Death by Beauty (22 page)

‘Let’s practise some intelligence-led policing then. Go through the autopsy reports on murdered women that we borrowed from
the morgue. Let’s see if anything meshes. I need to find that sex worker who’s seen the vampire guy twice now – Brie?’

‘Yes. That’s her name,’ said Gemma and she gave Angie Nicole’s name and the address of the open-door brothel.

‘Okay, Gemster. I’ll get on to her and see if she’s heard from Brie.’

Angie paid for the coffees and headed back to the police centre, while Gemma walked out onto Oxford Street. Her restless desire
to
do
something was only partly assuaged by Angie’s suggestions. Mischa, Delphine Tolmacheff and Steve. The first two she was contracted
to help; Steve she was bound to by tenacious heartstrings.

Gemma felt she’d spent the whole night thinking about Steve, and Lorraine Litchfield.

After an unusually leisurely Sunday breakfast, Mike offered to take Rafi down to the park and Hugo still hadn’t come home
so she had the morning to catch up on the laundry, but she rang Steve instead.

‘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.

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.’

‘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.’