Death by Beauty (36 page)

‘I should have guessed much earlier what was going on out there,’ said Gemma, holding two takeaway coffees as Angie filled
her car with petrol at a service station on their convoy drive home. ‘If only I’d realised sooner that Mrs van Leyden was
an “after”, not a “before”, maybe I could have done more.’

‘You did great, Gems,’ said Angie. ‘The palynologist visited the place as part of our preparation to apply for the warrant,
and found that rare plant growing there – that bitter pea bush. Now we have more corroborating physical evidence linking the
murders to Sapphire Springs. I still don’t quite understand why there was the damage to the lower body. What’s that all about?’

‘I don’t know.’ Gemma paused. ‘But I still think I should have worked it all out earlier – what was really going on.’

‘How could we? What they were doing was unthinkable.’

As Angie returned after paying for her petrol, she said, ‘I talked to someone about the name “Volk”. It’s a Russian word.
It means “wolf”.’

‘Wolf,’ said Gemma. ‘That’d be right. That’s another reason why he wore those vampire teeth. He was in character so we didn’t
believe the women he attacked.’

Gemma dialled Steve’s number, hoping that her phone still worked, and listened as the call diverted to voicemail.

‘Steve? I hope Rafi’s been well behaved for you. I’ll pick him up in about thirty minutes. Please call me.’

Angie had clearly overheard the message. ‘You have to let him go, Gemma. You’ve got Mike to consider – your life with Mike
and Rafi. I get the feeling you’re still—’

‘Angie, he’s the father of my child.’

‘I’m not disputing that. But I’ve known you for nearly twenty years and I can tell. You still haven’t separated from Steve.
Not emotionally. Are you still in love with him?’

Gemma hesitated. ‘I can’t help it, Angie,’ she said finally. ‘There’s just this – this – connection between us.’

Angie’s mobile rang and Gemma watched anxiously as she answered. ‘Thanks. Okay.’ She called off and shook her head. ‘That
was one of the smarter young cops on the team. She’s tracked down the whereabouts of Adel Milani.’

‘You’ve found her? She’ll be able to—’

Angie cut her off. ‘She isn’t a she.
He
’s Tolmacheff’s lover. He’d been telling people he’s Tolmacheff’s son. According to what I just heard, he’s breached his student
visa and he’s now in the hands of Immigration.’

Gemma blinked as she absorbed this news. She recalled the young man she’d seen in earnest conversation with Tolmacheff the
day of their first meeting at the cafe, the man Spinner had described as having an argument with Tolmacheff at the Rushcutters
Bay restaurant.

Tolmacheff’s comments at the spa made sense now. He was no lover of women, just a user. No time to consider this at the moment,
she thought. Deep unease stirred in Gemma’s mind. She called Steve again; again, it went to voicemail. She couldn’t shake
a bad feeling; she recalled the times she’d gone to her bedroom window to check if someone was out there; the time that Mike
had walked around the garden to reassure her. The broken rose cane and the disturbed soil outside the bedroom window. Someone
had been stalking her. What if the same had happened to Steve? Her heart yearned for her baby.

She rang Mike and before he could start she began, ‘Mike, I’m on my way to Steve’s place, to pick up Rafi. But I’m worried.
Steve’s not answering his phone.’

There was a silence in which Gemma could almost hear Mike processing the implications in her words. Finally, he responded.
‘Okay. Call me if you need me.’ There was a pause, then he added, ‘We’ll talk about this later.’

She started to climb back into her car. ‘I’m going to Steve’s.’

‘I’ll follow,’ said Angie.

Gemma parked some distance away from the small apartment block. Angie drew alongside and called out, ‘I’ll wait here for you.’

She hurried into the foyer, grim foreboding pulsing with every heartbeat. She rapped on his door. ‘Steve? Steve? It’s me,
Gemma.’

She put her ear to the door and listened. Nothing. She had a strong sense that the place was empty. Where could they have
gone? Surely Steve wouldn’t take Rafi out at this hour?

She ran back to Angie. ‘There’s no one there. The place is quiet. They’re not here!’

‘Okay. He couldn’t go many places with a baby. What about his mum’s house?’

‘Of course,’ Gemma cried, relieved. ‘Rafi’s been upset because I’m not there and Steve’s gone to his mother’s – and he didn’t
want to admit defeat to me. I’ll call her.’

Gemma was so certain that Mrs Brannigan would reassure her that Steve and Rafi were both there, that when she said in
a puzzled, even hurt, voice, ‘Gemma, why do you think Steve and your baby would be here?’ Gemma rang off without saying goodbye.

‘Angie. Something’s happened! Something’s terribly wrong!’

‘Calm down, Gems. Don’t jump to any conclusions yet. I’m sure there’s a—’

Gemma’s mobile rang and she pounced on it, recognising Steve’s number. ‘Thank goodness! Where are you?’

But it wasn’t Steve on the other end of the line. ‘Get to my house and we’ll talk about how things are going to be from now
on. Otherwise you will never see your baby again. And if you bring the cops, that goes double.’

No words came when Gemma tried to speak. Instead, an icy fire of fear and rage caught in her throat. Behind Lorraine Litchfield’s
shrill voice, Gemma heard another noise: Rafi’s despairing, hungry wail. At the sound of it, the fear and rage became high-octane
ferocity.
Rafi. This monster woman had Rafi
.

The thought of Rafi in the hands of someone who didn’t love him – who could harm him – curdled the ferocity into iron-hard
resolve. Her mind zoomed in to a narrow, laser-like beam, blazing with primal fury.

Finally she was able to speak. ‘I want to talk to Steve.’

‘He’s not in a position to talk just now. Just do as I say – and fast, bitch. I’ll be watching for your arrival.’

‘What is it?’ Angie asked, seeing Gemma’s face.

‘I will do exactly as you say. No police,’ Gemma responded, ignoring her friend’s anxious face. ‘I’ll be there as soon as
I can. I won’t contact the cops. This is just between you and me, Lorraine.’

But Lorraine had rung off.

‘What’s going on?’ Angie demanded.

‘Lorraine Litchfield. She’s got Rafi and Steve.’

Angie swore.

Gemma barely noticed the drive back to her place. She barely noticed that neither Mike nor Hugo was there. Angie ran around
after her as Gemma grabbed a jacket and raced into the bedroom to the gun safe, unable to look at the empty cot.

Her heart was beating out a tattoo:
You are dead, Lorraine Litchfield, you are dead, you are dead
… She had to keep it going like a mantra, otherwise she’d go mad with the fear of losing her baby.

Angie wouldn’t let up. ‘Listen to me, Gemma! You’ve got to bring the police in. You can’t possibly do this on your own.’

‘I have to. I can’t take the risk,’ Gemma said, grabbing the compact Glock 27 out of its case, unlocking the ammunition and
loading the extension magazine with nine rounds. ‘This is my son – my son’s life we’re talking about.’

She shoved the clip up into the weapon, cursing Litchfield, and checked that the automatic safety features were in place before
strapping on an ankle holster under her trousers. She checked for keys and mobile while the connections merged in her mind.
Hugo had seen Tolmacheff and Lorraine together at Kings Cross. Tolmacheff must have been the criminal Steve mentioned, the
man Lorraine had lost interest in pursuing some time ago when she found he wasn’t the rich man he’d claimed to be. But they
were together again now – Tolmacheff and Litchfield united again to destroy Gemma Lincoln.

‘You can’t expect me to sit on this,’ said Angie as Gemma made ready to leave. ‘I have to take action. I’m coming with you.
You could end up doing something crazy.’

‘My son’s life is at stake, Angie. I can’t take the risk of any stuff-ups. You do what you have to, but I’ve got to move –
now and fast. By the time the tactical-response guys get organised, it’ll be too late. If you go anywhere near Litchfield’s
place, I swear I’ll shoot you myself!’

Angie stood watching helplessly as Gemma left.

The last time she’d been at this address, Gemma recalled as she pulled up across the road from the faux-Venetian McMansion,
she’d been hauled from the floor of the back seat of a car that had hijacked her off the street. This time, things would be
different.

I’m here to bring you home, Rafi
, her heart whispered as she checked the concealed Glock securely fastened to her right ankle. There was no doubt in her mind
that she would go to any lengths to keep Rafi safe.

She had driven here in a haze of fear and vengeance. Now, she was overcome by a sense of furious yet focused power; and it
was directed straight at Lorraine Litchfield’s heart.

The front door opened as she approached. A man leered at her, the blemish beneath his left eye creasing under his psychopathic
glare as he blocked her way.

‘Lorraine told me to come. Where is she? Where is my son?’

The vampire moved closer and started to pat her down with relish, running his hands over her body, lingering as he checked
her inner thighs. It was all she could do not to punch him. Of course he found the Glock.

Gemma felt his hold on her loosening as he roughly tore off the ankle holster. Then he took her by surprise, knocking her
to the floor and straddling her chest, his heavy arse over her face. His mobile rang and the vampire stopped it almost immediately.
But in those few seconds Gemma recognised the sound that had woken her three weeks ago in the early morning: the first few
strident bars of the stabbing, atonal violin shrieks from the shower scene in
Psycho
.

‘Get off me, you bastard!’ she swore, heaving him off as he clambered to answer his phone. He had been outside her bedroom
and forgotten to silence his phone. The vampire had been scoping her before she even knew he existed.

He spoke briefly on the phone, then grabbed her and pushed her into the room she remembered from the last painful time she’d
been here: the mother-of-pearl furniture, the giant hot-pink scallops that lined the huge mirror at the opposite end of the
room, two black candelabra, studded with Tahitian pearls on either side, the long pink-and-grey granite table, and doors leading
off to the other areas of the house. Gemma caught sight of herself in the mirror, dishevelled and distraught.

Litchfield stood preening herself in front of an oval mirror, between two heavy gilded dolphin candlesticks. She was wearing
one of her favoured outfits, a low cut, mauve angora jumper and white trousers. Silver sandals decorated her permanently tanned
feet and her hair fluffed out like yellow fairy floss. She turned as Gemma stumbled into the room. Gemma noticed three matching
suitcases in pearlescent-pink fake crocodile in a row beneath the mirror. The almost empty champagne bottle and two glasses
on the table indicated that she and the vampire had been having one for the road, celebrating their triumph.

Premature celebration, Litchfield
. Gemma’s eyes narrowed, scanning for the chance to move as the young woman sauntered over to the table, picking up her glass.

‘Where’s my son?’ Gemma demanded from across the table. ‘No talking until I see my son.’

‘You’re not in a position to tell me what to do,’ snapped Lorraine.

Then Gemma heard Rafi in a room nearby, his despairing wail, and her heart nearly exploded. She took a step closer until she
was pressed up against the table that divided them. ‘Please,
please
, give me back my son! What do you want from me? I’ll give you anything. I swear Raimon will never see any of that footage.’

‘You know, I actually believe you. But it doesn’t really matter. I can’t take the risk that you’ve left some sort of insurance
that he will get hold of eventually. You’ve forced me out of town. So I need an ace card. That card is your son. I’m taking
Rafi with me. Kind of a guarantee.’

No no no!
screamed through Gemma’s mind. Reflected in the mirror, she could see the smirking vampire behind them, sprawled on one of
the armchairs, legs apart, enjoying the scene. Near his right hand and sunk into one of the fat cushions was Lorraine’s thick-nosed
M1911 from which Gemma had recoiled some years previously. Then, it had been grasped in Lorraine’s shaking hands.

‘I’ve been trying to get hold of you and that baby for a while. Now I’ve got all of you – the trifecta – in my territory.
And I can do what I like.’

‘Please, Lorraine,’ said Gemma, her mind firing and discarding ideas with the speed of an automatic pistol.

‘You can beg all you like,’ she said, her face no longer beautiful but contorted into a snarl, leaning closer over the table
so that
Gemma could see her tanned cleavage. ‘I’m leaving the state – heading for another big city. Maybe even leaving the country.
But there’s one thing I know about Raimon: he never gives up. He’s like Nestor here. That’s why I hired Nestor. Headhunted
him from the guy he mainly works for.’

The vampire grunted at the sound of his name.

‘Raimon boasted to me what lengths he went to to get to his ex-wife, and you know what he did to her. She’d moved house but
he tracked her down. He’d do that to me, I know. He’s got that sort of crazy love that turns to crazy hate – especially if
he sees something like the footage you took. So that’s why I’m keeping Rafi with me. He’s my guarantee that you will never,
ever show that footage to Raimon. Who knows, after a while when it all cools down, you might get your son back. I could get
sick of him. Then again, I might keep him. He’s kind of cute – when he’s not screaming.’

‘Please, Lorraine,’ Gemma repeated. ‘You can’t take my son. Just hand him over to me now and we’ll forget about everything.
I’m begging you.’

‘You are. And I’m loving it,’ she hissed, the perfect mouth shrivelling in contempt.

In the nearby room, Rafi’s crying had reached high-pitched choking despair until its crescendo formed his first word. ‘
Mama!
’ he called. ‘
Mama!
’

Mama
. His first word, and he was calling for her!

Lorraine’s face contorted with relished hatred as she came even closer, almost shoving her face into Gemma’s across the table,
enjoying Gemma’s suffering. ‘I just wanted to see you grovel, here in my house. To rub your face in the shit, like you’ve
tried to do to me!’

Rafi’s cries became more and more distressed. ‘
Mama! Mam-aa!
’

Her son’s call for her surged a red-black fury through her body, searing through her right arm. In a speedy blur, she grabbed
the champagne bottle and smashed the neck against the granite table edge in one rage-fuelled swoop, and shoved the jagged
glass straight up into Lorraine’s jeering face. Lorraine’s head and chest slammed back, cascading blood. Gemma spun round,
yelling like a crazy woman, ready to take on the vampire, hurling herself and the sharp, bloodied bottle at him like a berserker.
Somewhere on the pink carpet, making incoherent sounds on the other side of the table, Lorraine Litchfield floundered.

The vampire leaped to his feet swearing, the M1911 raised ready to fire. Gemma barely registered it as she lunged at him with
the bottle, desperate to get to him before he fired. But she missed because suddenly he’d lurched forward, sprawling on the
floor near her feet, the heavy M1911 hitting the carpet.

Gemma stood, uncomprehending as Steve, miraculously materialising through the door behind the pink armchair, continued his
trajectory, diving over the armchair, snatching up the M1911 and turning it on the scrabbling man, snarling, ‘Move and I’ll
blow your bloody head off, pal!’