‘What was it?’
‘I don’t think it’s relevant, though.’
‘Tell me.’
‘Marie-Louise was hurt while she was getting onto a crowded train at Town Hall, to go to Heathcote. She reckoned someone had stuck something into her.’
‘Did she describe what happened?’
‘Only that she felt this sharp pain in her upper arm, as if someone was pinching her really hard. She said she yelled out, but no one took any notice. They just thought she was complaining about being squashed, I guess. Everyone was pushing and shoving, trying to get into the carriage – it’s like that on Fridays. She said she looked around but it could have been anybody. By the time she found a seat, she said blood was running down her arm. She wrapped her scarf around it like a bandage.’
‘Did she have any idea who did it?’
‘No. You know what it’s like when people push onto the trains. There might be ten or twelve people all trying to get in.’
‘How bad was the cut?’
Julian put the brush down. ‘It was bad. It was kind of deep. But it wasn’t a cut.’
‘What do you mean?’
But he pushed the question aside with an impatient wave of the brush.
‘You say you didn’t mention this to Angie McDonald?’
Julian shook his head again. ‘No, as I said, when your girlfriend’s been murdered, you forget about everything else. I’ve had other stuff to think about since then.’
‘I’ll pass this information on to Sergeant McDonald. It might be helpful. She’ll probably want to talk to you herself again.’
Julian turned away from her and leaned against the sink, clutching it with white-knuckled hands. ‘Marie-Louise was beautiful,’ he said quietly, simply. ‘I really liked her. It was terrible what happened. There’s no way she would have jumped off a cliff. I knew that even before the pathologist found that she was dead before—’ He paused before continuing. ‘I know I’m still a suspect but it wasn’t me. And that means that whoever did this is still out there.’
Beyond the silence in the kitchen, Gemma was aware of the busy sounds from Campbell Parade, the bars and shops. Somewhere in the distance she could hear the squabbling of seagulls.
‘Is there anything else you remember?’ she asked finally. Julian shook his head.
‘I’ll let you or Angie know if I do remember anything else. But I don’t have any more time now. I’ve got things to do this evening.’
‘Okay. I can see myself out.’
But Julian came with her, stepping quickly in front of her and opening the door. Gemma walked outside and down the front steps. Just as she reached the footpath, she heard Julian call after her. ‘There’s one thing.’
She paused and turned.
‘This might sound really weird,’ he said, ‘but you know what her injury looked like to me?’ He paused, his mouth turned in disgust as he continued. ‘It was a horrible little round wound. Someone had taken a piece out of her. It looked like someone had used a leather punch – on her skin.’
When she walked into her apartment twenty minutes later, she was still mulling over the unpleasant facts she’d heard from Julian Phillips. Mike called out from his office, ‘How did you go with the boyfriend?’
Gemma joined him, picked up Rafi who was playing with his toys, and told Mike about the interview.
‘A leather punch?’ he said when she had finished. ‘That’s nasty.’
‘It is. But there’s all sorts of nasty stuff going on out there. People hacking, bashing, slashing. It’s really depressing.’ She sat next to him and nursed Rafi on her knee. Rafi seemed more interested in a toy elephant than in his mother at that moment. ‘What have you been up to?’
She frowned when she saw the screen. ‘A dating site? Tired of me already, Mike?’
He reached out and corralled her with his arm. ‘Not quite. I’ve been having a look at your Mr Tolmacheff,’ he said. ‘He’s quite a lad. I ran a check on the name “Angelo Tolmacheff” and this is what I found. A lot of aliases – Adrian Tomlinson, alias Angelo Thomas, Allen Thoms. Then I was able to do a background check and get some details off his police record – no, don’t ask me how,’ he said with a grin, before Gemma could interrupt. ‘Tolmacheff’s got priors for fraud, passing dud cheques, obtaining money under false pretences, and he’s had a couple of AVOs taken out against him by a previous partner … I’ve got her name and details, too.’
‘Her name?’ Gemma asked.
‘It’s here somewhere. Hang on.’ Mike sorted through his notes. ‘Here is it. Penny Watson.’
Gemma wrote down the contact details. ‘She might be helpful if she’s willing to talk.’
‘Police records also show several complaints about him – women lending him large sums of money, which he failed to repay. He’s a bludger. Seems to have made a career for himself living off women. Anyway, then I ran a sweep through the most popular dating websites. That’s what you’re looking at now. Bingo. I sprung him on this one.’
Mike swung the laptop around so she could see the screen more clearly. The first thing she noticed was the beaming man in the photograph on the top left-hand corner. It was Tolmacheff, introducing himself.
‘Fit, active, financially independent and sophisticated European gent,’ Gemma read aloud, ‘well travelled and educated, seeking soul mate …’ She stopped. ‘Mike, this is unbelievable! This is identical to the profile Delphine showed me – the print-out from the site where she met him. He’s used exactly the same profile!’
‘This has only just been posted,’ said Mike.
‘He’s looking for another one,’ Gemma said, chilled. ‘He knows there’s a vacancy coming up.’
She handed Rafi to Mike and quickly found Delphine’s phone number in her mobile, then pressed ‘call’. When it went straight to voicemail, Gemma left a message asking her to phone her immediately.
She then tried phoning Janet Chancy. Again, only voicemail. She rang off, worried. Something was seriously wrong.
CHAPTER 9
Gemma couldn’t sleep. Her mind wouldn’t shut down. Flashing images of Delphine Tolmacheff and Janet Chancy were chased by the picture of Magda Simmonds, brilliantly beautiful after her facelift, followed by the photograph of her desolate son.
Agitated, she tiptoed out into the kitchen to get a glass of water. As she was turning on the tap, a sound from outside caused her to freeze. She listened intently, then cautiously crept to the front door.
Nothing. She headed to the living room, then noticed Taxi, sitting straight up on the back of the lounge, ears erect, eyes dilated, staring past Gemma, out the sliding doors to the deck.
‘What is it?’ she whispered, swinging around to see what the cat was staring at. Taxi jumped down, switching his interest to the front garden, and raced up the hall, where he proceeded to sniff under the door. Relieved, Gemma went back to bed. Another cat, she thought.
Mike got up early and brought her in a cup of tea.
‘I thought I heard something outside last night,’ Gemma said, propping herself up on her elbow, ‘but I think it was just another tomcat prowling around.’
Her thoughts soon returned to Delphine and she sat up suddenly as a bold plan presented itself to her.
Rafi’s half-closed eyes opened wide, startled, and he called out from his cot next to her.
Later that morning, Gemma pulled up Tolmacheff’s profile on the dating site Mike had discovered. Quickly, she typed into the Respond box.
‘Hi Angelo – loved your profile. I too am a frustrated artist. I’ve done some sculpting and would love to do more. Maybe you could sit for me. You have a fascinating face and I’d love to sculpt it. As for me, I’m 38,’ – not too far from the truth – ‘athletic, have dark blonde hair and a curvy figure.’ That at least was true right now. ‘I’m a professional woman of independent means who’s had enough of being alone. I have a passionate nature with an artist’s soul and need someone like you who understands what intimac
y really means. You sound like a dream come true and someone who values what a woman can bring to a man.’
Gemma considered what she was writing. She wanted to sound vulnerable and sexy, but not pathetic. She also wanted to sound wealthy.
She continued typing: ‘I really hope you contact me. I feel sure we would be good for each other. I’m fortunate enough not to have to work, so I could devote all my time to making any relationship a very happy experience.’ She went through her picture gallery and uploaded a flattering photo that Mike had taken a month ago at Phoenix Bay.
Here we go, she thought, as she sent it off, signing herself ‘Geraldine – but call me Gerri.’
‘You did what?’ Mike asked, when she told him about it as they ate lunch. ‘Gemma, that’s crazy.’
‘Calm down, partner,’ she said. ‘Nothing’s happened yet. He probably won’t even contact me. A profile like that is bound to catch a lot of little female fishies. But I couldn’t let a great chance like that go by. It’s not often that a target actually invites surveillance into his life at such an intimate level.’
‘Too bloody intimate for my liking,’ said Mike. ‘What if this guy burns you? If we’re reading the signs right, he’s planning to murder his wife. How do you think he’d react to finding that you’re on his case – literally?’
‘Mike, you know how my finances are going down. Delphine Tolmacheff is a wealthy paying customer. If I can catch her husband doing something criminal, there’s two payoffs: first, I can send her a big bill, and secondly, there’s one less bad guy on the streets.’
Mike stood up and leaned over her, kissing her. ‘I know it’s useless trying to stop you doing anything you’ve decided on, but please, be careful. You’ve got a son now who needs you and a man who loves you and doesn’t want to see you in any danger.’ He sighed. ‘If I could stop you doing this, I would, you know. Sometimes I wish I was a Victorian husband and could say, “My dear Mrs Moody, I totally forbid this.”’
‘I’ll be fine,’ she said, looking up at his concerned face with a smile. ‘And I’m not Mrs Moody.’
Mike cleared his throat. ‘Would you like to be?’
Gemma blinked. ‘Is this a proposal?’
He pulled her close. ‘Yes, Gemma, it is,’ he whispered. ‘I love you. I think I loved you almost the moment I started working for you. Marry me.’
‘Mike – I – it’s just so sudden. I don’t know what to say.’
He drew back, frowning. ‘I know what you should say. But I guess I should have done it more formally – taken you out to dinner, pulled out a jeweller’s box …’
‘Hell no,’ she laughed. ‘I liked the way you did it.’
‘So, what do you say?’ Mike’s eyes looked deep into hers. ‘We could make a really good go of it, Gemma.’
She drew back to see him better, his familiar, kind face, his tender half smile.
‘Mike, just give me a little time to get used to the idea. Mrs Moody.’
They both laughed and hugged until she stepped away, unsure. ‘I need to think about this. Why now? Are you unhappy with the way we are?’
‘I’m not unhappy. But I feel like I’m marking time. That we’re marking time. I want to feel that we have a future together – you and me, and Rafi. I want to be with the woman I love into the future. I want to feel that our relationship is—’ he paused, looking for the word, ‘—developing. I want us to make a home together, a place that’s big enough for the three of us, maybe more if we get cracking. You know I love Rafi and want to be a father to him. Sometimes I feel like a lodger – with benefits.’ He sighed. ‘I’m not good at talking about this sort of thing.’
Gemma touched his face gently, then kissed him. ‘Oh Mike,’ she whispered.
When Mike had gone back to work, Gemma thought about his proposal. Why couldn’t she reply immediately? Did she love him enough to marry him? To live the rest of her life with him? She imagined her life with Mike continuing into the future. Maybe they’d buy a house together. She stared out the window of her office, while her mind played out scenes from a future with Mike, Rafi and herself. And maybe even another baby …
Finally she realised she should get back to work so she tried calling Delphine again. This time, the call was successful. ‘Delphine, it’s Gemma Lincoln. What’s your situation? Are you safe?’
‘I’m staying at the Beachside Resort at Coogee,’ said Delphine, giving Gemma the address. ‘I don’t think he knows—’
‘You don’t think he knows? Delphine, you have to be sure.’ Gemma wanted to shake the woman. ‘Please, make sure he has no idea where you are. I discovered today that your husband is already advertising online for another “soul mate”. He’s trawling for another wealthy woman.’
Delphine’s shocked gasp made Gemma flinch.
‘So, it’s essential that you get out of there if there’s the slightest possibility that he knows your whereabouts. Here are some names that might help you with security. Give them a ring and get some quotes. And let me know if you move again.’
Gemma rang off, fearful for Delphine Tolmacheff’s safety, her life.
Her phone rang. ‘Angie?’
‘Janet is now an officially listed missing person,’ said Angie. ‘Her car’s been found. Seems you were the last person she spoke to. I need to talk to you about that conversation.’
‘Come over.’
Half an hour later, Angie arrived just as the coffee brewed. Gemma poured out two mugs.
‘Mike proposed to me,’ Gemma said as soon as Angie perched on the edge of one of the armchairs.
Angie’s eyes widened as she swallowed a mouthful of coffee. ‘What did you say?’
‘That I needed to think about it.’
‘So, what do you think about it?’ Angie asked in her direct way. ‘More importantly, how do you feel about it?’ Without waiting for Gemma to reply, Angie continued, ‘It’s Steve, isn’t it? You’re still emotionally involved with him.’
‘I’m not sure, Angie. I was really touched by Mike’s offer, and I do love him …’
‘But not enough?’
Gemma sighed. ‘Let’s talk about this later,’ she said. ‘Janet is missing.’
‘Right,’ said Angie, getting the message and putting down her mug. ‘We’re moving to the “grave fears” stage. She’s just dropped off the planet. Her car turned up off the road near Stanwell Tops.’
‘I don’t like the sound of that,’ said Gemma. ‘That’s not so far from the quarry where Rachel Starr was found.’
Angie nodded grimly. ‘Tell me about that phone conversation you had with her. Where was she calling from?’
‘She was at Sapphire Springs Spa. She was doing a story on the treatments used there.’
‘What exactly did she say?’
Gemma recounted the conversation about DiNAH therapy.
‘She sounded excited, and anxious. She said something odd. She said, “It’s not what people think.”’
‘What do you think she meant by that?’
Gemma shrugged. ‘No idea. Now I wish I’d pressed her for more details. But she was on her way here to tell me everything, and her phone was about to die.’
‘But why did she call you? Why not call her editor?’
‘That’s what I asked myself,’ said Gemma. ‘She said she was going to drive straight here. She said she couldn’t talk freely on the phone – and then her mobile died.’
‘I’m interested in what her message implied,’ said Angie slowly, ‘that the secrecy around DiNAH isn’t for the reason people think. If you had to have a guess at what she meant, what would it be?’
‘I’d say that all the secrecy isn’t just because of greed and the desire to keep the treatment under wraps until it’s patented – so that nobody else can cash in on it. It could be because of some ethical consideration, but I’d say it’s more likely there’s a problem with the treatment itself.’
‘Maybe they’re doing something they shouldn’t – like cloning hum
an DNA or something?’ Angie sighed. ‘Hell, how would I know? I’m just a cop who was looking forward to taking some rostered days off. But now I’ll have to follow this up. So, where exactly is Sapphire Springs?’
CHAPTER 10
‘Okay,’ said Angie, switching on the ignition. ‘Let’s go. By the way, apparently that piece about the vampire attacks is in today’s paper. There’s a copy on the back seat.’
With Angie heading towards the southern freeway, Gemma scanned the paper until she found the article that Angie had helped produce. ‘Here it is,’ she announced, folding the paper back. ‘On page five.
‘Police are asking anyone who may have information regarding this type of attack to contact their local police station or call this number,’ Gemma read out, then folded the newspaper and flung it back onto the seat. ‘Let’s hope it gets some response.’
‘I’ve got Rodney going through the company listings to try to get some information about Satellite Imports, which probably doesn’t exist, and Access Media Promotions, which does exist but is simply an offshoot of a whole tangle of other companies. Poor Rod’s pulling his hair out. I told him I’d write a good report on him if he could find out who the principals are and what other holdings they might have.’
It took more than an hour and a half to get to the spa. It was a pleasant drive down the meandering coastal road and a steep descent to the very edge of the continent, through a narrow strip of rainforest with stately tree ferns growing on the slope.
A large billboard on the main highway advertised: ‘Sapphire Springs Spa – Fountain of Youth Luxury Spa Resort Only Seven Kilometres Away: Rest: Rejuvenate: ReCreate!’
Angie took the next right-hand turn as the sign indicated, and drove the seven kilometres through lush countryside. Several homesteads dotted the gentle slopes spreading away from the narrow road.
The turn-off to Sapphire Springs was dominated by huge dark trees and another colourful billboard. Angie swung into the driveway and drove past tall banana palms, over a narrow timber bridge that crossed a landscaped stream and up to the reception area. To the right of the main entrance was a large lake with a small island in the middle. Kayaks lay idle along the shore and two white swans glided in harmony across the surface.
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