Death by Beauty

by Lord, Gabrielle

  ‘There’s something I want to discuss with you.’

  ‘Sure. Come over. I’m not going anywhere.’

  Fifteen minutes later she was sitting opposite him, on an old leather chair near a small desk covered with piles of papers. The pot on the window ledge she’d watered the other day had responded already with tentative green shoots. She glanced around the room. There was an empty takeaway container on the coffee table and next to it, last night’s half-drunk glass of scotch-and-water; a small delta-winged moth floated on the surface.

  Gemma reached over and picked up the glass and looked at the drowned moth.

  ‘At least he died drunk,’ said Steve. ‘Sorry about the mess. I’m just not motivated to clean up. I’m trying like crazy to work out how to defend myself against these allegations. What did you want to talk about?’

  ‘That’s why I’m here – about the allegations. This might sound like a crazy question but can you contact Lorraine Litchfield?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Can you?’

  ‘You’re serious, aren’t you? I could. But why the hell—’

  ‘I’ve been thinking about this for a while and come up with something that might work. This is how it goes. You call Litchfield. You say that you’ve heard she’s been released early and you’ve got some information that she really needs to know. Make it sound like it’s vitally important that you pass this on in person. That you have to see her again.’

  ‘Gemma, don’t you remember that scene at the hospital? She hates my guts. And she’ll be suspicious as hell. Just what are you getting at?’

  ‘You’re the undercover expert; the man of a million scripts – find one that works. Then when you do get together, you’ve got to act like you still find her irresistible. You know how to sweet-talk her. Then you bring her back here and make out with her. In the meantime, Spinner and I will have set something up so that we will catch it all on video.’

  ‘You want to get footage of me and Lorraine Litchfield having sex – on video?’ Steve asked, leaning forward with surprise. ‘You want Raimon Fayed to kill me?’

  ‘Steve, can’t you see this is your chance – maybe your only one – to get her to retract her statement?’

  ‘I don’t see how that will …’ His words petered out and Gemma watched as his expression changed. Finally, she knew he’d got it when he spoke. ‘So, this is the deal: I get her into bed, you and Spinner get us on video – and you show this to Lorraine and threaten to deliver the footage to Fayed?’

  ‘Yes. You know what he did to his wife when he discovered her affair.’

  He sighed.

  ‘So? Will you do it?’

  Steve stood up and looked out the window, at the fence and next door’s brick wall. ‘It could work. That’s if she buys it. Then if she does, the only thing I really have to worry about is how to conceal my loathing. And avoid Fayed.’

  ‘Consider it a professional job. This could be the toughest assignment of your career. You’ve worked with low-life crims before and pretended they were your best mates.’

  Steve managed a grim smile. ‘Actually, one or two of them really are almost mates. You work alongside someone long enough and you get to see the man inside.’ His smile vanished and he became suddenly very serious. ‘Baby, you might have just come up with the plan that will save my arse.’

  Gemma got to her feet. ‘That’s what I hope. Now, I’d better go. A girl’s gone missing – on my watch. I want to find her before it’s too late.’ But she lingered, unsure of why she was waiting, until Steve walked ahead of her and opened the front door.

  ‘I don’t want to get too technical, Gemma, but there are certain physical aspects to a man’s response to a woman. If the guy can’t stand her, there could be problems with the hydraulics, if you get my drift.’

  ‘Stevie,’ she said softly, ‘just close your eyes and pretend it’s me.’ The words were out before she could retract them.

  Steve gave her a long, tender look. The atmosphere in the narrow hall became suddenly very still.

  ‘I’ll be in touch,’ she said as she walked quickly out the door.

  CHAPTER 23

  Mike had joined some mates for a game of touch football, and Rafi was playing with a pile of toys under the dining table while above him Gemma and Angie divided up the autopsy reports from Ted Ackland’s office between them. Angie looked around. ‘Where is Hugo?’ she asked.

  ‘No idea. He comes and goes. I’m not worried. He’s done it before and he’ll phone if he needs us to pick him up.’

  ‘What are you going to do about him?’ asked Angie, sitting back. ‘Adopt him?’

  ‘I’ve just had so much on that I haven’t really thought about him much. I spoke to his father and he was impossible. I get the feeling that if Hugo suddenly vanished from the face of the earth, Mr Sherry wouldn’t really mind.’

  ‘What about his mother?’

  ‘She still lives in Melbourne. Hugo goes to school there and comes up during the holidays to stay with his father. He doesn’t get on with the girlfriend at all. Plus he got into a bit of strife with some schoolmates. I kind of bailed him out. And here he is. He’s a good kid, Angie. He deserves better. But I don’t know what I can do about him.’

  After studying the three autopsy reports she’d selected from the pile, she said to Angie, ‘I’ve got two possibles here. This girl was murdered last year – Britt Goodwin, twenty-three,’ she continued. ‘Multiple injuries including skull and facial trauma and deep lacerations and damage to lower body. But look at what the PM doctor’s written here in the contemporaneous notes.’

  Gemma passed the notes across to Angie. Under the usual mention of various organs and their respective weights and condition, the doctor had scribbled three words. They were underlined: ‘No bleeding … why?’

  ‘I can suggest a reason,’ said Gemma.

  ‘Me too. She was already dead.’

  ‘Britt Goodwin definitely fits the pattern,’ said Gemma. ‘Here’s the case number. Will you follow it up?’

  ‘Sure,’ said Angie, noting it down. ‘I’ll talk to whoever led the investigation. What about the other one?’

  ‘It’s from three years ago. A girl called Phoebe Wilson. Massive injuries to upper and lower body, particularly the head and pelvic girdle. Body found in Sydney Harbour where it had collided with the propeller of a speedboat.’

  ‘What a mess,’ said Angie. ‘What else do the notes say?’

  Gemma skimmed through the pages, past the painstaking details of the state of the dead woman’s body, until she found what she wanted. ‘Listen to this. The pathologist has written here: “Absence of any bleeding and vital responses in association with multiple injuries may indicate that at least the worst of the injuries were sustained after death.”’

  ‘How old was she?’

  Gemma turned back to the first page. ‘Phoebe Wilson. Aged twenty-two.’

  ‘I’ll check her, too. Phoebe and Britt – both unusual names,’ said Angie, noting the details of the deceased woman.

  Angie stood up, the gathered files under her arm. ‘I’ll return these to Ted Ackland on my way into work tomorrow. I’ll call you when I’ve found out more about the two women.’

  Gemma was on the lounge reading to Rafi when she heard commotion outside and rushed to the front door.

  ‘Good grief, Hugo! What happened? Where have you been? I got worried when you didn’t come home.’

  Hugo, pale and breathless, had skidded on Mike’s bike and now lay partly under it, a nasty graze on one knee.

  ‘I stayed at my friend’s place. I was going to come back yesterday because I’ve got some news for you, but my friend’s band was practising so I decided to stay around.’

  ‘You didn’t try to ride the bike down the stairs, did you?’

  ‘Not really. But I was in a hurry and came off. I’ve been walking the bike back here practically all day!’

  ‘Okay. Let’s have a look at that cut on your knee.’<
br />
  ‘Don’t worry about that,’ Hugo said, scrambling to his feet and propping the bike against the wall. ‘I’ve been on the case. I’ve got something to tell you. And show you.’

  Rafi was delighted to see his friend again and reached for him as Hugo limped inside. ‘What case? What are you talking about?’

  ‘Hello little guy,’ said Hugo, then answered Gemma. ‘I followed the car but I lost them. I couldn’t ring you. My phone’s stuffed and I didn’t have any money for a public phone. See, if you’d pay me, I could have rung and told you how I followed the car. Maybe I should have rung you from my mate’s place …’

  ‘You what?’

  ‘Like I said,’ said Hugo, dropping on the lounge, his injured leg stuck out in front of him. ‘I saw Mischa getting into this car on Friday morning.’

  ‘She got into a car? You mean she was dragged into a car?’

  Hugo shook his head. ‘She got in. She couldn’t get in quick enough! She was running down the street and then this car pulled over, and straight away she jumped into it.’

  ‘Okay, let’s start from the beginning. What were you doing over there in the first place?’

  ‘You know when I was in your office and you yelled at me to get out? And you know how I was reading the report about Mischa Bloomfield? I wasn’t just being nosey. I thought maybe I could help you, so I took Mike’s bike and went over to her address, to sit off the address – like you do when you’re out on surveillance.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘I saw Mischa come out really early but she seemed to get frightened of someone further down the street – someone I couldn’t see, so she ran back inside again. I tried to look for what had scared her. Could have been someone in a car or someone on the street. No luck. Anyway, I stayed there. It was really boring, but I remember you saying how boring surveillance is and so I was expecting that. But then a bit later, she came out again and this time she was carrying an overnight bag. It was weird. Almost the same thing happened again. It was like she’d seen someone who frightened her. But this time I’m pretty sure it was a guy in a car parked down the road where I couldn’t see. Mischa started running down the street trying to get away from him, I guess, and that’s when I saw another car pull out and drive down beside her. I jumped on the bike and tried to follow them.’

  ‘Hugo,’ said Gemma, pulling up a chair and sitting opposite him, ‘you’re telling me you saw Mischa’s abduction?’

  ‘You’re not listening to me. It wasn’t an abduction. She got into the car by herself. Nobody made her do it. If she was kidnapped I would have let you know straight away somehow. She couldn’t get into that car fast enough. She slammed the door and the car took off.’

  ‘Could you see who was driving?’

  ‘Not really. I think it was a chick. Some lady,’ he corrected.

  ‘What sort of car was it?’

  ‘Peugeot. Green.’

  It must have been a friend, Gemma thought. And Mischa’s safe after all. But why isn’t she answering her phone? Maybe she’s too frightened. Maybe she doesn’t want anyone to know where she is, and isn’t taking calls.

  ‘This morning I thought I’d better come back and tell you,’ he said. ‘On the way, I chucked a wheelie and lost it. I couldn’t ride the bike anymore, so I had to walk it all the way from my mate’s place. With a bit of a break for food. I spent all my money on something to eat.’

  Gemma passed Rafi to him and stood up. ‘I’d better call Angie.’

  ‘So, it wasn’t Mischa’s arrow brooch after all,’ said Angie once Gemma had filled her in on Hugo’s surveillance operation. ‘She’s taken off with a friend. Nothing to do with the Sapphire Springs cabin. Now we just have to wait till she surfaces again. And when she does, we’ll put her straight into protection.’

  Gemma put the phone down. ‘Hugo, I’m not sure what to say to you about all this. You’ve stuffed up Mike’s bike, but you’ve done a good job, actually.’

  He beamed at her.

  ‘You should leave this to the professionals, though.’

  Hugo rolled his eyes. ‘If I’d done that, you’d still all be running around like crazy, looking for Mischa. Wasting time.’

  ‘Let’s clean that knee up,’ said Gemma, frowning at his injuries.

  ‘I nearly forgot,’ he said, half hopping out to the kitchen following her, with Rafi holding on tight, ‘I took a photo of the car on my mobile before my battery went dead. Hope I didn’t lose it.’

  ‘Charge it up and let’s have a look,’ said Gemma, taking Rafi and handing Hugo some clean tissues and a Band-Aid. ‘Give your knee a wash and put that over it.’

  Hugo did so, and then plugged in his mobile. In a few moments, he’d recovered the photograph and held it up for Gemma to see.

  ‘It’s only the back of the car,’ he said, ‘and the quality’s pretty random. But maybe you’ll be able to see the rego numbers.’

  ‘Well done, Hugo! You’ll make a great operative one day.’

  ‘What do you mean “one day”?’ I already am. See if you can spot the rego and find out who Mischa’s friend is. Then you can find out where she’s staying. Then you can talk to her. Then she’s safe. No worries.’

  Gemma smiled. ‘Now that your wounds are dressed, maybe you should see if you can fix Mike’s bike. Okay?’

  ‘What’s this about my bike?’ Mike asked, coming through the front door. ‘Did you wreck my bike, Hugo?’

  ‘A bit. One of the wheels is really bent. I’m sorry, Mike. I can fix it.’

  ‘Take a look at this,’ said Gemma, handing Hugo’s mobile to Mike. ‘Hugo took a photo of the car that Mischa Bloomfield got into.’ Frowning, Mike zoomed the photograph focusing on the registration.

  ‘The quality’s not very good,’ he said, ‘but I’ve got a program that will enhance this. We should be able to get the rego numbers. It’s a late-model Peugeot coupe, pale green.’

  Gemma glanced at the small image of the car, sleek and crouching and looking as if it was built for speed.

  ‘That’s a Peugeot RCZ,’ Hugo announced. ‘They cost over fifty grand.’

  CHAPTER 24

  As she was walking down the steps into her front garden on Monday morning after taking Rafi to daycare, her mobile chimed.

  ‘Gerri,’ he exclaimed, ‘I’ve been waiting for you to call. How about dinner tonight? My place?’

  ‘Angelo, nice to hear from you,’ she said in what she hoped was a demure tone. ‘I’m so sorry. I’ve been very busy otherwise I would have called you much, much sooner. I can do tonight.’

  ‘Excellent. I’m a great cook. All you have to do is bring your beautiful self and maybe a bottle of red wine? I’ll supply dinner and flowers. Do we have a deal?’

  Hugo was still tinkering with the badly buckled front wheel of Mike’s bike as she opened the front door and went inside, thinking quickly.

  ‘That sounds great,’ she cooed.

  ‘Wonderful! About seven-thirty? I’ll text you the address.’

  ‘I’ll be there.’

  If Tolmacheff was at home cooking prior to seven-thirty, she would know where he was. She went into her office and opened a drawer, taking out the key to the Edgecliff office that Delphine had given her, and then she called Delphine.

  ‘I’m fine,’ Delphine said when Gemma asked her. ‘I’ve moved into this cute little boutique hotel, Beecham House. It’s gorgeous. Looks straight over to the Opera House. And, you’ll never believe this, but I’ve just won a fantastic prize in a cosmetics competition! I don’t even remember entering it! That’s cheered me up a bit.’

  ‘Sounds nice. But you must do everything to keep safe until your husband is out of the picture.’

  ‘I’m just hoping I can go home soon. I’ll be a new woman without him.’

  ‘Good,’ said Gemma. ‘I’m very hopeful I can get him off your back.’ And mine too, she thought as she ended the call.

  Washing up the breakfast dishes gave Gemma time to plan her day, then she ra
ng Angie for an update.

  ‘I’ve spoken to the guy who headed up the Britt Goodwin murder investigation,’ Angie said. ‘They got someone for that on physical evidence and a confession. Illegal immigrant. He’s currently in prison as a flight risk and awaiting trial.’

  ‘So, he’s out of the picture,’ Gemma said. ‘That was a dead end. What about Phoebe Wilson?’

  ‘An open verdict. I had a quick look through the coroner’s findings and the police notes. There was no way to know how she’d come to be in the water. She was fully clothed, which could indicate an accident, or even suicide. According to the notes here, she lived at Kirribilli in an old waterfront apartment block. It’s possible that she fell from a window, or from the jetty on the southern side of the apartment. I’ll skip this next bit – oh – here’s another relevant section … “the jetty had been condemned some months earlier”.’

  ‘She might have gone for a walk on the jetty anyway,’ said Gemma, ‘and fallen through the timber, injured herself, drowned, bled out and then collided with the speedboat.’

  ‘Okay,’ sighed Angie. ‘We’ll need to check this one. She’s a possible victim.’ There was a short silence.

  ‘We’re almost back where we started,’ said Gemma, ‘and that was never a very good place. We still don’t know anything about this killer, except that he seems to carry out a vicious minor assault, and then comes back for the kill. But not in all cases – and we don’t know why.’

  ‘Gems, I do have some more information,’ Angie said. ‘Bob Stein’s just called me.’

  Gemma recalled Bob Stein, who headed up the DNA section as chief analyst at DAL, the Department of Analytic Laboratories, the government laboratories where police exhibits were taken to be examined, the results delivered to the prosecutors to be placed before the courts.

  ‘Bob ran all the items from the murders through the PCR again just in case they missed something the first time. He said he knew I’d want to hear back as soon as possible about any new results but I’m afraid he hasn’t been able to get much out of the samples. He repeated how thoroughly the bodies and clothing had been washed down and said the second results were as inconclusive as the first. And results on the arrow brooch were inconclusive too.’