Gemma’s mind whirled, terror and rage swirling like two demons. Angie wasn’t coming. Angie had been sent away. No one was coming to help her. She was on her own, against death.
The despair met a fury: this evil man would not get away with his crimes. A surge of fire flew up through her spine, activating muscle memory, spinning her into actions unpractised in years. Her left arm knocked Tolmacheff’s weapon hand sideways as a split second later, the fingers of her right hand speared him in the soft spot of his throat. He collapsed heavily to his knees, clawing at his windpipe, mouth gaping, the scream that he couldn’t voice choking him. With all her strength, Gemma kicked him under the chin, sending him flying backwards in a shower of blood. Stooping, she snatched up the pistol then ran to retrieve her mobile. She turned and sped back to the reception foyer, all the time fearing she’d hear the vampire hard on her heels. She grabbed one of the heavy wrought-iron chairs and swung it against the glass of the double doors. They crashed in a shower of shards and with her arms folded across her face she barged through, heedless of any cuts. She raced into Dr Evans’ office, grabbed her bag and then ran out the door again towards the car park.
The manoeuvre she’d used on Tolmacheff could be fatal, but she wasn’t going to check on him now. The vampire was nowhere to be seen. She had to stop them killing Mischa – had to get back to Rafi and Steve.
She was fumbling with her keys when a pair of headlights swung in from the road, hurtling through the entrance. Fearful, Gemma crouched down beside her car until she recognised the other vehicle.
Angie!
She ran like a maniac, hurling herself in front of the car, screaming and waving for Angie to stop.
Angie braked and the car screeched to a halt, almost knocking Gemma to the ground. She scrambled to her feet and flung herself into the passenger seat.
‘Angie! Thank God you came back! Call for back-up. We’ve got to stop them. They’re about to kill Mischa Bloomfield!’
‘Back-up’s on the way, Gems. Plus a medico. That bastard didn’t fool me for a second.’
Angie and Gemma ran to the medical centre where Tolmacheff, still alive, was making grotesque attempts to stand. Gemma snatched the security card from around his neck and used it to open the door.
The two women raced through the building, Angie’s weapon drawn, flinging doors open until they found the operating theatre.
Four masked surgeons looked up in surprise from where they stood around the anaesthetised woman on the operating table as Angie came forward holding up her weapon and her warrant card. ‘You’re all under arrest. Step away from the patient. On your knees. All of you. Now! ‘
Thank goodness that they hadn’t started cutting, Gemma thought. The anaesthetist gestured at his syringe line and Angie nodded. He switched it off then joined the others kneeling.
With Angie’s service pistol holding their attention, Gemma was able to restrain them with Angie’s nylon cuffs as the surgeons spoke urgently and loudly in Russian.
‘I don’t know what they’re saying,’ said Gemma, ‘but you can tell they’re not happy.’ She cradled the woman. ‘It’s okay, Mischa. We’re here. You’re safe. We’ll have you out of here as soon as you come round.’
The surgeons, minus their key cards, were herded by Angie and Gemma into a small adjoining wash room and securely locked in.
Angie ran outside and crouched over Tolmacheff, who still hadn’t been able to make it to his feet.
‘Angelo Tolmacheff,’ she said, snapping a cuff around his flailing right arm, ‘I am arresting you on suspicion of murder and conspiracy to murder,’ she began. ‘You do not have to say anything, but anything you say may be later used in evidence against you.’
Tolmacheff croaked obscenities but the fight had gone out of him, at least for now.
‘I’ll stay here until back-up arrives,’ said Angie.
‘What about the vampire?’ said Gemma. ‘We can’t let him get away.’
‘Nestor Kalganov. He’s a standover man and suspect in a murder in Melbourne. He can’t have got too far. We’ll find him. We got his real name courtesy of Mike.’
‘Mike?’
‘Apparently he’s been on the case for a while now, keeping an eye on you. Don’t look at me like that. He was worried about you.’
‘Tolmacheff called him “Volk”.’
The sirens were approaching as Gemma ran in to check on April Evans. She placed her rolled-up jacket under the unconscious woman’s head then ran back out so she could get help for her.
‘Okay, Gems,’ said Angie. ‘What’s been going on out here?’
Despite the headache of the century, Gemma started to bring Angie up to date.
She was halfway through when the uniformed police pulled up. The doctor checked Mischa and called for ambulance transport. By the time the whole area had been secured, Gemma had finished her account to Angie and directed the ambulance crew to Dr Evans.
‘But wouldn’t the patient who’d had the face transplant look like the murdered woman?’ Angie asked the doctor.
She shook her head. ‘Not at all, because the transplanted facial skin is overlaid on the recipient’s own facial structure, their bones and musculature. Of course they’d look different, but that would mostly be because they’ve lost about thirty years in facial ageing. People forget what we looked like in our youth. And any discrepancy is explained away as having been caused by the “facelift”.’
Angie stared at her. ‘It’s hard getting my head around this. So creepy. So—’ She shuddered.
‘So evil,’ said Gemma. ‘There’ll have to be a full inquiry into this – to see if there’ve been other operations that we don’t know about.’
Angie sighed. ‘By the way, Brie’s real name was Lucy Anne someone.’
‘Lucy Anne Russell,’ said Gemma, thinking about the name in the medical records. Mrs van Leyden wouldn’t get her new face now. Nor would Harlow Hadley.
Two ambulance officers carried Dr Evans out on a stretcher.
Gemma should have felt a sense of elation after cracking a case so hard that it had seemed impossible, but instead she grieved for the families of the women she hadn’t saved.
‘I won’t be happy until I’ve got a few answers from this man,’ Gemma said to Angie as she crouched over Tolmacheff. She was not able to resist giving him a swift kick. ‘He was aiming to murder his wife for insurance money, weren’t you? You’ve already got another woman lined up.’
‘I loathe women,’ snarled Tolmacheff.
‘But not their money,’ Angie snapped.
‘You loathe women so much,’ Gemma said, ‘that you’ve taken out an insurance policy that could have made Adel Milani very rich.’
That got him, Gemma thought, noticing the surprise and confusion registering on Tolmacheff’s face. Then he made an unpleasant noise, which Gemma realised was his laugh. ‘You stupid cow! You don’t know what you’re talking about!’
‘Why did Magda Simmonds commit suicide?’ Gemma continued, ignoring the insult.
‘Get fucked!’
‘Answer me! I’ve got plenty of kick left and there’s just you, me and Angie here right this minute.’ She gave him another vicious kick to help reinforce his vulnerability.
Tolmacheff howled, then spoke through gritted teeth. ‘Stupid cow noticed her new face was falling off. Came out here abusing me, screaming about suing me. Said she’d only had the facelift because her boyfriend pressured her. Said between the two of us, we’d destroyed her.’
Her boyfriend had pressured her, Gemma thought, recalling the suave, flirtatious Ambrose Cobcroft.
‘What do you know about Maxine Wentworth? About why she died?’
Tolmacheff remained silent, but a movement of Gemma’s right foot changed his mind.
‘She came here for her usual DiNAH medication. Somehow she got hold of her confidential medical file – saw her donor’s file attached to it.’
Gemma felt sick at his phrase, ‘donor’s file’, as
if the murder of Phoebe Wilson and the destruction of her face were equivalent to visiting the blood bank.
‘She started screaming. I told her to shut up – that she was in it up to her neck – literally. That I had her permission signature on the surgical forms. That no one would believe her if she said she didn’t know. Of course she must have known! I warned her about saying anything. I suggested she should pay me a certain amount of money to salve her conscience and I wouldn’t involve her if questions were asked later.’
Gemma imagined Maxine’s shock when she realised she was wearing the face of a young woman whose murder she had purchased. No wonder she couldn’t bear to look at herself, or let anyone else see the new face that had cost another woman’s life.
CHAPTER 36
‘I should have guessed much earlier what was going on out there,’ said Gemma, holding two takeaway coffees as Angie filled her car with petrol at a service station on their convoy drive home. ‘If only I’d realised sooner that Mrs van Leyden was an “after”, not a “before”, maybe I could have done more.’
‘You did great, Gems,’ said Angie. ‘The palynologist visited the place as part of our preparation to apply for the warrant, and found that rare plant growing there – that bitter pea bush. Now we have more corroborating physical evidence linking the murders to Sapphire Springs. I still don’t quite understand why there was the damage to the lower body. What’s that all about?’
‘I don’t know.’ Gemma paused. ‘But I still think I should have worked it all out earlier – what was really going on.’
‘How could we? What they were doing was unthinkable.’
As Angie returned after paying for her petrol, she said, ‘I talked to someone about the name “Volk”. It’s a Russian word. It means “wolf”.’
‘Wolf,’ said Gemma. ‘That’d be right. That’s another reason why he wore those vampire teeth. He was in character so we didn’t believe the women he attacked.’
Gemma dialled Steve’s number, hoping that her phone still worked, and listened as the call diverted to voicemail.
‘Steve? I hope Rafi’s been well behaved for you. I’ll pick him up in about thirty minutes. Please call me.’
Angie had clearly overheard the message. ‘You have to let him go, Gemma. You’ve got Mike to consider – your life with Mike and Rafi. I get the feeling you’re still—’
‘Angie, he’s the father of my child.’
‘I’m not disputing that. But I’ve known you for nearly twenty years and I can tell. You still haven’t separated from Steve. Not emotionally. Are you still in love with him?’
Gemma hesitated. ‘I can’t help it, Angie,’ she said finally. ‘There’s just this – this – connection between us.’
Angie’s mobile rang and Gemma watched anxiously as she answered. ‘Thanks. Okay.’ She called off and shook her head. ‘That was one of the smarter young cops on the team. She’s tracked down the whereabouts of Adel Milani.’
‘You’ve found her? She’ll be able to—’
Angie cut her off. ‘She isn’t a she. He’s Tolmacheff’s lover. He’d been telling people he’s Tolmacheff’s son. According to what I just heard, he’s breached his student visa and he’s now in the hands of Immigration.’
Gemma blinked as she absorbed this news. She recalled the young man she’d seen in earnest conversation with Tolmacheff the day of their first meeting at the cafe, the man Spinner had described as having an argument with Tolmacheff at the Rushcutters Bay restaurant.
Tolmacheff’s comments at the spa made sense now. He was no lover of women, just a user. No time to consider this at the moment, she thought. Deep unease stirred in Gemma’s mind. She called Steve again; again, it went to voicemail. She couldn’t shake a bad feeling; she recalled the times she’d gone to her bedroom window to check if someone was out there; the time that Mike had walked around the garden to reassure her. The broken rose cane and the disturbed soil outside the bedroom window. Someone had been stalking her. What if the same had happened to Steve? Her heart yearned for her baby.
She rang Mike and before he could start she began, ‘Mike, I’m on my way to Steve’s place, to pick up Rafi. But I’m worried. Steve’s not answering his phone.’
There was a silence in which Gemma could almost hear Mike processing the implications in her words. Finally, he responded. ‘Okay. Call me if you need me.’ There was a pause, then he added, ‘We’ll talk about this later.’
She started to climb back into her car. ‘I’m going to Steve’s.’
‘I’ll follow,’ said Angie.
CHAPTER 37
Gemma parked some distance away from the small apartment block. Angie drew alongside and called out, ‘I’ll wait here for you.’
She hurried into the foyer, grim foreboding pulsing with every heartbeat. She rapped on his door. ‘Steve? Steve? It’s me, Gemma.’
She put her ear to the door and listened. Nothing. She had a strong sense that the place was empty. Where could they have gone? Surely Steve wouldn’t take Rafi out at this hour?
She ran back to Angie. ‘There’s no one there. The place is quiet. They’re not here!’
‘Okay. He couldn’t go many places with a baby. What about his mum’s house?’
‘Of course,’ Gemma cried, relieved. ‘Rafi’s been upset because I’m not there and Steve’s gone to his mother’s – and he didn’t want to admit defeat to me. I’ll call her.’
Gemma was so certain that Mrs Brannigan would reassure her that Steve and Rafi were both there, that when she said in a puzzled, even hurt, voice, ‘Gemma, why do you think Steve and your baby would be here?’ Gemma rang off without saying goodbye.
‘Angie. Something’s happened! Something’s terribly wrong!’
‘Calm down, Gems. Don’t jump to any conclusions yet. I’m sure there’s a—’
Gemma’s mobile rang and she pounced on it, recognising Steve’s number. ‘Thank goodness! Where are you?’
But it wasn’t Steve on the other end of the line. ‘Get to my house and we’ll talk about how things are going to be from now on. Otherwise you will never see your baby again. And if you bring the cops, that goes double.’
No words came when Gemma tried to speak. Instead, an icy fire of fear and rage caught in her throat. Behind Lorraine Litchfield’s shrill voice, Gemma heard another noise: Rafi’s despairing, hungry wail. At the sound of it, the fear and rage became high-octane ferocity. Rafi. This monster woman had Rafi.
The thought of Rafi in the hands of someone who didn’t love him – who could harm him – curdled the ferocity into iron-hard resolve. Her mind zoomed in to a narrow, laser-like beam, blazing with primal fury.
Finally she was able to speak. ‘I want to talk to Steve.’
‘He’s not in a position to talk just now. Just do as I say – and fast, bitch. I’ll be watching for your arrival.’
‘What is it?’ Angie asked, seeing Gemma’s face.
‘I will do exactly as you say. No police,’ Gemma responded, ignoring her friend’s anxious face. ‘I’ll be there as soon as I can. I won’t contact the cops. This is just between you and me, Lorraine.’
But Lorraine had rung off.
‘What’s going on?’ Angie demanded.
‘Lorraine Litchfield. She’s got Rafi and Steve.’
Angie swore.
Gemma barely noticed the drive back to her place. She barely noticed that neither Mike nor Hugo was there. Angie ran around after her as Gemma grabbed a jacket and raced into the bedroom to the gun safe, unable to look at the empty cot.
Her heart was beating out a tattoo: You are dead, Lorraine Litchfield, you are dead, you are dead … She had to keep it going like a mantra, otherwise she’d go mad with the fear of losing her baby.
Angie wouldn’t let up. ‘Listen to me, Gemma! You’ve got to bring the police in. You can’t possibly do this on your own.’
‘I have to. I can’t take the risk,’ Gemma said, grabbing the compact Glock 27 out of its case, unlocking
the ammunition and loading the extension magazine with nine rounds. ‘This is my son – my son’s life we’re talking about.’
She shoved the clip up into the weapon, cursing Litchfield, and checked that the automatic safety features were in place before strapping on an ankle holster under her trousers. She checked for keys and mobile while the connections merged in her mind. Hugo had seen Tolmacheff and Lorraine together at Kings Cross. Tolmacheff must have been the criminal Steve mentioned, the man Lorraine had lost interest in pursuing some time ago when she found he wasn’t the rich man he’d claimed to be. But they were together again now – Tolmacheff and Litchfield united again to destroy Gemma Lincoln.
‘You can’t expect me to sit on this,’ said Angie as Gemma made ready to leave. ‘I have to take action. I’m coming with you. You could end up doing something crazy.’
‘My son’s life is at stake, Angie. I can’t take the risk of any stuff-ups. You do what you have to, but I’ve got to move – now and fast. By the time the tactical-response guys get organised, it’ll be too late. If you go anywhere near Litchfield’s place, I swear I’ll shoot you myself!’
Angie stood watching helplessly as Gemma left.
The last time she’d been at this address, Gemma recalled as she pulled up across the road from the faux-Venetian McMansion, she’d been hauled from the floor of the back seat of a car that had hijacked her off the street. This time, things would be different.
I’m here to bring you home, Rafi, her heart whispered as she checked the concealed Glock securely fastened to her right ankle. There was no doubt in her mind that she would go to any lengths to keep Rafi safe.
She had driven here in a haze of fear and vengeance. Now, she was overcome by a sense of furious yet focused power; and it was directed straight at Lorraine Litchfield’s heart.
Death by Beauty Page 30
