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

by Laurent Boulanger

  ‘You’re probably right, but if we can search her home, maybe we’ll find other evidence. What we need to do is move in fast, take her by surprise.’

  He shook his head. ‘I don’t know, Katrina. That’s what we did with Mrs Noland, and look what happened.’

  ‘We don’t know that she wasn’t involved. Maybe the two of them worked together. Maybe Mrs Noland killed herself because she was remorseful. It was her daughter after all.’

  ‘Probably. But what about a motive? You know we’ll never convince a jury unless we can show the killer had a motive.’

  ‘We’ll find one if we keep digging. Maybe Mrs Noland owed a lot of money to Linda Coleman, and they made a deal where Tracy would be killed to repay Coleman with the insurance claim. Who knows, greed brings out the worst in people.’

  Frank shifted uncomfortably on his chair and said, ‘Okay, look, in the meantime we’re going to have to let Malcom Sternwood go. His solicitor wants bail, says we’ve got nothing concrete to tie his client to the murder. I kind of still think he could have done it. He certainly fits the profile better than Linda Coleman.’

  ‘Then let him go.’

  Frank let out a sigh and emptied his mug. ‘I’m going to get a warrant authorised for this evening. Just make sure you’ve got your mobile phone on so I can reach you when the paper work is done.’

  I nodded and stood from my chair. ‘I’m going back home anyway. Some things I need to check on.’

  I spent the entire afternoon going through my files on the Tracy Noland murder. Something was on the verge of being disclosed, something locked at the back of my mind, a detail I hadn’t paid attention to. And it’s funny how the mind works because it seemed to know more than I did. It was only a matter of time before I would be able to link everything up.

  I spread the crime scene photos all over the floor, a cup of coffee on the carpet at risk of being knocked at any time. My focus was one hundred percent on the task. No jazz or classical music to distract my thoughts. I was in a cocoon, ignorant of what was happening outside my window. Typed reports of my interviews with the neighbours were piled up on my right and left. There was something in there which led to the truth. It was a matter of opening my eyes and ciphering through the contents thoroughly.

  I re-read the reports I’d written about my initial interviews with Tracy’s neighbours. There had to be something, a connection which would lead me in the right direction.

  And then, all of a sudden, it hit me like lighting. The truth was staring at me, but I’d been too busy to see it. I stared at my pages again and re-read the section I’d found over and over. There was no doubt. This couldn’t have been a coincidence.

  I sprang to my feet, knocking the coffee cup all over my paper work.

  Damn!

  I stared at it, as if the dark stain on the salmon carpet was a time bomb, ready to go off in my face. Then I shrugged and raced to Michael’s room, my heart pounding.

  I pushed the door open, knowing he wasn’t home. The room was a mess like I expected it to be. Clothes spread all over the floor, school books, games, empty packets of chips and half emptied soft-drink canisters. My eyes scanned the room, but I couldn’t find what I was looking for.

  Fear crept at the back of my mind.

  Could it be possible?

  I went down on my hands and knees, sniffing around the rubbish, my head down on the carpet. Exactly what I was looking for, I wasn’t sure.

  And then I found it.

  It was there, right under his bed, next to a pile of Sport Illustrated and Smash Hits magazines.

  My pulse quickened at the sight of it. I had to re-adjust my focus to make sure I wasn’t dreaming. But the damn thing was as real as the five fingers on my right hand.

  I flicked it over with a push.

  The box was empty.

  Michael had eaten all the Turkish Delight.

  Within half an hour, I was in Albert Park, my heart drilling out of my chest.

  Oh, God, don’t let anything happen to Michael!

  Horrid images of Tracy Noland appeared in my mind’s eyes, but then Tracy became Michael, and I nearly smashed my car into a semi-trailer, which stopped suddenly at red traffic lights. I wanted to go faster, but six-o’clock traffic was as bad as this morning’s peak-hour. I felt foolish not noticing something so obvious. Sometimes, caught in all the forensic complication of an investigation, it seemed too damn easy to overlook simple things. If anything ever happened to Michael, I knew I’d never have the strength to carry on.

  Turning the corner to where Tracy lived, I could have sworn I saw Lucia in her front yard with her wheelchair. I looked in the rear mirror to double-check, but no one was there.

  I parked the car in Jason’s driveway.

  His Mazda 626 wasn’t there.

  Nervous, I checked for my .380 semi-automatic in the glove box, but after struggling with my conscience, I decided to leave it behind. It was bright daylight, and nothing much could happen. Instead I took the lock picking kit with me.

  I slipped out of the car and slammed the car door, not bothering to lock it.

  Checking my surroundings, I climbed the steps to the front door. I wondered if anyone could see me across the large bay window of the lounge room. But his car wasn’t there, so why would he be home?

  I turned the front door knob, but not surprisingly it was locked. Anxious, I pressed the buzzer and knocked on the door. My mind was racing at a hundred miles an hour, imagining the worst could have happened.

  Nothing.

  I glanced around one more time.

  Vincent Court was deserted. Just a quiet street in the middle of suburbia. At first glance, no one appeared to be watching me.

  I removed the lock picking kit from my bag, and in less than thirty seconds, I heard the distinctive click made by the pins. The thirty seconds had taken forever. A single thought kept running in my head like the tune of a scratched record.

  I’m too late. I’m too late. I’m too late.

  I pushed the door open.

  ‘Jason? Michael?’

  Not a sound.

  I closed the door behind me and stood still for about a minute, listening for any noise.

  But all I could hear were birds chirping outside.

  When I was convinced no one was in the house, I made my way down the hallway, hugging the wall with my back. I wasn’t sure what I was looking for. Initially, I came looking for Michael because I feared for his life. And I had every reason to after the connection I’d just made while going through the Tracy Noland file in my apartment.

  I eased past the lounge room and the kitchen. Everything was as I remembered, clean and in its place.

  The sink was free of dishes and clutter.

  Dish rags were carefully folded over the handle of the oven.

  The kitchen table had been wiped to a polish.

  Mr Harvey had an obsession for tidiness. That’s something else I should have paid more attention to.

  Fear creeping down the back of my neck, I stepped back down the hallway. There were two doors to my right, both of them shut. I hesitated for a few seconds and decided to go for the one on the right.

  One hand on the door handle, I glanced over my shoulder, feeling I was being watched.

  But no one was there.

  Perspiration dripped down my back.

  My hands were trembling.

  I hunched my shoulders, turned the knob and hesitantly pushed the door open.

  What if I was wrong?

  What if I’d just broken into someone’s home unjustly?

  I stepped inside.

  The room was bare of furniture, other than a table covered in a black, velvet cloth. To my right were two cardboard boxes with Turkish Delight printed on the side and the name of the importer. Make-up, two pair of wings and assorted clips and combs. Above the table was a large mirror where the old man could see himself change into a clown or a magician. I scanned the top of the table and noticed a large jar, which I
first believed to be cold cream. But inside was a white powder. Automatically, I though of zinc stearate. But what was it for? Something to do with magic?

  Before I had time to come up with an answer, I saw the printed name in gold letters on the black, velvet cloth. I stared at the word for thirty seconds, trying accept what I was faced with.

  I thought about Michael.

  This had to be a nightmare.

  The word Paranor stitched in Gothic, gold-lettering stood like a diamond in the front of the cloth.

  The conversation I had with Lucia was playing back my mind.

  ‘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.’

  Paranor.

  Paranor.

  Paranormal.

  The damn word was probably a stage name.

  ‘Michael!’ I screamed, surprised by the loudness of my voice.

  Then I heard the door creak behind my back.

  I did a half-circle, felt the impact of god-knows-what on my forehead, and everything turned to black.

  For a spilt second, before I lost consciousness, I thought I was about to die.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  When I woke up, my head was on fire. Whatever had hit me caught me off-guard and did a good job of disorientating me. At first, I wasn’t sure if I was sitting, standing or lying down. Then, as I became increasingly aware of my surroundings, I realised that the white surface in front of me was not a ceiling, but a wall. I think it might have been a window on my left which helped me assess my surroundings.

  I tried to breath-in through my nose, but it was blocked, and all I could taste was blood in my mouth. I tried to reach for my face to sooth the bruising on my forehead, but I couldn’t move my hands. Horrified, I realised I was tied to a chair and stripped to my underwear. It took me another thirty seconds to understand what was happening.

  Yes, I remembered being at Jason Harvey’s home, searching for Michael. Then I found a room and a table and a cloth with the word Paranor written on it. I felt like a fool letting myself become a friend to the man who killed Tracy Noland. At least, I was now certain he did. What was he going to do to me? What happened to Michael?

  I tried to stand from the chair, but it was useless.

  Why in the world had I been stripped to my underwear?

  During my time at Quantico, I’d learned about psychotic behaviour, and knowing what I’d learned, I realised the situation I found myself in was alarming. What were my chances of getting out of here alive? Based on statistical information I had edged somewhere at the back of my cranium, virtually none.

  ‘Somebody help!’ I heard a voice scream.

  Silence.

  And I realised it was my own voice.

  The fear of not knowing what had happened to Michael gave me the strength to fight back.

  I tried to pull my hands forward, but whatever was tying them together was cutting at my wrists. There’s nothing quite like pain to bring you back to the reality of life. I would have given anything right at this moment to be in the comfort of my lounge room, overlooking Chapel Street, listening to neighbours argue, putting up with Michael’s disrespectful behaviour and losing myself in a good book. But the fact was that I was near-naked in someone’s torture room, my head drowning in confusion and pain, my body shivering from cold and fear.

  And then I heard voices coming from somewhere distant.

  Two voices.

  A man and a woman.

  That’s when I realised I’d been right.

  Back in my study, I’d gone through the interview reports, and something jolted me as unusual. There was a pattern which I hadn’t notice at the beginning of the investigation, a coincidence which would have triggered my mind into another direction had I been more attentive to details.

  After the look Linda Coleman gave me when I left Mrs Noland’s funeral, I rushed back home and went through my reports. And only when I re-read all of them, I realised Jason Harvey and she had pointed the finger at Malcom Sternwood. They were the only two who brought up Malcom as a probable suspect. In fact, Jason was the only person who defended Tracy, telling me people had no idea what they were talking about.

  The voices were getting louder. It almost sounded like an argument.

  I wanted to scream, but refrained myself.

  The voices turned into whispers, and then a door opened behind my back.

  ‘She’s awake,’ the female voice said.

  Whoever was with her didn’t bother answering.

  The woman circled the room.

  Unstartled, I recognised Linda.

  Jason was beside her. ‘Hi, Katrina,’ he said, as if everything that was happening was perfectly normal. He looked at my breasts, and then his eyes met mine. ‘I wish things could have been different.’

  My tongue felt like cardboard inside my mouth. I didn’t know what to reply to such an obvious statement. I racked my throat and said, ‘Where’s Michael?’

  He gave Linda a look and said, ‘I don’t know. He’s not out with his friends like boys of his age are suppose to be?’

  ‘You bastard!’ I shouted. ‘If you’ve done anything to him, I’m going to get you.’

  He laughed.

  Linda was staring at me coldly, and I felt as if she was going to eat me right here, alive.

  ‘What do you want from me?’ I asked, horrified.

  ‘Katrina,’ Jason went on, ‘it’s not what I want from you, it’s what you want from me. I tried hard to steer you the other way. But you just had to persist.’ He removed his lucky coin from the right pocket of his chinos and rotated it between his fingers. ‘I like you, and you know that.’

  ‘Why did you kill Tracy?’

  His brow creased. ‘Hey, hold on. It’s wasn’t like that. You’re trying to make it sound like she was murdered. It was an accident. It truly was.’

  Linda wasn’t saying a word, and it kind of frightened me. They’d obviously planned something, but were not telling. The fact that I was only wearing my underwear explained my fear.

  ‘What was it then?’ I asked, not only because I was curious enough to find out what truly happened to Tracy Noland, but also because I knew that if I kept a conversation going for long enough, I might be able to convince them to release me.

  ‘I was teaching her some magic tricks, just like Michael.’

  ‘You didn’t touch Michael? Did you?’

  ‘Now why would I do that? What do you take me for?’

  I was losing patience. ‘Just get me out of this chair. This has nothing to do with me.’

  ‘On the contrary, you made it your choice and made it something to do with you. And now, we’ve got a problem that needs to be solved.’

  I didn’t know what was coming, but I knew I wouldn’t like it. ‘What exactly are you talking about?’ Then I turned to Linda. ‘And tell her to stop looking at me like that. She’s giving me the creeps.’

  They both laughed whole-heartedly as if we were sharing a joke.

  ‘Well,’ Jason said, ‘You don’t have to worry about Linda for much longer. The two of you are going to get to know each other in ways you’ve never experienced. At least I don’t think you have.’

  I kind of guessed what he was suggesting, and when I looked at Linda, my worst fear had been confirmed. She smiled at me, and all that did was get me even more confused.

  What had actually happened to Tracy Noland?

  Who killed her?

  Jason or Linda?

  Or both?

  And why?

  ‘You’re going to tell me what happened?’ I asked.

  Jason moved forward and said, ‘I told you it was an accident. We were playing a game, and —’

  ‘What kind of game?’

  ‘The kind of game we’re playing with you now.’ He moved back. ‘Look, thing was she start
ed to scream, and all I did was put my hand over her mouth, and the next thing you know, she wasn’t moving.’ He turned to Linda. ‘Isn’t that right, dear?’

  She nodded without a word.

  Well, I guess that made it all right then. If it was an accident, everything is under control. Now that you’ve explained yourself, the investigation is over. We won’t go ahead with any criminal charges, and life can go on as usual.

  ‘You guys are really sick,’ I said as an afterthought to my internal dialogue. ‘And what did you use the zinc stearate for?’

  They looked at each other puzzled.

  I went on, ‘We found traces of zinc stearate all over her mouth. Linda bought the stuff from a chemist. No point denying it, it’s on record.’ A lie, but in the position I found myself, it didn’t really matter any more. Fact was that Lee Nugyen had only described Linda Coleman to me, and the record of her buying zinc stearate had been destroyed.

  ‘Oh, that!’ Jason said, mildly surprised. ‘It’s a dusting powder I use when doing card tricks. It makes the cards more slippery, easier to handle.’

  So much for the mystery of the zinc stearate, I thought.

  He moved to the side and said, ‘Well, if you don’t have any other questions, we’d better get moving. Getting rid of a body is not that easy. But you must know that, since it’s your field of work.’

  I jerked on my chair, trying to throw myself forward.

  Without warning, Linda hit me on the side of the face, sending me flying sideways.

  I crushed against the wood-panel floor, bones crashing, pain jolting throughout my skull. I couldn’t believe what was happening.

  ‘How did you get Mrs Noland to agree with this?’ I asked, blood spilling from the side of my mouth.

  ‘Eh? She had nothing to do with it,’ Jason said. ‘Perfect timing she killed herself when she did. Made it easier on all of us.’

  ‘And what about Michael? You could at least tell me what’s happened to Michael.’

  He shrugged. ‘Nothing has happened to Michael. I haven’t seen him today.’

  ‘Liar!’

  He smiled, obviously enjoying my torture. ‘I’m going next door for a while, leave the two of you alone.’ He bent over towards my face. ‘Well, I guess we won’t be seeing each other again. Damn shame. I kind of liked you in that cute underwear. You remind me of Tracy. Innocent, naive little thing that she was.’