‘So it was just a waste of time?’ Gemma asked.
‘Not completely. He said they found traces of an anti-bacterial wash that’s normally only found in labs, and not used by the general public. He’s sent the clothes off to Andy Morphett, the palynologist. He might be able to supply some sort of profile from pollen evidence. He also mentioned they’re going to try a very new technique from Zürich, lifting fingerprints from the skin surface of dead bodies.’
‘What about Janet? Any result on her?’
‘Nothing yet. I’ll let you know when I hear. Morphett is pretty good. If there is anything in the pollen profile, he will find it. Is that Rafi or the Ratbag I can hear in the background?’
‘That would be Hugo. He’s trying to fix Mike’s bike. He’s driving me crazy and being helpful all at the same time.’
‘He could be quite an asset, Gemster. I remember him handling a Glock very well indeed. He’s a smart kid.’
Mike looked across at her as they were preparing lunch. ‘Come on, Gems. We both worked too much over the weekend, how about I take us out to dinner tonight? I’ll even shout Hugo. We can go to your favourite Thai place.’
‘Oh. I can’t, Mike. I’ve got a date tonight. With Tolmacheff.’
Mike’s face hardened. ‘I don’t like you using yourself as bait for Tolmacheff. It’s a bad idea going into his territory. It makes you too vulnerable.’
‘Mike, it puts me right in the belly of the beast.’
‘That’s what I’m worried about. He’s going to want dessert. It’s bloody dangerous, Gemma.’
There was a silence in which Gemma could feel the distance between them but as they ate and talked they both relaxed, and forgot about work for the moment.
‘I’ve got something to show you,’ Mike said when they had finished.
Gemma followed him down to his office.
‘Take a look at this.’ He indicated the image on his laptop. ‘You can read the registration now – plain and clear.’
‘Great,’ she said, writing it down on a piece of paper: BAW 06Z. ‘I’ll get that through to Angie straight away.’
She noticed Mike hesitating, about to say something. ‘What is it?’
‘What are you going to do about Hugo?’ he asked in a low tone, closing the office door. ‘He can’t go on staying here indefinitely. This apartment isn’t even big enough for you and me. Factor in Rafi and Hugo … and it becomes very crowded. He’s a good kid and I like him, but …’
‘I know, Mike. It’s just for a little while. The school holidays.’
‘And what about the next school holidays? Is he going to be living with us over Christmas as well?’ Mike sighed. ‘We’re trying to run a business here, out of a couple of cluttered rooms with a baby and an adolescent boy thrown in. I just haven’t got the liquidity at the moment to rent office space somewhere else. I don’t want to sound mean, and I want to live with you, but under different circumstances. You’re off meeting Steve Brannigan again and dealing with some very unpleasant characters. I don’t like any of this, Gemma.’
‘Mike, I’ll do something about it just as soon as I can. But right now I’ve got a lot on my plate. Please understand my position.’
‘I’m trying,’ he said, frowning. ‘Believe me.’
Just after three o’clock, Gemma met Spinner outside Steve’s place. ‘Feels like the old days,’ Spinner said as Steve let them in.
He had made some attempt to tidy up, Gemma noticed as she and Spinner followed him into the small living room. The plants she’d watered looked even more promising, the rug had been straightened and possibly vacuumed.
‘Good to see you again, Steve,’ said Spinner, vigorously pumping Steve’s hand. ‘I have mixed feelings about this, you know.’
‘I can imagine. I remember your scrupulous nature, Spinner,’ said Steve, with the barest smile. ‘Aiding and abetting attempted sins against the sixth and the ninth commandments.’
‘I really hope that things stop at the attempted stage, mate,’ said Spinner. ‘That Litchfield woman is deadlier than Delilah.’
‘We should start with the bedroom,’ said Steve. ‘I’ve got a date tomorrow night.’
‘How?’ asked Gemma. ‘How did you set it up? Did you call her?’
‘No, I thought I’d … Gems, you don’t really want to hear about this.’
She didn’t say anything. Finally, he sighed and continued. ‘I know her favourite nightspot is Astro Lunar. I went with a mate as cover, and once I’d spotted her I ordered her favourite cocktail and wrote a note to accompany it. She came over. She was furious. She threw the drink over me – let me have both barrels. How I’d humiliated her, how she would never forgive me, how I was going to be as sorry as hell. She was practically spitting with rage.’
‘How did you turn it around?’
‘It took a while. I sat there, like a good boy, sucking it up. Literally. My face was dripping with Bundy and Kahlua. By then my mate had bolted to the Gents. Once she’d run out of steam I told her if she ever wanted to hear my side of the story, all she had to do was call me. I gave her my card and then I stood up. She seemed quite stunned and had nothing more to say, so I got in close and whispered something to her.’
‘What did you say?’
Steve hesitated. ‘I said, “I can’t stop thinking about you.”’
Gemma reminded herself that this was part of a script, nothing more.
‘I can’t stop thinking about you,’ he said.
‘I got that part,’ she said, her voice sharp.
‘Gemma – I meant—’
She cut him off. ‘Just tell me what happened.’
After a long pause, Steve continued. ‘About three am, my mobile rang. I was sound asleep. But there she was. From throwing drinks to calling at three in the morning. Extremely keen to get together again. She said now she did want to hear my side of the story. So, I asked her out. We had dinner and I could tell from the way she was dressed and how she behaved with me that she was interested in taking things further. I hear Raimon has trouble getting it up.’
‘So what is your side of the story?’ asked Gemma.
‘I think it was convincing. Besides, I could see she wanted me and it was convenient for her to be convinced. I told her that I’d been under a lot of pressure from you, that I owed you money, that you’d threatened to expose me for an incident that I didn’t want to tell her about.’
Irrationally, Gemma could feel herself growing angry at this scenario. Calm down, girl, she told herself. This is an act, not reality.
‘In the end, she agreed to come over to my place. Tomorrow night. You and Spinner better be close by. Be in position by eight or even earlier.’
‘We will.’
‘When you see things getting really heavy, Spinner, can you bang on my front door. Make up something that’ll get me out of there.’
‘Sure, no worries,’ Spinner said.
‘And Gems, I’ll never forget this. If this works …’
‘You’ll owe me,’ she said.
‘I’d put another one in here,’ said Gemma, looking around the lounge room, ‘just in case things get a bit ahead of themselves.’ Her heart ached as she remembered a time when she and Steve could barely get inside the door and keep their clothes on.
Spinner shook his head, almost tut-tutting in disapproval as he looked for a suitable place for the tiny lens. After a moment’s hesitation, he examined the framed photograph of the Port Stephens dolphins and the heavy black lace of the wrought-iron candelabra. ‘I could do something here,’ he said, ‘in this gap between the dolphins and the bookcase. I can hide the camera in that candlestick.’
Gemma pulled the tiny camera out of her bag and passed it to Spinner, who fixed it to one of the winding wrought-iron leaves, threading the cable around the iron lace and from there behind the dolphin photograph. ‘There. Invisible.’
He picked up his tool kit and went into the bedroom, looking around for a hiding place for the second c
amera. This he found in the L-shaped light on the bedside table, hiding the tiny lens along its extendable arm.
Half an hour later, both cameras were in position and tested as working well. Gemma and Spinner sat outside in Spinner’s Toyota, watching the live feed from the cameras on a split screen on the laptop. ‘We’ve got him covered,’ said Spinner, ‘in both locations. All he has to do is lure Mrs Litchfield into his bedroom. The voice and movement activation capability will do the rest.’
He turned to Gemma. ‘How do you feel about this? About watching Steve with another woman?’
‘How do you think I feel, Spinner?’ she said, her eyes following Steve’s appearances on the split screen. Too many mixed emotions, too many surges of love and anger, jealousy and hope, were streaming together and churning, so that she almost felt she might be sick. ‘It has to be done. If it saves Steve, it has to be done. There’s just no alternative.’
‘I hope you know what you’re doing.’
So do I, she thought.
Gemma started to get ready for her date with Tolmacheff as soon as she arrived home. Then she tried to put Steve out of her mind by focusing on feeding Rafi a little earlier than usual. She aimed to be at Edgecliff at half past six so that she could check out the office, safe in the knowledge that Tolmacheff was working in his kitchen a few kilometres away, awaiting her arrival at around seven-thirty.
‘Are you okay?’ Mike asked her as she came out of the bedroom, dressed in her best black skirt, cream silk blouse and a gold chain around her neck, black jacket over her arm. The key to Tolmacheff’s office was safely tucked in her slim leather wallet.
‘I’m fine,’ she said.
‘You look tired. What were you up to this afternoon?’
‘I helped Spinner to put in some spy cams,’ she said, deadpan.
‘Don’t be late,’ he said, an edge to his voice.
‘Hey man,’ said Hugo from his position on the floor, ‘that’s not very cool. Gemma’s on the job, not having fun.’
‘It’s okay, Hugo,’ said Gemma, ‘I won’t be late, that’s for sure.’
‘Are you sure you’ve thought this through?’ said Mike, walking with her to the door. ‘He’s invited you to his place. He’s got designs on you. He’s going to want sex. How are you going to handle that?’
‘I’ll think of something. There’s always the headache excuse.’
‘Gemma, I don’t have to remind you that this man is a potential murderer. What if he’s a rapist as well?’
‘Mike, I’ve learned a few tricks over the years. I know some fancy footwork that’ll put a man out of action for a week. And I’m not afraid to use it.’
‘Will you teach me?’ Hugo called from the other end of the hall.
‘This is a private conversation,’ said Mike.
‘I didn’t know that. You could have had it outside if you didn’t want me to hear.’
‘Good idea,’ said Mike. ‘Go outside and finish fixing my bike.’
‘I’d better go,’ said Gemma, glancing at her watch. ‘I’ve got an office to search and then a dinner date.’
She parked in the Edgecliff Centre and caught the lift. Stepping out into the narrow corridor with offices on each side, she hurried along until she came to the door marked Satellite Imports & Promotions Pty Ltd. Mischa Bloomfield had been given a card by the man who called himself Jacob Titov with the same business name. How were Titov and Tolmacheff connected?
With a quick look around to make sure the corridor was quite empty, Gemma slid the key into the lock and turned it. It opened easily and she went inside. The office was one small room, with windows to the west; there was still some light in the sky although the interior was dim. Keeping her torchlight on her phone low, Gemma flashed it around. The first thing that struck her was how neat the place was. The shelving built along the wall was empty, apart from a small cactus in a pot and an ashtray. She went to the desk, which took up a quarter of the room. There was just a lamp, a pen and pencil set and a phone on it. The drawers weren’t locked, so she opened each in turn. The first and second were empty; the third one held a folder. She flipped it open and frowned, puzzled by the contents. She found business cards bearing Tolmacheff’s name under the company name ‘Perestroika Enterprises’, and a recent bill for the mooring of a luxury yacht at the Rushcutters Bay marina. So that’s where some of Delphine’s money had gone, she thought. She turned on the lamp, laid out the bills and receipts and photographed them.
When she checked on the review facility and zoomed, she found she could read them quite easily. Hastily, she gathered up all the papers and put them back in what she hoped was the order in which she had found them, put the folder back into the drawer and flicked the light off. She was about to walk away when something caught her eye – a small metal rubbish bin beside the chair. Directing the torchlight into the bin, she saw that something had been burned in there. Carefully, using her thumb and forefinger, she lifted the charred papers out and laid them on the desk. One was a business card and the other a partly burned photograph of a woman. There was enough of the face left for Gemma to recognise it: she’d seen this young woman before in the portrait drawn by Nicole at the open-door brothel.
Brie.
Questions started racing through her mind. What was Perestroika Enterprises and what was the connection with Tolmacheff? Then fear. Tolmacheff and the vampire were definitely linked. And why had the picture been burned? She photographed the burned photo then turned her attention to the small singed card.
She could still make out the lettering and part of the phone number superimposed on a photograph of the Opera House. ‘Be – h – m – H – s –’
Beecham House.
Gemma immediately called Delphine.
‘The mobile number you have called is currently unavailable. Please try again later.’
Damn you, thought Gemma. Switch on your phone!
Reading from the burnt business card, Gemma called the hotel. The receptionist was reluctant to give out any information but finally said that she thought Delphine might have gone out to dinner with friends. ‘Please ask her to call me as soon as she comes back,’ said Gemma, leaving her name and number. ‘It is imperative that I talk to her.’
The receptionist sounded guarded, but said that she would pass on the message. Gemma glanced at her watch. She was going to be late for dinner. Then she’d drive straight to Beecham House.
On the way to Angelo’s, she called Angie and told her what she’d found. ‘Can you do a company search on Perestroika Enterprises? Find what that’s all about?’
When she told her about Delphine, Angie said, ‘I can call the cops at the station nearest the hotel. Maybe someone will go down there and try to intercept her before she goes to her room. But I can’t promise anything.’
‘And it’s essential that we find Brie, too,’ Gemma added. ‘She’s eyeballed the killer, twice now, and somehow she’s connected to Tolmacheff. I want to know how and why.’
‘I’ll do what I can,’ said Angie. ‘But if she’s gone interstate, as you say, then it’s going to be very difficult. These girls are hard to keep track of at the best of times and at the moment, she’s lying low.’
Gemma tried calling Delphine Tolmacheff again after pulling up outside the marital home. Again, her call went through to voice-mail and she left another urgent message. At least Delphine was safe for the next couple of hours, while her husband entertained another woman, Gemma thought. There was nothing more she could do right now, so she checked her hair and lipstick in the rear-vision mirror, picked up her wallet and climbed out of the car. As she made her way through the wrought-iron gate and up along the wisteria-draped trellis, she saw the front door was open.
‘Hello? she called. ‘Angelo?’
She heard footsteps and called out again. But there was no answer. Hesitantly, she stepped into a spacious foyer, with a domed ceiling from which hung an elaborate chandelier, fully ablaze. Gilt-framed colonial portraits hung on the
walls and a staircase curved around to a landing. As she walked further inside, Gemma saw that several rooms led off the circular foyer. She checked the first one, a beautifully furnished lady’s sitting room, with swooning lounges and armchairs around dainty tables, the furniture forming an irregular semicircle around a graceful fireplace, currently filled with pine cones. Copies of Vogue and House & Garden were scattered over a low table and tall French windows were hung with ruched damask drapes.
Gemma continued to the second room, a gentleman’s study in dark green tones, with leather-bound volumes on the shelves. A handsome cedar roll-top desk beside the window, its roller shutter half raised. She couldn’t resist glancing inside.
A folder with a heraldic shield flanked by swans printed on its cover lay on the polished surface of the desktop. Glancing behind her to make sure she was still alone, Gemma opened it. Inside was a brochure with photos of six beautiful women on the front page. Two of them seemed familiar. Curious, Gemma picked the brochure up but before she could identify the two familiar faces, she was abruptly interrupted.
‘What do you think you’re doing in here?’
The deep voice made her jump in guilt and fear. She dropped the folder and spun around. Angelo Tolmacheff stood blocking the doorway, his face dark with anger.
‘Oh, Angelo! How embarrassing!’ she said. ‘What will you think of me? I couldn’t find you and I came looking in here—’
‘And you thought you’d find me in that folder on my desk, did you? Among my personal papers?’
‘Look, I just opened it out of curiosity. I’m a curious woman. Please forgive me. I am so sorry. I was admiring your beautiful study and I just …’
‘What did you see?’
‘Nothing,’ Gemma stuttered.
‘You opened that folder!’
Death by Beauty Page 20
