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

by Laurent Boulanger

  ‘You bastard!’

  ‘Goodbye, dear.’

  He slipped out the room.

  I was left alone with Linda.

  Without warning, she cranked the chair back up on its feet. I could feel burning on both sides of my face, where she hit me and where I hit the ground.

  She moved to one corner of the room, which was partly obliterated from my view because of the angle I was sitting in.

  ‘What are you doing?’ I said, despair coming over me.

  No answer.

  ‘Why don’t you say something? Is that how you did it with Tracy?’

  ‘Shut up.’

  I did.

  I sat for what seemed an eternity, wondering what she was doing behind my back. Was this going to be some kind of rape-thrill kill? In the state I was in, blood dripping down my chin and onto my breasts, I wondered what kick she would get out of using my body for her own gratification.

  Finally, when I was too busy wondering how bad my face looked, she appeared in front of me, a syringe in her hand. I’d almost forgotten she worked as a nurse at St Patrick’s Hospital.

  ‘What’s this stuff?’

  ‘It’ll put you to sleep.’

  I was getting desperate. ‘Don’t do this, Linda. It’s not the right thing. You know it’s not the right thing.’

  ‘’I’m way past doing what’s right.’

  ‘Everyone knows I’m here. I’ve already spoken to Senior Sergeant Frank Moore. Anything happens to me, and he’ll come straight to you.’

  I jerked on my chair, trying hard to free my hands from behind my back.

  Linda took her time, savouring every second of my despair.

  ‘Let me go, Linda. If you let me go, I’ll make sure you’ll get the best defence lawyer.’

  She sniggered without bothering to answer. Instead she checked the contents of needle to the light.

  ‘Is this going to kill me?’

  ‘It’s not Prozac, if that’s what you’re asking.’

  She flicked the needle a couple of times, and with her right hand, felt her way around my neck.

  ‘You don’t have to do this, Linda. You know you don’t have to do this. We can work something out. Just let me go. I won’t tell anyone anything.’ I was losing it, making promises I knew I wouldn’t keep.

  ‘Just relax,’ she said in a nursing manner. ‘It’s less painful if you relax.’

  ‘Oh, God!’

  I closed my eyes, images of Michael and me spending time together. I was going to miss him.

  I clenched my teeth when the needle pierced the side of my neck.

  Death was only seconds away.

  But none of the contents of the needle entered my left jugular.

  Instead, a fire-cracker-like noise exploded in the room.

  The needle slid back from my neck.

  I could smell gunpowder.

  I was alive.

  Oh, God, I’m alive

  I opened my eyes.

  Linda had fallen backwards, her brain splattered all over the white wall.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Lucia managed to untie me from the chair. With only one hand working, it wasn’t easy, especially when she’d dragged herself all the way up the stairs to Jason’s house without her wheelchair.

  She shot Linda with my gun, which she had tucked in the elastic of her tracksuit pants.

  ‘How did you get the gun?’ I asked, avoiding the sight of blood and flesh in front of me.

  ‘You left it in the car.’

  Sure I did, and I was even stupid enough not to lock the door. On the other hand, stupidity saved my life.

  ‘How did you know I was here?’

  ‘I saw you go in.’

  And then I recalled thinking I had seen Lucia when I first entered Vincent Court.

  ‘What about Jason and Linda?’

  ‘They pulled over in his car after you broke into the house.’

  ‘Why did you decide to go in with the gun?’

  ‘I saw you go inside his home. When I saw his car pull into the driveway, I knew he didn’t invite you in. And then it occurred to me that maybe Jason was the killer, only because you broke into his home.’

  My hands free, I wiped the blood from my face.

  ‘Have you seen Jason,’ I asked.

  ‘No.’

  I grabbed the .380 semi-automatic which Lucia dropped on the floor.

  ‘You stay in here,’ I ordered, not that she would want to go out there again and face another lunatic. ‘He’s still somewhere in the house.’

  I didn’t know what to do with my lack of clothes. Jumping around someone’s home in my underwear with a gun seemed an odd thing to do. But then, the whole afternoon had been pretty strange so far, so why worry now.

  ‘Don’t you go anywhere,’ I insisted. ‘I need to find out where he is.’

  I peeked out of the room, but no one was there. I checked the chamber of the handgun. Five bullets, and all was in order.

  I’m coming after you, asshole, so you better be ready.

  I eased myself into the hallway and closed the door behind me. I was breathing through my mouth because coagulated blood had blocked my nostrils, making it impossible for me to breathe normally.

  My back against the wall, I moved down to the kitchen while keeping my eyes and ears open. My hand was tightly gripped around the handgun, finger on the trigger,

  I knew someone was going to get hurt badly. Unless Jason took off in his car, which I doubt he did, then confrontation was inevitable.

  I passed the kitchen, wondering where the hell he had vanished to.

  Then, I noticed the laundry door, which lead to the backyard, had been left ajar.

  I crept through the back door.

  Outside it was getting darker. I could still make out where I was going, but the sun would vanish within the next twenty minutes or so. Instinctively, I checked my arm to where my watch used to be. But they had taken the watch away from me as well. What was the idea behind all this? Were they going to kill me and donate my clothes to the Salvation Army? Such well-behaved and thoughtful citizens.

  There was no trace of Jason.

  Standing near-naked with a gun in my hand, I almost laughed at the ridiculousness of my situation. But when I heard a noise coming from the garage, the whole incident didn’t seem that funny after all. For a few seconds I contemplated the thought of taking Lucia with me and getting the hell out of this place.

  I walked on the damp grass, which had been watered only recently, and made my way towards the brick veneer garage. I noticed light on the inside from a small window. He was in there, probably stitching up my body bag.

  I wondered if it’d be better to wait for him to come to me or to take him by surprise. But waiting made me feel nervous and out of control. My fear had turned to anger, and I couldn’t wait to get my hands on him.

  I closed in on the door.

  Two choices.

  Burst in or creep in.

  I decided to burst in.

  With a mighty thump, I kicked the door open and jumped into the room, the way I’d been trained to do. My arms extended, I circled the room with my eyes and the gun. It took me a few seconds to register what I was seeing. Towards the left side of the shutter door, Jason had his back on me. When he turned around, I had to look twice as hard.

  Michael was tied to a chair, masking tape over his mouth, wearing nothing but his underwear.

  ‘Get the hell away from him!’ I ordered, the semi-automatic pointed in his direction.

  He racked his throat and said, ‘I wouldn’t do that if I was you, Katrina. I’ve got a knife.’

  ‘Move or I shoot.’

  Swiftly, he circled the chair and placed himself behind Michael, giving me no chance to shoot without risking Michael’s life.

  I went on, ‘If you don’t throw the knife down and step forward, I’m going to blow your fuckin’ head off.’

  ‘Oh, no, you won’t.’

  He placed th
e blade under Michael’s chin.

  Michael’s eyes were filled with panic.

  I froze, the gun tightly gripped in my hand, assessing the situation. If I shot and missed, he could kill Michael in less than a second.

  And there was no point wondering whether he was capable of doing it or not. We both knew he was.

  ‘All right, all right,’ I said reluctantly. ‘I’m putting the gun down, but you move away from him.’

  ‘Not until the gun is on the floor.’

  ‘I’m doing it. Just take it easy.’

  His grip loosened, but he still held the knife under Michael’s throat.

  Slowly, I kneeled down and placed the gun on the concrete floor.

  ‘It’s down. You can let him go now,’ I said.

  ‘No way. Kick it over here.’

  ‘Move away from him, goddamnit!’

  ‘Kick the gun.’

  Shit, there was obviously not much room for negotiation.

  ‘I’m kicking it,’ I said. With my right foot I pushed the gun in Jason’s direction. It came landing halfway between him and me.

  ‘You did that on purpose.’

  ‘I swear to God I didn’t.’

  And that was the truth. All I wanted was for him to release Michael. I didn’t care about anything else. Not even about myself.

  ‘I kicked the gun,’ I said. ‘Now, let him go.’

  ‘You’re not making this easy, Katrina.’ With one hand he gripped the back of the chair, the knife still under Michael chin. He dragged the chair and himself towards the gun. ‘You make one move and I cut his fuckin throat.’

  Oh, God, don’t let anything go wrong.

  ‘Why did you do it, Jason?’ I asked, not knowing what else to say.

  ‘You wouldn’t understand.’

  ‘I’d understand. If there’s one person in the world who’d understand, that would be me.’

  He continued dragging the chair to where the gun was.

  I could see the fear in Michael’s eyes.

  Hopelessness was taking over me. If Jason got to the gun, he would kill the both of us. That much I understood.

  ‘I like kids,’ he said, ‘but not the way you think. That’s Linda.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I just like kids, full stop. Linda likes to see them undress. She likes to play with them.’

  Maybe that was why we found nothing on Tracy’s body which indicated she’d been sexually assaulted. The usual forensic evidence wasn’t there. No semen residue, no enlarging of the vaginal walls, no cuts or bruises in the anus.

  ‘So what exactly did she do?’

  ‘Nothing much. She got off looking and touching.’

  ‘And that’s what happened to Tracy?’

  ‘That’s what happened, I swear.’

  Even if he had fifty bibles stacked on top of one another, with both his hands on it and a jury in front of him, I still wouldn’t have taken his word for it.

  He was now half way to where he started and where the gun was. Making him talk slowed him down a bit, which was partly the reason why I carried out a conversation with him.

  ‘And why did you kill her?’ I asked.

  ‘Because she started to scream when Linda was touching her. I didn’t mean to kill her. I told you before. It was an accident. I gave her Turkish delight so she would shut up, but she didn’t. So I placed my hand over her mouth. And I didn’t know. I didn’t know she ran out of breath. I’ve never killed anyone before.’

  ‘So, it was an accident.’

  ‘It was an accident.’

  ‘Okay, Jason, if it was an accident, then why are you doing this?’

  He stopped two metres from the gun. ‘What am I supposed to do? No one would believe me anyway?’

  ‘You don’t know that until you try.’

  ‘Maybe it’s not a chance I want to take. I’m retired, Katrina. I’ve spent my life working. I don’t want to be behind bars.’

  ‘You told me it was an accident. It was more Linda’s fault than yours.’

  He looked at me puzzled. ‘You know that no matter what happens, I’m going to jail anyway. No one’s going to release me on a good behaviour bond.’

  He was right about that, but I didn’t have the heart to tell him.

  ‘Okay, but doing what you’re doing now is not going to improve anything. Frank Moore knows I’ve come to see you. If I disappear, he’ll be looking for you. What are you going to gain from this? Nothing. Give up now before it gets worse.’

  He was half a metre from the gun.

  I stood five metres from him.

  Too far to attempt anything.

  I had to think fast.

  ‘Jason,’ I continued, ‘tell me why you helped Linda. You must have known what she did was wrong. Why help her?’

  ‘It’s complicated. I don’t know where to start. We became friends when she moved in the area five years ago. And I’ve never had a friend like that before. She cooked for me. It was not long after my wife left. Linda was good to me. I guess one thing lead to another. I never really thought about it. It was just a progression.’

  ‘And you never thought it abnormal what she was doing?’

  ‘I knew it wrong, but what was I supposed to do? I liked her. She came as a whole package. It wasn’t like I could choose one part and leave the other. It’s like living with a drunk. You can love the person and not like the drunkenness, but you put up with it.’

  Oh, so, now Jason Harvey thought himself a philosopher, and child molesting was nothing more than having a regular scotch.

  He stood just above the gun.

  ‘Okay, Jason, why don’t we work something out?’

  ‘You know I can’t do that.’

  He let go of the knife, bent down and grabbed the gun.

  Just then, I looked at Michael, who looked back at me.

  I blinked and he knew.

  Just as Jason stood back on his feet, Michael titled forward and head-butted Jason in the lower back, sending him flying across the concrete floor. The gun came sliding towards me.

  Before he had time to realise what was happening, I had already grabbed the semi-automatic and aimed it at his head.

  ‘It’s over, Jason. It’s all over,’ I yelled, blood spitting from my mouth.

  EPILOGUE

  Summer is over, and the Grand Prix is back at Albert Park. Moomba, Melbourne’s own celebration of itself, is at full swing in the city. March is the one month of the year where Melbourne really comes alive. The Herald-Sun decorates its front page with car racing fever, leaving the important news to the third or fourth page. The Tracy Noland story, which came in with a big bang, dies quietly in the midst of all the festivities.

  The Monday paper devotes only a small column to a follow-up of the Tracy Noland murder, which had been front page news since January.

  Jason Harvey is dead.

  After searching his home, skeletal remains of his vanished wife Elizabeth were found in his backyard. Forensic tests showed she died from head fracture. We never got a chance to ask Jason about her death, but he was obviously not as innocent as he tried to make me believe when I had him face to face in the garage the day he was going to kill me and Michael.

  I’m sitting in the lounge room, the balcony door open, letting some fresh air into the apartment. It’s quite a nice day, and autumn doesn’t come to mind when faced with a clear blue sky. Vivaldi’s Spring Concerto in E, the first part of The Four Seasons, fills the house with a joyous atmosphere.

  I read the column for the hundredth time, my face now only slightly bruised from the blow Linda Coleman gave me. I’m quoted as refusing to comment on the case as I leave the detention centre where Jason Harvey was being held. One would think journalists would have given up on me by now.

  I learned of his death the previous day via Frank. When I asked Frank over the phone how Jason died, he told me no one knew.

  ‘What do you mean?’ I asked. ‘Did he hang himself?’

  ‘No.’
>
  ‘Is he bleeding?’

  ‘There’s nothing. They found him in his bed dead. Just as if he died in his sleep.’

  I rushed to the prison.

  When I arrived, Jason was in bed, looking peaceful. The tension I had seen on his face over the past week had vanished.

  I stood above the bed, but couldn’t see anything suspicious.

  Then I noticed his right hand was made into a fist.

  I kneeled down and undid his fingers one at the time.

  Tucked in the palm of his hand was his lucky coin.

  I took the coin, and it came apart in my hand. Inside the coin was a small chamber, which I guessed had once been filled with something.

  Frank stood behind me.

  ‘So?’ he said.

  ‘He poisoned himself.’

  ‘With what?’

  ‘Don’t’ know yet. We’ll find out at the autopsy.’

  Within twenty-four hours, Dr Charles W. Main announced Jason Harvey had died from absorbing approximately one gram of potassium cyanide, which would have killed him within four hours. Jason must have known one day something would go wrong, and he’d prepared himself. His lucky coin had saved him from the humiliation of facing a jury.

  I fold the newspaper and sip from a glass of Dr Pepper filled with ice. My brain is confused from everything which has happened in the past few weeks, but in time I know I will recover.

  I think about Malcom Sternwood for a little while, wondering how his life is going to turn out now his name has been linked to the murder. Last time I heard, he moved to the Northern Territory, where few people had heard of him. At least I tried to defend him the best I could. I don’t know how Frank sleeps at night.

  I invited Lucia and her parents for dinner last week to thank her for saving my life. She made it sound like it was no big deal, but I knew it was, and I’ll be forever indebted to her.

  Michael is in his room where he spends more time than ever before. He refuses to talk to anyone, and I worry he is never going to get over this.

  Phillip and I have broken up for good. He was right. I was only using him without having any intention of committing to a serious relationship.