By the time I got back outside to the birds, I felt a little calmer. I opened the cage door and Hoo jumped straight out onto the ground, as indignant as could be. JoBob mustn’t have been around much either. He strutted up the driveway onto the grass and began happily beaking for goodies. Only about a half-hour of light was left, so I changed their water and filled their feed container. That meant scooping into a tub of bird pellets and topping it up with bird mix. They didn’t like the pellets (the bit that was good for them) but they’d kill each other for sunflower seeds. Really, they were so human!
Brains tried to bite me as I put the filled seed container back in the cage.
‘Bad bird!’ I said, withdrawing my hand.
We engaged in a strategy-and-dare game where I pretended to put the food at the other end of the cage and she chased me there. I then had to quickly move back to the original position and slot the container in before she –
‘Owwww!’ I screeched, losing another round.
I left her happily crunching and went to check on Hoo, who’d found his way along the pool gate to the window ledge above my kitchenette. Cage birds tended to become astounding climbers. My phone rang as I was squeezing along between the pool fence and the side of my flat to retrieve him.
‘’Lo?’
‘It’s me. What are you doing?’
‘Hey, Bok. Wrestling creeper.’
‘Say what?’
‘Never mind. Are we cool about Jenny?’
He didn’t hesitate. ‘Yeah, we’re cool.’
I believed him. He’d tell me straight out if it was a problem. ‘That’s good.’
‘You sound upset,’ he said.
I told him about the guy following me and how I’d punched Ed in the nose.
‘You have to tell the police this time,’ he said sternly.
‘Don’t be so dramatic.’
‘Don’t be such an idiot.’
No one told it to me like Bok. I squeezed along the last bit of the narrow space to the window and reached up to get Hoo. He was chewing on a roughed-up section of the wooden frame.
‘Tara? You still there?’
‘I’m just getting one of the birds – oh, shit!’
‘What? What’s wrong?’
‘I’ll call you back.’
I shoved my phone into my pocket and set Hoo on my shoulder. He began happily tearing at the vine behind me while I ran my finger along the window ledge. There were gouge marks there, fresh from the look of the wood. Someone had been trying to force entry. I tested the window. It didn’t shift, but that didn’t stop a cold hand rattling my spine.
I took Hoo back and gave him and Brains an almond each from the treats tin and closed the cage.
I wondered if I should ring Fiona Bligh. Maybe Bok was right. This was getting beyond anything I could deal with.
Chapter 21
I WENT INTO THE flat and locked the door. There was a note from Cass stuck to the kettle, saying she’d gone out with Joanna.
I found the length of dowelling that Dad had wanted me to use as an extra security measure and slotted it into the window tracks. Then I drew the kitchen curtains for the first time since I’d moved in.
Stress made me hungry so I grabbed some slices of bread and cranked up my laptop. I had some serious thinking to do and a decision to make before I headed out for Hoshi’s nightclub job.
As Google opened on the screen, Bok called back.
‘And?’ he said.
‘And what?’
‘Oh, how nice . . . you’re still alive,’ he said in an exasperated tone.
I’d clean forgotten that I’d hung up on him. ‘Sorry. Look, I’ve just found that someone’s tried to force the window open on my flat. The one with the vine all over it. Hoo was up on the ledge chewing the wood and I saw the marks.’
‘Oh.’ He dropped the sarcastic tone immediately. ‘You want some company?’
‘Yes, please. I’ve got a job to do at the Gallery in Northbridge tonight. Don’t fancy going up there by myself right now.’
‘What time shall I pick you up?’
‘I love you,’ I said. ‘Ten would be good. We can talk about it all then. I’ve got some things to do right now.’
‘Promise?’
‘Promise.’
Ten o’clock left me a good few hours to do some mulling. I opened my Ignatius job file and jotted down some more notes.
To my thinking, Team Riley led the race on suspects. The conflicts between them and Moto-Sane were hard to ignore. Bolo clearly couldn’t tolerate Robert Riley (and I didn’t blame him), but then there was the argument between the mechanics, Clem and Dave (not to mention the problem that Sally, Lu Red’s girlfriend, was causing within the Moto-Sane team).
I searched the Motorcycling WA site and went back over the results for the season so far. According to their stats, Lu Red had won the first two races by a large margin. Race three had been a Did Not Race for him, and since then each race had been much closer. The DNR had been in August. That date rang a faint bell for me, so I jotted it down in my file, wondering why his lap time had dropped off so markedly after it.
I moved on to Team Chesley. An hour later, I hadn’t come up with anything much about Shakes, Hardwick or Frank Farina, besides an unverified article that Shakes had unsuccessfully tried to buy Hardwick out at one stage.
Frank Farina looked clean of any dirt other than a few groupie message boards where girls boasted of sleeping with him. Farina was a player, no doubt, but no worse than any other rider from what I could see. Even if Team Chesley had internal problems, I somehow doubted it would be motivation for them to sabotage Bolo. Shakes’ odd reaction about his partner had to be about something else.
I got out of bed and put on my slippers. Time to beard the dragon in her lair.
Dad was washing up with Cass, while Joanna was sitting at the table with a glass of wine, sorting a bag full of buttons into piles.
‘Evening all,’ I said, staring at her progress.
She saw my expression. ‘There’s a button expo at the showgrounds on Sunday. I’m donating my collection for fundraising.’
‘Oh.’ What else was there to say?
‘There’s some lemon chicken in the refrigerator if you’re hungry.’
I licked my lips and helped myself, reheating it with some leftover rice.
Dad was explaining the intricacies of golf to Cass, so I seated myself next to Joanna.
‘Mum, you know George Shakes, don’t you?’
She raised her head. ‘Georgie Porgie Pudding and Pie. Lord, yes. I went to school with him. He used to eat too much even then.’
I smiled. It was such a Joanna comment. ‘I believe he went into partnership with his brother-in-law.’
‘Frosty, the old sourpuss. Yes, that’s right. Why do you ask?’
‘It’s . . . err . . . a job I’m working on looking into some unexplained incidents at Wanneroo Raceway.’
‘Wanneroo. That’s where all that greenhouse-unfriendly car racing goes on?’
OMG. Joanna had discovered global warming. ‘And motorbike racing,’ I said.
‘Well, I don’t know anything about that, but I do know that Frosty has just left his wife of thirty-five years for a man.’
‘The wife being George’s sister?’
‘Indeed. Poor Sonia. They have five children. It’s a scandal of epic proportions.’
I thought about suggesting that it was hardly a scandal, and that it was probably a good thing that Frosty had finally admitted his true sexuality – and then mentally slapped myself. This was my mother I was talking to. Champion of the Conservative.
Instead, I thanked her, told her the chicken was delicious and that I had some work to do.
As I walked out the door, I glanced back. Cass looked more at home there than I ever had. And it didn’t upset me at all. In fact, in a funny way I was kind of glad for her – and them. My parents needed to feel . . . needed.
Back in the flat, I added what
I’d learnt to my notes. Shakes and Hardwick were definitely having their own problems, which had nothing to do with Bolo Ignatius. I felt happy to demote them to the bottom of the suspect list.
Over the next hour I did more background work on Team Bennett. Bennett’s Hardware was struggling to compete against Bunnings, and one motorcycling fan blog claimed the team was up for sale on the quiet. I found a year-old interview with Tony Bennett in which he talked about the family’s history in the West Australian motorcycle racing scene, and how much the team meant to him personally. Securing a berth in the Nationals would no doubt boost sponsorship and publicity but my instinct told me it was already too late. Bennett’s Hardware was going down.
I called Garth Wilmot. As an accountant and all-round know-it-all, he liked to keep abreast of who was on the up – and the down.
‘Tara? It’s Friday night.’
Garth and I had a kind of hate–tolerate relationship. Even though our romance had failed because we drove each other nuts, I knew he was good at all the things I was bad at, and he knew that I brought some much needed unpredictability into his stuffy life. We stayed in contact because he was my accountant, and occasionally we compensated for each other’s shortcomings.
‘I need to pick your brains,’ I said.
He sighed. ‘I was just about to eat dinner.’
‘It’s nine o’clock.’
‘I’m living on the edge,’ he retorted.
‘What do you know about the state of Bennett’s Hardware?’
He took a mouthful of his dinner and chewed in my ear for a bit.
‘Well . . . I’ve heard the receivers are moving in next month.’
‘That far gone?’
‘Don’t quote me on it. But I don’t think you’ll find I’m wrong.’
Garth hated to be wrong.
‘So they’ll be selling off their assets?’ I asked.
‘It’s the usual procedure.’
‘What about the Bennett racing team?’
‘That? Well, I imagine it’s been bleeding the company for years. In fact, it’s probably the reason things got so bad for them. Always a mistake mixing your passion with your work.’
That was such a Garth comment. Most people aimed to find a way for their passion to intersect with their work. Garth aimed to keep them separate. Mind you, I wasn’t sure that Garth knew what passion meant.
‘So even if the racing team had a good result for the season it wouldn’t help the company?’ I asked.
‘Not even a drop in the ocean of their debt. Why? What are you up to?’
Garth always made it sound like I was a criminal.
‘Just doing some background work on a client’s case.’
‘You’ve got another client? How did that happen?’
Garth thought my whole ‘business’ was a joke, but he was still happy to charge me for business consultations.
‘I need to come and see you soon about insurance and things,’ I said.
‘I’m an accountant, not a broker.’
‘Come on, Garth, you know a bit about everything.’
‘That’s true,’ he said smugly.
‘And that’s because you have no life.’
I hung up before he could reply. You had to get the last word with Garth or he became insufferable.
I reflected on what Garth had told me before moving on to the Rileys. It seemed my gut instinct was right: Bennett probably had too much going on to be targeting Moto-Sane. I spared a second to mourn the death of another independent business before putting through a call to Crack.
‘Sable’s Bar, Crack speaking.’
‘Crack, it’s Tara. I know you’re working so I’ll be quick. Do you know anything about Frank Farina’s reputation with women?’
He hesitated. ‘He’s a player.’
‘He do kinky stuff?’
‘Doubt it. Look, I gotta go.’
‘You busy?’
‘Yeah. Bolo Ignatius just brought in a large group.’
‘Bolo? Is there a red-headed guy with him in black jeans and a black tee-shirt who looks like an old rocker?’
‘Yeah. How’d you know?’
‘Is he asleep?’
‘Yeah, out cold in a chair near the door. I went by to check he wasn’t dead.’
I groaned. ‘Do me a favour. Go by again and wake him up. Tell him I sent you.’
‘Sure.’
He hung up and I got on with the Riley search, finding only uniformly decent comments about Gig Riley on all the forums and blogs I checked. Seemed as if he was the most loved guy in local bike racing.
And his father the most hated.
I was still leaning towards Riley Senior as the architect of Bolo’s problems. He seemed to have the strongest motive, and the right disposition to do such a thing. He’d trodden on and broken more toes than a medieval torturer. There were plenty of articles about his aggressive business mentality, but it was the business forums that had the more personal comments. One anecdote recounted how he’d sacked an employee for excusing himself to go to the toilet while serving a customer.
A disgruntled customer had posted numerous accounts of Riley refusing to honour warranties, which had resulted in Riley’s Tyres being investigated by Consumer Affairs. He’d also gone head to head with the Wanneroo Raceway owners over a number of things including delayed upgrades and permit changes for practice days.
In short, Riley Senior was a hostile, argumentative bastard who was in a hurry to get wherever the hell he was going. His one vulnerable spot seemed to be his only child, Gig.
I made a call to Lloyd Honey. Lloyd and I had an arrangement. He had access to a great deal of information. Being an ex-client, he helped me out, and I tried not to overuse his resources.
‘Lloyd?’
‘Ms Sharp.’
‘Tara,’ I said for the umpteenth time. ‘How can I ask you for favours if you call me Ms Sharp?’
‘Tara then. How can I be of service?’
‘I wondered if you could find out the names of all the companies two local businessmen own? Doesn’t matter how small. Their names are Robert Riley from Riley’s Tyres, and Bolo Ignatius, the sporting goods franchiser. Also, I need to know who owns a company called Instant Security.’
I could hear him typing the names into his computer. ‘As is our arrangement, Tara, I’ll do my best. I would ask you, though . . . how is Lena Vine?’
‘You heard . . . about . . . Audrey?’
‘Yes. Terrifying news. Lena and Audrey were very close.’
‘I don’t suppose you have any ideas who might be behind it?’
‘Lena doesn’t discuss her business with me. To my knowledge, though, she’s an excellent businesswoman with some strong principles.’
‘Oh?’
‘She’s the president of SDIP.’
‘SDIP?’
‘Stop Drugs in Prostitution.’
I began to get a tingling feeling. ‘Really?’
‘Yes. Ninety percent of WA brothels have signed on for it. Lena is very charismatic. Now, let me see what I can find out for you on these gentlemen.’
‘Thanks, Lloyd. I’ll do my best to help Lena. But I’m not a trained investigator.’
‘You have other talents. Goodbye, Ms Sharp. I’ll email you through my findings.’
‘Tara,’ I reminded him, but he’d already gone.
I settled back with Google. Connections were finally starting to forge in my brain. Lena was trying to stamp out drugs in her industry. Her security guy was recommended by a company in which Viaspa – Perth primo drug lord – was a silent partner. And Leonard Roc was conveniently outside checking a faulty security camera leaving Audrey to answer the door and get hit by a drive-by shooter. Unfunny coincidence. If Lloyd confirmed Viaspa’s involvement with Instant Security, I’d go back to Lena with what I knew.
But that didn’t explain Louise’s odd reaction to my questions.
Paralanguage and kinesics could sometimes be misleading. One ti
me I’d tried to smack down my female boss because I thought she was persecuting my co-worker. Turned out his frightened and disturbed body language around her was because he was happily playing Bottom to her Top. Observing the energies around people was one thing, interpreting them correctly was another! Hoshi Hara had helped me a lot, but I still made mistakes.
Spookily, my mentor rang me right then.
‘Missy? Jus’ checking you still do job for me tonight.’
‘Yes. I’ll be at the club at ten.’
‘Good, good. You park behind the club. Fat Frog show you around.’
I yawned and stretched. Time to get changed into something club-ready. Bok would be here soon.
As I wriggled into stockings and tight black dress, a wall of tiredness hit me. I was running on only a couple of hours’ sleep, and Joanna’s lemon chicken was sucking up all the available blood in my stomach. I went to the fridge and spied a carton of fresh orange juice.
Damn, I was going to miss Cass when she left.
Chapter 22
THE GALLERY NIGHTCLUB WAS situated just off the main strip of Northbridge in a little side street not far from Ed’s modelling agency and an Indian restaurant we both loved. While Bok negotiated the busy streets and found the alley that ran behind the club, I wondered how Ed’s nose was and if I’d ever hear from him again. I should check up that nothing was broken.
Maybe in a day or two, when he might consider speaking to me.
‘Birds got your tongue?’ asked Bok as he pulled into a spot that read ‘The Gallery – Staff Only’. We’d changed the old saying about cats a few years ago when JoBob first brought Brains and Hoo home.
‘Just thinking about Ed,’ I said.
‘You really know how to show a fellow a good time, my girl.’
I pulled a sad face. ‘Come on – let’s go find the Fat Frog.’
Bok trailed me into the club. He liked to hang back and see what was happening from a distance before he got involved. I, on the other hand, hated taking things slowly and would rather plunge in; which I did as soon as I reached the posse of bouncers and door staff.
‘Tara Sharp. I have an appointment with Mr Vatroque.’ I waved back at Bok. ‘This is my colleague Martin Longbok.’
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