‘I had to, Gemma. I followed Lorraine Litchfield after her meeting with you.’
‘You what?’
‘And when you and Angie were talking near the jetty, wasting time while she got away, I followed her. I’ve got some valuable information. And a photograph.’
Gemma’s anger dissipated. ‘You’d better tell me about it,’ she said finally.
‘First, I’ll need food.’
First, second and third, she thought.
While Gemma heated up the chicken casserole that Mike had made, Hugo wolfed down two bananas and almost half a loaf of sliced bread, smothered in butter and peanut butter, leaning against the counter, detailing his surveillance.
‘I followed the Litchfield chick to a restaurant–bar kind of place at Kings Cross. Lost her a few times but made it up at the lights. She had a meeting with this dude at the tables outside. Then they were joined by this other big guy. I managed to get a photograph of them as I cruised past.’
‘Show me.’
Gemma stared at the small mobile screen. At Indigo Ice cafe, the very same place where she and Tolmacheff had met, she saw him again, this time with two companions. Across the table from him was Lorraine Litchfield. Gemma felt her heart start to race. Litchfield and Tolmacheff knew each other! But, she thought, this wasn’t really surprising. There’s a certain amount of overlap in the criminal world, Angie always says. Ninety per cent of crime is carried out by ten per cent of the population. The third man she didn’t know. Broad shouldered and hulking, the heavy figure was leaning towards Lorraine as if in intimate conversation. Gemma studied his face carefully, using the zoom to come in closer. A dark blemish under his left eye.
With a thrill of shock, Gemma realised who she was looking at.
The vampire.
She recalled Lorraine’s words. ‘There’s someone on your case … You are terminal.’
Was she talking about Tolmacheff? Or even worse, the vampire? A thrill of fear momentarily tightened in her chest.
‘Well? Don’t you think I did good?’ said Hugo, noticing her intent interest in the photograph.
‘You sure did, Hugo. Why didn’t you bring this to me straight away?’
‘Dad wanted me to stay at his place to help clear out his attic. That’s where he’s going to build my bedroom,’ he said. ‘I wasn’t going to tell him what I’d been doing and that I couldn’t help him.’
Hugo had gathered evidence linking Litchfield and Tolmacheff with the vampire. The vampire linked to Mischa. And to Brie. Tolmacheff had a partly burned photograph of Brie in his office wastepaper bin. This photograph taken by the Ratbag brought a lot of things together. ‘You did very well, Hugo.’
CHAPTER 29
Shortly after, Gemma left the sleeping household and drove to Indigo Ice, parking in the underground car park behind the police station and walking across the park towards Macleay Street.
Staying well back, she observed the cafe but couldn’t see the trio. She was about to give up, disappointed even though there was no reason they should be back there again, when she saw three men: the vampire, Tolmacheff and a man with his back to her. She used the groups of people still strolling the streets as cover and walked around until she could see the third man: Tolmacheff’s son. She sat on a bench nearby and waited. Finally, Tolmacheff and the young man stood up and walked away, leaving the vampire sitting alone. He pulled out his mobile and it appeared as if he was answering rather than making a call. When it was finished, he walked over to the counter and paid.
Gemma called Angie. ‘I know you’re off duty,’ she said to the message bank, ‘and trying to get some sleep, but I’ve found the vampire. He’s connected to both Tolmacheff and Lorraine Litchfield. I’m going to follow him now from the Cross. I’ll keep you posted.’ She said the last few words in a rush because the vampire was on the move, striding purposefully down Macleay Street, passing without noticing her, head forward on his thick neck, deeply intent on getting somewhere quickly.
This is the man inextricably linked to the murdered women, Gemma thought, the man who assaulted Annabel Carr, the man who’d tried to attack Brie a second time. I mustn’t lose him.
Within a few minutes Gemma realised he was heading to the underground car park.
Staying back and walking softly, she followed him, down to the second level where he was heading towards a car right at the other end. What am I going to do now? she thought. She didn’t dare go back and get her car because by that time, she might have lost him. Her best bet was to stay where she was and take down his car’s registration number. Of course it would be useless if the car was stolen, or borrowed, but she didn’t have much choice. She heard a door slam and an engine start up, and saw the reverse lights as the car backed out, turned and started to drive away.
As it did, Gemma felt all hope for Mischa drain away. The car that was driving towards the exit was the pale green Peugeot, BAW 06Z. Gemma hurried back to her car. Somehow, Mischa had been tricked into getting into that car. They must have worked as a pair, Gemma thought: the vampire on the street near Mischa’s house, and an accomplice driving. An accomplice Mischa knew and trusted.
Gemma left another message: ‘Ange. Mischa Bloomfield is in great danger. The Peugeot might be registered to someone in Belambi, but it’s currently being driven by the vampire!’
Angie called back early next morning. ‘We’ve got everyone out looking for that Peugeot,’ she said. ‘I door-knocked the neighbours who live near Elizabeth Winchester and discovered that sometimes the Peugeot isn’t around and Elizabeth gets a lift. She works at a hospital, according to the old fellow next door.’
Someone who works at a hospital, Gemma thought. Someone who’s forensically savvy. She started to feel the exhilaration that comes with getting closer to solving a case. Her mind was holding a huge amount of information, an incomprehensible set of seemingly unrelated events and people, and yet she knew that with the right catalyst, these shapes would come together and lock into position, forming the perfect pattern: the truth of what was really going on.
Hanging up from Angie she checked her emails and saw a name she didn’t recognise at first, then it dawned on her. Dr Andrew Morphett, the palynologist, had sent through his findings.
The email was headed: ‘Pollen profile’.
The first page consisted of statistical data, numbers and types of pollens found, and botanical names that meant little to her. She skimmed down, bringing her attention to the last section.
‘After several wash cycles, I found various pollens and debris: some rainforest plants and dry eucalypt forest, including blackbuttapple shale forest, scribbly gum woodland and temperate rainforest, silvertop ash forests and turpentine forests. However, I did find one anomaly – an extremely rare species – Daviesia suaveolens, commonly known as the bitter pea. As far as I know, this is the first time it has been found so far north, usually being restricted to the south of the state. I took samples from the crime scene where Rachel Starr’s body was found. There is no source of this rare plant here and none showed up in samples taken from various sites in the area. Despite Marie-Louise Palier’s clothing having been submerged in sea water for some time, successful profiles were recovered and traces of Daviesia suaveolens were also present.
‘I draw attention to this particular variety of pollen appearing on both victims’ clothes as it could well turn out to be a marker when the original crime scene is finally located. Apart from this strange and extremely rare intruder, this profile is typical of the Illawarra Escarpment between Stanwell Tops and Bulli.’
Gemma opened the images of the bitter pea plant that accompanied the text – a modest yellow and reddish pea flower – and was trying to make sense of the report when she heard a sudden noise in the living room behind her. She swung round, spooked. ‘Hugo! I thought you were still asleep!’
He stood awkward and gangly, his long T-shirt hanging on him, the heavy eyebrows and the worried eyes. ‘I had a nightmare. It woke me up. I saw th
is forensic science show about a guy who’d been eaten by an anaconda. They had to use DNA profiling on the remains inside the anaconda to prove who the person was inside the big snake. I dreamed I was being swallowed by this huge python. I knew that you’d come and cut it open and find me inside but it would be too late to save me.’
‘I’d come and get you before the python was able to swallow you,’ she said. ‘And anyway, there are no pythons round here.’
‘It was like a huge big leech just sucking me down.’ He shuddered.
‘There was a case in Tasmania,’ she started to say, as Hugo collapsed back onto the lounge, pulling the doona over him, pushing the iPod’s earplugs into his ears, ‘where the blood inside a leech was used to identify an offender at the scene …’ Gemma’s thoughts consolidated.
After her drive to Rafi’s daycare centre, Gemma threw herself into attacking a mountain of neglected washing, searching under the lounge and chairs to find Rafi’s little T-shirts and socks and even one of Hugo’s singlets. Once the washing was under way, she went into her office, took a look at her desk, sighed and got to work. But something from her conversation with Hugo concerning his nightmare kept bothering her, and she couldn’t put it out of her mind.
It took her most of the day to straighten the house and catch up with her work. She went shopping before picking up Rafi and while he cruised around the kitchen, she cooked a rich tomato and basil spaghetti sauce.
She bathed and fed Rafi, then put him to bed just as Mike arrived home to say goodnight to him. He tiptoed out and Gemma patted Rafi to sleep.
They were just sitting down to eat when Hugo turned up.
‘Something smells wicked,’ he said.
‘Get yourself a plate,’ said Gemma, noticing Mike’s resigned look. ‘There’s more sauce in the pot. You might have to cook some more pasta.’
Much later, when Mike had gone to bed and Hugo was half-asleep on the lounge, listening to music, Gemma stared sightlessly at Lateline. She was still plagued by the feeling that there was something in the conversation about the dream, something that she needed to remember. She tried going over the details: Hugo telling her about the anaconda. She saying how she’d get to him before it was able to swallow him … Hugo saying it was like a huge leech … she talking about the case in Tasmania where the blood inside a leech had been successfully analysed to place an offender at a crime scene …
The blood inside a leech …
The DNA on the arrow brooch hadn’t been conclusive. If she could just prove that Mischa had been in that cabin at Sapphire Springs, Angie could get the resources she’d need for a proper forensic search of the whole place – especially the forbidden medical block, with its records and lab books detailing everything that went into the creation of the DiNAH therapy.
‘Come on,’ Gemma said abruptly, pulling out Hugo’s earplugs and wrenching the doona off him. ‘Hugo, wake up and put your jeans on. I’m going to need an assistant. You’re always saying you want to work in a security business – here’s your chance! I’ll grab my camera and rape kit.’
‘Rape kit? What do you mean? Where are we going?’
CHAPTER 30
Gemma left a phone message for Angie, made sure she had the piece of paper with the security code for the cabin and rummaged through a cupboard until she found a couple of rape kits, took out two sterile containers and a packet of sterile swabs. Putting them all in her bag, she scribbled a note for Mike and left it on the bedside table, then kissed Rafi gently on his polished cheek, her heart opening at his soft, unhurried breathing, and quietly tiptoed out.
Hugo, now dressed in jeans and a hoodie, followed her quietly down the hall and up into the night air.
As they climbed into her car, he asked, ‘When are you going to tell me what’s going on?’
The roads were clear at this time of night and the driving was easy. In just over an hour they were descending from the escarpment into the hinterland where small farms slept under the stars. Another half an hour and Gemma was silently swinging into the driveway of Sapphire Springs Spa. She had explained to Hugo what she needed from him.
Only a few lights were on around the grounds, and apart from a light above the terrace outside the entrance, the reception area and cabins were mostly dark. No one seemed to notice their arrival as she doused her headlights and coasted into one of the parking bays. Quietly, she got out of the car, the video camera over her shoulder, the sterile containers in her bag. ‘We’re aiming for that one over there,’ she whispered to Hugo. ‘Number five. We need to keep out of the way of the security cameras.
‘Where are they?’
‘Not sure. But keep out of the lit areas along the paths.’
‘How are we going to get into the place?’
‘I’ve got the security code,’ she said in a low voice. ‘So, you know what to do?’
‘Sure,’ he said, taking the camera from her. ‘We’re making a crime-scene video.’
‘That could well be the case. I need you to record every step I make. Okay?’
‘Cool.’
At this hour, even the frogs were silent, the only sound an occasional small splash in the water of the lake and the rustlings of the palms that grew around the grounds. Gemma wondered if there were security cameras hidden among the trees. But everything remained silent as they made their way across the dewy grass.
‘So far, so good,’ she whispered, stepping up to the cabin, and pulling on protective gloves, praying that no one was monitoring the security camera that was almost certainly covering the entrance to the cabins at that hour.
‘What will you do if there’s someone sleeping in there?’
‘Make sure we don’t wake them. Camera rolling now?’
‘Yep.’
Gemma’s gloved finger lightly touched the security code and the door softly clicked open. She crept in first, looking around, and exhaled with relief: the cabin was empty. Hugo followed her and held the camera steady as Gemma’s mobile set on torchlight flashed around, coming finally to rest near the bedhead and the wall just above it. She searched until she found the tiny brownish smear from the mosquito, positioning the mobile on the bed with the light shining straight up onto the small mark.
With Hugo covering every step she took, Gemma tore open the sterile seal on the rape kit, removing one of the swab sticks and gently stroking it along the dry trailing smear of blood. The tip of the pure white swab took on a grubby tan hue. Gemma’s gloved fingers unsealed the small, sterile container and dropped the swab stick into it, sealing it tightly. Just to be sure, she repeated the process with the second swab stick and sterile container so she had two good specimens.
‘Okay,’ she said, ‘we’ve got what we came for. Let’s get out of here.’
They hurried through the darkness, retracing their steps to the car park. Just as Gemma was about to open the car door, the headlights of another vehicle turned from the road into the driveway. ‘Hugo, get down!’ she hissed.
They crouched low behind her car as the headlights swung across the car park before coming to a stop a bare twenty metres from where Gemma and Hugo crouched.
Gemma held her breath. It was a dark blue Mercedes. And the man who was getting out of it was Angelo Tolmacheff.
Her heart and mind started to race. What the hell was he doing here? Tolmacheff, Lorraine Litchfield and the vampire triangulated in a sharp and dangerous point – Sapphire Springs Spa.
Neither Gemma nor Hugo moved until the bulky figure of Tolmacheff had disappeared through the main entrance.
‘Come on, into the car!’ she whispered.
She winced at the sound of the ignition and engine. She didn’t use the headlights as she cruised quietly out of the car park, through the entrance, and onto the road.
She didn’t switch the headlights on until they were well clear of Sapphire Springs.
‘That was the guy I saw at Indigo Ice with Litchfield,’ said Hugo. ‘He sure gets around. Where does he fit in?’
‘I’m working hard on that, Hugo.’
‘That was easier than I expected,’ said Gemma, turning to Hugo after driving in silence for some time.
‘You’ll give that to Angie?’ Hugo asked, indicating the two containers holding the swab sticks. ‘For a DNA profile?’
‘I’ll take it round to Lance at Paradigm Laboratories. There’s too much of a backlog at DAL. If it ends up as evidence in a murder trial, it’ll have to go there eventually.’
‘You reckon Mischa might have been bitten by a mozzie and then whacked it?’
‘I’m hopeful.’
‘But won’t the blood be all mixed up with mozzie stuff?’
Gemma shrugged. ‘That’s what the experts can sort out. I’m hoping it’s not too degraded. That there’ll be enough to prove Mischa was there.’
‘You’ll have to give him something as a comparison – something of Mischa’s.’
‘Good, Hugo. First thing in the morning, I’ll go to her house and do just that.’
Gemma and Hugo crept quietly down the stone stairs.
‘That was totally cool,’ said Hugo, easing Taxi off the doona. ‘And I reckon night rates must be double pay.’
‘I’ll deduct it from the expenses for your board and lodging, buddy,’ Gemma said, ruffling his hair as he turned over to go to sleep.
‘Rats. Thought it was worth a try,’ he said, yawning. ‘Night.’
CHAPTER 31
Mike had left very early to finish the petrol-tanker job and Hugo was sprawled on the lounge, one leg sticking out from under the doona and Taxi snuggled into his neck. Gemma bribed Rafi with half an Anzac biscuit from Mike’s latest batch and loaded him and his gear into the back of the car. She felt a little bleary from last night’s activities and singing ‘I had a cat …’ to Rafi as she drove helped her to wake up. Rafi squealed with delight at the ‘fiddle-dee-dee’.
She was heading to Mischa Bloomfield’s share house.
Death by Beauty Page 25
