‘Dunno. Just figured it would be easier to pick up at the juice bar than in a class.’
‘He was married. You think he was picking up?’
‘He was a guy, Tara,’ she said with mild sarcasm. ‘A guy with a super-rich wife who runs like a gazillion dollar business.’
‘Right.’ So young and so jaded, I thought mournfully.
I hung up, finished my drink, and hit the road to Broadway. The traffic was light, so it took less than ten minutes. The juice bar was at one end of the gym and populated by women in Lorna Jane sweatbands and Nike runners.
I asked around with no luck. If Cass was right about him picking up gym bunnies, he’d not likely do it under the nose of his wife.
A quick google located three other juice bars closer to the city, a little outside the Western suburbs. When I walked into the second one and showed the guy behind the counter his picture, I hit gold.
‘That dude,’ said the blond guy behind the counter mixing smoothies while he bounced to the beat of an R&B track on the stereo. His aura was a soft green, running around him like an incoming tide. ‘He’s that real estate guy that washed up on the beach? Yeah, he was here that day about five in the pm. I remember because the spin class finishes then. Someone told me he was the owner’s husband, but that’s just a load of bull.’
‘You know him?’
‘Seen him here a few times.’
‘He did spin?’
‘Not that I remember. He used to meet a girl here. His daughter, I think. He’d park his Mercedes and jump in her car. They always parked out the back behind the big skip bin. Would see them when I put the rubbish out.’
I bit my lip. ‘His daughter. Right. Can you tell me what she looked like?’
He frowned, and his aura thinned into a strip of jade. ‘Should I be telling this to the police? I mean, who are you?’
‘Private investigator. And I’m sure the police will find you if their investigation leads them in this direction. I’m just doing a general background report for a client.’
‘Sweet!’ he said with enthusiasm. ‘Like CSI.’
‘No, that’s forensics.’
‘Right. Yeah. Course. ’Cept we’re not meant to talk about our clients.’
I leaned in. ‘Well if it’s his daughter, I already know who she is, so it’s not like you’d be telling me something I couldn’t find out.’
His expression lightened and so did his aura. ‘If I said she was dick-stiff hot, and she drove a black re-conned Alpha Spider, late series, probably a four, that would be totally cool?’
I didn’t know much about Alpha Romeos but I knew someone who did. ‘It would be cool, apart from the stiff bit. That’s just gross.’
He blushed and his aura began to thrum around him like it was pleased with itself. ‘Sorry. It just slipped out.’
‘Right.’
‘Right.’
I gave him a stern look and left.
* * *
I went back to Laramie’s and the others on the list, but learned nothing of use. The police had interviewed the staff and put a gag order on anyone who knew anything. I sat outside The Cocked Dog wishing I hadn’t ordered that third Coke and wondering whether I should go back inside to use the bathroom, or just go home. I decide on the latter and put in a call to Crack before I started driving.
‘How’re they hanging?’ he answered.
‘They don’t hang. That’s the point,’ I said dryly.
‘Hi, Tara. Sorry about that. Misread your number.’
Again? ‘I need a favour. What do you know about series 4 Alpha Romeo Spiders?’
‘Well cars aren’t really my thing but I know a guy who services Alphas in this area.’
‘You do?’
‘What do you want?’
‘I’m guessing there wouldn’t be too many black cars of that model in the Western Suburbs. You reckon you could find out who drives it?’
‘Leave it with me,’ he said.
‘It’s kind of urgent.’
‘It’s you Tara. Of course, it is.’ He clicked off before I could reply.
I pulled a face at the phone and started Mona. Time to pick Cass up for dinner.
Five minutes from Garth’s house, Crack called me back.
I hit the speaker tab and went hands free. ‘Speak.’
‘You alone?’
‘Yeah why?’
‘This a case you’re working on?’
‘Yeah. Why?’
‘The woman who owns the car … it’s Phoebe.’
‘Kenilworth?’ My tone grew strident. ‘You mean Premier Kenilworth’s daughter.’
‘Yeah, I do,’ he replied softly. ‘Tara, what have you got yourself mixed up in?’
12
‘Shit.’
I felt odd. Phoebe had been a couple of years below me at school. Normally you wouldn’t know younger kids, but her dad was already famous then, and her mum was stinking, filthy, rotten rich from some European jewellery family.
I bumped into her one time when she was about fourteen, smoking weed amongst the ivy overhangs behind the grotto at school. I’d suggested what she was doing wasn’t smart and a good way to get herself expelled, and she’d given me the finger and told me to ‘fuck off’.
Her aura had been a bristling white that was marred by dark spots here and there. I might have paid closer attention, but I was ignoring my gift in those days.
‘I remember her from school,’ I said to Crack. ‘You knew her, didn’t you?’
‘Yeah. A bit. And Sable did some modelling with her too, I think.’
‘Don’t tell Sable,’ I said automatically. ‘Best you don’t know anything about anything.’
‘You’re right,’ he said. ‘And you keep your big fat head down in the trenches.’
‘Always,’ I said.
I thought I heard him snort as he hung up.
Phoebe Kenilworth. Jeez.
My phone rang again as I drove down Railway Parade through the back of Claremont. The caller ID flashed Cass’s name. I was about three minutes from Garth’s street, so I let it go through to messages.
Phoebe Kenilworth and Bernard Romeo. Shit. Scandal or what?
It was just after dark as I cruised past the little children’s park and came up empty. No Cass.
I felt a rush of concern but calmed myself and did a full loop of the street.
Nothing.
I pulled over and called her.
She answered on the first ring. ‘Where are you?’ she whispered.
‘Where are you? I’ve come to pick you up.’
‘In the laneway behind Garth’s house. I’m behind the fence post watching a guy casing the place.’
‘Don’t move and do not do anything. Even if he breaks in. Got it!’
‘Yes.’ She sounded a little breathless.
Cass was a bold kid, but she was still a kid: sixteen going on thirty-five.
I accelerated down the street and parked the car in the mouth of the laneway up on a shoulder of sand. There was enough room for another car to pass, but it was obstacle enough to make them slow down. I went on foot the rest of the way, resisting the temptation to use the torch on my phone.
My eyes adjusted quickly. Lights were on in all the houses as I ghosted past. Halfway along, the lane got quite a bit darker. The back yards were larger, showing the outlines of bushes close to their fence lines. I walked slowly, trying to sense sounds as well.
Garth’s house should be just about—
‘Tara!’ A hand shot out and grabbed my wrist, sending me recoiling in fright. ‘It’s me,’ Cass hissed quietly.
I pressed my chest where my heart had just exploded and squatted down next to her. After a moment or two, I could see the dark outline of Garth’s cottage.
‘Where’s the guy?’ I whispered in her ear.
‘He’s on the tin roof over the garden.’
I knew Garth’s house intimately. I mean, it was almost half mine at one time. The tin roof lay over
an extra car port that he’d had built at the back to park his old EK Holden under. It was his grandmother’s car and now a collectible. Garth didn’t part with anything that might be worth something. Once a month he kicked the engine over and hosed the outside down to keep the salt and the dust off it. The rest of the time it stayed quietly snoozing under a tarpaulin.
The roof almost connected with the main house, though it was a rough job and not something I’d rely on to carry my weight. I squinted into the dark and thought I could see a black blob atop it.
‘How did you first see him?’
‘Luck. I got bored watching the front so I did a big lap around looking at the houses. He was scoping the alleyway as I walked past, so I kept going. Pretended not to notice him.’
‘Did he see you?’
‘Yes, but I kept my head down. Then I ran all the way around to the other end. It was nearly dark, so I hid between the solo bins at the end. Just as it went dark, he came down the lane and climbed the fence. That’s when I rang you.’
‘Right. Well done. I want you to take the keys, go get in my car and lock the door.’
‘No way,’ she whispered back indignantly. ‘I found him.’
‘Cass, it’s not safe. He could come running back out here and find us. What if he’s got a knife or worse?’
‘There’s two of us and one of him.’
‘Don’t be so—’
She stirred restlessly and her voice raised a little. ‘I’m staying!’
I bit my lip. We were a fair distance away. I could send her running if he jumped down. ‘OK but no closer. Understood?’
She nodded, I think, and didn’t further the argument.
‘Where’s Garth?’ she asked instead.
‘Work probably. Or with Jasmine.’
‘Should we warn—’
I stalled whatever she thought to say by squeezing her shoulder. The blob was on the move.
We watched in silence as it crept slowly along the car port roof line then stood up.
‘He’s going to jump,’ whispered Cass a second before the shadow leapt across onto the roof of the main house. The noise was no more than a light clunk.
‘He’s done that before,’ I muttered. Not that I knew anything about cat burglars, but this guy didn’t hesitate or stumble. ‘Or he’s been practising.’ My stomach roiled at the thought. How many times had this guy been on Garth’s roof?
‘But why the roof?’ said Cass. ‘Seems like the hard way in.’
‘Garth’s office’s in the loft. There’s a window entry on the north side. Hard to see from the road. It’s in that peaked part of the roof.’
‘What are we going to do?’
I thought for a moment. ‘Call Wal and have him come and pick you up. I want you to scout two blocks east and west and take down all the licence plates of cars not in driveways. I’m going to stay and trail him back when he leaves.’
‘Cops?’
‘Garth doesn’t want them involved and nor do I unless we have to…’
‘Like if someone starts shooting at you,’ she said in an acerbic tone.
‘Something like that. Now go. If I lose him, your intel will be essential.’
She made a faint humph noise, stood up reluctantly, and crept off along the lane. I waited until I could see her back out on a lit section of the street then I let myself in quietly through Garth’s back gate.
Most people in Perth still didn’t lock their back yards up, on account of being … Perth, and I knew the layout of Garth’s pretty well: lock up shed on the right housing not-recently used gardening equipment and the frames of old pushbikes; remnants of a veggie garden lay in front of that; a brick paved path ran through the middle, alongside the car port, which in turn fanned into a larger paved area with some garden seats and a little statue of a cherub who peed water into a bowl. The cherub had been a gift from me, a joke really, but Garth had dutifully put it in as a garden feature, and bought a wrought iron garden setting to match.
I slid along the line of the shed and then scuttled over and crouched next to the statue.
Nobody shouted, or hit me on the head. That was encouraging.
It seemed wise to wait there for a little bit and see if I could hear anything but after a few moments of silence, I got antsy and shifted to the side of the house that harboured the office above it.
A few more quiet breaths and then I carefully, slowly, stepped back from the house towards the side fence and peered up at the attic window under the peaked roof arch.
I couldn’t see the dark blob of the burglar crouched anywhere or signs that the window was open. Where had he gone? Had he got inside already and closed the window behind him? Surely not in that space of time. Not if it was locked.
I stared at the darkened roofline and felt my skin prickle with fear. What if he was armed? Maybe I should call the police? But what if he could lead me back to whoever was after Garth?
Then I had a brainwave. I knew where Garth kept his backdoor spare key. I could sneak inside, hide, and watch to see if the burglar was after anything in particular. Then I could follow him.
I crept back across to the wall and felt my way along it to the woodpile near the back door. With care, I lifted the chopping block and felt around underneath until my fingers encountered a plastic capsule, which I broke open.
The key was cool in my sweaty palm and I made a fist so as not to drop it. Then I ran lightly up onto the back porch and let myself in through the door.
It only made a faint click as I entered. As long as I didn’t stumble into anything in the dark, I’d be okay.
I stopped and listened. There was a faint rustling upstairs. Like someone shifting things around.
Drawing on my memory of the house, and aided by the faint glow of the kitchen’s digital clock, I negotiated my way to the stairs then crept up them on my hands and knees. Ten up to the landing and then another five to the bedrooms. Then another five to the office attic.
When I got to the top, it occurred to me that I should have armed myself with something. Garth kept an umbrella at the bottom of the stairs. It would have been better than nothing. I wavered over going back down to retrieve it and decided the risk of making a sound was too great.
A gentle thump followed by creaking came from Garth’s office. Taking a deep breath, I crawled onward to the office door. Slowly, oh so slowly, I turned the door knob and eased the door ajar. I could see nothing through that tiny sliver, and had to risk opening it further.
Just a little … just a lit—
And there he was, squatting near the desk, leaning on the floorboards with his weight on the palms of his hands.
I repressed a nervous giggle. As if Garth would keep anything under the floorboards. That would require his lifting carpet and using tools and … you don’t know Garth, Mister, I thought a little hysterically.
The burglar became still. Maybe I had made a noise. Or the act of opening the door—even a little—had changed the nature of the darkness or the air pressure. Or maybe he’d just had a sixth sense of my presence.
All I knew was that torchlight suddenly flashed up above my head, then dropped and settled on me peering through the door-crack.
It blinded me a bit, which meant that as he charged me I was slow to react. I got my forearm up to protect my face from his kick. It prevented a broken nose, but the momentum of the attack knocked me backwards on top the landing.
That umbrella would have been good right about now. I had to make do with rolling sideways as he went to stamp on my chest. His shoe glanced off my shoulder instead and I managed to scramble up onto my knees.
The burglar wasn’t hanging around for round two. He leapt down the stairs in a few bounds and I heard him clatter towards the back door. I tried to follow at speed but ended up stumbling, rolling my ankle a little.
No time for that! I jumped the last four steps to the bottom, ignoring the pain, and chased him. I had the advantage of knowing the layout of the yard.
&nb
sp; The burglar was on the other side of the cherub and heading straight to the gate. Maybe he’d been scoping the place for a while. He seemed sure of his trajectories.
That left nothing for it but an all-out assault. I switched to sprint mode and exploded past the statue into a flying tackle.
I took him down heavily about half way along the paved path, in line with the window of the garden shed. The crunch of impact told me I’d regret this later, but in the moment, all I cared about was pinning him down so I could see his face. I wrestled him for a few seconds and managed to maintain the top position.
He swore and flailed and bucked underneath me. I was flung sideways and he began to scramble free, but I righted myself.
Then a light shone on his face from the side.
‘Freeze or die!’ said a weirdly gravelly female voice.
The burglar hesitated for a moment, long enough for me to get a glimpse of his face. Pasty skin, pointy chin, zits and mousy coloured hair that was curly on top—he wasn’t likely to be on any Most Desirable lists. Not a face I knew either.
I tried to get a sense of his aura, read him beyond my brief physical impression, but the energy lines were distorted by the dark.
He bucked upward with his pelvis and knees, and catapulted me over his head, so I went sprawling onto my face. In one quick movement, he was on his feet.
I grabbed at his ankles and was dragged half upright. Enough so that he got off a glancing punch to my mouth that knocked me into the torch holder.
We got tangled and the burglar escaped into the dark.
‘Tara?’ The gravelly voice was suddenly much higher and squeakier.
‘Cass? What the—’ I rolled off my young charge and got to my feet pulling her up with me, glaring into the gloom.
‘Wal and I came looking for you,’ she said defensively before I could yell at her.
I touched my mouth and felt the wetness of blood. Shit. ‘Wal?’
‘I called him like you said. He’s gone to cover the front. No wait … here he is…’
Another light flashed down the side of the house towards us.
‘Wal,’ I called out. ‘Here.’
He hurried over, strobing us with his beam.
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