Ten minutes later, I was back in bed, the light turned off, my weary head resting comfortably on my pillows. My five senses were ready to shut down for the day when the damn phone woke me up.
I stretched my hand, grabbed the handset and made a grunting noise which was meant to be ‘hello’.
‘Is that you, Katrina?’
‘Phillip?’
‘Sorry to call so late. But you haven’t returned my call. I was worried something might have happened.’
Oh, shit! I’d completely forgot to call him back. Fully alert, I turned the light on. ‘Everything’s okay, Phillip. I just got home late and didn’t get around to calling you. I was going to, I swear.’ I didn’t know why I was grovelling.
‘I’m not bothering you, am I?’
‘Well, no, not really. I just turned the light off, so I wasn’t completely asleep yet.’
‘No, I mean generally. You still want to see me, don’t you? I mean I wouldn’t want to hang around if you’d rather me not be there.’
‘Don’t be silly. If I didn’t want you around, I’d let you know.’
‘Okay, just want to make sure we’re on the same track. I’d hate to be pushy. I need to know you want this too.’
God, it was too late at night to make any serious decisions. All I knew was that at this time of my life I didn’t want to be by myself again. Not that Phillip was with me all the time, but after I’d seen the look on Frank’s face today when I asked him if he was seeing someone, it must have dawned on me that being single wasn’t much fun after all. As much as I wasn’t ready for a full on relationship, it was nice to know Phillip was around when I needed him. Was I being selfish? Who cared. My life was being led by these swinging moods. One day I wanted to dump him and regain my independence. The other I almost wanted to marry him.
‘Listen, darling,’ I said in my warmest voice, ‘why don’t you come over tomorrow night, and we can spend some time together?’
‘That’d be great.’
‘Okay, I’ll see you tomorrow for dinner.’
We agreed to make it at around seven.
I hung up, wondering if this day was ever going to end.
I turned the light off and slept for eight hours straight.
By the time I crawled out of bed the next morning, Michael had already left the house. I knew because I heard him slam the front door, which was what woke me up in the first place. I glanced at the clock radio, which read 7.16 a.m., and wondered where the hell he’d gone to so early in the morning.
The night sleep had done some wonders, and when I stepped under the shower, I felt amazingly refreshed and alert. All my senses were switched on, and my mind was clear, as if it had just gone through the spin cycle of a heavily soiled wash.
While having breakfast, the usual coffee and vitamins, I decided to make it bright and early to Mrs Noland’s, hoping to catch her so early in the morning, she wouldn’t know if I was a friend or a foe.
It wasn’t until I rinsed my empty mug in the sink that I noticed some ink-jet-printed pages Michael had left on the kitchen bench. There was a hand-written note attached to them.
Mum, I looked up this zinc stearate you asked me about. Couldn’t find it. The closest I found was zinc oxide. I assume the properties are closely related. I hope this is useful. Michael.
I read the sheets top to bottom.
There was a section which briefly described the product:
Common Name: Zinc Oxide
CAS Number: 1314-13-2
DOT Number: None
Date: November 3, 1986
HAZARD SUMMARY
* Zinc Oxide can effect you when breathed in and may enter the body through the skin.
* Exposure to Zinc Oxide can cause a flu-like illness called metal fume fever, with
symptoms of metallic taste in the mouth, headaches, cough, shortness of breath,
aches and chills, upset stomach and chest pain.
* Repeated high exposures may cause ulcer symptoms and affect liver function.
IDENTIFICATION
Zinc Oxide is a yellowish powder. It is used as a fungicide and pigment in rubber products, paints, lacquers, varnishes, ceramics and cosmetics.
REASON FOR CITATION
* Zinc Oxide is on the Hazardous Substance List because it is cited by NIOSH and ACGIH.
This was followed by a several other sections: HOW TO DETERMINE IF YOU ARE BEING EXPOSED; WORKPLACE EXPOSURE LIMITS; WAYS OF REDUCING EXPOSURE; HEALTH HAZARD INFORMATION; WORKPLACE CONTROLS AND PRACTICES; PERSONAL PROTECTIVE EQUIPMENT; FIRE HAZARDS; SPILLS AND EMERGENCIES; HANDLING AND STORAGE; FIRST AID; OTHER COMMONLY USED NAMES; and ECOLOGICAL INFORMATION. Nothing of much interest to me.
I’d read enough to know that this stuff wasn’t meant to be poured on breakfast cereals. Still, nothing I’d read explained why a compound of this product had been found around Tracy Noland’s mouth. And there was no reference to the actual zinc stearate I’d been searching for.
I took the three sheets of inkjet-printed paper to my study and threw them in my in-tray.
I grabbed my handbag from the floral couch in the living room, locked the front door of the apartment and made my way to the building’s car park.
Outside the sky was clear, and it looked as if it would remain the same for the rest of the day. An odour of cooking fish whisked down the hallway and out the main entrance. There were Asians on the ground floor, and every second day, they seemed to be having fried fish, leaving the door of their apartment open and, as a result, infesting the hallway right up to the second floor.
When I parked my car in front Mrs Noland’s home at 8.27 a.m., the street was deserted. Being a Saturday, everyone was probably sleeping in or gone shopping.
I stepped out of the car, feeling awkward and intruding. But if this was the only way I was going to get some answers, then be it.
I crossed the front yard, looking over my shoulder, paranoid someone was watching me. I stood in front of the fly screen, a knot the size of a fist sitting in my stomach. I took a deep breath and pressed the door bell.
While waiting for someone to answer the door, I retrieved my ID-card and clipped it on the breast pocket of my navy jacket. With a flick of a hand, I cleared a strand of hair in front of my face. Oh, boy, I loved morning intrusions. I’d hate to be the one answering the door, facing some official-looking person, catching me in my T-shirt and underpants while having breakfast.
I heard footsteps coming down the hallway and automatically checked my watch. It was just on eight thirty, early enough to make my invasion of privacy barely legal. Quickly I removed the copy of the TGB General Insurance papers under Mrs Noland’s name. Hopefully throwing the evidence in front of her face would give me some leverage.
The door opened fully. I could hardly make out the person on the other side of the fly screen, but I did recognise the voice.
‘What are you doing here?’ Mrs Noland asked.
Well, good-morning to you too. ‘I just needed to ask you a couple of questions.’ I felt really awkward talking to a fly screen with a human voice.
‘You know as well as I do,’ she snapped, ‘that you have no business coming here. Unless you have a warrant of some sort, you’ve got to deal with my solicitor.’
‘The idea had occurred to me Mrs Noland, but I thought it would be best to talk to you first, just to give you the chance to consider... well, I’ve got some information here that you might like to see before your solicitor gets his hands on it.’
Instead of answering me, she unlocked the fly screen and pushed the door open. I glanced at her grey tracksuit outfit with Boy George printed on her front, something I hadn’t seen since the mid-eighties. She glared at me as if I was the one who’d killed her daughter.
Without saying a word, I handed over the TGB General Insurance papers.
‘What’s this?’
‘I believe it’s a life insurance policy you took out on Tracy about nine months ago.’
Her face turned beetroo
t red. ‘Where did you get this from?’ Anger rather than shock infested her tone. ‘These are personal documents. Who gave you this?’ I could see the muscles on her neck tensing up.
I remained calm, an attitude I deemed appropriate for a debt collector since the reaction I got from Mrs Noland made me feel like one.
‘That’s not really important,’ I said with authority. ‘What’s important is that your daughter is dead, and I find it slightly coincidental that her life was insured for $200,000 nine months prior to her murder. Care to share some opinion on this?’ I made sure I spoke loud enough for the whole neighbourhood to hear me.
‘Get in here,’ she ordered. ‘And keep your voice down.’
Yes, ma’am, otherwise I might end up by the banks of Albert Park Lake with a mouthful of mud.
I moved inside the hallway while she shut the door behind me. I glanced over my shoulder every three seconds, just in case she decided to end it all here and now.
But instead, she walked right pass me and said, ‘This way.’ And then: ‘You know, you shouldn’t be doing this. I’m going to talk to my solicitor regarding these documents, and there’s going to be hell to pay. You guys have no ethics. Coming here in my own home and throwing wild accusations.’
‘I didn’t say anything. I just felt it appropriate to inform you of what I’d uncovered.’
Not another word was said until we reached the kitchen. Breakfast dishes were soaking in the sink, and I could smell cigarette smoke in the air.
She glared at the piece of paper in her hands, shaking her head. ‘I can’t believe you guys are wasting your time digging dirt on me. I thought Malcom Sternwood confessed?’
I didn’t recall informing her. ‘We’ve got to cover every angle. And my interpretation is that the amount on this life insurance is a damn good motive for wanting someone dead.’
Her eyes locked into mine. ‘Are you accusing me of murder?’
‘I’m not accusing anyone of anything. I’d just like you to explain to me why you took life insurance on your daughter nine months ago.’
‘Because I cared about her.’
‘But I don’t see how that can be beneficial to her. If she was to die, you’d get the money. How does that show you cared about her?’
‘And? What about injuries? I wasn’t thinking about death when I took the insurance out. In case something happened to her, there’d be enough money to help with medical expenses and on-going treatment.’
I decided to ignore her perfectly valid reply and to push on with the finger-pointing. She probably had worked out a-thousand-and-one answers in her head just in case someone happened to find out what she’d been up to.
‘As far as I know Tracy wasn’t a bread earner,’ I continued, ‘so unless this amount is supposed to replace child allowance, which you’re not entitled to in the first place, then I can’t find a reasonable explanation to your action. No one does something for no reason, and you don’t have to be a genius to figure that out.’
She threw the insurance papers at my face. ‘You’re so full of shit! These documents don’t show anything. I would have never killed Tracy, and even if I did, you’d need more than that to prove it.’
Charming. Her attitude certainly didn’t radiate innocence, but I probably would have been more worried if she just stared at me and smiled instead. As much as I hated to admit it, her reaction was that of an innocent person. If someone had accused me of a murder I hadn’t committed, I would have gone off my head as well.
Not wanting to give in just yet, I rattled my throat and said, ‘You understand that with this evidence, I can get a search warrant for your home?’
She slammed her fist on the kitchen table so hard, my heart almost came out through my chest. ‘You get the hell out of my home. You understand me?’
And then, just as I turned around, ready to take a sprint down the hallway before the next thing she hit would be my face, I noticed a box of Turkish Delight near the kitchen window, the top flap half open. The brown box and the gold lettering looked familiar, but I couldn’t recall where I’d seen them, so I moved on.
‘You get your sorry arse out of my home,’ she shrieked, ‘before I call for help.’
I didn’t have to be asked twice. I opened the front door myself, pushed the fly screen open and walked steadily down the pathway towards my car.
‘And don’t you come back here,’ she screamed at the top of her lungs.
I tried to make myself the size of a lab mouse as I slid behind the wheel of my car. She slammed the door of her home in great fury, sending a shock-wave through my body.
I revved up the engine, cracked the gears and did a u-turn, causing the tyres to scream.
In ten minutes I was home.
I climbed the stairs to my apartment, still looking behind as if I’d been followed. The woman was mad. I swear to God, I thought she was going to hit me square in the face.
I fumbled with my set of keys and dropped them on the floor. My hands were shaking. When I entered the apartment, I realised I’d forgotten the insurance papers at her place. Great, that meant Frank would have to get another printed copy from the insurance company because there was no way I was going back there without back-up.
I filled myself a glass of water from the kitchen tap and drank it in one go. This was followed by another glass.
I opened the doors to the balcony in the lounge room, letting some fresh air through the rooms. I played Saint-Saens’ Symphony No. 3 in C Minor with its slow and hesitant Adagio. My elbows up against the metal railing, I studied the traffic below, trying to come up with some type of conclusion. Because I was still shaken by the whole incident, I found it difficult to listen to my inner voice.
Was Mrs Noland the killer or not?
What about Malcom Sternwood?
Great, now I had two prime suspects, making this job feel more like Rubic’s Cube than a murder investigation.
Three hours later I was face to face with Malcom Sternwood in a prison cell, selected photographs from his photo albums in a large yellow envelope. He looked beaten, as if he’d been deprived of sleep for a whole week. He wore a five o’clock shadow and heavy bags under his eyes. And who could blame him. If he was in fact innocent, one wondered what was going through his mind.
The cell was three by five at the most and could have almost passed for a motel room if not for the security screen on the windows. The walls were painted white, matching a hand-sink and shower of the same colour.
‘How are you coping?’ I asked.
‘How am I coping? Jesus Christ! What does it look like?’
He didn’t seem as shy as when I first met him. In fact he seemed quite angry.
‘You don’t look too good.’
‘You’ve got to get me out of here. I hate this place.’
I didn’t want to state the obvious, but prisons were not designed for enjoyment, although with colour televisions, gymnasiums and basketball courts, many would argue otherwise.
‘Just hang in there a little longer,’ I said. ‘You’re safer on the inside, anyway.’
‘Yeah, well, I didn’t do shit, so I shouldn’t be here in the first place.’
I didn’t like the way this whole conversation was going. Malcom was being aggressive, and I didn’t expect him to be too cooperative. But hell, I came to see him for a particular reason.
‘Have you ever seen this girl before?’ I slipped the two black-and-white pictures of the girl in the wheelchair out of the yellow envelope and pushed them in front of him.
‘Well, of course, I took those pictures.’
Silly me. I re-phrased my question. ‘No, I mean do you know her? Has she got a name?’
‘Yeah, she’s got a name. Everyone’s got a name.’
‘Are you making fun of me?‘
He considered my question for a few seconds, shrugged and said, ‘Her name is Lucia. She’s got cerebral palsy. She can only move one arm.’
‘And she was a friend of Tracy?’
‘Yeah, in a way she was. I’d seen them together often. I don’t know if they had much in common, but they met on regular basis.’
I flipped to the other photos, the ones with Lucia and Tracy in them. ‘And when did you take those?’
‘God, I don’t remember. In the past year. Anyway, they met at least once a week. Lucia used to watch the other children play in the street because she couldn’t participate.’
‘Mmm...and do you know where Lucia lives?’
‘Not sure, but some of the neighbours would know. Ask Tracy’s mum. I’m sure she’d be able to help.’
I knew Mrs Noland was one avenue I wouldn’t bother with.
‘How long had they been friends for?’ I asked.
‘As long as I can recall.’ His eyes rolled to the ceiling and back to me. ‘Let me see. I’ve been in the street for five years, yeah, so that’d be no less than five years, I guess.’
‘Did they go to school together?
‘I don’t think Lucia was capable of going to a normal school. If she did any schooling at all, my guess is that she had a tutor coming over to her place.’
‘Did Tracy ever mention what they were talking about?’
‘Who?’
‘Her and Lucia.’
‘How would I know? I don’t know everything about Tracy.’
‘You said you had a lot in common with her.’
‘True, but I didn’t know everything about her, like she didn’t know everything about me.’
I bet she didn’t.
Then Malcom shifted in his chair and changed the topic. ‘Do you think someone else killed Tracy?’
‘I’m working on it,’ I said non-committally.
‘Because you know I didn’t do it.’
‘I don’t know anything at this stage. I’m still working on it.’
‘What about my solicitor?’
‘I’m working on that too.’
‘Jeez, I’m tired of being locked in here. When can I go home?’
‘Very shortly. Maybe in a couple of days.’ I stood from my chair, but he grabbed me by the arm.
The Kristina Melina Omnibus: First Kill, Second Cut, Third Victim Page 43