Death by Beauty

by Lord, Gabrielle

  Gemma stood up and walked to the window, standing with her back against it, arms folded, regarding the woman sitting in front of her. Her case was like witch-ducking: if Delphine fell to her death, she would be proved right about her husband’s criminal intent.

  ‘You should move out right now,’ Gemma said decisively. ‘And make sure he doesn’t know where you’re going.’

  ‘But my husband is a very dangerous man. I’m scared that if I do anything to cause him to suspect that I know what he’s planning, things could become extremely dangerous. If he suspects that I suspect …’

  ‘You must do everything you can to ensure your safety. No hiking, no trips away with him. And you must find out how you can have that insurance policy cancelled. If your instincts tell you he’s planning to murder you, you need to protect yourself.

  ‘I’d like to help you,’ continued Gemma, ‘but there’s not much I can do except advise you to move out – fast. And try to get access to his computer, to read his emails.’

  Delphine shook her head. ‘I didn’t come here for advice. I’m here because as I said, I think he’s working with crooks and I believe he is involved in criminal activities.’

  ‘What exactly?’

  ‘That I can’t say. But someone like him, who can lie and cheat so smoothly at the personal level, and present himself as someone he is not, and is planning to make money out of me by murdering …’

  Gemma realised where Delphine was going. ‘You’re thinking such a person would be equally ruthless and criminal in his business life?’

  Delphine nodded. ‘Exactly.’

  ‘So you want me to watch him. To catch him out in something criminal?’

  ‘Yes, yes,’ Delphine said with gratitude. ‘I’ve already talked to the police about it, and although they were very sympathetic there’s not really anything they can do until there’s a crime. Which won’t help me when I’m dead. The detective I spoke with suggested I should warn my husband that I’d left letters with my solicitor and the insurer to the effect that if anything happened to me, he should be regarded as my killer.’

  Gemma nodded. ‘Yes, I’d suggest that too.’

  ‘But that means confronting my husband, and my fear is if I do that, he’ll simply bring his plans forward. It wouldn’t be hard for me to drown in the swimming pool, for instance … or break my neck on the staircase at my house. Marble floors are very unyielding.’

  She paused, her large eyes now dry and fierce, and drew a long envelope out of her briefcase.

  ‘I’ve written a statutory declaration about my situation. Please keep it for me in case I’m not successful … In the meantime, find out what you can about this Adel Milani. And any of my husband’s associates. Find out how this man I’ve married has been living so high – what his source of income was before I started paying for his lifestyle. I want to know where he got his money in the past – there’s no evidence of arrangements with banks or building societies. Believe me, I’ve been through everything. Including his office when he was away on a business trip recently. Here’s a copy of the key to that office,’ she said, taking out another, smaller envelope and passing it to Gemma, ‘with the address. Please find out what’s been going on with him.’ She stopped, her face was pale.

  ‘When I’ve got something on him, I can go back to the police. Surely he’ll be arrested and sent to jail? Then I’ll start to feel safe again. I just have to get him out of the picture. Out of my life. You’ve no idea what it’s been like for me, pretending I haven’t noticed anything. Fortunately, his ego is so huge that for the moment he has no reason to suspect that the rich fool he married …’

  ‘I’d like to talk about your case with a friend,’ said Gemma. ‘She’s a detective. And possibly also with my sister, who’s an experienced psychotherapist. Is that okay?’

  Delphine nodded.

  ‘I’ll need his details – good recent photographs, date of birth, the places he goes to, the make, model and registration of his car. And any other contacts or addresses that you know about where he might visit.’

  ‘I brought these along,’ said Delphine, fishing out four photographs and handing them to Gemma.

  They showed a middle-aged, darkly handsome man; with frown lines and narrowed eyes, Angelo Tolmacheff presented an intriguing face to the world. In all four photographs, despite the different surroundings – swimming pool, leaning on the railings of a yacht, sitting at a desk or standing near a building under construction – Tolmacheff’s expression remained the same: unsmiling, vigilant. Gemma filed the photos together with the written information Delphine had just given her in a folder and handed over a list of her fees. Delphine studied it for a few moments.

  ‘I’ll write a cheque right now,’ she said. ‘Please start on this job as soon as possible.’

  Delphine’s life could well depend on this, thought Gemma, as she took the cheque. And she must also be careful, a little voice in her mind warned. This man is dangerous.

  After Delphine Tolmacheff left, Gemma typed up her notes, underlining the points she would discuss with Angie.

  Her thoughts were interrupted by her mobile.

  ‘Gemma?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘It’s Janet – Janet Chancy.’

  ‘Janet! I was just thinking about you—’

  But Janet’s urgent voice cut her off. ‘Listen. I’m calling from Sapphire Springs Spa. But I might not be able to talk very long. My phone battery’s about to die and I don’t want to use a line from here. I’ve stumbled on something enormous here – something so huge, so unbelieveable, so, so—’

  ‘About DiNAH therapy?’

  ‘You know about that? Good, then I don’t have to waste time explaining—’ Janet’s voice faded then came back. ‘I know how it’s done,’ she said in a conspiratorial whisper. ‘I’ve got to see you. I can’t talk now. Too many people around. You have no idea what’s going on here. It’s the scoop of a lifetime. DiNAH – it’s not what people think. I managed to get into the medical supercentre and – oh, it’s unbelievable! Look, I have to go but I’m coming straight to your place when I leave here. Then we can plan what to do next.’

  ‘What? Now?’

  ‘Yes, yes. You’ll understand why when I tell you.’ Her voice dropped. ‘It’s just too shocking—’ The phone cut out.

  Gemma leaned back in her chair, puzzled. Why had Janet rung her? They weren’t close friends. Why not her newspaper, a classic hold-the-front-page phone call? Why would she want to talk about her discovery with a private investigator? What were she and Janet supposed to do? Gemma wondered. Raise some kind of philosophical debate?

  She knew that many researchers were questioning the ethical position of the scientific team that had perfected the DiNAH therapy because they were in the process of patenting the revolutionary breakthrough so that they would receive all the royalties. Most in the local scientific community argued that this treatment should be made available around the world, where its use, especially in developing countries, could reduce post-operative infection rates and cut down the duration of hospital stays. There was already talk of legal action and demands for peer review before DiNAH could be patented. If Janet had new information about this therapy, it should be published immediately. So why did she call me? Gemma asked herself again.

  She reached for her phone and called Lance at Paradigm Laboratories, whose services she used whenever she needed to fast-track scientific assays or DNA profiling.

  ‘Good to hear from you, Gemma. What’s up?’

  ‘What do you know about this DiNAH therapy – the accelerated healing process?’

  ‘Funny you should mention it. I was talking to a colleague about it the other day. It uses the patient’s own DNA to formulate their medication. And this powerful new growth factor. A Russian, Dr Benjamin Popowitz, is the name in the area of enhanced growth factors. Did you know that a foetus that has been subjected to injury or surgery in utero heals without scarring?’

  ‘On
ly because a client told me a little while ago. But that’s all I know. How come?’

  ‘Developing embryos have enhanced levels of something called transforming growth factors – TGFs. And some of our organs have something called immune privilege. They’re protected from attack by the immune system. Popowitz has been working on that too. But that’s more relevant in organ transplants.’

  ‘And that’s what they’re using with DiNAH therapy? Dr Popowitz’s enhanced TGFs?’

  ‘That plus the client’s own DNA, which apparently creates a powerful healing response. It hasn’t been peer reviewed yet. Very much under wraps.’

  ‘I can imagine what sort of money fast, scarless healing might be worth,’ Gemma said. ‘It would be a huge advancement in medicine.’

  ‘That’s right,’ Lance said. ‘Healing is an immensely complex issue with lots of different proteins involved – for instance, there are eight different types of growth factors, for a start. I can send you a paper on it if you like.’

  ‘Thanks, Lance. Maybe some other time.’ She smiled, ringing off. She turned to her laptop and Googled socialite Magda Simmonds, searching for images. There were plenty. Most showed an elegant, handsome woman in her sixties posing with politicians and charity workers. The photograph accompanying a piece written by Janet Chancy, ‘Sydney Socialite: Advanced Therapy Breakthrough in Facelift Secret: Wedding date revealed!’ from almost a year ago, showed a completely transformed Simmonds. Radiant and rejuvenated, her face shone from the photograph, looking like a woman in her mid thirties, glossy hair piled around her unlined face, her jawline firm and youthful. If this was what Dr Popowitz’s growth factors could do with a facelift, Gemma thought, no wonder there was such excitement about it.

  The final paragraph reported that actress Harlow Hadley, a big name in the 1960s and now aged in her seventies, was rumoured to be the next well-known personality to use the therapy.

  Mike was sitting at the dining table eating his breakfast of scrambled eggs when Gemma walked into the living room.

  ‘So, what’s been going on this morning?’ he asked.

  She told him of Janet Chancy’s unexpected phone call and about Delphine Tolmacheff’s predicament.

  Mike frowned. ‘That’s bad,’ he said. ‘If you want my help with this, I can always spend a couple of hours watching him. Or trying to get a lead on his fancy woman. I’m taking my car over for registration first up,’ he said, pushing his chair out. ‘Then I’ve got a couple of insurance people to check on. I’ll see what I can dig up on Mr Tolmacheff. It sounds like he’s the kind of guy who might already have a record. I’ve got a few favours I can call in.’

  ‘Thanks, but I really think I should do this one myself. I promise I’ll pace myself, just take on simple jobs. That’s the theory, anyway.’

  Mike’s eyebrows lifted. ‘Simple jobs, eh?’

  ‘That’s right, I have to keep things simple. No jobs that are going to get me into trouble. Just checking people out, that’s all. Thrashing ideas around with Angie. But nothing dangerous.’

  ‘Are you sure you can handle all this right now, Gemma? Running a business? Caring for Rafi? Making time for us?’

  Gemma looked into Mike’s eyes, noting the slight frown as he stood up.

  ‘Of course,’ she said, putting her arms around him. ‘Multitasking. It’s my forte.’ She kissed him and then headed back to her office, where she started to work on the Tolmacheff case, half listening for Janet Chancy’s arrival.

  It was well after two o’clock and Janet still hadn’t turned up. Gemma finally called the newspaper, thinking that perhaps she had changed her mind and gone straight to work. No, she wasn’t at her desk, said a colleague. She could be having a day off?

  Gemma left a message for Janet to contact her urgently.

  CHAPTER 3

  With Delphine Tolmacheff’s details about her dubious husband packed in her briefcase, Gemma headed for Edgecliff. She aimed to spend a little time checking out the building where Angelo Tolmacheff worked. She’d already made several phone calls trying to find out more about him, without any tangible results. Gemma hoped to pick him up as he left his office, or get lucky and observe a meeting with his colleagues.

  She used her car’s two-way radio for the first time in months to call up Spinner. She decided it was still more secure than calling on a mobile. He answered on the second ring. ‘Hey, boss! Good to hear from you.’

  Gemma smiled. ‘What’s with the “boss” word, Spinner? The days when I could afford to pay you are long gone. How’s it going?’

  ‘I’m managing okay. And you know it’s just a matter of time before I’m back on your payroll again,’ he said, and Gemma imagined his wizened little ex-jockey’s face, with its earnest expression. Spinner was a natural surveillance operative; with an agile mind and body, he was always fully aware of his surroundings and noticed even the smallest changes that took place around him. All the qualities that had made him a great jockey before he got too heavy for the gallopers. ‘Things’ll pick up for you,’ Spinner was saying, ‘once you start working again. How’s my little godson?’ Spinner had talked her into attending a christening celebration in the hall of his rather strange church when Rafi was a couple of months old. There’d been a lot of splashing around in a warm water tub for Rafi, plus hymns and sandwiches.

  In New South Head Road, Gemma changed lanes to turn into the Edgecliff Centre.

  ‘He’s perfect. Listen, Spinner, does the name Angelo Tolmacheff mean anything to you?’

  ‘Some sort of vodka? Can’t say it does, boss. Should I know him?’

  ‘No, but I’m about to make his acquaintance – for a new client. Gotta go,’ she said, ‘I’m almost there.’

  ‘Where is “there”?’ he asked.

  ‘The Edgecliff Centre. I’m trying to pick up a lead on the vodka guy.’

  ‘Give me the details,’ said Spinner. ‘I’ve got a job nearby, around Double Bay. You never know what I might see in passing.’

  As she drove into the parking station, Gemma told him what she knew about Tolmacheff.

  ‘Send me his picture,’ said Spinner. ‘If I notice anything interesting, I’ll let you know.’ She was about to end the call when Spinner added, ‘I’m not sure if I should tell you this, but what the hell. I saw Steve recently. He didn’t look too good.’

  Gemma’s heart twinged. ‘Oh?’ she said, trying to sound noncommittal. ‘Where was he?’

  ‘In a cafe at Phoenix Bay. With some chick. They weren’t getting on. Steve didn’t look happy at all.’

  Some chick. ‘What did she look like?’ Gemma couldn’t help asking, then immediately wished she hadn’t.

  ‘Brown hair with streaks. High-heeled boots, tight red jumper. A real glamour. Could’ve been a working girl in working gear. You know Steve has to keep some colourful company sometimes.’

  ‘Very colourful,’ said Gemma. ‘Bye, Spinner.’

  What if she wasn’t a working girl and part of Steve’s undercover life? The last Gemma had heard, he was on sick leave. What if this was Steve’s new girl?

  Her heart ached. But it didn’t last long. As she parked the car she reminded herself that she now lived in a whole new world – a whole new life. Her life was with Mike and Rafi, Steve’s son.

  She hurried to the lifts and stepped out on the first floor where she easily found the small office she was looking for – Satellite Imports & Promotions Pty Ltd. Pretending she was just passing by, Gemma peered through the lettering on the window and into the office but had to walk on quickly when the door suddenly opened. Risking a backwards glance, she saw a heavily built man striding away. Tolmacheff. She kept her distance as he walked into the lift and then she hurried to the stairs, listening for the lift as she raced to the ground floor. It didn’t stop, so she kept clattering down to the basement parking level just in time to see him. No doubt about it. It was Angelo and he was heading towards a dark blue Mercedes. Gemma hurried to her car, jumped in and activated the video camer
a mounted on her dashboard before she took off to follow the Mercedes up the ramp and onto the street.

  She found him waiting at the traffic lights heading towards the city, and followed, leaving a couple of cars between them until they got to Broadway, along Parramatta Road then Ashfield and into the turning lane for the Liverpool highway.

  The blue Mercedes turned, followed by the two cars between them, but the second car had already run the red light and Gemma was stuck, forced to watch as the Mercedes disappeared.

  She spent fifteen minutes driving south-west, overtaking and straining to see distant cars, but Angelo and his Mercedes had vanished.

  Gemma swore.

  Despite having the key, it would be too risky to snoop around Tolmacheff’s office. There must be a way, she thought, to get close to him that wouldn’t make him suspicious. Maybe she could try for a ‘spontaneous’ conversation at one of the Centre’s cafes? She had a number of lines she’d used in the past when she was working on Mandate surveillance jobs. It shouldn’t be too hard.

  CHAPTER 4

  The next morning, Mike had been gone for an hour and Rafi safely delivered to daycare when Gemma tried Janet Chancy’s mobile number again, but could only leave another message. A call to the newspaper and a brief conversation with a worried colleague confirmed that Janet was still not home and had not contacted the office. ‘Maybe she met some hunk and stayed out all night,’ joked her colleague, but his laugh was uneasy. ‘At least I hope so,’ he added. ‘I’ve never known Janet not to call in.’