Death by Beauty Read online

  ‘Mandible?’ asked Angie. ‘The jawbone?’

  Ted nodded.

  Angie and Gemma looked at him and then at each other as the implications of his words sank in.

  ‘It’s possible that there was some post-mortem damage caused by animals,’ Ted continued, ‘but I really couldn’t say that there was any evidence of that. Rodents leave distinctive teeth marks. There had been quite a bit of insect damage. Some very early maggot stages of various flies, and Rachel Starr’s body had been exposed for some time, but even so …’

  ‘Things are missing? You think he takes body parts?’ said Gemma, feeling sick with disgust.

  Ted’s heavy eyebrows came together in a troubled frown. He started to say something and then stopped.

  ‘Is that what you’re saying, Ted?’ Angie urged. ‘That he takes trophies? Souvenirs from the women’s features? Maybe even parts of bone?’

  Ted compressed his lips and nodded again, but this time almost imperceptibly. ‘Possibly. But I believe he uses acid to destroy facial tissue.’

  It took Gemma a second or two to process this information. ‘He really wants to rub them out,’ she said.

  ‘The sort of damage I’m seeing is the sort you get with strong acids, such as sulphuric or nitric. But I can’t say which one was used because the bodies have been thoroughly washed down. And I’m really reporting an absence. You know how cautious we tend to be with our findings. We can’t overstate them. There could be other explanations, but the most likely one is that the faces are completely destroyed before the bodies are dumped. I thought I should mention this because it might be helpful when you bring someone in.’

  Angie’s face wrinkled in distaste. ‘This is one sick individual.’

  Ted’s phone rang and he answered it.

  ‘Sorry, ladies,’ he said, standing up. ‘I was hoping we could have a cup of tea and talk further, but I’ve got a crime scene to attend.’

  ‘Acid,’ said Gemma as she and Angie walked to the car. ‘Why? What’s going on?’

  Gemma shivered. What sort of human being prowls around, looking for bits of people to steal then throws acid onto what’s left?

  CHAPTER 12

  ‘Right,’ said Angie when Gemma answered her phone the next morning. ‘We’ve already had some responses to that newspaper piece. Three women have rung in. Also, I’m interviewing Rachel Starr’s partner at ten o’clock. There’s something I need to check with her.’

  Gemma glanced at her watch. She’d need enough time to pack up Rafi’s bag and take him to daycare once he had finished his breakfast. It is not easy, she thought, to run a security business and be a mother to Rafi, or to make time for Mike. ‘I can come along and take notes.’

  ‘Mmm. Maybe. Or you could chase up the women who’ve rung in. At least in the first instance.’

  ‘I will. But count me in on the Starr girlfriend interview. I might need to hear what she has to say.’

  ‘I’ll pick you up about nine-thirty. Be ready.’

  Stacey Major opened the door of the small semi-detached house in the inner city and ushered Gemma and Angie along a narrow hall musty with incense smoke. It opened into a living room, which had been turned into a shrine for the late Rachel Starr. Photographs of the dead woman with flowers and candles shining in front of them stood on shelves and tables. Stacey, a short, sad-faced woman in her thirties, stood awkwardly as Gemma and Angie looked around at the pictures of the beautiful girl.

  ‘I miss her terribly,’ she said, slumping into a chair and indicating that the other two should sit down. Her brown eyes were congested with tears. ‘Sometimes I hear her – I swear it – I hear her calling me from another room. But of course there’s no one there.’ Her voice faltered and she pressed her lips in a firm line against the tears. ‘And I don’t understand why you’re here again. I’ve already told the police everything I know.’

  ‘Stacey,’ Angie started gently, ‘I know this must be painful for you. But sometimes when we feel we’re getting nowhere in a case, this is what we do. We go back to the beginning. We start all over again. We go over everything. We re-read witness statements, we talk to the people we’ve spoken to before, because we find that sometimes later memories come up, triggered by those first interviews. I have your statement here and I want to ask you a little more about something you’ve written.’

  ‘Okay, I guess,’ said Stacey, pulling out a pink handkerchief from the pocket of her jeans.

  ‘My assistant, Gemma, will be noting down any details you can add, no matter how unimportant you might think they are. Okay?’

  Stacey nodded, screwing up the handkerchief and pressing it against her mouth. ‘You’ve got to find out who did this. You’ve got to get him.’

  ‘I promise we’ll do everything possible,’ Angie said. ‘But just to help me get more of an idea about the sort of person Rachel was, will you tell me a bit more about your life together? Your routines, the things you did. The places you went.’

  ‘Our life was pretty quiet, really. I do night shift at the nursing home, and Rachel – Rachel used to do three different life modelling jobs and sometimes waitressing over the weekends at the cafe on the corner. We’d go to the movies a couple of times a month. Have dinner with friends at their place or here. Sometimes we’d go out for a meal. But the mortgage here takes up a lot of our finances every month.’ She paused, lowering the handkerchief. ‘I don’t know how I’m going to manage alone, with the payments and everything.’

  ‘Did Rachel complain about anything going on at any of her jobs? Or the art students she posed for?’

  ‘The police asked me that earlier. No. There was never anything like that. Or if there was, Rachel never talked to me about it.’

  ‘You mention an incident in your statement,’ said Angie, flashing a look at Gemma. ‘You say here: “I can’t think of anyone who would want to hurt Rachel. The only time she’s ever been involved in anything violent was when some guy pushed her over near Bondi Beach a week before she was murdered.” Can you tell us more about what happened?’

  ‘It was an incident down near the beach in the week before she …’ Stacey’s voice petered out. ‘It was really unpleasant.’

  ‘Tell us about it, Stacey,’ Angie said gently.

  ‘We were walking along the promenade at Bondi one evening. Rachel was walking a bit behind me, dawdling, when I heard a scuffle and Rachel screaming. I turned round to see what had happened and there was poor Rachel, sprawled on the ground and someone – some guy – running away. The bastard had deliberately pushed her over! We tried to go after him, but we saw him jumping into a car and he drove off really fast. Rachel had grazed her hands badly in the fall and she’d also hurt her shoulder. When we got home, she was still complaining about her shoulder. I had a look at it and I could see a bruise starting to form. At first I thought the mongrel had punched her so hard in the back that he’d bruised her. Then I looked more closely. There was some kind of puncture mark in the middle of the bruised area – like he’d hit her with something sharp. It was very upsetting, but we didn’t report it. We just put it down to some random act of craziness.’

  Gemma sat up straight, the buzz of adrenaline surging through her system. This was the third in a series of minor assaults all involving puncture of the skin.

  ‘Can you tell us anything – anything at all,’ asked Gemma, ‘about the guy who pushed Rachel over?’

  ‘Not really,’ said Stacey. ‘All I can say is that it was a man – I can’t even remember what he was wearing. I don’t know what sort of car he drove. I wasn’t taking things in very well at that stage.’

  ‘Is there anything else you can tell us?’ asked Angie.

  Stacey shook her head. ‘That’s it,’ she said, after a moment.

  ‘We’ll be in touch again if we need to,’ said Angie, as she and Gemma stood. ‘You’ve been very helpful, Stacey. Thank you. We’ll see ourselves out.’

  As they returned to the car, Angie said, ‘Are we just looking
at some nasty coincidences, or am I starting to see a pattern here?’

  Gemma raised an eyebrow. ‘Three assaults on young women. And now two of those young women are dead.’

  ‘My thoughts exactly. Your place?’ Angie asked, starting up the car.

  ‘Let’s drop by Kit’s place first.’

  Gemma and Angie came in via the rickety wooden gate that opened into the small garden and led to the back steps.

  ‘Something smells good,’ Gemma said as she walked into the kitchen.

  ‘I’m making scones,’ said Kit, pushing a tray with ten freshly baked scones towards her. ‘Want one? What have you been up to?’

  ‘We’ve had a busy morning so far,’ said Angie. ‘Gemma is helping me with some of the paperwork connected to the murders we spoke of earlier.’

  Kit nodded, pulling off oven mitts and going to the fridge to get butter.

  ‘Ted Ackland gave us some disturbing information,’ Angie added. ‘Not only does this killer violently demolish their faces, he also uses acid to complete the job.’

  ‘Acid?’ Kit paused with the fridge door open. ‘If he doubly disfigures them,’ she said, ‘that could be the explanation. He’s ashamed of what he’s done. He sees what taking his souvenirs – if that’s what he’s after – does to the human face and body, and he can’t stand it, so he sets up a scene that he hopes will hide what he’s done. Acid, then a set-up car crash or falling on rocks from a great height. He’s trying to destroy what’s left after his mutilations so that no one ever knows what he’s done.’

  ‘You’re suggesting he goes ballistic,’ said Angie.

  ‘Kit, that could be it,’ said Gemma. ‘Or he could be quite methodical afterwards, going about setting up his false death scenes. He obviously has somewhere he can work undisturbed. Remember, he washes the bodies too.’

  ‘Okay,’ said Angie, reaching for a scone, ‘when we’ve got a suspect, we’d better make sure we search the freezer. And the meat tray.’

  The half-swallowed scone in Gemma’s mouth suddenly became unpalatable.

  CHAPTER 13

  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 h
andsome 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.’