‘If it was someone from Sapphire Springs,’ said Gemma, thinking aloud, ‘they might have thought it was a good idea to let her get some distance from the premises before silencing her.’
‘You okay? You sound kind of stressed.’
‘I’ve just had a total meltdown and now I have a house guest, Mr Hugo Sherry.’
There was a silence until Angie recalled the person belonging to that name.
‘The homing pigeon? Who eats like a horse? And must be driven everywhere because he can’t walk more than a few inches without facing death from exhaustion?’
‘That’s him.’
‘Gemster! As if you haven’t got enough on your plate! Kick him out!’
‘It’s just for a little while.’
‘But you were only grizzling the other day about how you’re already so squashed with the three of you there now. Your place wasn’t designed for three people, much less four.’
As Gemma rang off, Hugo walked back into the room, his mobile in his hand. ‘Dad says it’s okay that I stay with you for a little while. No problems.’
No problems for Mr Sherry, she thought.
The next morning Mike took Rafi to daycare on his way to a meeting so Gemma had time to trawl through government departments, pulling in favours, trying to get information on Adel Milani. Finally, she got a hit. A helpful clerk in Immigration said yes, they did have records concerning someone of that name, but they were confidential. Adel Milani was a student on an Iranian government scholarship, attending an Australian university.
She immediately called Mike. ‘If she’s on an Iranian government scholarship,’ he suggested, ‘the chances are she’s keeping an eye on her compatriots’ behaviour out here, but it’s unlikely they’d send a single female alone – there’s bound to be a husband here to chaperone her. And if she’s having an affair with Tolmacheff, that could make things very awkward for her, dangerous in fact, unless she’s able to keep it very quiet. ASIO’s been keeping an eye on some of the Iranians living here because of their connections with the Lebanese Hezbollah.’
‘ASIO’s not going to talk to me,’ said Gemma, sighing, ‘and I just don’t have time to go through every university in Australia, and then every faculty and department trying to find this person. Chances are she’s no longer attending university, especially if she’s carrying on with a married man.’
In the evening, with Mike at home minding Rafi, and Hugo watching reruns of American sitcoms, Gemma drove into the city for her dinner date with Angelo Tolmacheff. She wore tailored trousers and a low-cut blue-and-white jersey top under a dark blue blazer. A quick check in the rear-vision mirror showed that she was having a good-hair day and the copper-coloured lipstick enhanced the grey-green of her eyes. Remembering that she was supposed to be a wealthy woman, she’d worn some of her mother’s antique jewels – a cabuchon ruby bracelet set in gold and a diamond cluster ring, as well as her mother’s cabochon ruby-and-diamond earrings.
Here we go, she thought, rehearsing her script as she got out of the car and locked it, throwing her dainty shoulder bag on its gold chain over her left arm. I’m Gerri Westlake, heiress, dilettante and sculptor.
Inside the restaurant, Tolmacheff rose to greet her and instead of shaking her hand, he kissed it. ‘Gerri! You look just wonderful! And on time, too.’
The food was pleasant enough, and Gemma practised the art of charming seduction. Listening intently to everything Tolmacheff said, a slight smile on her face, she scanned every word and phrase he uttered for clues about his character and his enterprises, knowing that rapt attention was just about the highest form of flattery any man could experience. She also noticed how quickly he appeared to become interested in her, gazing into her eyes, his hand reaching out to touch her fingers, pumping out every positive signal from the manual. He appeared absorbed in everything she had to say, even if it was only to discuss the menu.
‘It’s wonderful to be with such a discerning woman,’ he said, when Gemma selected an average Hunter Valley wine. ‘And, your French accent is impeccable,’ he complimented when she ordered the Lapin Provençale avec trois legumes.
It was hard to conceal a smile on occasions when she realised they were doing exactly the same thing – applying charming seduction in spades. Gemma hoped the smile didn’t give this away, but rather indicated the docile and biddable nature she was trying to project.
Her mobile rang and she took the call, turning away so that Tolmacheff couldn’t see her face.
It was Mike. ‘In case you can’t talk freely, just say “yes” if you’re okay.’
‘Yes,’ she said, ‘but I’m having dinner with a friend right now. Call you later.’
‘Better I call you later?’
‘No, no. That’s fine,’ she said brightly, shrugging apologetically as she put the mobile away. ‘Family, Angelo. You know what it’s like.’
‘Who was it?’
‘My sister,’ she lied quickly.
‘Is your sister as attractive as you?’
‘What a question!’ Gemma giggled.
‘Well, is she?’
‘You don’t seriously expect me to answer that!’ Gemma smiled sweetly.
Over the main course and in answer to his discreet probing, Gemma said, ‘I’m fortunate enough to be financially independent, and I noticed you have the same happy situation. I’d love to know more about your business, if that’s not being too personal?’
‘Well, as I metioned when we first met, I deal in property. I guess you could also call me a stockbroker, Gerri. I buy and trade shares. And I have a small business organising corporate promotions. I seem to have a good head for business, so I’m told.’
After coffee, Tolmacheff insisted on paying for dinner, then escorted Gemma to her car. Before she could stop him, he’d taken her in his arms. ‘I don’t mean to frighten you,’ he said, ‘but you are deliciously tempting.’
Gemma laughed and disengaged herself. ‘Thank you, Angelo. I really enjoyed myself.’
‘I believe in being direct. It’s a European quality. What are you looking for in a man, Gerri?’ Tolmacheff asked.
Gemma opened her car door, cocked her head to indicate deep thoughtfulness and after a pause said, ‘Someone who is kind, honest. A man who understands what a woman wants and needs. Someone I can admire and look up to. Someone I can trust.’ Penny Watson’s words ran through Gemma’s mind. She tried to smile at him to cover her growing disgust, noting how Tolmacheff had nodded in agreement with every quality she mentioned.
‘Angelo, now may I ask you the same question?’
He took Gemma’s hands in his. ‘Of course. I am all for equality.’
She gazed into his eyes intently. ‘What are you looking for in a woman?’
He leaned towards her, the bulk of his body coming closer. He whispered, his breath in her ear, ‘You.’
Mike was opening the door even before she put the key in the lock.
‘I was starting to worry,’ he said. ‘You’re later than I expected and I was just about to grab Rafi and get in the car and check out the restaurant. How did it go?’
‘He really is very unpleasant. I don’t know how good I am with subterfuge these days. I found him really sleazy. I hope it didn’t show.’
She dropped her keys and bag on the dining table.
Hugo rolled over from his position on the floor in front of the television. ‘You look really hot,’ he said, looking up at her, ‘I mean, for an old chick. Where did you go?’
‘Thanks a lot, Hugo. I went out.’
‘I’ve got coffee on,’ Mike offered, ‘if you’re interested.’
‘Tea, thanks. I need to check on Rafi first.’
After looking in on her little boy sleeping soundly – one starfish hand spread out near his cheek, a slight smile on his mouth, his lashes quivering as he dreamed his baby dream – Gemma had a shower. Being with Tolmacheff had made her feel grubby all over, and a woman sitting outside the restaurant had been smoking hea
vily. Gemma washed away the smell of cigarette smoke, but the bad taste left by Tolmacheff was harder to erase.
As she walked into the living room towelling her hair, she saw Mike stretched out along the sofa and Hugo sprawled on the floor, both watching the weekend football replay. Three males in my home, she thought. And another one not far from here whose predicament weighed heavily in her heart.
‘I wish you’d reconsider this Tolmacheff dating business,’ said Mike as she sat down beside him. ‘It’s just too dangerous. I’ve got a bad feeling about this guy.’
‘You and me both. But you have to admit that it’s a gift to anyone wanting to get closer to him. I’ll be able to go out with him, meet his business acquaintances, check out his office and maybe, eventually, his house. I’d be crazy to pass up an opportunity like this.’
‘You’re dating another man?’ Hugo asked, sitting up and sternly looking from Gemma to Mike and back again.
‘All in the line of work,’ said Gemma. ‘I need to keep watch on this man. We found his online singles profile.’
‘Very cool,’ said Hugo, nodding his approval. ‘I wish you’d let me help. I’m an okay hacker. Like, I could do work experience for him. Or I could get into his system and get to know all his secrets. I wonder if there’s any ice-cream in the freezer?’
Hugo went out to the kitchen and when he’d been gone longer than Gemma thought necessary for him to eat the last of the ice-cream, she went looking for him. The kitchen was empty so she walked down to her office.
‘Hugo! What are you doing in here?’
He jumped up, startled. ‘Nothing bad, Gemma. I was just reading this report you’ve done – on Mischa Bloomfield.’
‘Hey, you shouldn’t be reading that. It’s confidential.’
‘I’m not going to tell anybody!’
‘Hugo, that’s not the point. Please give that to me and get out of here, okay?’
‘But that’s a totally bad thing that happened to her. And now you’re really worried that she might end up like the other two women?’
Gemma shepherded him out the door. ‘Hugo, please don’t go into my office in future. I have confidential files in there. I’m running a business here, not a gossip magazine.’
Hugo looked at her, hurt. ‘I could be helpful,’ he said. ‘I need something to do over the holidays. I’m getting sick of lying around watching television all the time. I want to earn some money.’
Mike heard him as Gemma and Hugo walked into the lounge room. ‘You can wash my car for five bucks.’
‘I mean real money.’
‘I need to earn real money too,’ said Gemma.
‘Hey, can I borrow that bike that’s under the deck?’ Hugo asked.
‘My bike?’ said Mike.
‘It would be real sweet if I could borrow it, Mike. I’ll look after it. Promise.’
‘I guess it would be all right.’
Hugo’s face lit up with pleasure. ‘Then I can get my own food. You won’t have to drive me everywhere.’
‘There’s plenty of food here, comrade,’ said Mike.
‘Proper food,’ said Hugo.
‘He means deep-fried objects with chips,’ said Gemma. ‘Myocardial infarction food. Death food.’
Hugo grinned. ‘Yeah. Death food.’
CHAPTER 19
After dropping Rafi off, Gemma met Yvonne Creswell at her shop, Trend Fashions. ‘The girl who usually opens up is on holidays,’ Yvonne said, as they shook hands, ‘so I had to come in early this week.’
Gemma studied her, noticing how good she looked in her fitted black dress and long draped cardigan chicly looped; sleek, black hair pulled back in an elegant chignon; dark red lipstick dramatic in her pale face; the perfume one of Gemma’s favourites, Annick Goutal’s ‘Songes’.
Racks of fashionable clothes hung around the walls and two long tables in the centre of the boutique were stacked with glamorous accessories: handbags, beads, gloves and delicate feathery things on hair combs.
Yvonne indicated a small room behind the shop where they could talk.
‘You wanted to ask me about Magda?’
‘Yes. Did you see the note she left?’
Yvonne shook her head.
‘Would you like to see it?’
‘Please.’
Gemma pulled out her photocopy and passed it to Yvonne, who read it aloud in a halting voice and then looked up, her eyes filled with tears. ‘This is unbearably sad. And so puzzling.’
‘I was hoping you might be able to tell me what terrible thing was happening in Magda’s life.’
‘What terrible thing? Magda was over the moon. She adored Ambrose. I hadn’t seen her so happy in twenty years. She looked marvellous after her facelift; she was like a girl again, running around organising her wedding. She talked to me about the dress – pearl satin sheath with a ruffle neckline … beautiful. I just can’t understand why on earth she should do such a shocking thing to herself.’
‘When was the last time you talked to her?’
‘The day before she – she died,’ said Yvonne, wiping a tear away.
‘And how did she seem?’
‘I just put it down to bridal jitters. Actually, I think she was a little drunk.’ Yvonne paused a moment, thinking. ‘She called to cancel a get-together we’d organised. Said that she had to go back to Sapphire Springs immediately.’
‘Sapphire Springs?’
‘Yes. Her voice was a little – slurred?’
‘And that’s why you thought she might have been drunk?’
‘That’s right. Although Magda never drinks. Not since she had the surgery, at least.’
‘Might she have been under the influence of drugs?’
‘I suppose that’s possible.’
‘Did she say why she had to go there immediately?’
‘No, she didn’t. I asked her if she could leave it till the next day. I’d got a casual in to work here while we went out. I was really disappointed, as well as inconvenienced. But she said she had to go. I thought it must have been something to do with that special treatment they’ve developed.’
As their meeting came to an end, Gemma gave Yvonne her card, asking her to call if she remembered anything else. On the way home, she rang Angie.
‘I’m wondering now if the DiNAH therapy has some nasty side effects – like sudden onset depression. Something they’re not telling their clients.’ She went on to tell Angie about her interview with Yvonne Creswell.
‘We have to go back to Sapphire Springs to chase up Janet Chancy’s notebook. Let’s see what else we can find out while we’re there.’
‘Okay.’
‘And by the way, if you’re free any time this afternoon do you want to come with me to the morgue?’
‘Sure, I wouldn’t miss it. But what for?’
‘I’ve been wondering if there have been other murders like these,’ Angie said. ‘I want to go through the records, if Ted Ackland will let me.’
Gemma considered. ‘Mike will be home after three and he could pick up Rafi for me,’ she said, looking at her watch. ‘How about four? I’ll meet you there for afternoon tea. Silver service.’
‘Great. But stainless steel will have to do.’
Almost the moment Gemma rang off, her phone rang again.
‘Hello, mysterious one.’
‘Angelo,’ Gemma said, flinching at his tone. ‘Why mysterious?’
‘I can’t seem to find any reference to you. You don’t Twitter, you don’t Facebook. You have no online presence.’
‘I’m just a sweet, old-fashioned girl. I still write letters.’
‘Love letters?’
‘That remains to be seen,’ she flirted.
‘I wish you’d write me a love letter. When can I see you again?’
Gemma did a fast calculation. ‘Let me get back to you on that. I’ve got a few things on at the moment.’
‘The fewer the better. And all black lace, I hope.’
For a second, G
emma didn’t get it. Then her heart sank at his heavy-handed attempt.
‘I’ll call you, Angelo. Promise.’
She rang off before he could offend her further.
Dr Ted Ackland met them in the foyer of the morgue and took them into his office. ‘We pretty much keep our records forever,’ he said with a smile. ‘Unlike most government departments. After you called, Angie, I pulled out what I thought would be the most appropriate files on women from the last ten years for you to start on.’
Several piles of manila folders covered the table. Gemma opened one and found it contained computer print-out copies of notes for the coroner’s report and contemporaneous notes made by the pathologist at the time of the autopsy.
‘Of course there’ll still be a whole lot there that aren’t relevant; you’ll need to sort them out yourselves. Now I’ll have to leave you to it.’
As soon as Ted had left the room, Angie and Gemma divided the piles of folders between them and started their search.
‘I think we can discard files for anyone over thirty,’ Gemma said, ‘maybe even over twenty-five.’
‘Right,’ said Angie nodding. ‘Starr and Palier were both in their early twenties.’
‘Brie is only twenty,’ said Gemma. ‘And Mischa too. God, I hope they’re safe.’ She paused, considering this and then added, ‘And then there’s Janet. She’d be my age or even older. She doesn’t fit in.’
‘No, she doesn’t fit the pattern at all,’ said Angie. ‘She is too old, nothing was removed from her body according to Ted, no acid – and a personal possession of hers may have been taken instead. Looks like a different killer. We’ve already interviewed her family and friends. Nothing helpful there.’
By culling the records they finally reduced the number to half-a-dozen.
‘Let’s pinch these and then go and talk to your sister.’
They gathered up the files and left Ted Ackland’s office. ‘Do you think he’ll mind us taking these?’ asked Gemma.
Death by Beauty Page 16
