Death by Beauty

by Lord, Gabrielle

  Mike was sitting alone reading when she walked in. She was so lost in the events of the last hour that she didn’t notice Taxi coming sideways to chase her ankles. She stumbled and fell, sprawling, her handbag flying open.

  ‘Are you okay?’ Mike stood up to help. ‘That bloody cat. I nearly did the same yesterday.’

  ‘I’m okay. Thanks, Mike,’ she said, brushing herself down, frowning at Taxi now sitting on the arm of the lounge, eyes dilated like a wildcat, tail swishing. Mike put his arms around her and a flood of goodwill and love for him made her tighten her arms around him. ‘I love you, Mike Moody,’ she whispered, recovering.

  ‘But …’ he said, adding it to her statement as if she’d said it.

  ‘What do you mean “but”?’ She looked up at him.

  ‘Isn’t there always a “but”?’

  She closed her eyes, leaning against his warm strength. Mike’s right, she thought. There is a ‘but’ and its name is Steve Brannigan.

  ‘What is it?’ she asked, aware of a shift in his body and the way he was now staring past her, at her bag.

  ‘You took the Glock? You went somewhere you had to take a weapon, without telling me? Are you licensed for concealed carrying? What the hell’s going on? You said you were meeting Angie!’

  ‘I did see Angie,’ she said, grabbing up her bag, aware and ashamed of her earlier lie of omission. ‘But there was someone else involved in the meeting.’

  ‘Steve?’

  She shook her head. ‘No. Lorraine Litchfield.’

  ‘Jesus Christ, Gemma!’ Mike shouted. ‘Are you crazy? You went to meet the woman who’s trying to destroy you? Late at night and carrying a firearm? Are you out of your mind?’

  ‘Angie was there as back-up.’

  ‘Oh great! Was Angie going to take the bullet for you? You’d be dead before Angie could—’

  ‘I’m still here, Mike. Obviously, I’m okay.’

  ‘You put your life at risk to save Brannigan’s neck. Did you consider Rafi? Did you consider me?’

  ‘Of course I did a risk assessment. I believed I’d covered the safety angles. Plus I had Angie discreetly on the scene. I offered Litchfield a deal. I made it very clear that if anything happened to me, incriminating footage of her making love with another man would be sent to her boyfriend Fayed. I showed her what he’d done to his ex-wife. Believe me, it worked. She wasn’t going to hurt me. Not tonight, anyway.’ She didn’t think it was the time to tell him about Lorraine’s threats against her and Rafi.

  Mike walked away and stood with his back to her, his hands opening and closing around the top rung of a dining chair. Gemma followed, putting her hand on his arm. ‘Mike, I’m sorry if this upsets you. But I have to do what I think is best. And so far, I’ve got the upper hand. I’m sure she’ll withdraw the allegations against Steve.’ She looked around. ‘Where’s Hugo?’

  ‘He went out not long after you left. Said he was meeting up with a mate.’ Mike went to the sideboard and poured himself a stiff brandy. ‘I just don’t know what to do about this business.’ he said. ‘Every instinct’s warning me that you’re treading on very dangerous ground, Gemma. And to go off like that tonight without telling me …’

  ‘Maybe that was the wrong thing to do,’ she said. ‘I didn’t want to have to fight with you before I went out to deal with her.’

  ‘Fight with me? Is that how you see me – someone you need to fight?’

  ‘Of course not. But you’ve got this sensitivity around my dealings with Steve. I don’t know how to cope with it.’

  Mike tossed down the brandy. ‘I’m going to have a shower and go to bed.’

  Gemma hoped he might feel better in the morning but she knew this was a problem that was not going to go away. She collapsed onto the lounge and an hour later, she was still there. Mike’s unhappiness weighed on her mind.

  She sent Spinner a text asking him to call her if he was still up. He called almost immediately. ‘Sorry about the late hour, Spinner. I met up with Lorraine Litchfield and showed her our footage.’

  ‘How did it go?’

  ‘She freaked. She made threats against me. And against Rafi.’

  ‘Probably bluff,’ said Spinner.

  ‘Better be. If anyone harmed Rafi I’d kill them …’ She sighed. ‘Any news on Delphine?’

  ‘I haven’t found anything more than you already know,’ he said. ‘She hasn’t come back to the hotel. Her gear is still there, according to the manager. Just her handbag and car keys are missing.’

  ‘It’s not looking good,’ Gemma said.

  She wished Spinner a good night and remained sitting, thinking. She felt exhausted, and needed sleep, but she was still filled with the anxiety and fear that had been with her all night.

  Litchfield said that someone was after her and Rafi … Things were not going to plan. Girl, you’ve taken on too much, she berated herself. She let out a long sigh. Sleep just now was impossible.

  After checking on Rafi and the security monitor, Gemma scribbled a note for Mike, then drove to Beecham House. At the counter, she showed her ID and explained to the night receptionist that the police had concerns about the safety of Delphine Tolmacheff. Could she have a look at Delphine’s room?

  The receptionist took her up to room 211 and opened the door. ‘We can only hold the room another day,’ she said. ‘There’s a great demand for accommodation at the moment.’

  Housekeeping had obviously tidied it up, Gemma thought as she walked in, but Delphine’s cream leather suitcase sat in an alcove and, more ominously, her toothbrush and toothpaste as well as her make-up purse were lined up against the bathroom mirror. She went to the wardrobe and opened the mirrored door: a couple of coats, one lightweight and one heavier, and one tailored cherry-red suit hung on the rack and two pairs of shoes were lined up neatly on the floor. Under the receptionist’s watchful eye Gemma checked the pockets of the coats and pulled out a twenty-dollar note and a large pink card – she recognised it immediately as a complimentary voucher for Sapphire Springs Spa, similar to the one Dr Evans had given her. But this one had something extra written on it.

  Gemma turned it over: ‘As one of our most valued clients, we are thrilled to offer you a free day spa valued at $940 and a consultation session with our experienced staff to learn more about our special services that may be of interest to you.’ Gemma returned the money and the card to the coat pocket.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said to the receptionist who was already heading for the door, waiting for Gemma to walk through. ‘Please let me know the minute you hear anything from Mrs Tolmacheff.’

  ‘We’ve already promised that we will,’ said the woman crisply. ‘Obviously, we’re concerned about this matter, too, madam.’

  CHAPTER 28

  Gemma groped for her mobile. Mike was showering and Rafi was already wide awake. At the sound of the phone, he stood up in his cot, grinning at her and waving his bear. She walked over to get him, holding him and kissing him on his head while listening to Angie.

  ‘I’m about to call my mate at Wollongong to see if he’s been able to drop around to the house in Belambi. I’ll tell him we’re coming down to check it out too.’

  After the call Gemma and Rafi ate their breakfast of Weetbix with banana, and she packed his lunch and snacks, then hopped in the bath with him, enjoying his gurgling delight in her presence, splashing and patting her, singing with pleasure.

  Mike looked in, his expression softening as he saw the two of them. ‘Room for one more?’ he asked. ‘No, not really, I can see.’

  Gemma noticed his appreciative glances at her, her hair pinned up and the soapy water streaming from her shoulders and breasts as Rafi bashed water wildly and noisily, banging her nose with his duck. ‘Come on in,’ Gemma said, flinching back. ‘If you can handle the danger.’

  Parking the car after driving back from daycare she saw a missed call on her mobile and opened it, wondering at the unfamiliar number.

  She called back.
/>   ‘Gemma Lincoln speaking,’ she said, when a young woman answered. ‘Someone called me from this number.’

  ‘I did. This is Danielle Wentworth. You left a message, wanting to contact my mother, Maxine Wentworth?’

  ‘That’s right,’ said Gemma. ‘I’m hoping to speak with her.’

  ‘I’m sorry to have to tell you, Ms Lincoln – my mother is dead.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Gemma, taken aback. ‘I’m very sorry to hear it.’ She was also sorry to miss the chance to speak to someone else who’d had DiNAH therapy.

  ‘I was calling your mother in connection with an investigation into the DiNAH therapy. I believe she underwent this procedure?’

  ‘She sure did,’ said Danielle, her voice wobbling, ‘and thank goodness someone is investigating it.’

  ‘I’m beginning to have serious doubts about the safety of this therapy,’ Gemma said, ‘and that’s why I wanted to talk to your mother.’

  ‘You’re right to have doubts,’ said Danielle. ‘There’s something terribly wrong with it. Thank God an investigator is looking into it. I’d like to talk to you about it. In person.’

  ‘I can arrange that. Where do you live?’

  ‘I’m at Dee Why. Northern beaches.’

  Gemma took down the address. ‘If it’s convenient, I can meet up with you in an hour and a half or so?’

  ‘Sure. I’ll meet you near the playground on the southern end of the beach. Do you know where I mean?’

  ‘I’ll find you.’

  A car horn, blasting twice, startled her as she opened the car door. Two short blasts. Suddenly Gemma remembered the meaning of five long blasts on a ship’s foghorn: Danger.

  Danielle Wentworth, in her mid-thirties, wore a wide-brimmed hat over her long dark hair, and a fluffy white cardigan and drifty floral dress. They found a spot near the Norfolk pines that lined the promenade along the beach and sat on a park bench.

  Danielle took off her huge sunglasses and Gemma could see the worry and sadness in her eyes, their blue shining against her tanned skin.

  ‘Everyone thought Mum had gone crazy. Even I started to wonder about her sanity.’

  ‘What exactly happened?’ Gemma asked. ‘Do you mind if I take a few notes?’

  Danielle shook her head. ‘Mum looked fantastic after the surgery. It was extraordinary. She’d gone from looking like a well-kept woman in her late sixties to someone my age. I have to admit that at first I was a bit funny about it all. I soon got used to it, though, and Mum seemed so happy. My kids used to call her “new Nanny” and talk about her new skin. She used to go back to Sapphire Springs Spa a couple of times a week to maintain the post-operative DiNAH therapy and everything seemed to be wonderful for her until …’

  ‘Yes?’ Gemma prompted.

  ‘She came back from Sapphire Springs one afternoon and everything had changed. She really seemed to be in a state of shock. When I asked her what had happened she said she’d discovered something about the DiNAH therapy. But she wouldn’t tell me what it was.’

  Goose bumps rose on Gemma’s skin at the eerie similarity of what Danielle was saying to Janet Chancy’s last words before her mobile had died, and also to those written in Magda Simmonds’ suicide note: ‘Something terrible is happening.’

  ‘So, you have no idea what she might have discovered?’

  ‘No idea,’ said Danielle. ‘But whatever it was, it made her go into purdah. I mean that literally. She started concealing her face. She’d walk around with scarves swathing her head, and only her eyes visible. She became a recluse. She wouldn’t go out anywhere and she didn’t want to see the kids anymore. She really didn’t want to see me. It was just awful. I completely lost my mother. I just became someone who did the shopping and delivered the groceries. She’d gone from being an outgoing, sociable, communicative, happy person into this house-detention mummy. I suggested she see someone professionally – you know, some kind of counsellor or therapist. There was no doubt she was in a deep, deep depression. But she wouldn’t do it. I gave her some phone numbers, asked around and got the names of some really good therapists, but it was useless. She said there was no therapist that could help her.’

  Gemma looked up from her notes. ‘I’m investigating a very similar incident. An outgoing, happy woman, looking forward to her wedding, changing suddenly – and I mean suddenly, within a few hours – and becoming suicidal.’ Gemma paused. ‘She did, in fact commit suicide.’

  ‘That was my greatest fear, too. We don’t know what happened with Mum. For months she went on like this, with her face wrapped up and only her eyes showing. I started to think that something terrible must have been happening – that she had some post-operative infection that was eating away at her skin. I begged her to let me have a look and make sure everything was all right. Then we found her dead in her bed, still with her face covered. I was devastated, but not surprised. I’d been dreading this and then finally, when it happened …’

  Danielle gathered herself and continued. ‘I unwrapped the scarf that was covering her face, bracing myself for what I might have to confront, and guess what?’

  Gemma leaned forward, dreading what she might hear.

  After a pause, Danielle answered her own question. ‘When I pulled back the scarf from her face, I couldn’t believe what I saw. There was absolutely nothing wrong with it! It was still that amazing, youthful result she’d had from the cosmetic surgery. She looked as gorgeous as ever. Unbelievably young and beautiful.’

  ‘And the cause of death?’ asked Gemma.

  ‘The finding was “Accidental death”. Apparently she’d taken some kind of sleeping tablets she hadn’t used before and there’d been some fatal idiosyncratic reaction. We’re all still grieving terribly. Especially the kids. She just cut them off – wouldn’t see them, wouldn’t talk to them on the phone. It was like she’d gone into exile – into solitary confinement.’

  Tears welled up in Danielle’s blue eyes. ‘You said there had been another, similar incident? Another woman who’d also had some kind of adverse reaction after DiNAH therapy?’

  Gemma gave Danielle more details about Magda Simmonds’ sudden onset depression and suicide.

  ‘There’s got to be an investigation!’ said Danielle, tears falling from her eyes. ‘This therapy must be stopped. It’s too dangerous.’

  Gemma closed her notebok and put it back in her handbag. ‘Thank you so much for this. I know it must have been painful for you to talk about your mother’s ordeal. But if it’s any comfort, I’m determined to find out what it is about DiNAH therapy that induces these side effects. It’s essential that we find out the truth, even if the research team is withholding information. They have to be stopped doing any more DiNAH until they can guarantee its safety. Already it looks like they could be liable for huge compensation claims, at the very least.’

  ‘Otherwise,’ Danielle agreed, ‘other women are going to end up like my mother and the woman you mentioned.’

  ‘Call me if you remember anything else,’ said Gemma as they made to leave.

  Back home, Gemma, looking for the images of her last visit to Sapphire Springs, played the footage she’d downloaded onto her laptop of the security code being punched into the cabin lock. She checked it over and over until finally she had the door key code. She grinned. Now she had entrée into the cabin that she suspected had been used to hold Mischa Bloomfield.

  The rest of the day she spent catching up on all the things she had pushed aside since going back to work – paying bills, the wretched Business Activity Statement and returning calls.

  When her desk was cleared, she headed off to pick up Rafi. She found him playing near some of the other children, his wide smile as she hurried over to him streaming straight into her heart. Gemma scooped him up and Susie, one of the childcare workers, walked out with her.

  ‘He had a really good day today, Gemma. Bit of an upset over lunch when Arcadia grabbed his stick of celery. But apart from that, he’s been terrific. In fac
t, he is turning out to be a very sociable boy.’

  Gemma grinned, absurdly pleased. She kissed Rafi’s warm head and waved goodbye to the carers and the toddlers.

  Mike was out late on a job and when he finally came home, he barely spoke to her, instead showering and going straight to bed. Gemma called Hugo but he wasn’t answering. Taxi would not settle. He kept jumping up on her desk, walking across her keyboard, jumping down only to repeat it all in a few minutes. Finally she picked him up and put him outside her office door, closing it.

  Eventually she tiptoed into the bedroom. Rafi and Mike were sleeping soundly, and she was about to join them when a movement on the monitor outside alerted her. Someone was stealthily moving around the garden. Quickly, she slid to the window, flattened herself against the wall and peered out into the darkness. Someone was out there.

  She crouched down and crept past the window, tiptoeing towards her wardrobe and her bag hanging inside. She felt her way to the Glock and lifted it out, its weight comforting in her sweaty hands. With the gun in a firm grasp, Gemma slid low along the floor until she came to the window again. She ducked back, then looked: partially obscured by a large shrub, a dim figure hunched over the bike that Hugo had propped against the wall. A petty thief, Gemma thought with relief.

  She went to the front door and flung it open, switching on the outdoor light. ‘Hey you! What do you think you’re doing?’

  The figure straightened up and looked around.

  ‘Hugo? What the hell are you doing? Where have you been? You haven’t taken Mike’s bike again – after what you did to it last time?’

  ‘It’s okay. I’m putting it back.’

  He hurried inside and Gemma stepped back in surprise. She closed the door, and surreptitiously tucked the Glock into her jeans, under her jumper, as Hugo walked ahead of her.

  ‘You took it again. Did you ask Mike? Hugo, that’s not acceptable. Mike spent a lot of time fixing it.’