every room, so I can look at you all the time. If you did the same I’m sure you’d feel as I do that we belong together. Please don’t make me so unhappy. She’s not for you, my love. That little nothing. She’s so ugly. Ugh! Your loving Miranda
Darling Bobby You must be suffering agonies from not being able to make love to me. I know I would be if my vagina had failed to open for your beautiful cock. I’d be desperate. I’d probably kill myself. Please don’t think of doing anything like that. I know I can make you feel like a man. A real man. Just imagine being big and hard and filling me up and us both coming together. I admit I’m in my sexiest underwear as I write this and I’m so hot. I’ll have to use my fingers on myself. I’m doing it now with one hand. Oh, Bobby! I love you. Miranda XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Bobby I’m desperate. Please contact me. We could be so happy and instead I’m so miserable. Well, I’ll make you even more miserable if you go on like this. I won’t be responsible for what happens. I can’t bear to think of you with her. I hate her, hate, hate, hate. I wish she was dead. In sorrow M
I read the emails through a few times and leaned back to consider what conclusions I could draw from them. A narcissistic personality clearly, combined with brittleness and insecurity. Bobby had told me that the real threats had come in the messages sent through the website. In these she was just warming up. What I couldn’t decide was whether what she wrote was genuine or feigned. There was something formulaic about it, particularly the sexual come-on. It read a bit like an excerpt from the advertisements for phone sex. But perhaps that’s the only note you can strike when in the throes of sexual hysteria. I wasn’t sure.
I copied the emails into the file and updated the memory stick. Bobby had given me the name of the street and the number of the building, but not the number of the flat. Not surprising. It was late at night and he’d had a fair bit to drink. Also, presumably, he was in a confused mental state. When he said she wasn’t there any longer he said it the way an ordinary citizen does. I wasn’t an ordinary citizen and I was pretty sure I could find out something more. I took my mobile off the charger and made sure it was fully functioning.
Bondi again. How many times had my work taken me there? The place seemed to have a magnetic attraction for problem people and for me. Maybe I was one of them. I surfed there as a teenager and perhaps that helps to impose a grip that won’t let go. Over the years I’ve toyed with the idea of moving there. Feasible at one time, not so easy now with the prices and my new mortgage. Driving down Bondi Road, just the look of the water, grey though it was, revived memories of it when it was blue and the feeling of scudding along on a wave towards the white pavilion and the brown bodies on the sand.
I located the street and drove slowly along to the address Bobby had given me. The street was tree lined and pleasant with a mixture of houses and flats. There would probably be glimpses of the water from the upper levels. The building I was looking for was newish and smart. It had a low fence, trees and shrubs in the front, ten letterboxes at the gate and a winding pebblecrete path.
It was a set of serviced apartments, the kind that can be leased for long or short periods. Almost hidden underneath the stairs was a small concierge desk with a woman sitting bent over, staring at the screen of her mobile phone and with her fingers flying. She was in her twenties, blonde and good-looking. When she heard the door close behind me she looked up.
‘Can I help you?’
I showed her my brand spanking new licence card in its leather folder and tried to look as young as the photograph.
‘I hope so,’ I said. I handed her Miranda’s photograph. ‘I’m looking for this woman. I believe she lived here recently.’
She put the mobile on the small desk in front of her and studied the picture. ‘Is she in trouble?’
‘Possibly.’
‘Wouldn’t surprise me.’
‘You know her?’
‘Wouldn’t say that. She was here for a while. Very short term.’
‘What apartment was she in? Do you know her name?’
She shook her head. ‘Never learned it. Didn’t want to. She was a stuck-up bitch. She was in twelve, one bedroom job.’
‘There must be a record of her time here, rent paid and all that.’
She took a card from a drawer. ‘Letting agents. They’d have that stuff. They’re in Campbell Parade. The address is on the card.’
I took the card and thanked her.
‘Are you really a private detective?’
I nodded.
She sighed. ‘That must be exciting. Don’t need a secretary, do you? This was the only job I could get although I’ve got a lot of skills. I sit here playing games on my phone.’
‘Sorry. Maybe something better’ll come along. Do you remember anything in particular about this woman, apart from not liking her?’
‘Like what?’
‘Friends.’
She snorted. ‘Wouldn’t call them friends. All blokes.’
‘Do you mean what I think you mean?’
‘Sure do.’
I thanked her again and left.
The guy in the estate agency was far less forthcoming. He was young, wore a dark suit and had gelled hair.
‘I’m afraid I can’t give you any information at all,’ he said.
‘I’m sure you can. For example, what’s the rent of apartment twelve? No harm in telling me that, surely.’
‘Two thousand two hundred dollars a month.’
‘Is it occupied now? I might want to rent it.’
As urged by Megan, I’d invested in some new clothes and I was wearing a lightweight grey suit and a blue shirt. No tie, but the shirt was tucked in.
A pause, and then he said, ‘It’s empty.’
‘Things are slow?’
He didn’t reply. I thought about mentioning the purpose to which Miranda appeared to have put the apartment but decided not to because it might cost the young concierge her job.
‘Look,’ I said, ‘I don’t want to make things difficult for you but I’ve got a client with a very serious complaint against the woman who rented that place. He’s an important person and he doesn’t want to involve the police. That’s why he’s employing me. But if I don’t make progress it’ll bring the police in eventually. Give me her name and forwarding address and that’s the last you’ll hear of it.’
He wasn’t happy. He looked across at the empty desk in the office as if hoping someone would materialise there. No such luck. He tapped on his keyboard.
‘Mary Oberon.’
‘Forwarding address?’
‘Twenty-six Hood Street, Burwood.’
‘I’m guessing she paid a substantial amount up front.’
He nodded.
‘Phone?’
He read off a mobile number and I wrote it in my notebook. Second bit of paper in the case. ‘You sighted the ID?’
‘Not me, but somebody must have. That’s all. . please.’
I could have pressed him for bank details and other things but I took pity on him. Suspicious sceptic that I am, I had doubts that the information was genuine. Perhaps the name, if I was lucky, but false ID isn’t hard to get.
I had a track of Springsteen’s Nebraska playing when my mobile rang. Hank Bachelor had equipped me with a hands-free hookup and I kept driving instead of pulling over as I used to have to do.
‘Hardy.’
‘Cliff, it’s Bobby. You were right. There’s a white Commodore following me.’
‘For how long?’
‘I don’t know. I just picked it up. But I’m pretty sure.’
‘Where are you?’
‘Strathfield.’
‘How many in the car?’
‘One, two-I’m not sure.’
‘On the highway?’
‘No, I was heading for the golf course. I wanted to take a look at it. I’m going to play there next. . Jesus Christ!’
‘What?’
‘He’s crowding me off the road. I have to stop. Shit, oh shit. .’
I heard two sharp reports and then nothing except the buzz of an open connection.
‘Bobby! Bobby!’
The buzz stopped.
I had no idea where the Strathfield golf course was, or how many ways there were to get to it. He said he’d been out to Parramatta, which gave me some indication, but apart from that I’d have to rely on the Gregory’s and luck.
Put your makeup on, fix your hair up pretty
And meet me tonight in Atlantic City .
I cut Springsteen off and headed for Strathfield. When I reached the outskirts I stopped and checked for the golf course, then plotted a way to it as if I’d been coming from Parramatta. That took me through a grid of suburban streets until I saw a cyclone fence at the end of a road that looked like the sort of thing golf clubs use to keep people out. The area looked pretty affluent and the houses had the appearance of places occupied by families with both parents working to make the mortgage. I drove down the road towards a wide stretch of parkland bordering the fence. I made the turn to follow the fence and saw a red car a couple of hundred metres away. It had pulled a short way off the road and was slewed slightly to the left. As I approached I could see a skid mark on the road. I pulled up behind the Alfa.
An arm was hanging loosely outside the driver’s window. I sucked in a deep breath, got out and approached the car. A long scrape indicated where the Alfa had been swiped by another car. Bobby Forrest was slumped forward, anchored by his seatbelt. There were two dark holes a few centimtres from his right ear. Blood had clotted around them and seeped out and matted his fair hair.
I stood and looked at him for a minute or two before I called the police. One meeting and a phone call didn’t amount to much of a contact. But he’d told me things he’d only told one other person-his father. Somehow that mattered. The older I get the younger the young seem, and Bobby Forrest had seemed very young. I felt a mixture of emotions-pity, anger, guilt-as I keyed in the numbers.