Death by Beauty

by Lord, Gabrielle

  ‘No,’ said her housemate, letting Gemma in and glancing with surprise at Rafi in her arms, ‘I still haven’t heard from her. I’ve been really worried.’

  ‘Has she taken her toothbrush?’ asked Gemma, checking in the bathroom as the housemate looked on, bewildered.

  ‘That’s hers there. The mauve-and-white one. Why?’

  Deftly, when the girl’s back was turned, Gemma transferred the toothbrush into a plastic bag. ‘Call me if you hear anything from her,’ Gemma said.

  Their next stop was Paradigm Laboratories.

  ‘I collected these items according to the book,’ said Gemma after introducing Lance to Rafi and thanking him for agreeing to see her on a Saturday morning. ‘I had a – a – colleague videotape every move I made. I used sterile containers and sterile swab sticks. And here they are,’ she said, placing the plastic bag holding the containers on Lance’s desk. ‘And here’s the comparison article,’ she added, giving him the bagged toothbrush.

  Lance looked at her with admiration. ‘You can take the girl out of the cops, but you can’t take the cop out of the girl, huh? There’s an extra fee for fast-track jobs.’

  ‘Send the invoice to Angie at Homicide.’

  ‘I’ll do the DNA comparison as soon as I can. Okay?’

  ‘Thanks very much, Lance. Have you been able to do that assay on the DiNAH therapy yet?’

  ‘No. I’ve sent it to a drug expert in the chemistry department at the university,’ he told her. ‘It’s a bit beyond my expertise. It seems to be some sort of macrolide.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Something that acts on T-cells. But it’s way out of my area.’

  ‘Do you know if it’s the sort of thing that might result in sudden onset depression?’

  ‘It’s possible,’ Lance replied. ‘We’ll have to wait until the expert has reviewed it.’ He indicated the swabs she’d brought from the rape kit. ‘I’ll get cracking on these.’

  The phone on her desk was ringing as she carried Rafi in. She raced down to her office and picked it up.

  ‘Gemma Lincoln?’ a man’s voice, familiar, Gemma thought. She recognised him a split-second before he identified himself.

  ‘You’ve been caught playing out of PI school, Ms Lincoln. You’ve been busted trespassing.’ Gemma’s heart started thudding. Of all the cops in all the world, it had to be Bruno Gross on the other end of the line. ‘Break and enter, in the company of some juvenile delinquent. We’ve had a serious complaint made against you. And I’m looking forward to charging you.’ He sounded delighted while behind his voice, she could hear the sound of heavy traffic.

  The hostility between them went back years, to Gemma’s serving days and that regrettable one-night stand; because she had refused to repeat the misdemeanour, Bruno Gross had taken an intense dislike to her. He’d made life difficult for her when she was in the job and now there was no mistaking the relish in his voice.

  ‘Break and enter? That’s crazy! I didn’t break and enter!’

  ‘Dr April Evans from Sapphire Springs Spa tells a different story,’ he said with glee. ‘You were caught on their security cameras last night breaking into one of the resort cabins with some lout. I’ve got you cold, Lincoln. Trespass, and break and enter.’

  Gemma felt the blood draining from her face. Fear poured in to the crazy mix of emotions and she sat down and held onto Rafi tightly as he tried to squirm out of her arms. If the receptionist and Dr Evans had recognised her, might Tolmacheff also see the footage?

  ‘No use denying it, ex-private investigator. The receptionist knew you from when you went out there with Angie McDonald. She thought you were a cop. I’m considering also booking you for impersonating a police officer.’

  ‘Total crap. I did no such thing. And it wasn’t break and enter. I used the normal way of entry. And if people like you had been doing their job properly, I wouldn’t have had to do it.’

  Rafi started to cry, upset by the tone of Gemma’s voice. She found a toy for him and put him down at her feet to play.

  ‘When I do my job, I don’t break the law,’ Bruno said, with sneering primness. ‘What were you doing sneaking into a health spa cabin at all hours of the night? What did you want in there? What did you do in there?’

  ‘Something you should have done, if you’d taken Mischa Bloomfield’s disappearance seriously.’

  ‘You’ve got to be joking. I’m too busy to go chasing every hysterical little tart who’s had a bad trip and thinks she’s being targeted by a vampire. Get real. I’ve got serious crimes on my desk.’

  ‘Bruno, I had sound reason to believe Mischa had been kidnapped and taken to that cabin. I believe that a broken piece of jewellery found in that cabin was hers, damaged in a struggle. I believe I had a legitimate reason to be there. And here’s something else you should know: Angelo Tolmacheff was there last night. He is the man who is planning to kill his wife on a camping trip. She went to the police and was told there was nothing she could do until he actually attacked her.’

  ‘There was nothing legitimate about what you did!’ he roared. ‘You’ve overstepped the mark. You don’t deserve to have an investigator’s licence. With a conviction like this, you’ll lose it for sure.’

  Gemma felt the full crushing weight of her situation. ‘Bruno,’ she said, swallowing her pride, ‘can’t we talk about this? Before you put it on paper? There’s such a thing as police discretionary power. I simply can’t afford to lose my licence. I’ve got a child to support.’

  ‘Too bad, sweetheart.’ He waited until the traffic noises behind him subsided before continuing. Gemma smelled a rat. Gross wasn’t calling from his office. Why would he go to the trouble of using an outside line?

  ‘Tell you what,’ he said, his tone changing. ‘I guess we could talk it over … How about dinner at the Kismet?’

  The Kismet motel was a modest place just off the highway near Parramatta Road, the scene of Gemma’s first and only encounter with him. ‘We could discuss how to blow this allegation away; make sure it never gets off the ground. A nice, relaxing evening talking over old times. Just the two of us.’

  ‘There were no old times, Bruno. Just one hell of a mistake on my part. Even now, you’re blackmailing me. Putting the hard word on me again, calling from a phone outside the office so there’s no record on your mobile or your landline at work. You are a complete prick.’

  ‘You’ll regret that, sweetheart. I’ll be suggesting to the magistrate that an example should be made of you. There could even be a custodial sentence involved. You’ll be hearing from me.’ He slammed the phone down.

  Gemma hung up, dazed. Blindly, she walked into the living room and went to the deck to look out at the sea and the sky.

  What was she going to tell Mike about this? About creeping out in the middle of the night, taking Hugo with her? About being sprung on Sapphire Springs’ security cameras? About being blackmailed by Bruno Gross because of her actions? If she lost her licence, she’d lose her livelihood. And if Lorraine Litchfield was telling the truth, she was also in danger of losing her life.

  As she went back inside to find Rafi, Hugo snored and muttered in his sleep, a doona-covered lump, now almost completely covering Taxi apart from a protruding ginger tail. For a moment, Gemma wished she could just dive under there with the Ratbag and the cat and hide.

  Angie called back and Gemma told her about the conversation with Gross.

  ‘He what?’

  ‘He as good as said that if I slept with him, he’d use his discretionary powers and not charge me. He was calling from away from the office so the call couldn’t be detected.’

  ‘The bastard! That is just so typical of him. But what the hell did you think you were doing out at Sapphire Springs in the middle of the night?’

  Gemma brought her up to date. ‘Angelo Tolmacheff was there, too. He’s connected to Sapphire Springs. He obviously has a key to the place – it seems to attract evil creatures. And the vulnerable.’ Vampires
and their victims, she thought.

  ‘If you’ve got Mischa on those swabs,’ said Angie slowly, ‘even though it was obtained in a somewhat unorthodox manner, it can still be admissible in court at the judge’s discretion. Especially when you’ve got that video recording the collection of the exhibit. You did well.’

  ‘But Ange, what the hell am I going to do about bloody Bruno Gross? He could ruin me.’

  ‘Mmm. Let me think about it, honey. A sleazebag like him must have slipped up somewhere. I know he has a lot of enemies, me included. I’ll make some inquiries.’

  Gemma turned as Mike walked in, throwing his car keys on the table.

  ‘Thanks, Ange. I’ve got to go. Talk to you soon.’

  ‘What did you get up to last night?’ he asked. ‘I found the note.’

  ‘I went out to Sapphire Springs Spa,’ she said, taking a deep breath before filling him in on the whole story. ‘I was picked up on the security cameras. I thought I’d got away with it, but apparently not, according to Bruno Gross.’

  ‘The guy you used to work with? The dickhead?’

  ‘Inspector Dickhead now. The receptionist and Dr Evans at Sapphire Springs recognised me from the footage. He’s going to charge me with trespass, and break and enter. Unless I have dinner with him. And the rest.’

  Mike didn’t say anything, instead he went to the kitchen and pulled out some eggs and a saucepan. ‘Have you had any lunch?’

  ‘I couldn’t eat a thing at the moment. Mike, I feel sick. I could lose my licence over this.’

  She collected Rafi in her arms, and walked back out to the deck and leaned her hip on the railing, staring out to the sea where a couple of small boats bobbed, gusts of wind wrinkling the surface of the water and soft clouds skimming the horizon. Since she’d returned to work, her problems seemed to have escalated. She took a breath of the sea air and joined Mike in the kitchen as he made an omelette and put an egg on to boil for Rafi.

  ‘I need to find Elizabeth Winchester and work out her connection to the vampire. It was her car he was driving at Indigo Ice. The same car that picked up Mischa Bloomfield. Winchester’s got to know something.’ Gemma watched Mike eating. ‘How about you? How’s the deal with Nick Cleary going?’

  ‘He’s pretty confident of picking up a lot of work. Between us, we have a long list of contacts with various law enforcement agencies. I expect it will start off slowly and then build. Meanwhile, I’ve got my other contracts.’

  His manner was detached, even as he helped Rafi to eat his toast and egg, and Gemma knew he was still angry. Things were unresolved between them.

  Taxi came into the room and rubbed against Gemma’s ankles. The lump under the doona groaned.

  ‘What strange life form moves under there?’ Mike asked, turning around to see Hugo struggling to sit up. ‘Hello, Hugo. Can we help?’

  Hugo, dressed only in T-shirt and underpants, swung off the doona. He stood a few moments on his long knobby legs, scratching his head and then looked up. ‘You could help actually, dude. Can I borrow your laptop some time today?’

  ‘I guess that can be arranged,’ said Mike. ‘What for?’

  ‘I think I’m on to something,’ said Hugo. ‘You’ll see.’

  CHAPTER 32

  As she drove down the escarpment with the first flashes of the brilliant blue ocean shining through the eucalypt forest on the sloping hillsides surrounding the road, Gemma felt some of the weight lift from her shoulders. She was out on the road, on the job.

  The house at 66 Hadley Street, Belambi was a modest, brick-veneer home set in a row of similar houses, neat and uninspiring. Gemma was pleased to see the pale green Peugeot parked in the carport. She knocked on the front door. No response. She walked round the back and called out. Nothing. No one home.

  She drove to a nearby shop and bought a newspaper, some sandwiches and a carton of orange juice then went back and parked across the road, a little way beyond the house, where she could keep an eye on it.

  The afternoon passed into early evening. Nothing happened in 66 and the Peugeot stayed in the carport.

  Darkness fell and the hours went by. Mike had bathed Rafi and all was well at home, he said when Gemma called him.

  She was dozing, her head leaning against the window, when the sound of a car woke her suddenly. She sat up, shocked that she had slept on the job. The Peugeot, discernible in the streetlight, was backing out and onto the road. Damn! She’d missed the moment and couldn’t see who was driving it.

  She pushed the newspaper off her lap, threw the empty juice carton onto the floor and switched on the ignition. She waited a few moments and then followed the car, staying well back.

  Gemma soon realised that the driver was heading in the direction of Sapphire Springs Spa. She doused the headlights as she pulled off the road, a little way from the entrance. She took nothing except her car keys and mobile and started out on foot, hurrying to keep up with the Peugeot, which was now in the crowded car park. Gemma remembered Dr Evans telling her about Miss Cosmetic Surgery Europe and the conference. It looked to be in full swing.

  Moving cautiously and using whatever cover was available, Gemma came closer to see the woman getting out of the Peugeot. Shocked, she recognised her: Lizzie, the helpful young receptionist who’d shown Angie and Gemma around on their search for Janet Chancy’s notebook.

  Gemma stood immobilised as her mind worked with these pieces, putting them together so that she almost saw the action replay: Mischa tries to get a cab. She spots the vampire waiting for her down the street. She turns to run, and then the Peugeot just happens to drive by with Lizzie from Sapphire Springs at the wheel. Overcome with relief and gratitude to see a friendly, familiar face, even if it’s someone she didn’t know well, Mischa willingly jumps into the car. Lizzie – Elizabeth Mary Winchester.

  But what happened after that? How was Mischa coerced to Sapphire Springs?

  Did Tolmacheff contact Lizzie and tell her to offer Mischa one of those pink invitations to a complimentary treatment? Did Lizzie in all innocence do this? Or was she complicit? And did Mischa believe that a luxurious day at the spa would be the perfect hiding place instead of going to her mother’s house and worrying her?

  Closer to the foyer, Gemma could hear sociable chatter punctuated by occasional laughter, and looking inside she could see a crowd in the wide reception hall.

  Glancing back to the car park, she was startled to see a white-robed figure stumbling across the lawns towards Lizzie, arms flailing, making a strange moaning sound. Gemma ducked behind a tree as the mysterious woman came closer to Lizzie.

  ‘What are you doing here, Mrs van Leyden? Why are you out of bed? You must go back. I told you the doctors will see you tonight after the conference event finishes. Now please, let me help you back.’ And with that, Lizzie took a firm hold of the unwilling figure and marched her towards the cabins beyond the lake.

  After a couple of minutes Lizzie hurried over to the reception area. Gemma waited until she’d disappeared inside and then, keeping low, moved cautiously across the expanse of lawn, worried about the security cameras. She hoped she had been able to slip by unnoticed, given the number of people who were attending the conference – but suddenly powerful automatic lights switched on and in the distance she heard the shrieking of an alarm. She’d been spotted.

  She ran out of the light, crouching low as she dashed across the lawns through the dark night. She could hear a commotion back at reception. Ahead of her, illuminating the pathway to the cabins, other powerful lights flashed on. The frog chorus from the lake fell silent. Gemma crept around the back of the cabins until she came to cabin number two, where Lizzie had escorted Mrs van Leyden.

  Keeping low, Gemma rapped firmly on the cabin’s door. Again, she heard the strange moaning sounds. The door was opened to reveal Mrs van Leyden, a scarf covering her palsied face. When she saw Gemma, the strange noises she was making became more animated and she staggered across the room to a small table and picked up a
pencil and wrote a word: ‘Police?’

  ‘No. I’m a private investigator and I shouldn’t be here. There’ll be a search party coming any moment. Tell me what’s going on.’

  Mrs van Leyden wrote: ‘My mouth doesn’t work. Something very bad is happening here.’

  ‘What is it? What can you tell me?’

  Against the silence, the scratching of the pencil on the paper sounded very loud and the jewels in Mrs van Leyden’s rings twinkled as she wrote. Hurry up, hurry up, Gemma silently urged, daring to peek out the window to see security guards with torches combing the grounds in the distance.

  ‘Look what they’ve done to me!’ As Gemma read this, Mrs van Leyden pulled off the scarf that covered her head. The terrible face sagged like a bloodhound’s. The mouth that couldn’t close gaped stupidly.

  ‘Done to you? I don’t understand.’

  Scratch, scratch, scratch went the pencil and paper.

  ‘I’m staying at this resort at their expense, until I have arranged to get my youth and beauty back – signed the contract to undergo DiNAH therapy, huge cheque. Half-million dollar deposit. This hideous thing. Healed. I want justice. I want them arrested. This is what their famous DiNAH therapy did to me! They are criminals! Not leaving here until this has been restored.’

  Gemma stared, horrified, as the implication of those scrawled words registered. Mrs van Leyden wasn’t a ‘before’ DiNAH therapy example, she was an ‘after’.

  The security guards were coming closer. Any moment now they would be banging on the door.

  Gemma looked out the window and saw them heading straight for the cabin.

  Mrs van Leyden’s jewelled fingers continued scribbling, pausing only long enough to wipe the saliva that threatened to fall from her open mouth. ‘I want my money back, compensation—’ she stopped writing and raised her head to indicate her disfigured face, ‘—want another facelift carried out by a different medical team. Not a bunch of crooks. I saw him and another man DRAGGING a girl into the medical supercentre.’

  Gemma swallowed. Mischa.