Read Online Baby Did a Bad Bad Thing by Gabrielle Lord - Free Book Online Page A

elaborate nymphs in fountains in the courtyard and florid mirrors in the bedrooms, and her daughter Naomi went to one of the better Eastern suburbs private schools. Apart from some financial assistance from her stepfather, Shelly had done all this ‘lying on my back’, as she liked to say. Very few sex workers had got things together like Shelly had, Gemma thought. She played the piano beautifully and embroidered gorgeous cushion covers with silk and gold that sold for a small fortune in an exclusive homewares shop in Double Bay. Gemma remembered Kosta as being a spoilt Greek boy whom Shelly sometimes doted on and at other times abused, as he did her.
    She wanted to eat before she returned Shelly’s call. Taxi nearly tripped her as she went to the kitchen to make some late lunch then nagged at her while she chomped her way through peanut butter on two thick slabs of bread washed down with orange juice, before dialling Shelly at Baroque Occasions. They spoke only briefly, arranging to meet at St Vincent’s Hospital later in the afternoon.
    •
    Nothing prepares you for the terrible damage caused by a violent assault, Gemma thought, until you see it for yourself. The only reason she knew that the grossly swollen face lying on the pillow belonged to a young woman and not some monstrous alien was because she could read the name ‘ Robyn Warburton ’ above the bed in the four bed ward.
    Gemma winced as she saw the tight red-purple skin of the bashed woman’s face where it showed through gaps in the bandages. She noted inflamed ligature marks on the girl’s narrow wrists, bruised fingers and broken nails. She felt a sense of kinship with her already, knowing that it was her clothing that had been in Angie’s car for delivery to the laboratory for examination. Another woman, older, with a gaunt, handsome face, sat nearby holding Robyn’s hand. Gemma hadn’t noticed Shelly’s presence at the long window until she walked over to join them.
    ‘Thanks for coming,’ Shelly said as Gemma kissed her. Just by looking at her, Gemma thought, no one would ever guess how this slender woman in tweed slacks and a blue jumper made a living. She wore little make-up, apart from pale lipstick. Even the fabulous long gold fingernails that flashed with every move she made could have belonged to any successful business woman, and her dark hair was simply brushed back and tied behind with a ribbon. Gemma recalled a time she’d seen Shelly floating down the staircase of the brothel in a dress like a stream of molten gold, hair piled up, golden bracelets and stilettos, matching fingernails—a golden-goddess illusion for the mugs.
    ‘This is Brenda, Robyn’s mum,’ Shelly said, introducing her to the older woman. Brenda raised her tanned face to Gemma, her mouth set in a narrow line that looked like it hadn’t smiled in years. Gemma noticed the powerful muscles rippling in the woman’s upper arms and shoulders under the loosely draped jacket as she automatically put out her hand.
    ‘Look what he’s done to my little girl,’ Brenda said, clamping her lips even more tightly. She gently put her daughter’s hand back down on the bed and lifted the light coverings up.
    Gemma saw the heavy dressings that covered both breasts, and angry red stripes fanned over her ribs and belly.
    ‘Why would anyone want to do something like this?’
    Because he can, Gemma thought. Purple-red weals were embossed on the delicate skin, some of them punctuated with bloody wounds.
    ‘You wouldn’t believe what he’s done to her between her legs,’ said Brenda, smoothing the nightdress back over her daughter’s body. ‘You just couldn’t imagine it.’
    I don’t have to imagine it, Gemma thought, recalling the victims of other sexual attacks she’d seen over the years. Too many people imagine rape victims as merely having tousled hair, a torn skirt and perhaps a scratch or two. They don’t think what a powerful right hook with a man’s rage behind it