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

by Laurent Boulanger

  The chit-chat was getting on my nerves. A drop of rain hit me on the cheek.

  ‘Step aside,’ I ordered the two cab drivers. ‘I know you’re curious, but we don’t have much time. Don’t go to far. We might need to ask you a few questions.’

  The Anglo-Saxon driver looked at me from head to toes, but I wasn’t sure what the look meant. Either who the hell does she think she is? or wouldn’t mind fucking that one! I choose to ignore him either way.

  When doing a vehicle search, we divide the vehicle into five specific sections. This method ensures proper coverage of every inch of the car. Just like grid search, the vehicle is boxed and divided into nearside-front, offside-front, nearside-rear, offside-rear and boot. The offside is the driver’s side of the vehicle.

  I began searching the nearside-front and nearside-rear of the vehicle. Patiently, I collected trace evidence, such as hair, fibres and foreign objects, which were almost invisible to the naked eye. I also collected large and obvious physical evidence. In no time, I had several bags filled with empty cans, cigarettes buts, coins, chewing-gum wrappers, sand, matchboxes, magazines, a couple of trashy paperback novels, hair pins, an empty condom wrapper, and even a smelly pair of trainers. The drive of the cab, from which I recovered the shoes, was as surprised as I was; the shoes weren’t his, and he’d never seen them before. Me, I couldn’t understand how he actually managed to breathe in the cab with the foul smell of the trainers filling his lungs every time he opened his mouth.

  Weather wise, we were lucky. The downpour I predicted had failed to materialise. I kept my fingers crossed. We were not even one third through yet.

  Frank and I processed fifteen cars before we finally we found something dubious, nearly hidden under the floor matt at the nearside-rear section of cab number 95.

  ‘What do you think?’ Frank asked.

  I kneeled down to scrutinise the suspicious-looking stain.

  ‘Can’t be one hundred percent certain, but it looks like dried blood,’ I said.

  ‘Okay, let’s get it.’

  I stepped out of the cab and said, ‘Better find out who was driving this car last night. We’re going to have to take the car in for fingerprinting and to do a thorough collection of trace evidence. I’m going to conduct some basic fingerprinting first just in case the inside of the vehicle gets contaminated before it’s taken down to the Forensic Centre.’

  ‘I’ll have a word with John Thomas,’ Frank said, ‘as soon as we’ve finished with the car.’

  I removed a clean scalpel fitted with a new blade, and an envelope from the PERK.

  For the second time, I entered cab 95 and I kneeled down. Gently I scraped off the small stain the size of a twenty-cent coin. I cautiously inserted the flakes inside the envelope.

  ‘We’ll conduct DNA testing on the sample ASAP,’ I went on, ‘and compare it with a blood sample from Evelyn Carter.’

  The drivers waiting in the queue to fill up their tanks and those waiting to start their shift were getting agitated.

  While I was dusting prints from cab 95, one of the night-shift drivers came towards me.

  ‘Hey, you’re gonna hang here long? I gotta make a living,’ he said, brushing his greasy hair back with his fingers. He wore a five-o’clock shadow, and his brown eyes projected nastiness.

  ‘Step aside,’ I ordered, ‘and let us finish what we’re doing.’

  ‘You gonna pay me for the wasted time? Five dollars for every fifteen minutes you keep me waiting. That’s the going rate for drivers who return their cabs late. The way I see it, it’s no different with you guys.’

  I glanced at Frank and turned to the driver. ‘You drive this thing, do you?’ I asked, pointing at cab number 95.

  ‘Hopefully I will one day.’

  Frank stopped dusting for prints on the driver’s side door handle of the cab, got back on his feet and said, ‘Okay, stop the smart-arse attitude. You drive number 95 on the night-shift?’

  ‘Yeah, what is it to you?’

  ‘Police officer, arsehole,’ Frank said, pointing to the photo-ID attached to his breast-pocket. ‘Keep your attitude to yourself and show us some identification.’

  The driver puzzled for five seconds and removed his driver’s licence from his wallet.

  ‘Peter W. Perezzia,’ Frank read from the licence the size of a credit card. ‘What’s the W stand for?’

  ‘William.’

  ‘What’s Perezzia? Greek? Italian?’

  ‘What type of question is that? You’re gonna arrest me ‘cause I’m not a skip?’

  ‘Okay, Peter William Perezzia, just answer the questions. Did you take a female passenger last night, dark hair, nice looking?’

  ‘I take a lot of passengers. That’s my job.’

  ‘This one was let off in Toorak.’

  ‘Like I said, I take a lot of passengers. That’s the nature of being a cab driver.’

  ‘Yeah, but this one had an argument with the driver. Did you argue with any of your customers?’

  Peter Perezzia’s brown eyes shifted from Frank’s to mine and back to Frank’s. ‘Are you guys going to arrest me?’

  I stepped in. ‘No, Mr Perezzia, we’re not arresting you. We want to know if you argued with a female passenger last night during your shift.’

  ‘Nope,’ he said immediately, without giving it a second thought.

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Yeah, I’m sure.’ He paused. ‘Shouldn’t I be speaking to a lawyer?’

  ‘What about the blood stain we found at the back of your car?’ I asked.

  ‘What blood stain?’

  ‘Near the left rear door.’

  ‘I don’t know nothin’ about no bloodstain.’

  ‘So, how do you think it go there?’

  ‘Why ask me? I’m not the only person who drives the fuckin’ car. The bloodstain could have been from weeks ago.’ He glanced at the car and continued, ‘Can I get my car back now? I’ve got to make a living. And talking to your guys is not paying the bills. You’re wasting my time.’

  ‘You’re not taking this car,’ Frank said. ‘We’re taking it in for testing.’

  Peter Perezzia rolled his eyes. ‘Evidence of what?’ He threw his hands in the air and slapped both his thighs. ‘Jesus Christ! What the fuck are you doing that for?’

  ‘Hey, tone down the language,’ Frank ordered.

  ‘Fuck you, you’re hairless prick. I didn’t do nothin’ and you taking my cab from me. You fuckin’ pigs are all the same.’

  Other cab drivers were chatting amongst themselves while looking in our direction.

  ‘Okay, that’s it.’ Frank removed a pair of handcuffs from under his sports jacket. ‘Turn around. I’m placing you under arrest.’

  ‘What? Are you nuts?’

  In a swift move, Frank managed to grab the driver’s wrist and handcuff him.

  Just then, John Thomas stepped out of his office. ‘Hey, what’s going on here? What are you doing with my driver?’

  I paced towards John, letting Frank get on with his business. ‘It’s okay, Mr Thomas. We’re just placing Mr Perezzia under arrest.’

  ‘Abusive language to begin with. The rest we’ll figure it out as we get to the station. We found bloodstains in his car.’

  John Thomas looked mildly surprised. ‘Jeez, bloodstains? Where? What?’

  ‘Now, you don’t worry about that, sir. We’ll take care of it from here on.’

  ‘You promised you were gonna be nice to my drivers.’

  ‘We were, Mr Perezzia got nasty on us.’

  John tried to move past me.

  I pulled him back by the sleeve of his flannel shirt. ‘Look, Mr Thomas, I wouldn’t get involved if I was you. We’re just doing our job.’

  He locked his eyes with mine and said, ‘I’ve got that list you wanted in my office. I’ll go and get it.’

  ‘Thank you, Mr Thomas.’

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The interrogation room on the ninth floor of the St K
ilda Road Police Complex was bare of furniture, other than a table, two chairs and a video camera mounted with a metal bracket to one of the walls.

  Peter Perezzia sat at one end of the table, his hands crossed and his mouth shut. There was a solemn expression on his face. All the way from the taxi depot, he’d been insulting Frank and me about abusing his rights. Fifteen minutes on the road, and Frank snapped. He told Perezzia that if he didn’t shut up, he was going to pull the car to the side of the road and give him the beating of his life. Perezzia hadn’t said a word since then.

  I was to conduct the interview as usual. Frank was watching us from a monitor in a small room adjoined to the interrogation room. As per regulation, the interview would be recorded.

  I placed a thick file held by a large, red elastic band on the table. The file was mostly filled with blank photocopy paper, other than a previous assault conviction. The idea was to intimidate the suspect by making him think we had more on him than we really did. It was a common trick I learned back in the USA, and in spite of its popularity, the method never failed to impress whomever was being interrogated.

  Perezzia had been previously convicted and jailed for four months for attempted rape on a sixteen-year-old girl from Wantirna South. Had he succeeded in raping the girl, he would have had twenty years. If his solicitor hadn’t effectively argued that the attempted rape had not been committed during Perezzia’s working hours and was not linked in any way to him driving a cab, he would have also lost his cab license in the process. The judge gave him one last chance, which to date he had respected with integrity.

  I read him his rights and jumped straight into the interrogation.

  ‘Okay, Mr Perezzia, your attitude towards the police doesn’t really help the situation. My partner thinks you’ve killed that woman. Me, I’m partial. I want to hear your story first.’

  ‘I didn’t kill no one, for fuck’s sake! You people are unbelievable.’

  ‘It’s easier to tell the truth now than in front of a jury. The press is going to be there, members of the public are going to be there, the prosecution is going to grill you. I don’t think that’s a situation you want to find yourself in. Why don’t you make it easy on yourself?’

  His eyes crossed mine.

  I went on, ’I think I can help you. See, I think you must have had a good reason to kill her. Didn’t she give you what you paid for?’

  ‘What the fuck are you talking about?’

  ‘Look, we’ve match up the blood from your car with that of the victim,’ I lied. The blood sample was still on its way to the Forensic Centre, and DNA processing results would take another twenty-four hours before I would have access to them. ‘There’s no doubt that she took a ride with you on that night.’

  Perezzia went blank for a few seconds, shifting his buns on the plastic-moulded chair.

  ‘That can’t be,’ he said, ‘I’ve never seen this woman before.’

  ‘What woman?’ I asked.

  ‘The one who got killed.’

  ‘I didn’t show you a picture of the victim, so how do you know you haven’t seen her?’

  Fifteen seconds of awkward silence.

  He hesitated. ‘Well, I know I didn’t see her because... I don’t remember the woman you’re describing.’

  I played with my pen for a few seconds, letting his brain simmer in its own juice.

  ‘You’re lying to me, Mr Perezzia. You know and I know you’re lying. I haven’t described this woman to you.’ I pulled a twelve-by-fourteen, black-and-white head shot of Evelyn Carter from the manilla folder. ‘Have a good look.’ I placed the picture on the table in front of him. ‘You’ve never seen this woman before?’

  He shifted his eyes away from the picture.

  ‘Look at the goddamn picture,’ I snapped, ‘look at the picture and tell me you recognise this woman.’

  He stared at me and then at the picture. ‘All right, she was in my cab.’

  I pursed my lips.

  He continued, ‘But I didn’t say anything because you told me she got killed, and I didn’t want to get in trouble. I knew it was going to end like this. If I told you I gave her a ride, you was gonna think I did it. And I didn’t do nothin’. So, don’t try to make me say I did it because I didn’t do shit.’

  I paused for effect then said, ‘I’d like to believe you, Mr Perezzia, but so far you’ve lied to me, so explain how I’m suppose to believe you’re telling the truth from here on.’

  ‘Because I’m telling you, because I told you why I lied, because you guys scared the shit out of me, that’s why.’

  ‘Okay, then, let’s both agree that from this point on, you’re telling the truth. If that’s the case, can you explain to me why there was her blood at the back of your cab?’

  He puzzled for a few seconds. ‘She was filling her nails and cut herself.’

  That was a dumb as an excuse I ever heard. ‘And how do you know that?’

  ‘She told me.’

  ‘She told you she cut herself filling her nails?’

  ‘She did, she said, “Shit”, and I said, “What’s the matter?”, and she said, “Fuck, I just cut myself with the nail filler, hey, you got a tissue or something? I’m pissing blood”.’

  ‘She talked like that, did she?’

  ‘She certainly did, she was a hooker.’

  Another judgemental prick, I thought. ‘How do you know she was a hooker?’

  ‘She told me.’

  ‘She’s told you a lot. Maybe she thought you were a priest, not a taxi driver.’

  ‘That’s really funny.’ He threw me a hatred stare.

  ‘What else did she tell you?’ I asked.

  ‘She had to meet someone in Toorak, her boyfriend I think, but she didn’t really say as so, it could have been a client.’

  ‘And that’s where you were took her there?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Did she say what the name of this person was?’

  ‘Nope, what do you think? I was going to ask her everything about her life? As you pointed out, I’m not a priest for Christ’s sake. I’m a cab driver, remember? He smiled, looking really proud of himself.

  ‘You’re story sounds fishy. You want to hear what I think happened?’

  ‘Nope, I don’t, but I guess you’re not going to give me a choice.’

  ‘I think when she told you she was a hooker, you started thinking you had some right over her. Knowing she was a hooker, you probably thought she wasn’t really a woman, she was something men fucked, something you could use and toss away. That what you thought, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Not true, absolute bullshit.’

  ‘And I think you asked her to do something for you, and she didn’t want to. She didn’t want to for whatever reason. You felt rejected and couldn’t accept the fact that some hooker told you where to go. You assaulted her, raped her, killed her and threw her down the back alley of some shops. That’s what I think happened.’

  He said nothing for a little while, then: ‘This is absolute bullshit. You’re making up all this crap, hoping I’m going to confess. But I’m not going to say shit because I didn’t do anything. So save your breath cause you’re not getting a confession out of me. I didn’t do it, and you’re not going to make me say I did. I wouldn’t never think of doing such a thing in the first place.’

  I opened the folder in front of me and retrieved records from his previous attempted-rape conviction.

  ‘You’re not exactly a saint, Mr Perezzia,’ I said, browsing through the case file in my hand. ‘Sixteen-year-old girl on her way back from school? Does that ring a bell?’

  ‘I didn’t do anything, I wasn’t even charged for rape.’

  ‘Oh, no, I know that, you were charged and convicted for attempted rape. How could you have been charged for rape when she managed to kick you in the groin before you got to do her up?’

  ‘That was a long time ago, and it has fuck all to do with this case.’

  ‘It has everything to do wit
h this case, Mr Perezzia. I’m trying to find a link between what happened to Evelyn Carter and your behaviour. Based on that, I don’t see it as an impossibility that you were the one who killed that woman. The behaviour pattern are there.’

  He stared at me silently for a few seconds, then his eyes shifted to the tabletop.

  ‘I didn’t do it, I’m not going to say any more.’

  And that was that.

  ‘I’m going to take a little break now,’ I said. ‘Want a coffee or something?’

  ‘Screw you coffee. I want to get out of this place.’

  ‘Not until you tell me the truth.’ I paced towards the door. ‘I’ll be back in ten minutes.’

  ‘Yeah, you do that.’

  I shut the door.

  Last thing I heard was his voice behind my back.

  ‘Bloody pigs.’

  I made instant coffee on the premises. There was a nice little place around the corner of the police complex where they brewed the best percolated coffee. Although I was dying for a cup, I had no intention of letting Frank out of my sight. While conducting an interrogation six months ago, I took a break to get some coffee from the shop downstairs. When I came back, Frank had stepped in the interrogation room and harassed the suspect without my authorisation. My trust in him had weakened from that day on. We had known each other for eight years and worked hundreds of cases together. Our friendship was built on mutual trust and integrity towards one another. He destroyed the unquestionable faith we shared when he double-crossed me on that particular day, especially when he knew I was in charge of the investigation.

  I pushed the door of the monitor room with my foot, my hands carrying two hot mugs of coffee.

  ‘Thanks,’ Frank said as soon as he saw me.

  ‘What do you think?’ I asked, placing his mug in front of the monitor.

  ‘Are you asking me if I think he did it?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I’ve past sentencing prematurely in the past, and it’s made some people upset, especially you. So I’m not sure you want to hear what I have to say.’