‘Jane isn’t beautiful, as you can see, but that doesn’t matter to me. She’s wonderful and I love her, but because I look the way I do. . shit, I hate saying this.’
‘She feels she’s not good enough for you while you feel you’re not good enough for her.’
He had large, expressive blue eyes like Mel Gibson and he opened them wide. ‘That’s it exactly. I can’t bear the thought of losing her or of any harm coming to her because of me.’
‘Tell me about the threats to Jane.’
‘They’re kind of veiled, I suppose you’d call it. Nothing like “I’ll throw acid in her face” or like that. But she says how people can have accidents, how they can contract diseases by being in the wrong place at the wrong time. She says she knows people who can arrange things and how Sydney is such a dangerous city.’
‘Nothing direct?’
‘No.’
‘And you believe she’s capable of carrying out these threats?’
‘That’s the trouble, I don’t know. But I can’t afford to take the risk. I’m embarrassed about all this. The only person I’ve been able to talk to about it was my dad. Can you help me?’
2
It didn’t feel like such a big deal. It was a reversal of the usual stalker scenario, but what could I expect? It was the twenty-first century and we had climate change, an unwinnable war supported by both sides of politics, a minority government and a female prime minister. Change was everywhere.
Bobby said he’d been back to Miranda’s flat but she wasn’t there. He felt too angry to reply to her emails or phone calls because he was worried she might record him saying something he shouldn’t. He mentioned his bad temper. He wanted me to find Miranda and talk to her. Persuade her that the course she was following would only get her into serious trouble.
‘Would you take legal action?’
He finished his drink as he thought about it. ‘I’d be reluctant. It’d be embarrassing and Jane would find out all about it. But Dad says you’re good at getting through to people. If you thought she was serious about the threats and wouldn’t listen, then yes, I’d take legal action.’
That was sensible. He was smarter than he thought. I had him sign a contract and pay over a retainer. I asked him for more details on how the particular dating website he’d used worked and he filled me in. I took notes. I got his email address and his postal address, his landline and his mobile number.
Jane’s surname was Devereaux and I got her details, including the publishing company she worked for as a commissioning editor. I got Bobby’s agent’s details and those for his father. Bobby and I shook hands and he thanked me effusively. So far all he’d had was a sympathetic ear, and the retainer he’d given me, in line with what I’d learned was the new scale of fees, was steep. I felt I had to have something to contribute immediately. I asked him if Miranda had given him a deadline for carrying out her threats.
‘Not exactly, but she implied I didn’t have long.’
‘If I have trouble finding her, another way might be for you to contact her and arrange to meet. I could step in then.’
He looked dismayed at the prospect, almost angry when I told him that if it came to making contact with Miranda it would be better to do it by phone in case Jane read his emails.
‘She wouldn’t do that.’
‘You never know what a person will do.’
The anger subsided. A flush had come over his face and he’d gripped the arms of his chair so that the structure creaked. He drew in a deep breath. ‘I don’t think I could meet her. I think if I did I might. .’
‘Do what?’
He shook his head and didn’t answer.
‘How strong is this feeling of being followed?’
‘Pretty strong. I haven’t known what to do about it with Jane there in case it was Miranda herself. I mean, she talked about knowing people. .’
He was suddenly anxious to go and I let him. I stared at the closed door and wondered what he’d been going to say. Was it
After he left I scanned my notes and the signed contract into the computer and created a file for it. I scanned the photos of Miranda and Jane into the computer and made copies. Then I threw the notes away. They say the paperless office didn’t happen; I kept the signed contract but otherwise I was prepared to get as close to paperless as I could.
I checked the site Bobby had used. The drill was to choose a username which could include a bit of your real name or not. The instructions suggested that it was a good idea to give a hint of your main interests at this stage. Then you set up a profile with a list of your interests, likes and dislikes. At this point you also sketch in the kind of person you’re looking for. You get an ‘inbox’ so people can send you messages through the site and you can respond to them. No email address or contact details until you get responses and have communicated back and forth enough to feel confident you’ve latched on to a ‘possible’. Then contact details and face-to-face meetings are up to you. Photographs are optional in the profile but you can protect them from being looked at by all and sundry and restrict access to them to people who take your fancy. You can pay a subscription, and Bobby’s was pretty heavy, or just buy credits and pay message by message.
Bobby, looking shamefaced, had told me that Miranda’s photograph had attracted him and her list of interests included acting and several sports he was keen on. He’d ‘messaged’ her, got a response and they communicated a few times before arranging a meeting at a wine bar in Coogee. He’d given her his email address and mobile number. Once bitten, he’d been more cautious with Jane and they’d spent more time providing details and filling in backgrounds before they’d arranged to meet. He said he hadn’t been disappointed by her looks when they met at a coffee shop in Randwick. He described her face as fascinating. She hadn’t objected to his intellectual shortcomings. He said they’d laughed a lot and at the same sorts of things. He’d agreed to read some books and she’d agreed to let him teach her to play golf. They went to bed on their third meeting and hit the jackpot.
It all sounded potentially very dangerous to me unless you played strictly by the rules and exercised a great deal of common sense. But I suppose that applied to the old style of meetings between the sexes. How many mistakes had I made in connecting up with women and how many women had made mistakes in connecting up with me?
First things first. I had to know more about Bobby Forrest. His website was just a photo, a few broad-brush details and a list of his film and TV credits. I’d never heard of the films or the television shows. His agent, Sophie Marjoram, I did know from back when I did security work for film crews. I rang her and arranged to meet her the following morning. That left me sitting in the office at 6 pm with a paying client, a glass of scotch and a nagging half-memory. When I focused on it the name Ray Frost rang a bell but nothing more. Over the years I’ve done favours for people that haven’t needed a documentary record. I guess everybody has. If the name had cropped up in that context I’d have to rely on my uncertain memory, but I had a feeling that it was something more than that.
My filing system has never been well organised and, what with moving office a couple of times and a spell of working from home, it’d become a bit chaotic. So it took me more than an hour and another drink to track down Ray Frost. It was twenty-five years ago. All it took was a glance at one of the notes I’d made to bring the whole thing back to me.
Frost had been in gaol, on remand for involvement in an armed robbery.
‘He’s innocent,’ Frost’s lawyer, Charles Bickford, had told me. ‘I want you to prove it.’
It was a bit unusual for a lawyer to be so adamant about the innocence of a client and I asked Bickford why he thought so.
‘The police have it in for him. He’s been in trouble before and he’s a maverick sort of character. Won’t take
