Death by Beauty (19 page)

Mike was opening the door even before she put the key in the lock.

‘I was starting to worry,’ he said. ‘You’re later than I expected and I was just about to grab Rafi and get in the car and
check out the restaurant. How did it go?’

‘He really is very unpleasant. I don’t know how good I am with subterfuge these days. I found him really sleazy. I hope it
didn’t show.’

She dropped her keys and bag on the dining table.

Hugo rolled over from his position on the floor in front of the television. ‘You look really hot,’ he said, looking up at
her, ‘I mean, for an old chick. Where did you go?’

‘Thanks a lot, Hugo. I went out.’

‘I’ve got coffee on,’ Mike offered, ‘if you’re interested.’

‘Tea, thanks. I need to check on Rafi first.’

After looking in on her little boy sleeping soundly – one starfish hand spread out near his cheek, a slight smile on his mouth,
his lashes quivering as he dreamed his baby dream – Gemma had a shower. Being with Tolmacheff had made her feel grubby all
over, and a woman sitting outside the restaurant had been smoking heavily. Gemma washed away the smell of cigarette smoke,
but the bad taste left by Tolmacheff was harder to erase.

As she walked into the living room towelling her hair, she saw Mike stretched out along the sofa and Hugo sprawled on the
floor, both watching the weekend football replay. Three males in my home, she thought. And another one not far from here whose
predicament weighed heavily in her heart.

‘I wish you’d reconsider this Tolmacheff dating business,’ said Mike as she sat down beside him. ‘It’s just too dangerous.
I’ve got a bad feeling about this guy.’

‘You and me both. But you have to admit that it’s a gift to anyone wanting to get closer to him. I’ll be able to go out with
him, meet his business acquaintances, check out his office and maybe, eventually, his house. I’d be crazy to pass up an opportunity
like this.’

‘You’re dating another man?’ Hugo asked, sitting up and sternly looking from Gemma to Mike and back again.

‘All in the line of work,’ said Gemma. ‘I need to keep watch on this man. We found his online singles profile.’

‘Very cool,’ said Hugo, nodding his approval. ‘I wish you’d let me help. I’m an okay hacker. Like, I could do work experience
for him. Or I could get into his system and get to know all his secrets. I wonder if there’s any ice-cream in the freezer?’

Hugo went out to the kitchen and when he’d been gone longer than Gemma thought necessary for him to eat the last of the ice-cream,
she went looking for him. The kitchen was empty so she walked down to her office.

‘Hugo! What are you doing in here?’

He jumped up, startled. ‘Nothing bad, Gemma. I was just reading this report you’ve done – on Mischa Bloomfield.’

‘Hey, you shouldn’t be reading that. It’s confidential.’

‘I’m not going to tell anybody!’

‘Hugo, that’s not the point. Please give that to me and get out of here, okay?’

‘But that’s a totally bad thing that happened to her. And now you’re really worried that she might end up like the other two
women?’

Gemma shepherded him out the door. ‘Hugo, please don’t go into my office in future. I have confidential files in there. I’m
running a business here, not a gossip magazine.’

Hugo looked at her, hurt. ‘I could be helpful,’ he said. ‘I need something to do over the holidays. I’m getting sick of lying
around watching television all the time. I want to earn some money.’

Mike heard him as Gemma and Hugo walked into the lounge room. ‘You can wash my car for five bucks.’

‘I mean real money.’

‘I need to earn real money too,’ said Gemma.

‘Hey, can I borrow that bike that’s under the deck?’ Hugo asked.

‘My bike?’ said Mike.

‘It would be real sweet if I could borrow it, Mike. I’ll look after it. Promise.’

‘I guess it would be all right.’

Hugo’s face lit up with pleasure. ‘Then I can get my own food. You won’t have to drive me everywhere.’

‘There’s plenty of food here, comrade,’ said Mike.

‘Proper food,’ said Hugo.

‘He means deep-fried objects with chips,’ said Gemma. ‘Myocardial infarction food. Death food.’

Hugo grinned. ‘Yeah. Death food.’

After dropping Rafi off, Gemma met Yvonne Creswell at her shop, Trend Fashions. ‘The girl who usually opens up is on holidays,’
Yvonne said, as they shook hands, ‘so I had to come in early this week.’

Gemma studied her, noticing how good she looked in her fitted black dress and long draped cardigan chicly looped; sleek, black
hair pulled back in an elegant chignon; dark red lipstick dramatic in her pale face; the perfume one of Gemma’s favourites,
Annick Goutal’s ‘Songes’.

Racks of fashionable clothes hung around the walls and two long tables in the centre of the boutique were stacked with glamorous
accessories: handbags, beads, gloves and delicate feathery things on hair combs.

Yvonne indicated a small room behind the shop where they could talk.

‘You wanted to ask me about Magda?’

‘Yes. Did you see the note she left?’

Yvonne shook her head.

‘Would you like to see it?’

‘Please.’

Gemma pulled out her photocopy and passed it to Yvonne, who read it aloud in a halting voice and then looked up, her eyes
filled with tears. ‘This is unbearably sad. And so puzzling.’

‘I was hoping you might be able to tell me what terrible thing was happening in Magda’s life.’

‘What terrible thing? Magda was over the moon. She adored Ambrose. I hadn’t seen her so happy in twenty years. She looked
marvellous after her facelift; she was like a girl again, running around organising her wedding. She talked to me about the
dress – pearl satin sheath with a ruffle neckline … beautiful. I just can’t understand why on earth she should do such a shocking
thing to herself.’

‘When was the last time you talked to her?’

‘The day before she – she died,’ said Yvonne, wiping a tear away.

‘And how did she seem?’

‘I just put it down to bridal jitters. Actually, I think she was a little drunk.’ Yvonne paused a moment, thinking. ‘She called
to cancel a get-together we’d organised. Said that she had to go back to Sapphire Springs immediately.’

‘Sapphire Springs?’

‘Yes. Her voice was a little – slurred?’

‘And that’s why you thought she might have been drunk?’

‘That’s right. Although Magda never drinks. Not since she had the surgery, at least.’

‘Might she have been under the influence of drugs?’

‘I suppose that’s possible.’

‘Did she say why she had to go there immediately?’

‘No, she didn’t. I asked her if she could leave it till the next day. I’d got a casual in to work here while we went out.
I was really disappointed, as well as inconvenienced. But she said she had to go. I thought it must have been something to
do with that special treatment they’ve developed.’

As their meeting came to an end, Gemma gave Yvonne her card, asking her to call if she remembered anything else. On the way
home, she rang Angie.

‘I’m wondering now if the DiNAH therapy has some nasty side effects – like sudden onset depression. Something they’re not
telling their clients.’ She went on to tell Angie about her interview with Yvonne Creswell.

‘We have to go back to Sapphire Springs to chase up Janet Chancy’s notebook. Let’s see what else we can find out while we’re
there.’

‘Okay.’

‘And by the way, if you’re free any time this afternoon do you want to come with me to the morgue?’

‘Sure, I wouldn’t miss it. But what for?’

‘I’ve been wondering if there have been other murders like these,’ Angie said. ‘I want to go through the records, if Ted Ackland
will let me.’

Gemma considered. ‘Mike will be home after three and he could pick up Rafi for me,’ she said, looking at her watch. ‘How about
four? I’ll meet you there for afternoon tea. Silver service.’

‘Great. But stainless steel will have to do.’

Almost the moment Gemma rang off, her phone rang again.

‘Hello, mysterious one.’

‘Angelo,’ Gemma said, flinching at his tone. ‘Why mysterious?’

‘I can’t seem to find any reference to you. You don’t Twitter, you don’t Facebook. You have no online presence.’

‘I’m just a sweet, old-fashioned girl. I still write letters.’

‘Love letters?’

‘That remains to be seen,’ she flirted.

‘I wish you’d write me a love letter. When can I see you again?’

Gemma did a fast calculation. ‘Let me get back to you on that. I’ve got a few things on at the moment.’

‘The fewer the better. And all black lace, I hope.’

For a second, Gemma didn’t get it. Then her heart sank at his heavy-handed attempt.

‘I’ll call you, Angelo. Promise.’

She rang off before he could offend her further.

Dr Ted Ackland met them in the foyer of the morgue and took them into his office. ‘We pretty much keep our records forever,’
he said with a smile. ‘Unlike most government departments. After you called, Angie, I pulled out what I thought would be the
most appropriate files on women from the last ten years for you to start on.’

Several piles of manila folders covered the table. Gemma opened one and found it contained computer print-out copies of notes
for the coroner’s report and contemporaneous notes made by the pathologist at the time of the autopsy.

‘Of course there’ll still be a whole lot there that aren’t relevant; you’ll need to sort them out yourselves. Now I’ll have
to leave you to it.’

As soon as Ted had left the room, Angie and Gemma divided the piles of folders between them and started their search.

‘I think we can discard files for anyone over thirty,’ Gemma said, ‘maybe even over twenty-five.’

‘Right,’ said Angie nodding. ‘Starr and Palier were both in their early twenties.’

‘Brie is only twenty,’ said Gemma. ‘And Mischa too. God, I hope they’re safe.’ She paused, considering this and then added,
‘And then there’s Janet. She’d be my age or even older. She doesn’t fit in.’

‘No, she doesn’t fit the pattern at all,’ said Angie. ‘She is too old, nothing was removed from her body according to Ted,
no acid – and a personal possession of hers may have been taken instead. Looks like a different killer. We’ve already interviewed
her family and friends. Nothing helpful there.’

By culling the records they finally reduced the number to half-a-dozen.

‘Let’s pinch these and then go and talk to your sister.’

They gathered up the files and left Ted Ackland’s office. ‘Do you think he’ll mind us taking these?’ asked Gemma.

‘I’ll call him and explain,’ said Angie.

Gemma called Kit and asked if they could come around.

The three women sat down at the kitchen table and Gemma and Angie took Kit through everything they knew about the murdered
women.

‘The young women who died or were attacked,’ Gemma said, ‘they’re all extremely beautiful. I mean
outstandingly
beautiful, not just the usual shiny youthful beautiful, but
classic
beauty beautiful. They could hold their own against any competition. And I saw
a portrait of the sex worker, Brie. She’s another one – drop-dead gorgeous. Or was, when the portrait was done.’

‘He picks out the most beautiful women and destroys them,’ said Angie. ‘Beauty and the beast.’

‘Except there’s no redeeming transformation of the beast,’ said Kit. ‘This guy stays a beast.’

Gemma thought of something and added, ‘I’m presuming it’s a him.’

Angie nodded, slowly. ‘We need to keep the possibility open. What about a woman who’s really jealous of beautiful women?’

Gemma shivered and said, ‘I suddenly thought of that phrase: “Cutting off her nose to spite her face.”’ She looked at her
watch. ‘I’ll have to go soon. But Angie, the name Magda Simmonds. Does it mean anything to you?’

‘Yes. Sydney socialite, suicided. I read about her, and Sean Wright from our section was the one who did the job. Went to
the house when the family found her. Why do you ask?’

Sean Wright, Gemma thought, remembering ‘Mr Right’ from her serving days.

‘I’ve been asked to make inquiries – by her fiancé,’ she said. ‘He wants to know why she did it.’

Angie sighed and turned to Kit. ‘What do you think about that, Kit?’

Kit thought for a moment. ‘Sometimes there just aren’t any answers. That’s hard for people to accept. They think that if they
can find out why it happened, it won’t hurt so much. It doesn’t work. Explanations don’t make it any easier.’

‘I’ve got a copy of her suicide note,’ said Gemma, ‘from when I visited her fiancé. She wrote that something terrible was
happening; said that her fiancé could probably guess why she killed herself.’

‘Was he playing up?’ Angie asked.

Gemma shrugged. ‘He could have been. He tried flirting with me. But that doesn’t fit with the rest of the note. Also, why
kill the goose – if you’ll pardon the expression – who is about to provide you with a lot of golden eggs? Magda was a very
wealthy woman.’

‘And the police are sure it was suicide?’ Kit asked.

‘As sure as anyone can be,’ Gemma replied. ‘No signs of violence.’

‘I could ask Ted for more details. He or one of his associates would have done the autopsy,’ said Angie.

‘She’d taken a huge overdose of Xanax,’ said Gemma. ‘No one knows where she got it. According to the evidence, she had a bath,
got dressed in a gorgeous negligee, and then went to bed. The empty pill bottle was on her bedside table.’

‘The three dead women we are talking about sure didn’t suicide,’ said Angie, getting the conversation back on track. ‘Kit,
I’m here for a bit of your profiling expertise.’

‘Why don’t you use one of those police psychologists?’ said Kit.

‘I prefer your insights, if you don’t mind.’

‘Profiling’s lost a lot of its gloss over the last few years.’

Angie nodded. ‘A lot of cops are very suspicious of profiling.’

‘They always were,’ Kit said.

‘But surely,’ Gemma said, ‘looking at the MO of a crime is helpful? This killer is telling us something in the way he operates.
Kit, I remember you saying something, years ago, about how we reveal who we are in everything we do. That has to include killers,
right?’

‘Speaking as a psychologist,’ said Kit, ‘my understanding of profiling is that it’s just another aspect of psychology. Of
getting to know why and how somebody operates.’

‘Kit, I’m going to talk to the boss to see if we can bring you in as an investigative psychologist. I think he’ll like that
phrase. Would you be willing to work for the police?’

‘As a consultant? Maybe,’ she answered. ‘I’ll think about it. What’s the pay like?’

Angie grinned.