DEEP IN INDIGNATION, IT took me a few moments of standing in the car park to realise that the BMW had gone. I stood staring at the empty car space.
Well, I guess there was one thing I could achieve today.
I hopped into Mona, and drove the three blocks to the Euccy Grove police station, stuffing two mints in my mouth before I went inside.
The copper on desk duty looked like a newbie.
I asked for Fiona Bligh.
‘Gone home, love,’ he said.
‘Can I leave a message for her?’
He handed me a notepad and a pen. ‘Go for it.’
I copied down the licence plate number and told her it belonged to the blue BMW that had been following me. I finished with my mobile number.
I gave the young constable a firm look. ‘Make sure she gets it, won’t you?’
He raised an eyebrow and turned back to his computer.
I called Bok from outside the station. ‘You still at work?’
‘Where else?’ he said.
‘Feel like pizza?’
He gave a sigh. ‘Why not? Meet you outside Kimmy Koo’s in fifteen minutes.’
I was only five minutes away, so I killed time by wandering up to Club Eighteen to see if Edouardo was working.
‘He phoned in sick,’ said one of the other barmen. ‘Said he ate something crook at an Indian restaurant.’
I nodded sympathetically. ‘If you think of it, can you tell him Tara called in?’
‘Wait on,’ he said, and added my name to a list with half a dozen other names on it. ‘There. Now I won’t forget.’
‘His fan club, huh?’ I said.
‘The rest of us should be so lucky,’ he sighed.
I walked back to Mona and drove sedately to Kimmy Koo’s. The streets were pretty quiet. Traffic hadn’t really caught up with Perth. And long may it stay that way. I wound down my window to let the balmy night air in. Early autumn was my favourite time of year. Short sleeves and brilliant days; long sleeves and brilliant nights.
But even the luminous night couldn’t negate Nick Tozzi’s casual dismissal of my theory.
By the time Bok and I sat down to eat a family-size cheese and pepperoni at the tables in Kimmy Koo’s courtyard, I was fit to burst about it.
Bok sat patiently through the whole tirade, eating, and playing with bits of mozzarella. ‘Aaah, it’s good to hear about someone else’s problems,’ he sighed when I’d finished.
‘He thinks I’m a space cadet,’ I pronounced, crunching a piece of extra-thin crust angrily.
‘Well, let’s face it, T. You do act kooky. Only those of us who know and love you understand that you see through entirely different eyes from the rest of the world.’
Bok never judged me on the aura stuff. Sometimes it’s like that when you’ve known a person as a kid. You accept things about them that you’d never allow if you met them as an adult. ‘I’m not sure about that anymore.’
‘’Bout what?’ he asked, scraping the fallen mushroom from the base of the carton.
‘There’s got to be other people out there in the world like me. Look at Mr Hara.’
‘Yeah, he’s kooky too.’
‘Hasn’t stopped you conning food from his wife,’ I retorted.
‘Aahhh, meatballs.’ He licked his lips. ‘Shame they had to go on holidays.’ He brightened. ‘They must be back soon?’
I rolled my eyes.
‘Don’t give me that look. She loves cooking. Besides, I was just keeping an eye on you.’
‘That the real reason?’
He sighed. ‘Do you know how often I get a home-cooked meal, T? At least you can raid your parents’ fridge.’
Bok’s dad had died a few years ago when Bok was still living in Sydney. After the funeral his mum had gone back to the Philippines to live. There was a bunch of both guys and gals out there who would gladly move in and play cook for him, but Bok hadn’t decided which side of the fence to take up residence, so he was flying solo at the moment.
‘Maybe we should live together?’ I offered.
‘What, so you could open the tin of baked beans and eat it before me? Maybe not!’
I shrugged. ‘What am I going to do, Bok? About Nick Tozzi and Johnny Vogue.’
This is where my pragmatic friend dragged me back into reality, and metaphorically smacked me around the face. ‘Trust your instinct,’ he said.
‘What?’ I wasn’t expecting that. Maybe, Get a grip, Tara. But . . . trust yourself?
He grinned at me. ‘Maybe I’ve been spending too much time with oily magazine execs, but I’m sick of other people’s agendas running my life. Don’t let that happen to you. Next thing you know you’re just a whipping boy.’
I reached across the table and gave him the last glob of mozzarella. ‘Hang in there,’ I said. ‘Things’ll get better.’
We talked about the magazine then until Kimmy Koo kicked us out of the courtyard about midnight.
I hugged Bok in the car park and drove home.
As I fell asleep, anchored to my bed by a kilo of cheese, an idea had well and truly planted itself.