Baby Did a Bad Bad Thing (31 page)

‘Muddle?’ said Gemma, angry at this minimisation. ‘It’s not a muddle, it’s a fucking nightmare.’

‘You have the resources to deal with it and come through it. You’re a professional woman with a lot of experience and a lot of skill. You’ve been trained to deal with crises. You know how to stay cool in a dangerous situation. You’ve got what it takes to sort this business out. I know you have. And when you’ve thought about it, you’ll remember that you have it, too.’ Kit kissed her on the cheek. ‘But more importantly, I know you and I know your inner strength.’

‘I feel helpless and powerless,’ said Gemma despairingly, ‘not strong at all.’

‘I remember you when you were a tiny thing,’ said Kit, ‘standing there, shaking in your tiny boots, but standing up to
him.
That’s something I can never forget.’

Without realising it, they had come to the place of their mother’s grave. Both of them paused, looking at the simple headstone giving their mother’s name and her birth and death dates. The rose bush Kit had planted last spring had one shrivelled bud and grass had grown up around it. They stood a moment in silence, and Gemma thought about this woman whom she could barely remember who had died too young.

‘Go back and talk to your staff,’ said Kit, as they started walking again. ‘Talk to Mike and Spinner, work out what you’re going to do. Talk to Angie. You have powerful allies. Use them. You can either fall in a heap and pull the doona up over your head or you can find your way through this. It’s your choice.’

Over the cliff, the falcon, in pursuit of invisible prey on the rocks, folded its wings and dropped from the sky.

•

Gemma strode back with the strong wind behind her bunting her along. Kit’s right, she thought. I’ve got to find a way through this.
My
way. She was suddenly aware that her injured leg was behaving reasonably well and that apart from the slightest tenderness when she took up the weight of her stride, it was functioning almost as well as her right leg. The last few days, she thought, I’ve had no time to do anything. Except damage control. The fire investigation seemed light years away. And the job she was doing for the sex workers. Even Shelly’s death seemed a distant tragedy, hidden by Gemma’s fears for Steve. And for herself.

Mike was still at work when she got back, fielding phone calls.

‘The phone hasn’t stopped,’ he said. ‘I told them to ring back later. A couple of the insurance companies want to break their contracts. Reckon they’ve got legal grounds to do it.’

‘Tell them we’ll complete any outstanding action free of charge,’ said Gemma. ‘First things first. I’m going to contact Spinner and Louise and tell them everything that’s happened. If they keep their records on tape or paper, I can transfer it later when everything’s settled down again.’
When everything’s settled down again,
Gemma echoed in her mind. When my business has been forgiven for an unforgivable security lapse, when the identity of whoever is doing all this is revealed, when Steve is safe in my arms again.

She called up Spinner and Louise, asking them to come in straightaway for an urgent briefing. She only gave them the barest details over the radio. Spinner’s shocked voice brought her back to earth and Louise’s softly spoken words of comfort came as a pleasant surprise. I don’t know this woman at all, Gemma thought to herself. Then she made herself some toasted salmon sandwiches and ate a good slice of Kit’s lemon pie, then drank a huge vanilla milkshake, sitting at her dining table, looking out at the sea, watching clouds building up along the horizon.

•

An hour later, the four of them sat in the operatives’ office.

‘In case you’re not sure what’s just happened,’ Gemma said, ‘someone did a mass email of this business’s private records to every competitor in Sydney.’ She amazed herself by saying the words without choking and paused while that sank in. ‘Someone hacked into our system and our whole organisation is compromised. The only phone calls I’ve had today are from journalists or insurance companies who’ve contracted with us over the years. You won’t be surprised to hear that all bets are off.’

‘It’s already in the news,’ said Spinner. ‘I checked after you called.’

He logged on to the office computer and soon had the newspaper on screen and printed off. He handed it to Gemma.

‘
Security Unsecured,
’ ran the sub-editor’s line.

‘The confidential records of one of Sydney’s private security firms were faxed to competitors today in what has been described as one of the worst cases of electronic industrial espionage to date. A hacker penetrated the confidential records of Mercator Security and Business Advisers, a well-known and, until today, well-respected Sydney-based security firm run by ex-cop Gemma Lincoln, specialising mainly in insurance fraud. Other areas of Mercator’s business include spousal infidelity. The names and addresses of people targeted by the firm for fraud and other investigations of a sensitive nature were made public by the wide exposure.’

There was more, but Gemma couldn’t bear to read on.

‘There’s a bit here in a box,’ said Spinner, ‘describing a job you did on some woman who was playing up. And how your own records reveal that you falsely gave her husband a negative report.’

Gemma closed her eyes. That wretched case would forever haunt her, surfacing like a rotting corpse to expose foul play.

‘They’ve suppressed the names,’ Spinner was saying, ‘but I reckon there’s enough detail for the parties involved to identify themselves.’

Gemma’s heart sank even further. What if the aggrieved husband, now himself the victim of a fraud, decided on some sort of civil action? He could take her to the cleaners, ruining her reputation for good. She thought of years in litigation, the destruction of relationships, friendships, her privacy. And what would the licensing board have had to say about someone taking a fee from a client and then lying about the services rendered?

Spinner was trying to be stern, but she could see his deep concern for her. ‘It’s a terrible mess,’ he said.

Louise sat there, biting the nail on her little finger and Gemma noted for the first time what tiny hands she had, with stumpy, short fingers, almost like a baby’s. Mike looked over her shoulder, reading more of the report from the screen.

‘I’m going to have to lay you all off,’ she said. ‘There’ll be no work after this. I don’t know what I’m going to do. I’m so sorry. You’re all good workers. You’ll have no trouble finding employment and you can count on me giving you very good references. Not,’ she added bitterly, ‘that a reference from me will carry much weight anymore.’

‘But do you think anyone will want us after this?’ Louise’s babyish voice was tinged with misery. ‘We’re stuck in this shit, too.’

She stood up and went to the door, watched in silence by Spinner and Mike. She seemed stunned, Gemma thought, noticing how remarkably thin Louise was. Had she always been like that and Gemma just hadn’t noticed?

‘It’s all gone wrong,’ said Louise. ‘Terribly, terribly wrong.’

Gemma could only agree in silence. Louise left and Spinner walked to the window.

‘I’m not going anywhere,’ he said, a frown turning his wrinkled little jockey’s face into a leprechaun’s. ‘What else can I do? I’m unemployable in any other area. Give me something to do. You’re still my boss as far as I’m concerned.’

‘Look through the outstandings and take your pick,’ she said, feeling a little comforted.

‘What about this one?’ he said, picking up the Minkie Montreau folder.

Gemma shook her head. ‘No,’ she said, taking the folder from him. ‘I have to tell her I’m handing the evidence I’ve collected against her over to the cops. Then she can pay me. As far as I’m concerned, that case is closed.’

‘Get her cheque first,’ warned Spinner, ‘
then
tell her what you have to do.’

Gemma turned to Mike. ‘What do you want to do?’ she asked.

He didn’t answer immediately, but sat fiddling with the corner of the elastoplast over his eye. Finally, he got to his feet, picked up his jacket and pushed his chair in under the desk.

‘I’m thinking about it,’ he said. ‘I’ll call you later.’

•

This is my last visit to Minkie Montreau, Gemma thought as she drove towards the Vaucluse mansion. If I ever see her again, it will be when I’m in the witness box, being cross-examined during her trial. She thought back to when the case first came to her attention. It seemed ages ago now that Steve had come round with the wretched Scorpio charm around his neck, smelling like a stranger. Now, with her world lying in shards around her, she found some comfort in just doing the job she knew so well, tying up the ends, presenting her account. God knows how long it might be before she got another cheque. I have no idea how I’m going to survive this business, she thought. Maybe it will be just Spinner and me again, like the old days, until the scandal dies down and people forget. I’ll create a new business, let the work slowly build up again. It didn’t seem fair to have to start all over again at her age, but she knew the alternative was to collapse into aggrieved victimhood.

The sight of the familiar canary-yellow BMW parked in Queen Street diverted her thoughts immediately. On full alert now, Gemma looked around for a place to pull over. I should just go straight past, she thought, go on to Vaucluse and stick my account and report in her mailbox. It doesn’t matter any more, the case is finished. But a rare parking spot alongside Zigolini’s tempted her more than her curiosity could bear. She swung into it, copping the admonishing angry horn of the driver immediately behind her, who’d had to use his brakes. She switched off the ignition and waited.

It wasn’t long before she saw Anthony Love in a brown velvet jacket, his hair tied back in a romantic ponytail, help Minkie Montreau, spick and span in a crisp charcoal pantsuit, both laden with shopping, climb into the BMW. Gemma followed them home, parking on the high side of the street some way off. From here she had a good view of the house. Through the lacy iron gates, Gemma noticed a lot of giggling as the two lovers unloaded the car unpacking what looked like gourmet delicatessen treats and wine, Gemma thought, from the clinking of bottles. A baguette stuck out of a paper bag and Anthony Love angled the shopping bags he was carrying so that from Minkie’s point of view, it looked as if he were sporting a huge, crusty erection. Minkie’s features were creased with laughter. It was hard to imagine her as a ruthless murderer.

Gemma waited while they went inside. And she waited a little longer. Then she climbed out, taking her briefcase and camera. Silently, she opened the gate and walked up the path through the formal wintering gardens, but this time, instead of pressing the doorbell, she crept around the building, tip-toeing along the sandstone flagging of the low verandah that surrounded the house. She had a pretty accurate idea where Minkie’s private sitting room lay, and she thought that would be the first place Minkie would take her lover, once they’d prepared their feast. As she circumnavigated the house, careful to make no sound, she saw the harbour ahead of her, the sea a deep winter navy, and the small craft going about their business. She continued creeping towards the back of the house, hoping her actions were obscured from people passing on the road by the lush growth of the flowering japonicas, pink, white and mauve, that edged the verandah. As she neared the windows of Minkie’s private sitting room, she could hear the sound of voices and the occasional burst of laughter.

Gemma drew her camera out of the briefcase, silently switching it on, making sure it was ready. Why am I doing this? she asked herself. Insurance? She wasn’t entirely sure, but she had an idea that a video of these lovers together could one day provide her with some sort of bargaining power. She waited until things became quiet and then went right up to the barred window. The rich fabric of the two curtains didn’t quite meet in the centre of the window, and the lace under-curtain was very fine, allowing a narrow view into the cosy room. Gemma poked the camera towards the glass and checked in the viewfinder. Oh boy, she thought. What a picture! On a beautiful pale blue rug in front of the open fire, two bodies writhed. The tables around them were loaded with smoked salmon, cheeses, the broken baguette, a silver bowl of impossibly perfect fruit and two glasses of wine. But the couple on the floor were satisfying other appetites.

She stepped back, looking round, again checking that her own activities were not being seen by neighbours. This is the Benjamin Glass arson case swan-song footage, she announced to herself. I’ll make Madam Minkie a copy of this and she can perhaps find some comfort in it in her prison cell. Again, she pressed the video camera silently against the glass, checking the viewfinder, selecting the best focus before starting to shoot. It was always expedient to keep the exposure the same, so that later it would be impossible to tell from the film how close she had been, in case issues of trespass were ever raised later in court. She studied the picture in the digital viewfinder: the lace curtain gave the image a misty, arty look complemented by the walls of the sitting room which were covered with paintings and beautifully coloured hangings. Ignoring the art display, Gemma started recording, focusing on what was happening on the floor in front of the fire. Despite the hazy quality, it was very clear that one of the parties mutually engaged in heavy petting was a partly undressed Minkie Montreau. Her jacket and silk blouse lay discarded on the rug, her slacks were round her ankles, revealing shapely white legs and as she lifted her head to kiss her lover, Gemma’s camera caught her flushed, smeared features in full. Then it was eclipsed by her partner’s bowed head. His hair seemed much longer than Gemma had previously thought, spreading across his narrow shoulders, like a woman’s. His wide rump was clearly visible and although Gemma puzzled over its unusually effeminate contours, it wasn’t until the pair disengaged somewhat from their mutual caresses, that she became aware of two extraordinary things: first, that both the bodies involved in this coupling were female, and secondly, that the other party, whose face, ecstatic from the attentions of Minkie Montreau, was now turned partly towards Gemma, was none other than Mrs Patricia Greengate.