Death by Beauty (12 page)

Angie parked outside Gemma’s home, turned to the back seat and lifted out her briefcase. ‘Here are the details of the three
women who responded to that newspaper article. Can you get cracking on that as soon as possible? That’ll save me time,’ Angie
said. ‘By the way, Steve called me earlier,’ she added.

‘Steve?’

‘He’s in big trouble.’

‘Yes, I know. He told me about the allegations. About Lorraine Litchfield’s early release.’

‘But I can’t help him, Gems. I’m not even supposed to know anything about it. Steve isn’t allowed to say anything to anybody,
either. But he knows I’d never betray him. And I know you never would, no matter how things stand between you.’ She paused,
looking across at Gemma. ‘I’m so sorry, honey. I didn’t mean to upset you.’

‘It’s not you,’ said Gemma, finding a tissue for her tears. ‘It’s everything. I’ll be okay once I get back into my old routine
again.’

She blew her nose and pushed the tissue up her sleeve.

‘For him to contact me like that must mean he’s in a really bad way,’ said Angie.

‘What did he want?’

‘He didn’t say. I had the feeling he wanted to talk, then decided not to.’

‘I’ll call him,’ said Gemma. ‘No, better still, I’ll go round and see him.’

‘I don’t want you doing anything that’s going to cause problems for you – and Mike. But I had to pass this on. I knew you’d
want me to even though Steve will probably hate me for doing it.’

‘Of course you had to tell me. Thanks.’

Gemma got out of the car, heavy with sadness, and more than that. A deep regret was added to the mix of feelings. She knew
how fortunate she and Rafi were to have the love and support of Mike, and she did love him. But there was another man in her
heart, and nothing seemed to change that.

Later in the evening, with Rafi sleeping sweetly, she and Mike sat on the lounge, with their usual Friday night bottle of
wine, and half an eye on a David Attenborough animal documentary. Komodo dragons flicked their drooling tongues along the
ground, lumbering around a large pool where muddy water buffaloes lazed, half submerged from the heat and flies.

Gemma turned away from the water buffaloes.

‘How was your day, Mike?’

‘A couple of insurance cheats. And the petrol tankers. What about yours?’

She shrugged. ‘Busy.’ She described what Ted Ackland had told them, and Kit’s interpretation.

On the screen, the Komodo dragon, having bitten the water buffalo with its filthy teeth dripping with toxic saliva, was hanging
around waiting for the doomed animal to weaken from the effects of the toxins. Komodo dragons could wait for weeks. They had
nothing much else to do in life, Gemma thought as her mind quickly filled with everything that she had to deal with.

The next morning, Rafi woke up grizzling. He had a high temperature and vomited after breakfast. He was restless and unhappy,
and Gemma walked around and around the apartment with him, suffering with him. Nothing she did made him happy, so she rang
her GP.

‘Make sure you keep him hydrated, and if it doesn’t clear up by Monday bring him over. Could be teething. Some little upset.’

She did her best to comfort him throughout the morning. Sometimes he looked at her and his mouth would turn down and his face
would crumple with tears, as if she’d disappointed him deeply.

‘Poor, poor moozle,’ she whispered, rocking him.

He slept fitfully in the afternoon, on the couch where she put him with pillows and cushions to keep him safe from rolling
off. With half an eye on him, she took out the list Angie had given her of the women who’d contacted the police after the
newspaper article. She selected the first name and phone number: Annabel Carr.

‘Ms Carr?’ Gemma asked when a woman answered.

‘Yes.’

‘My name is Gemma Lincoln, and I’m a private investigator working with the police. I believe you contacted the police after
reading about the assaults in the newspaper?’

‘Yes, I did,’ she replied, then hesitated. ‘That’s right.’

‘Sergeant McDonald would like you to make a statement about what happened. Are you willing to do that?’

‘I’m not sure … I don’t know how to.’

‘It’s not hard. We just need to you state what happened.’

‘What happened was I met this guy in a bar. And he must have put something in my drink. Look, this is hard for me to talk
about.’

‘Would it be easier if we did this in person? We could talk over what you’re going to say in your statement. Would that help?’

‘For sure. Are you working today?’

‘Yes, we’re trying to bring all the information about these cases together as soon as we can. Where would you like to meet?’

‘I’m at Bondi.’

‘I’m not far from there. We could meet at Le Penne at Bondi?’

‘Cool.’

‘I have a sick little boy at the moment. Can we make it later if he improves? Maybe early this evening? I’ll call again.’

Rafi was brighter after his sleep, so in the late afternoon Gemma drove to Bondi. With Rafi in his stroller she walked along
Campbell Parade.

As soon as she turned into Le Penne, she picked Annabel Carr sitting in the corner, looking over the top of a magazine, scanning
the entrance. Early twenties, Gemma thought, and one of those beautiful, golden Australian girls, lithe, slender, tanned;
wearing jeans and, despite the coolness of the day, a halter-neck top. Annabel looked up with interest as Gemma parked the
stroller by the door, picked up Rafi and wove her way through the crowded tables.

‘He’s gorgeous,’ she said. ‘What’s his name? How old is he?’

‘Raphael. And he’s almost one. He’s not feeling too good today.’

As if on cue, Rafi broke into a wail, crinkling up his face while Gemma tried to soothe him. A handsome waiter took their
orders and soon Annabel was drinking her fresh apple juice while Gemma sipped a coffee and Rafi, his face red and grizzly,
crossly waved a piece of bread from the roll Gemma had ordered. A small serve of ice-cream improved his mood and he banged
his spoon around.

‘Just tell me what happened – in your own words, Annabel. When you’re ready. I’ll make notes of what you say and you can use
them for your police statement, okay?’

‘Like I said on the phone,’ said Annabel, tossing her gleaming dark blonde hair behind her, ‘I met this guy in the city months
ago, at a bar called Habeas – a lot of legal people go there. I’m trying to get work in the legal field. But I haven’t got
any experience with legal work, only sales jobs so far. And I met this guy, he seemed really nice. Handsome, European—’

‘Accent?’

Annabel nodded. ‘He gave me his business card. Here you are.’

Gemma took the card. ‘The police will want to see it.’

‘It won’t do them any good. There’s no such number. And there’s no such firm. I checked.’

Gemma read the details thickly embossed on the card: Andrew Jarrod. Jarrod, Jarrod and Silberstein, Solicitors, The Terrace,
Adelaide.

‘He said that he’d recommend me to a friend of his in Sydney, if I was thinking of leaving my job. He said this friend pays
heaps more than the award for a legal secretary. But it was all crap. I remember suddenly becoming very sleepy and he seemed
concerned and helped me out onto the footpath and hailed a cab. Then he said he’d better come with me to make sure I got home
safely. The next thing I remember is waking up with a – a
vampire
about to attack my neck. It was horrible. I couldn’t move. I was so dazed by whatever he’d put into my drink, I just had
to lie there. I must have passed out again because I found myself in a hotel room with this. After all this time you can still
see it.’ She lifted her hair and turned her head slightly so Gemma could see her neck. ‘See that black spot there? Anyway,
I went to my doctor to check it out. She couldn’t find any evidence of sexual interference, thank God. And I’ve just had the
second of two blood tests and I’m in the clear, thank God again.’

‘When was this, Annabel?’

‘January.’

‘Did this man have any distinguishing marks?’

‘He had a kind of birthmark under his left eye. A bit like a smudge of Vegemite.’

Gotcha, Gemma thought. ‘Why didn’t you report this?’

Annabel considered. ‘I didn’t want to talk about it, I just wanted to forget about it. No one would have believed me anyway.’

They finished their drinks quickly as Rafi threw his spoon on the floor and wailed. Gemma smiled and said, ‘I’d better get
this young man home. Thanks for agreeing to talk to me, especially on a Saturday. If you need any help with your statement,
just call me.’ She passed her business card over. ‘Angie McDonald will look after you. Phone her when you’re ready.’

‘I think I’ll be okay now – now that I’ve talked it over with you.’

‘If you change your mind, I’m only a phone call away.’

The following morning, Rafi was his usual happy self. ‘Let’s go to Bronte Park for an hour or two,’ Gemma suggested as she
made coffee. ‘Take a break from work and Rafi can ride on the little train.’

‘Good idea,’ Mike said. ‘It’s a beautiful morning. We should all be out in it.’

Gemma packed some snacks for Rafi, and his bear and the three of them headed up to Gemma’s car, Mike carrying Rafi and making
silly noises that made Rafi giggle. It’s got to be the best sound in the world, Gemma thought, laughing at them.

When they got there, they found the little train in the park wasn’t running but Rafi didn’t care; he was very happy to play
on the grass, crawling a little distance away, waving his biscuit, throwing his bear on the ground and squinting at the wheeling
seagulls. Mike bought takeaway cappuccinos and Gemma relaxed back on the rug, watching the clouds yet all the time keeping
an eye on Rafi.

‘It’s too long since we did something like this, Gemma,’ said Mike, rolling over on the rug and looking down at her. He pushed
a strand of hair from her face.

‘You’re right. We work too hard. But Mike, I feel responsible for these people. Mischa, and Delphine – they’ve come to me
asking for help.’

‘Maybe you take things too personally.’