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

  ‘Ah, come on, Frank, this is me you’re talking to. If I don’t want to hear what you have to say, I wouldn’t be asking.’

  He took a sip from his mug, pulled a face and said, ‘All right. Having seeing what we’ve got so far, I’m inclined to say he did it. Only because he lied to us from the beginning, saying he had never seen Evelyn Carter in his life. And now I’m not convinced he’s telling the truth. You know as well as I do that his story with her cutting herself while filling her nails is a croak of shit.’

  ‘I’ll have to agree with you. Cutting herself filling her nails, that is. As far as him having done it, I’m not sure whether he has at this stage. Maybe he was scared when he learned the girl he had in his cab last night got killed. And maybe that was why he lied to us. But still, something doesn’t ring right. I think he might have done something else, but he’s scared to tell.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, maybe he didn’t actually kill her, but had a fight with her nonetheless. They argued in the cab, and that’s when she got cut. Maybe he pulled a knife on her or something. See, David Boyd from the bookshop said he heard them argue in the car, and then she left the cab.’

  Frank looked at the monitor. Perezzia’s eyes were cast on the table.

  Frank said, ‘So what? He could have followed her. It doesn’t take much to get out of a car and follow someone.’

  ‘We’re assuming that he was the last person who saw her when she left the cab. Mr Perezzia did say she was meeting someone.’

  ‘Maybe he lied just to cover himself. I mean if he did kill her, do you think he’s going to own up?’

  I took a sip from my mug. Instead coffee tasted like cat’s pee. ‘Okay,’ I said, ‘if she wasn’t meeting anyone, why was she riding in a cab in the middle of the night to go nowhere?’

  ‘She went to get her SAAB.’

  ‘Sure, we can more or less confirm that. But what was the SAAB doing at the back of the shops? Did someone else drive the car there to meet her? Could it have been the boyfriend Perezzia mentioned? See, maybe this boyfriend of hers drove the SAAB to the shops where they were suppose to meet. And they did, but something went wrong. They argued and he ends up killing her.’

  Frank took another sip from his mug. He rinsed his mouth with the contents before swallowing. ‘Maybe, maybe, maybe. Maybe anything could have happened. Maybe it was a complete stranger who saw her getting out of the cab and jumped on her. Maybe it was a crime of opportunity, and we’ll never find a logical link between the victim and the murderer.’

  I glanced back at the monitor. Perezzia was playing with his fingers, a desperate look washed over his face. I turned to Frank and said, ‘I don’t think we have enough to charge Perezzia with the murder right now. There’s no weapon—’

  ‘He used his hands. Of course you don’t have a weapon. It’s already been established that the victim was beaten to death.’

  ‘There’s no physical evidence left at the crime scene to support that Perezzia is the killer.’

  ‘The blood in the taxi-cab. What do you call that?’

  ‘The cab isn’t part of the crime scene,’ I said relentlessly, ‘and we’ve got no proof that the blood was hers. We’re still waiting for the DNA test.’ I emptied my mug of coffee and went on, ‘I’m going back in there, and unless he confesses immediately, I’m going to let him go. I want to talk to David Boyd. I want to know if there’s anything else he remembers.’

  Frank shook his head. ‘What don’t you grill him for another half hour?’

  ‘I’m going to let him go, Frank. It’s the best thing to do for the time being.’

  ‘Jesus Christ, I don’t know why I bother sometimes. You leave me in there with him for half an hour, and I’ll get the truth out.’

  ‘Yes, well, I believe I’ve already experienced your so-called interrogation methods.’ In a previous case we worked on together, Frank got the truth by beating it out of the suspect.

  ‘Why do I have the feeling you’re trying to run this investigation all by yourself?’

  ‘You called me, Frank, you called me!’

  ‘I know!’

  I slammed my mug on the monitor desk and headed back to the interrogation room.

  ‘Okay, Mr Perezzia,’ I said, the palm of my hands flat on the table, and the crime-scene photographs of Evelyn Carter scattered in front of us, ‘I’m going to ask you one last time. Did you kill this woman? Have a good long at those pictures and tell me you didn’t do this.’

  He glanced at the pictures and said, ‘It’s horrible. Get these things away from me. I didn’t kill her, and I’m tired of repeating myself. I’m going to get a solicitor.’

  ‘You don’t need to do that right away, sir. You’re free to go.’

  He looked at me surprised, as if I was playing a trick.

  ‘I can go?’

  ‘You can go if you want. I have nothing else to ask you.’

  ‘You’re not going to arrest me?’

  ‘No, I’m not going to arrest you. But we’ll probably meet again in the course of this investigation. And if anything comes back to mind, I’d appreciate if you give me a call.’

  I slipped a business card in his right hand.

  ‘And Mr Perezzia...’ He looked up, ‘...if you didn’t kill that woman, then you have nothing to worry about. But if you did, I’m going to get you - don’t doubt that for a minute. I knew this woman, so consider it a personal vendetta.’

  He swallowed and said, ‘Well, I’m sorry for your lose, but I didn’t kill her.’

  I watched him head for the door, suddenly conscious that our conversation was being taped, and I had just threatened him.

  At the last moment, he turned around and said, ‘If you fuck with me one more time, I’m going to sue you and that friend cop of yours.’

  ‘Mr Perezzia—’

  He gave me his middle finger and left the room.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  David Boyd was even more handsome than I remembered. The last time I saw him was in the early hours of the morning, and I had been in a foul mood at the time, in spite of remaining diplomatic.

  I stepped out of my car, umbrella in hand. The streets was glistening as if painted with oil, the seven colours of the rainbow surging out of the road and the side walk It had been raining for two hours non-stop while Frank and I were in the St Kilda Road Police Complex interrogating Perezzia. The downpour had stopped, but the smell of rainwater was still in the air. Hot steam escaped from the bonnet of my car.

  I crossed the road to David’s Bookshop.

  A sign on the door told me it was OPEN.

  David didn’t seemed surprised to see me when I entered the shop. A small silver bell attached to the top of the entrance door announced my arrival.

  ‘I knew you would be back,’ he said, looking up from his newspaper. ‘Decided to go on that book tour after all? Perfect timing. No one’s come in the shop in the last two hours. Sometimes I wonder why I bother staying in business.’

  ‘No, I’m no here for a book tour, Mr Boyd.’

  ‘Oh, please, don’t insult me. Call me David.’

  He circled the counter, walked straight past me, locked the door of the shop from the inside, and turn the sign around so that it read CLOSED on the outside.

  He went on, ‘Really, it’s not a problem at all. I haven’t had lunch, and someone’s dropped in two boxes of second-hand books which I haven’t put on the shelves yet. You can have a sneak preview if you want, but I got to hold on to them for seven days before making them available to buy. You know how it works. Could be stolen goods. Any titles you’d like, I’ll put them on the side for you.’

  ‘Thanks, David, but I’ll take a rain-check on the book tour and the sneak preview. I’m actually here to ask you a few more questions about last night.’

  ‘Sure, but I’ve already told you everything I know.’

  ‘Yes, but sometimes details come back hours, sometimes days after an event. Maybe you know somethin
g which you think is irrelevant, but it might be. Small details can often lead an investigator in the right direction.’

  He nodded absently and said, ‘Can I get you a cup of something?’

  The cold from outside was still trapped between my skin and bone, and I was dying for another hot brew. ‘Coffee would be nice.’

  ‘Sure, follow me.’

  We stepped into a small kitchenette separated from the bookshop by a curtain in motives of stars and moons.

  ‘How do you have it?’ he asked.

  ‘Black. No sugar. No milk.’

  ‘Mmmm, just like me. A real coffee drinker.’

  While he made the coffee, I glanced around. The room was small but clean. There was a table to sit two people in one corner and a small fridge from the early fifties in the other. The fridge reminded me of a Holden car from the fifties. It was off-white and had round edges.

  David passed me my coffee and said, ‘So, what is it that you wanted to know?’

  ‘Last night you said you heard the cab driver and the woman argue. Did you hear what they were arguing about?’

  ‘I told you before, it was too far away. By the time I got to the bedroom window, she had already stepped out of the taxi.’

  ‘Did he follow her?’

  ‘Who? the driver?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘No, not that I saw.’

  ‘Did you see the car driving away as soon as he dropped her?’

  ‘No, not immediately. To be honest with you, I didn’t stay look enough at the window to check whether the taxi left or not. I just looked because I was curious. It didn’t seem like a big deal, so I retired to bed.’

  ‘So you’ve got no idea how long the cab stayed in the area?’

  ‘No, like I’ve said, I went straight back to bed. Once she left the taxi and walked away, I thought she was safe.’

  So much for safety, I thought, the poor thing got beaten to a pulp.

  ‘And what about her car?’

  ‘What car?’

  ‘The SAAB was parked at the back of the shops. You didn’t notice a SAAB parked there during the day?’

  ‘No. I don’t drive, so I don’t usually go down the back of the shops. Only once a week when I have to gather the garbage for collection. But selling second-hand books doesn’t produce much rubbish, frankly. In and out goods come through the front door.’

  ‘Would you be able to recognise the face of the cab driver if I showed you a picture?’

  ‘I doubt it, but you can always try.’

  We stayed silent for half a minute, sipping our black coffees.

  ‘So, you’ve got any suspect?’ he said between two takes.

  ‘One, but I can’t really get into it at this stage. Plus it’s a bit early in the investigation to derive any conclusion.’

  He shifted on the spot. ‘Why don’t we sit down?’

  ‘Okay.’

  I sat at one end of the small table. He sat across from me.

  He went on, ‘What is it like to work for the police? Do you like this kind of work, you know, looking at dead people all the time? I mean, you’re a good looking woman and everything. Why would you want to do a job like that?’

  ‘Beauty is only skin deep and to the eye of the beholder - I’m sure you’ve heard both these cliches before. Crime investigation has nothing to do with looks. It’s all about using your brain and your intuition. In fact, looks can get in the way.’

  ‘How did you get into this line of work? You just woke up one morning and decided to chase criminals for a living?’

  I gave him my life story in five minutes, how I had always been fascinated by crime, how I studied criminology at university, and how I ended up at the FBI Academy in the USA before landing a contract with the VFSC and the CIB.

  He listened attentively without interruption.

  When I finished, he said, ‘Wow, you’ve certainly had an interesting life. You’ve seen more of the world than I have.’

  ‘I wouldn’t exactly call it seeing the world. Most of what I’ve seen, you wouldn’t want to see for yourself. What about you?’

  ‘Nothing much to tell, really. I was born in Perth and moved to Melbourne in my early twenties. I wanted to do something exciting, and I heard Melbourne had lots of opportunities. Worked in a second-hand bookshop for a few years, and I liked it. Not what some people would call exciting, but I’ve always been a reader, and working in a bookshop gave me plenty of time to read. After a couple of years, I was almost running the shop myself. I knew how everything worked. It wasn’t that complicated, really, not like when you’re selling new books, and you have to deal with book distributors, accounts and returns. I managed to save enough money and decided to open my own bookshop. And here I am. Ten years in the same place and nothing ever happens. But I don’t mind. It’s not like I’m complaining or anything. I quite like what I’m doing. I’m still an avid reader, and this is the perfect environment for a bookworm.’

  ‘Have you ever been married?’

  ‘No, never thought about it. I guess the right person never came about. I would consider it if I met the right girl. But it gets harder as you get older.’ A pause. ‘Why? Are you married?’

  ‘I was once, but it didn’t work out.’

  ‘Oh, well, you know what they say, nothing last forever.’

  ‘Yeah, I suppose. Still, they also say, never say never.’

  He threw me a look. ‘Are you proposing?’

  ‘No,’ I laughed, ‘just curious.’

  Our conversation was interrupted by an awkward silence. I liked the way he stared at me and made me feel important without saying a word. Normally, I couldn’t bare to be stared at. But this time it was different. It’s wasn’t an obsessive stare, but a warm glance, like if we were brother and sister. And yet there was still something delightfully mysterious behind his eyes, something that made me want to know him better.

  ‘Do you want me to show you those crime books?’ he asked, standing from his chair. ‘That is if you’ve got no more questions to ask me about the investigation.’

  ‘No, thanks, I should really be going. I still have a lot of work to do.’

  ‘How about dinner tonight? I know this nice restaurant not far from here. I’ve been in the bookshop all day. I need a break, and I’m sure you need one too.’

  I hesitated for a few seconds.

  ‘And I like your company,’ he added.

  ‘Yes and no,’ I finally said.

  He gave me a look of disappointment.

  ‘It’s not that I don’t want to, David. I’m just tired, and you’re part of this investigation. When things have calm down a little, I’ll take up your offer.’

  ‘Sure, I understand. You give me a call if you change your mind.’

  ‘Will do,’ I said and stood from my chair. ‘But I’ve really got to go now.’

  He stood from his chair. ‘Let me walk you to the door.’

  We left the kitchenette and headed back to the front of the bookshop.

  I slipped him another one of my business cards. ‘If you do remember anything about last night, do give me a call, any time, even after hours.’

  I left the bookshop, upset with myself. I was letting my emotions rule my head. I broke my number one rule. I knew now that the main reason why I went back to see David Boyd was not to question him about Evelyn Carter’s death, but just to see him.

  And that was damn silly for someone in my position.

  I swore in silence never to do it again.

  Just as I slid behind the wheels of my car, rain came down without warning.

  CHAPTER NINE

  At 10.35 a.m. the following day, while I was typing a preliminary investigative report on the Evelyn Carter murder, the phone rang. I was in my study, feet up on the desk, peeping at black cows through the window in my study. The sky was overcast, and rain had been predicted for later in the day. The smell of an English muffin I had burned in the toaster an hour ago lingered in every corner of the hous
e.

  The previous night my sleep had been broken several times by high winds thundering against the pane of my bedroom window. Once awake, my mind kept on replaying the scene where we found Evelyn Carter bloodied and bruised, and left for dead. There was no going back to sleep. I speculated on the possible identity of the murderer. If Perezzia was indeed the killer, we would catch up with him eventually. It was just a matter of gathering the right trace evidence and matching it up with something that belonged to him. Whatever we collected from cab number 95 would be of little use. Hundreds of people had entered the cab in the past few weeks. The defence would have no problem in establishing reasonable doubt in the minds of a jury. I was trying to figure out under what pretext we would be allowed a search warrant for Perezzia’s home. Once the DNA test on the stain we found at the back of the cab would be completed and compared with that from a blood sample of Evelyn Carter, we’d presumably be able to get a search warrant. There was little doubt that the polymeric sequences of the test results would match. Even if Perezzia didn’t kill Evelyn, he did confirm that she cut her finger in his cab, and that would virtually guarantee the match I was hoping for.

  When I got up the next morning, I was tired but willing to get the day on the way. After a hot shower and two cups of black coffee back-to-back, I retired to my study and focused on the preliminary investigative report.

  Two hours later, the report was nearly completed. I was working on the conclusion and recommendation of my five-page document to Goosh. He had insisted on been kept informed during every stage of the investigation, much to my despair, until someone else would fill my shoes.

  I waited for the phone to ring another five seconds before answering the call.

  I snatched the receiver, tucked it between my chin and shoulder and returned my fingers to the keyboard.

  ‘Melina Investigations,’ I said absently.

  ‘It’s David.’

  My mind did a somersault, and I didn’t respond.

  ‘It’s me, David,’ he repeated, ‘from the bookshop.’

  I lifted my fingers from the keyboard and grabbed the phone receiver.