Death by Beauty (4 page)

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.

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 camera 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.

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.’

Gemma rang off, also feeling worried. Maybe she
has
met some hunk, Gemma thought. Some bad hunk. Before she could allow too many frightening scenarios to play out in her mind,
however, she heard Angie’s voice calling outside. ‘Gem? Gemma! We’re here!’

When Gemma opened the front door she saw Angie – scrubbed and polished in her smart navy suit, briefcase in hand, auburn hair
gleaming in a knot, looking every bit of her thirty-eight years – and a stunning beauty standing behind her: luminous
eyes, perfectly shaped glossy lips, a straight nose, thick ash blonde hair like a mane and a slender figure. But most striking
was her pallor, pale skin translucent against the ruby lip gloss.

‘This is Mischa,’ Angie said, ushering the young woman through the doorway. ‘Mischa Bloomfield. Mischa, this is Gemma Lincoln.’

‘Mischa, Angie, please come in,’ said Gemma. ‘No, not the office, come right through,’ she continued as she led them down
the hallway, past the heavy door that connected her professional and private lives and into her living room. ‘I’ll put on
some coffee. Make yourselves comfortable.’

When Gemma returned, Angie was perched on the edge of the sofa, her laptop on her knees, while Mischa sat awkwardly on the
seat opposite, her long legs at an angle, adjusting the purple silk scarf around her neck, fiddling with the gold brooch shaped
like a tiny arrow that fixed it at her shoulder.

‘It was my great-grandmother’s,’ said Mischa softly, noticing Gemma’s admiring glance.

‘It’s charming.’

Gemma set down a tray holding three steaming mugs, a jug of milk and a bowl of sugar, and there was a silence while they helped
themselves. Gemma sat on the other large lounge chair, balancing her mug on its arm. On the other she placed her notebook
and pen.

‘Mischa,’ said Angie, ‘let me reassure you. As I’ve mentioned to you, Gemma is my oldest and most trusted friend. We served
together in the police years ago. Now Gemma runs a successful private security business and she is completely trustworthy.’

Angie sipped her coffee and then put it down, turning to Mischa again. ‘Can you tell Gemma exactly what you told me?’

Mischa shifted uncomfortably on her seat, seemingly unwilling to speak.

‘It sounds unbelievable,’ she finally whispered, fiddling nervously with the brooch.

‘Go on,’ said Angie gently. ‘Gemma will listen to you. It’s okay.’

‘I was at the club – Midnight Mirage – and I met this really well-dressed guy, Italian or foreign or something. Here’s his
card,’ she said, passing it to Gemma.

‘I didn’t know you had that,’ said Angie. ‘You should have told me.’

‘Jacob Titov,’ Gemma read. ‘Managing Director, Satellite Imports & Promotions.’

She blinked at the name of the business and stood up. ‘Just excuse me for a minute. There’s a photograph I’d like Mischa to
see.’

She returned with the photo of Angelo Tolmacheff and handed it to her. ‘Have you ever seen this man?’

Mischa studied it for a second before shaking her head. ‘No. Who is he?’

Disappointed, Gemma took back the photo. ‘Someone who appears to work from the same office,’ she said, turning to Angie. ‘I
met with a new client yesterday – a surveillance job. I saw the client’s husband come out of an office with this same company
name.’

On the business card was a mobile phone number, which Gemma noted before handing the card over to Angie, who dialled it immediately.
After a few moments, she shook her head. ‘Nothing doing here. It’s not working. Could be a dud number. I’ll get it checked
later. We want to get hold of this Jacob Titov.’

‘You were saying,’ Gemma prompted, ‘about your experience with this fellow …’

‘He seemed really nice. He said he was scouting to find girls with a special look to launch a new Australian wine label at
the spring racing carnival. And he said he had connections with the leading fashion houses and could get me introductions
to the agencies. But it wasn’t just that – he knew a lot about the fashion business, and I didn’t get the feeling that he
was trying to hit on me.’

Gemma didn’t look over at Angie, knowing what her expression would be – her ginger-coloured eyes trying not to roll heavenwards.

‘We talked for ages. He practically promised me the job. I told him that I’d have to organise some time off work – I work
at a hotel in the city,’ she added, ‘as a hostess. I’m looking for another job, though. I don’t like the hours and I don’t
like some of the regular customers there.’ Her voice trailed off.

‘Then,’ she continued, ‘he must have put something in my drinks – I only had two over a couple of hours. I felt myself fading
in and out. I was really sleepy – I tried to keep my eyes open but it was impossible. I tried to get up but my legs wouldn’t
hold me. And that’s when he – he kind of hauled me out of the place and took me somewhere, somewhere where there was one of
those funny old-fashioned cage lifts. Like you see in European movies and in some really old city buildings. I think we were
in a hotel.’

Gemma could see a slight tremor in the girl’s hands as she stared blankly ahead, reliving the experience.

‘Okay,’ said Gemma, thinking she could see where this was going – something in the drinks, dragged to a hotel room … waking
up disoriented, in disarray, bruised and terrified. At least this girl
had been left in the hotel; not a derelict squat or out in the open in a suburban park like some poor women.

‘Like I said, I was fading in and out. But I know what I saw,’ she said defiantly, looking from Angie to Gemma. ‘No matter
how crazy it sounds. I was attacked by a—’

‘It’s okay, honey,’ Angie said.

‘I was attacked by a—’ She stopped again, glancing at Gemma. ‘At least that’s what I saw. The big guy had changed into this
– this –
vampire
.’ She whispered the last word, closing her eyes and shuddering in horror at the memory.

The tremor in her body increased until she was shaking visibly and her face grew even paler. She’s back there, Gemma thought,
reliving it. Forget about the vampire bit. Something happened. Something really bad.

‘I know it sounds crazy and impossible, but that’s what happened.’ With shaking hands, she pulled the scarf down from her
neck and moved closer to Gemma. ‘He came at me with these frightening teeth – just like you see in the vampire movies. I was
frozen; I couldn’t move my body, couldn’t turn my head away, couldn’t even scream. It was like a nightmare. But don’t tell
me it was some dream or hallucination because of the drug he’d given me. It was
real
. And I’ve got this to show for it. Look.’

Mischa moved even closer, baring the side of her long white neck. Gemma could see a bruise surrounding a tiny blue-black puncture
mark.

‘Nasty,’ she said, thinking the girl must have been reading too much of the
Twilight
series.

Mischa pulled the scarf back up to hide the ugly blemish.

‘I saw something else in his hand but I couldn’t make out
what it was. I thought it was a knife – something thin and shiny. I was terrified. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t scream.’

She shuddered, briefly covering her face with her hands. ‘And later I saw this—’ she indicated the wound on her neck ‘—and
now I feel infected. Diseased,’ she whispered, taking her hands away.

‘Mischa, could the object you saw in his hand have been a syringe?’ Gemma asked. ‘That injury looks to me like a needlestick.’

‘It could have been. I tried to tell the people at the hotel when I woke up what had happened. They told me to call the police.
I did and the first cop I spoke to just laughed at me.’ She started crying, sobbing into the tissue that Angie passed to her.
Clever move, Gemma thought, wearing vampire teeth. Of course the cops would laugh. Just another bad trip.

‘Honey,’ said Angie, ‘I’m sorry about that, but don’t let the boofheads get you down. Hell, I have to work with them every
day. I know how dumb they can be. It’s just such an outrageous assault – so
different
. They know how to deal with a run-of-the-mill, spiked-drink date-rape story. Anything different, well, it taxes them. And
you’ve got to admit, a vampire attack
is
somewhat different.’

‘What if he’s injected me with something – like HIV or some other awful thing?’ Mischa’s face was a mask of terror. ‘My neck
is aching. I’m so scared.’

Her fingers pressed against the scarf covering the puncture mark and tears welled again in her eyes, spilling over onto her
long lashes.

‘The doctor will get back to you on that,’ said Angie, placing a hand on her arm and turning to Gemma. ‘There were traces
of Clonazepam in the urine test. It’s an anti-convulsant, and it’s been implicated in other DFSAs.’

‘Other
whats
?’ Gemma asked.

‘Oh, sorry. Drug-facilitated sexual assaults. Rohypnol used to be the date rapist’s drug of choice, but it now has an additive
that turns drinks a weird colour if it’s used as a spiking drug. So Clonazepam is starting to show up. It doesn’t alter the
appearance of the drink and is virtually tasteless. It’s a powerful sedative, and mixed with alcohol its effects become even
stronger. It has a lot of nasty effects like depression, memory loss and extreme drowsiness.’

‘Any chance you could have run into this man before?’ asked Gemma. ‘Maybe he was a customer at the hotel where you work?’

Mischa shook her head. ‘I’d never seen him before in my life. But I’ll never forget him. He has a strange, dark birthmark
like a smeared mole just beneath his left eye. My mum says it’s where the devil touched him,’ she whispered.

Then she sat wide-eyed and vigilant, listening intently as Angie told Gemma what the police had discovered so far. ‘We know
he used a credit card at the hotel to the account of Access Media Promotions. The signature was illegible. We had a look at
this and it turns out Access Media Promotions is a small company in a complicated mess of companies whose principals we’re
currently tracking to find out who might really be in charge. There hasn’t been any action on the credit card for a while
apart from the hotel, according to the card centre. So, I’m not sure how helpful that line of investigation is going to be.’
Angie turned her attention back to Mischa, patting her arm. ‘The doctor will contact you again soon, Mischa, but in the meantime,
try not to worry too much.’

The young woman looked at her in disbelief.

‘How am I supposed to do that?’ she asked. ‘I can’t think of anything else! I can still see him – that horrible face – the
fangs. It’s disgusting.’

‘Can you recall any other details about the assault?’ Gemma asked after a judicious pause. ‘Anything at all – it doesn’t matter
how small or insignificant it might seem.’

‘There
is
something else. It feels really creepy now. It didn’t when he was talking to me. But he kept going on about my colouring,
how good it was, how perfect it was for the photography session he wanted to do for the wine label. He had some kind of photographers’
colour chart, because the models he wanted to use had to represent different skin tones from really dark to very fair – I
wasn’t too sure what he meant by that. I hate to think about it. I go back over it now and think he was just looking at me
like some object; like the champagne label.’

The three sat in silence for a few moments.

‘Gemma has lots of useful contacts,’ said Angie finally. ‘I’m sure she won’t mind asking around to find out if anyone knows
anything about this man.’

‘I’m happy to chase down any information about him, Mischa,’ said Gemma, ‘and I’ll pass it on to Angie. I’ll check out Satellite
Imports too, okay?’

‘Okay,’ Mischa whispered.

‘One more thing, Mischa,’ said Angie. ‘I’d like to run a piece in the press about the attack on you. This clown showed a lot
of ease and practice in his manner of approach. I feel sure there have been other similar attacks, but I can understand why
someone wouldn’t want to talk about them. If we organised for a story in the press – no names, of course – it might make other
women
more willing to come forward. I know a journalist who’d be happy to help out with a piece like that.’

‘Janet Chancy?’ Gemma asked.

Angie nodded.

‘Then you’ll have to find her first. I’ve been trying to contact her. No luck.’

‘I’ll see if I can do any better,’ said Angie, standing up. ‘Let’s run you home now, Mischa.’ As Mischa stood and self-consciously
adjusted the scarf covering her neck, Angie turned to Gemma and spoke quietly. ‘I’ll come back. Any chance Kit might come
over? There are a couple of things I’d like to talk over with you girls.’

‘I’ll ask her.’

As Gemma opened the front door, Mischa paused and turned to her, tears welling in her eyes. ‘Thank you for believing me. Something
terrible happened and I want to know what it was. I want to know why it happened. And I want to know who did this.’