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

by Laurent Boulanger

  After a few minutes, I left his room and headed for the bathroom. Finally I indulged in a hot shower I never had the chance to enjoy that morning. The steaming water on my scalp soothed my nerves. Evelyn Carter came to mind, and suddenly I dreaded ever more having to attend her autopsy. In my life, friends and dead people had never been associated together, not as a single package anyway. Evelyn had been an important part of my childhood, and seeing her with her vital organs inside out on a dissecting table wasn’t me idea of reminiscing with an old friend.

  Then I thought about David Boyd from the bookshop. An image of his face and his friendly smile appeared before me. He was damn attractive, I finally admitted, thought I had tried so hard to deny the churning emotion I felt when I first saw him. This man standing in the middle of all this books was so sexy, and I bet he didn’t even know it. A well-toned body never failed to turn me on, but a great mind was fascinating and alluring, and kept me interested in its owner long after the sex was over. And someone with such intense interest in books had to possess a great mind. No doubt. My idea of a perfect partner. But I had only ended a relationship six months ago and wasn’t sure if I wanted to get into another one. The only reason I dumped my ex-boyfriend was because of my reluctance to commit to any one person in particular.

  As I stepped out of the shower and dried myself with a large, white bath towel, I wondered if I should be making a move on David, or wait for him to get in touch with me. Or maybe better wait until the investigation was over. After all, he was a witness in the Evelyn Carter murder, and I didn’t want to stuff up the way Frank stuffed up eighteen months ago when he got involved with the wife of a murdered victim.

  I dressed in the usual white blouse, marine skirt and matching jacket. Even thought I had shampooed my shoulder-length, brown hair, it was still a mess. It took me ten minutes to figure out what I was going to do with it. Finally, I settled for tying it up into a mini ponytail, something I seldom did during working hours.

  I stared at my green eyes in the full-length mirror, still getting used to the idea that I turned forty years old two months ago. It wasn’t something I cherished, but a truth I tried to accept like everything else in life—little surprised which crept in without warning. I feared growing older without anyone by my side. Commitment frightened me, but loneliness was more terrifying. After being independent for so long, I figured a woman didn’t need a man to be happy and successful. But I also realised that one day I wouldn’t be as busy as I am now. Companionship would become an essential part of my life. I had seen too many old people living by themselves and suffering from acute loneliness. And that wasn’t my idea of a happy retirement. Michael wouldn’t be with me forever. I would have to decide sooner or later to commit to the one man - the later, the more challenging it would be to find the right person. How would I adjust to his every faults and habits without driving myself insane? Trusting someone with your life seemed to take so long., and time wasn’t something I currently possessed in abundance.

  I applied a light foundation and make-up. Without a doubt, plainness was the safest way to go when interacting with male co-workers.

  At 2.34 p.m., I locked the door of my home and headed back towards Melbourne.

  Dr Charles W. Main was the Director of the Victorian Institute of Forensic Medicine.

  The VIFM was a body corporate with perpetual succession which was established by the Coroners Act 1985 in the State of Victoria. The Institute was based at the Coronial Services Centre in Melbourne, a purpose-built facility in Kavanagh Street, Southbank. Its principle function was to provide timely, high quality and high value forensic medicine and related services, including teaching and research.

  The VIFM was also the statutory body in charge of Forensic Pathology, Clinical Forensic Medicine, Forensic Toxicology and other forensic scientific services in the state. In addition, the blue-grey building housed the mortuary, where over 3000 autopsies were performed each year for legal or medical reasons or both.

  Dr Main’s office was located up on the first floor of the building, and down the end of a long corridor. Before an autopsy began, I usually met with him to discuss anything relating to the case.

  Dr Main’s office was three-by-three metres, cramped with a green, four-draw filing taxi-cabinet at one end and an outdated 486DX computer taking most of his desk. There was a degree from The University of Melbourne and various awards and certificates of merits hanging on the wall behind the desk.

  I had already announced my arrival at the reception desk downstairs, and when I entered Dr Main’s office, he smiled as if he had been expecting me.

  ‘I’m glad to see you,’ he said, passing one hand over his salt-and-pepper hair.

  I admired his straight nose and fine creases under his eyes. He was very handsome, but the idea of sleeping with someone who cut up dead bodies for a living didn’t appeal to me.

  He went on, ‘I thought you no longer worked for the police?’

  ‘I’m not officially,’ I said, taking a seat behind his desk.

  ‘So?’

  ‘I knew the victim from a while back. I have a personal attachment to this case. Some people are not happy about my decision, but at the end of the day it’s still my decision.’

  ‘Understood.’ He paused for effect. ’ I’ll be performing the autopsy in half an hour. You think you can cope with it this time?’

  The last time I attended an autopsy, I walked out halfway through the procedure. Under the law, I was required to attend the autopsy, but Dr Main managed to discreetly bend the rules whenever he felt it appropriate.

  ‘I can only try.’

  ‘I’ll have the autopsy videotaped this time, just in case you decide you can’t stomach two hours in a row.’ He puzzled for a few seconds and added, ‘From what I’ve heard so far, she’s in a pretty shocking condition. I haven’t seen the body myself, but I understand it’s going to be hell to work with.’

  ‘Bruised and cut everywhere. I almost didn’t recognise her.’

  He shook his head. ‘It always amazes me what people do to one another. No matter how many years I’ve been working in this field, the amount of cruelty humans are capable of is unbelievable.’

  He didn’t have to tell me that. I’d seen so much evil in my career, nothing surprised me. Any person was a potential killer, given the right circumstances. What was someone suppose to do when faced with the killer of his loved ones? I had no idea how I would react. I knew for sure that I couldn’t just sit there and take it.

  ‘Evelyn Carter was working as a prostitute,’ I said. ‘It’s likely the killer was one of her clients.’

  ‘Ah,’ he said, as if this explained everything. ‘Well, in that case I guess there won’t be that much of an investigation.’

  I wasn’t sure what he meant. ‘Why is that?’

  ‘A prostitute. It goes with the job. These women know the risk they’re taking when they walk the street. I mean, really, you can’t be surprised by what’s happening to them. It’s almost like they’re asking for it.’

  ‘Asking for what?’

  ‘You know, what’s happening to them.’

  I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. ‘Are you telling me Evelyn Carter deserved to die the way she did because she was working as a prostitute?’

  At the tone of my voice, he started to lose his confidence. ‘No, that’s not what I’m saying. What I’m saying is that if you’re going to work in that field, you should expect that such things can happen. You know, you become a high-risk factor. I mean that’s just common sense. You get more prostitute killed on average that your common housewife.’

  ‘So what you’re saying is that if I’m a prostitute, I should presume I will be beaten and killed, like it’s part of my job?’

  ‘Yeah, that’s what I’m saying, but not so much in the way you’re putting it.’

  ‘So, it’s Evelyn Carter’s fault that she got killed?’

  ‘Well, not directly, but in a way. I mean, if she wasn’t do
ing what she was doing, it might have never happened in the first place. I mean, you know, what did she expect? It wasn’t a desk job. Her customers already had a twisted sense of morality to be using her services in the first place. We’re not talking about Catholic boys straight our of communion. They were grown men who were already sexually frustrated, otherwise they wouldn’t be paying for it. Surely, she must have been aware of the risks when she decided to work in that field.’

  I felt anger creeping all over my body.

  ‘Dr Main, Evelyn Carter was a victim. The person who killed her is the criminal. Why is it that you men think a woman working as a prostitute has somehow contributed to her death? When did she stop becoming a woman and turned into a punching bag? Why is it that when a women decides to provide sex as a service, she suddenly becomes less than human? It’s okay to beat her up, it’s okay to insult her, call her a slut and everything else one desires. It’s okay to kill and dispose of her when the service is not up to scratch—’

  ‘You’re losing the plot.’

  ‘I’m losing the plot? When was the last time you beat your dentist to death because he didn’t fix that toothache properly?’

  ‘A dentist is not a prostitute.’

  ‘But a dentist is a human being. So is a prostitute. And no woman should have to fear for her life when she’s trying to make a living, no matter what her profession is. So, this case is not about whether she deserved it or not. No one deserves to be beaten to death. This case is about finding the bastard who did that to her, and that’s that.’

  I was completely worked up by now. Perspiration dripped down the small of my back. This was the most absurd thing I hadn’t ever heard, and the worse was that I knew Dr Main wasn’t the only man who felt that way about sex workers.

  ‘Fine,’ he said, ‘it doesn’t matter anyway, what I think makes no difference. I’m going to do my job just as if she was any other victim. There won’t be any corners cut.’

  I shook my head in disbelief.

  I stood from the chair and slammed the my hands on his desk.

  ‘She is any other victim.’

  I met Frank at the VIFM canteen. We were sitting across one another at a table, drinking coffee and eating chocolate mud cake. I should have known better with those extra kilos I was carrying around, but chocolate was one of my many weaknesses.

  ‘What’s wrong with you,’ he said, obviously realising I was in a foul mood.

  ‘Ask your male friend, Dr Main.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘That sonofabitch tells me that Evelyn Carter deserves to have been beaten to death because she was working as a prostitute. Can you believe that?’

  ‘I’m sure he didn’t mean it that way. He probably felt she contributed to her death by working as a prostitute. I mean, there are statistics to support his point. Other than working as a prostitute, it’s well known that if you’re a woman who lives alone, one on low-income, unemployed, if you live in dormitories, halfway houses, boarding homes or apartments with a large number units, you’re more likely to be a victim of rape and murder. There is evidence to support these figures. I think that’s where Dr Main was coming from. You open any text on criminology, and you’ll have to agree that what he said is a valid point.’

  I gave him a deadly glare.

  He continued, ‘What? What did I say? You’re going to dispute statistics as well now?’

  ‘I’m not disputing the statistics, Frank. I just don’t think numbers should be used as an excuse to put the blame on the victims. We turn around and say that because single white female prostitutes have a higher risk of been raped, then they should share in the responsibility of the rapist. That is absolutely absurd. No wonder our legal system is chaotic. White collar criminals get harsher prison terms than rapists and killers. How did we ever get to the point of devaluing human lives just to save a few dollars?’

  Frank took a sip of coffee. ‘You’re a woman. And on top of that Evelyn Carter was your friend. Of course you’re going to react that way.’

  ‘And what way is that?’

  ‘You know, all irrational and bias.’

  My mind was numb. I didn’t have the time, nor the energy to argue with people who had detached themselves from their own emotional rationality at the expense of so-called common sense.

  ‘I don’t mean to insult you,’ he said, ‘but—’

  ‘Just leave me alone,’ I retorted, and stormed out of the lunch room

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The autopsy room consisted of a blue-green freshly washed concrete floor, a galvanised table with holes to allow water and fluids to drains, a small-parts dissection table with drains, a vertical mechanical scale to weigh each organ, and a tank for delivering water to the table and collecting fluids. The ceiling was white with various pipes criss-crossing like spider webs. Yellow plastic bio-hazard containers were scattered in various parts of the room.

  Air conditioning hummed from the ceiling.

  A sign told me to refrain from smoking, eating or drinking.

  Next to the dissecting table was Dr Main’s post-mortem instruments—dissecting and brain knifes, scissors, saws of various sizes, a skull key, forceps, scalpels and chisels.

  I changed into protective clothing—blue, hospital pyjamas look-alike; green, surgical gloves; giant, white, rubber boots; and white disposable plastic aprons.

  A mortuary technician rolled in a galvanised mobile cart with the bruised-up body of Evelyn Carter.

  Dr Main followed five seconds later.

  Frank and a police photographer observed into the autopsy room from a small viewing room attached to the east wall.

  The mortuary technician set up a video camera and checked the focus and the cleanness of the lens. He played with the start and stop buttons to ensure everything was in working order.

  At the same time, Dr Main arranged his post-mortem instruments. He looked slightly uncomfortable as he handled his tools, while occasionally glancing towards me without saying a word.

  I didn’t feel all that at ease. It certainly occurred to me that this was his territory, and attacking someone on their own turf wasn’t an enjoyable or comfortable experience. I felt like a stranger in a place reserved for club members.

  ‘Would you like to move in closer?’ Dr Main finally said, more from the need to break the ice than his concern for me, I gathered. ‘You’ll be able to see better.’

  ‘Sure.’

  I walked up the galvanised cart, observing the body whose face was almost beyond recognition.

  ‘Since we’re taping this,’ Dr Main added, ‘save any questions you have for when the autopsy is over.’

  I nodded.

  Dr Main addressed the mortuary technician: ‘Ready?’

  ‘When you are.’

  ‘Three, two, one... roll.’

  The technician began recording, the lens focused on the battered body.

  The first thing Dr Main did was to examine the body step-by-step without touching it or removing anything attached to it. He took photographs of the entire corpse. Because it was badly bruised, Dr Main took a good twenty minutes to cover every inch. The mortuary technician helped him to turn the body over. The buttocks of Evelyn Carter was so badly bruised and bloody, it had lost its shape.

  ‘Subject is a thirty-nine year old woman identified as Evelyn Maree Carter. Black hair, green eyes and fair complexion.’ With the help of the technician, he proceeded with the weighting and measuring of the body. ‘Subject weights sixty-eight kilos and is one-hundred-and-seventy-five centimetres tall. ‘It is my believe at this early stage that the subject has been battered to death. Bruising has intensified and spread after her death. Time of death is estimated at about twelve hours ago.’

  I looked on as Dr Main continued to make careful observations. Somehow I had managed to distant myself from the fact that this bruised mass of flesh lying on the galvanised cart was someone I knew. Maybe it was because she was in such an unrecognised state that I could distant myse
lf. If her injuries had been superficial, but resulting in death nonetheless, I probably wouldn’t have been able to sit through the procedure.

  Dr Main went on, ‘Subject’s abdomen is distended and pulpy, suggesting extensive internal damage.’

  I noticed that her arms and legs were covered in huge purple bruises.

  ‘Because the subject has been badly bruised and battered,’ he explained, ‘I am going to proceed with radiology to determine the presence of any bone fragments to the skull. The full autopsy will then be resumed.’

  He made a hand signal to the technician to switch the camera off.

  ‘Take five,’ he said to me. ‘We’re going to conduct x-rays now. Give us fifteen minutes.’

  ‘Sure,’ I said, feeling like taking a break anyway, ‘but why can’t we do them once the autopsy is finished?’

  ‘Too much risk of disturbing foreign bodies and fractures once the cutting of the body has begun. You know as well as I do that radiography serves as an excellent permanent record of any injuries. Often x-rays are more acceptable in court than photographs.’

  ‘Aren’t you worried about a break in continuity with the actual autopsy.’

  ‘I make the decision to proceed with radiology according to the circumstances and issues of the particular case - this can be done before, during or after the autopsy. I wouldn’t be too concerned, Dr Melina, she’s in good hands. You’ll have a solid forensic post-mortem report by the time I’m finished.’

  I left the autopsy room and joined Frank and the police photographer in the viewing room. I told them what was happening, and we agreed to go for a coffee at the staff canteen.

  We walked down the corridor on our way to the canteen

  Frank said, ‘I never got a chance to tell you before, but I’ve managed to track down the cab company which owed the taxi-cab Evelyn Carter took last night.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘A company called Sammy Taxis. Yes, they do have records of who’s been driving what cab on any particular day, but accurate records could only have been kept if Evelyn Carter rang for her cab. If she hailed the cab, there’d be no record whatsoever. We’d have to interrogate everyone who drove the graveyard shift on that particular day. And you’re looking at around seventy drivers, give or take five each way. Shifts are from 5.00 p.m. to 5.00 a.m. the following day.’