The Kristina Melina Omnibus: First Kill, Second Cut, Third Victim

‘I’m tired of being locked up. I want to get out of here. It’s not nice in here. I’d like to go outside, but all they do is keep me locked in here all day.’

  ‘Let go of my arm, Malcom,’ I said, staring at his grip.

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry, it’s just that... I just want to go home.’

  ‘I understand that. But at the moment we’re still investigating the case, and you’re still a prime suspect. If we find you had nothing to do with Tracy’s death, you’ll go home on the double.’

  He gave me a defeated look, and I thought he was going to cry.

  I grabbed the photos, slipped them in the envelope and headed for the door.

  When I got home, I remembered Phillip was coming for dinner. As much as I anticipated his arrival with some excitement, with everything happening at once, suddenly, it felt like the worst time in the world to have him over.

  In my study, feet propped up on my desk, I dialled his number at work.

  ‘Hi, darling. It’s me,’ I said when he picked up the phone.

  ‘Good to hear from you. So, what time did you want me over tonight?’

  ‘Well, actually, I rang to cancel. Something came up with work, and I won’t be able to fit you in.’

  Silence.

  ‘Phillip?’

  ‘I’m here.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I don’t mean to hurt you. It’s just that I’m closing in on this Tracy Noland investigation, and I don’t have much time for anything else.’

  ‘I gathered that.’ His voice was dry, lacking emotion.

  ‘Don’t be like that, Phillip. You know what it’s like when work catches up with you.’

  ‘Sure, I do. Except that in your case, work always seems to catch up with you.’

  Oh, God, I didn’t want to get into one of these work-relationship debates again. ‘Phillip, I’m trying my best here. You know I like your company. Why would I have rang you back last night if I didn’t want you around?’

  ‘You didn’t call me back, I called you again.’

  I stared at him like an idiot as I realised he was right.

  ‘Listen to me, Katrina. Relationships are not about wanting to see someone. They’re about seeing someone. And the little amount of time I’m spending with you, I don’t know if we can call that a relationship.’

  ‘What about the weekends? I always spend time with you on Sunday.’

  ‘But Michael’s there.’

  I felt a lump in my throat. ‘So what?’

  ‘So what is that I want to spend time with you, not Michael. This is not a threesome, Katrina.’

  ‘Is that how it is?’

  ‘Looks like it.’

  ‘Okay, in that case, I guess we’re not meant for each other.’

  Before he had time to reply, I slammed the handset back in the receiver.

  Ten seconds later the phone rang.

  I pulled the plug from the wall.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Her full name was Lucia Melinda Ruxton, and she’d just turned eleven the previous week, exactly ten days after Tracy Noland’s body was found in Albert Park.

  I spoke to her parents on the phone, and they felt obliged to help after what happened to Tracy, but told me I might be wasting my time. I decided to take a chance.

  At 5.23 p.m. on Wednesday the 7th January, I parked my car two houses from the intersection from where Tracy Noland used to live. This was the second time in a week I had come knocking on some stranger’s door. I cared little for disturbing any family life by now. My nerves were highly strung, and I wanted to get to the bottom of this case. The investigation had just cost me my relationship, although at the back of my mind I knew Phillip and I would never have made an item for life. I became increasingly aware that the incident I had with him on the telephone that afternoon might not have been an incident after all.

  I saw Lucia in the backyard of the Victorian home she shared with her family. It was still daylight and mild enough to be sitting on a patio over a drink. We were surrounded by bushes, while a smell of cooking swept past us from the kitchen.

  Lucia was a surprise. I knew she’d be handicapped, but when I saw her, I realised why her parents told me I might be wasting my time. Like Malcom mentioned, only her right arm was moving freely. The rest of her body seemed hopelessly unstrung. Everything she did was random, as if every limb in her body had a life of its own. Even her speech was garbled. It took me about five minutes to realise she was actually saying something and to get used to her extended vowels and shortened consonants. But her eyes sparkled with life, as if she was a person trapped in a body she had little control over. And when we began our conversation , I realised that’s what it was.

  In the past I found it difficult to communicate with severely handicapped people, and as a result found it awkward to relate to them. The little time I spent with Lucia taught me people were people, no matter what shape they were in. And although I’d known that for a long time, putting it into practice was a totally new experience.

  Lucia had dark hair down to her back, clear blue eyes and was slightly overweight for her age. She wore blue tracksuit pants with a matching top.

  ‘How well did you know Tracy?’ I asked.

  Lucia’s head tilted sideways, a stream of saliva dripping down the side of her mouth and onto her chest as she answered my question. ‘We were good friends. She treated me like a normal person, better than a normal person.’

  I wanted to tell her she was normal but refrained myself. We both knew she wasn’t, and I would have only ended up looking like a fool by trying to please her.

  I went on, ‘Did Tracy have any enemies you knew about?’

  She thought about that for a little while. ‘She didn’t like the other kids. She said they were too childish.’

  I was still having problems understanding every word she said. ‘What about another person? Did she hate anyone in particular?’

  Lucia puzzled some more.

  ‘What about Malcom? You know, the kid who lives at twenty-two Vincent Court?’

  Her eyes met mine. ‘She liked Malcom. She never said anything bad about him.’ More saliva running down the side of her mouth. ‘She said he was into photography, and they’d spend all this time taking pictures of her.’

  ‘Did you see Malcom’s pictures?’

  ‘Some I did. She wouldn’t show them to anyone else because she was embarrassed.’

  ‘How’s that?’

  ‘In some of the pictures she was only wearing her underwear.’

  I was surprised Lucia knew about that. ‘Did Malcom tell her to undress?’

  ‘I don’t think so. She was more mature than the other kids. When you talked to her, she talked like an adult. Like you. When she showed me the pictures, she seemed excited, as if it was something she wanted to do.’

  ‘And Malcom never touched her or did anything to her?’

  ‘She never told me, but I doubt it. She told me everything else. If Malcom had done anything to her, I would have been the first person to know.’

  Her comments made me wonder if we’d made a mistake about Malcom after all.

  ‘Is it possible that she asked Malcom to take those pictures?’ I asked.

  ‘Yes, absolutely. She liked models. She said she wanted to become a model when she grew up. Her favourite model was Kate Moss. She said she looked thin, just like her.’ Suddenly her body jerked as if it had been subjected to an electrical current. But then it stopped. More saliva down her top.

  Kate Moss looked like a fourteen-year old to my eyes, so it was no wonder young people looked up to her rather than the other supermodels.

  ‘Okay, so she liked Malcom?’

  ‘Yes, she did.’

  ‘Was there anyone she didn’t like?’

  ‘She didn’t get on that well with her mum, but I think she still loved her.’

  ‘Did she say anything about her mother?’

  ‘Not really. They were always fighting about one thing or another.’

  ‘Did
her mother hit her?’

  ‘No, they just screamed.’

  I shifted on my chair and sipped from a glass of lemonade. Lucia did the same with the help of a straw, but not all the liquid entered her mouth.

  ‘Do you need a hand with that?’ I asked, feeling embarrassed for her.

  ‘I’m okay.’

  I continued, trying to hide my discomfort, ‘Was there anyone Tracy hated in particular?

  ‘The only person I can think of is Paranor.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Paranor.’

  ‘Who’s Paranor?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘What exactly did Tracy say?’

  ‘She brought the name up a few times. Sometimes she would say she had enough of school, enough of living in this street, enough of Paranor. She wanted to go somewhere else, somewhere where she would be happy.’

  Was that the reason Tracy was a difficult child? Because this Paranor person made life hell for her? Was it a person she was referring to or maybe a place or a thing?

  ‘And you sure you don’t know who Paranor is?’

  ‘No idea. I don’t know why, but I never asked her. I might have once, but I think she didn’t tell me, so I didn’t ask again. Maybe it was someone at school. Maybe one of her teachers.’

  I began to notice that Lucia seemed tired, and she could have done with a box of tissues. She probably wasn’t used to having to make conversation with someone for so long. I decided to wrap up the questioning.

  ‘Is there anything else you’d like to tell me about Tracy?’ I asked.

  Her eyes met mine, and she said, ‘I miss her. She was the best friend I had.’

  Lucia insisted on walking me to the car, so I pushed the wheelchair to the front of the house. Her mother promised to come and get her as soon as I took off.

  ‘Do you think you’re going to find who killed Tracy?’ Lucia asked when we were standing next to my car.

  ‘I’ll do the best I can.’

  I was about to unlock the car door when she asked, ‘Do you have a gun?’

  I wasn’t sure I’d heard properly, especially with the way she pronounced her words. I thought she asked me if I had a gum.

  ‘What was that?’

  ‘You work for the police?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So, you have a gun?’

  ‘Yes, I do.’

  ‘Can I see it?’ I hesitated for a few seconds, so she added, ‘I’ve never seen a real gun before. I want to see what it looks like.’

  She locked her eyes into mine, and I thought, what the hell.

  I opened the door of my car and retrieved from my glove box the .380 semi-automatic Frank bought me last Easter, wondering if I was doing the right thing. But then I reasoned Lucia would probably never get to see a real gun for the rest of her life. I’m sure she could have done without the experience, but what was I supposed to do? She’d already experienced little in comparison to other children, and I didn’t want to contribute unnecessarily to her inability to enjoy life to the full.

  ‘Here,’ I said, while holding the gun in front of her face.

  Without warning she grabbed it with her right hand.

  I was going to take it back, but restrained myself.

  ‘What is it?’ she asked.

  ‘A Mustang Plus .380 semi-auto,’ I said while she handled the stainless frame handgun featuring a blue slide and adjustable sight.

  ‘Have you ever killed anyone with it?’

  ‘No, and I don’t wish to.’

  ‘So why do you carry it?’

  ‘For self-defence. In case someone like Tracy’s killer attacks me.’

  ‘Would you shoot Tracy’s killer?’

  ‘Only in self-defence.’

  She nodded approvingly.

  ‘Guns are not a nice thing,’ I said. ‘If there weren’t dangerous people out there, I wouldn’t be carrying one.’

  She continued to handle the gun, aiming it towards the car. The safety lock was on, making it impossible for her to shoot by accident.

  ‘So, how do you use this thing?’

  ‘Well, first you have to unlock the safety lock, there.’ I pointed at the locking mechanism. ‘But you’re not going to do that here.’

  ‘Of course, I’m not.’

  ‘Then you aim and shoot. And repeat every time you want another bullet to fire.’

  Suddenly Lucia’s mother opened the front door of the house.

  I snatched the gun from Lucia’s hand. ‘I’ve got to go now.’ I tossed the gun on the passenger side of the car and slammed the door.

  ‘I’ll see you later, Lucia,’ I said, waved to her mother, circled the vehicle, unlocked the driver’s door, and slid behind the wheel.

  ‘You’re going to come back and visit again?’

  ‘I will. I promise.’

  Lucia waved with the only limb she could move.

  When I made a left turn at the corner of Vincent Court, I felt a hot tear rolling down my left cheek.

  I spent the rest of the evening in my study with the Tracy Noland file opened and its contents spread all over my desk, jazz music in the background.

  One at a time, I looked over the crime-scene photos, hoping to find something I might have missed when I was there. What did the word Paranor stand for? I checked my Encyclopaedia of Dictionaries by my desk, but there were no entries under Paranor in French, Italian, Spanish, German or Greek. Maybe it wasn’t a foreign language.

  At the back of my mind, I felt some sense of relief Phillip and I had broken up. As much as I missed him at times, I guessed he had been right when he suggested that what we had together was not in fact a relationship. I found myself caught between a need to exercise my freedom and wanting the comfort and security of being in a relationship. But Phillip wasn’t ready for someone whose career stretched beyond office hours. I refused to play the docile woman in someone else’s life. My faith in the opposite sex was weak as a result of my marriage break-down at around the time when Michael was born. I’d had on-and-off flirtations with other men over the years, but found no one whom I really trusted or wanted to spend the rest of my life with. Maybe one day the right person would come along. After all, it seemed everyone around me was getting matched up at some stage down the line, and some were far more busy than I was. But for the time being, the only thing which mattered was my job and Michael.

  Thinking about Michael made me look at the time. When I realised it was 9.27 p.m., and he was home late for the third night in a row, I knew I would have to have a serious talk to him. I looked up Jason Harvey’s telephone number because my guess was that he was still there. The phone rang twice and Jason picked it up. I asked him if Michael was there.

  ‘Yes, he is,’ Jason said, his voice filled with excitement.

  ‘Well, could you tell him to come home right away?’

  ‘Oh, but we’re having such a good time. Chris is here too. Why don’t they stay here overnight?’

  Alarm bells began to ring in my head. ‘Mr Harvey,’ I snapped unexpectedly, ‘my son is not your son. I want him home now on the double. Have I made myself clear?’

  There was a pause, and then he said, ‘You don’t have to get nasty with me.’ His tone was dry, and I could feel his hurt.

  ‘I don’t mean to be rude. It’s just that Michael hasn’t been home for the last few nights. We spend very little time together as it is, and I would like to see him.’

  ‘All right. I’ll send him home right away.’

  ‘Actually, put him on the line.’

  ‘Sure.’

  I didn’t know what came over me. Suddenly, with all crime-scene pictures spread on my desk, the realisation that Tracy had been about Michael’s age, and that it all happened in that neighbourhood, something inside me snapped.

  ‘Mum?’

  ‘Michael, why aren’t you home?’

  ‘I’m here with Chris. We’re learning all this magic stuff.’

  ‘Are you okay?’

&n
bsp; ‘Of course I’m okay. What’s wrong?’

  ‘Nothing. I just want you to come home now.’

  ‘Sure.’ He didn’t resist. He must have known from the tone of my voice that I was upset. ‘I’m on my way now.’

  I changed my mind. ‘Actually, stay where you are. I’m coming to pick you up.’

  ‘Okay.’

  I hung up, grabbed my keys from the kitchen bench and raced down the hallway. God dammit! I wasn’t sure why I’d suddenly become so afraid of losing Michael.

  I was sick and tired of spending half my life on Vincent Court. At night time, there was a creepiness about the area, but I reassured myself that it was merely my distorted viewpoint which caused the illusion. A young girl had been killed in that street. Her mother was defensive and obnoxious. A young man collected soft-pornography of the young girl. Traces of zinc stearate had been found around the young girl’s mouth. So far, I hadn’t been able to locate where the chemical compound came from. And my son was spending a great deal of time with an old man at the end of the street. Everyone who had seen and experienced what I had in the past weeks would have thought the area to be creepy as well, I reassured myself.

  As I stepped out of my car, I suddenly realised how involved I was with the residents of Vincent Court. I was a part of their lives, for better or worse.

  I climbed the steps up to Jason’s home. The light outside hadn’t been turned on, and I couldn’t find the door bell button, so I knocked twice on the door.

  Michael opened the door.

  ‘You’re ready?’ I asked before he had time to say a word.

  ‘Yeah...you don’t mind dropping Chris home?’

  ‘Where does he live?’

  ‘Elwood.’

  ‘It’s not really on our way. Why doesn’t he call his parents?’

  ‘Come on. Just this once.’

  ‘Okay, fine. Just hurry up.’

  ‘Cool.’

  I waited by the door, not wanting to come in.

  Then Jason Harvey appeared. ‘How are you?’ he said, a broad smile on his face.

  ‘I’m fine. I just want to go home.’

  He moved closer and said, ‘I’m sorry if I’ve upset you. I didn’t think I’d done anything wrong by letting Michael come to my place.’