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

by Laurent Boulanger

  ‘It makes no difference, Frank.’

  ‘What do you mean it makes no difference? Don’t you consider me your friend?’

  ‘You’re trying to hang on to things you can’t hang on to. Friendship is just friendship, and when it dies, you don’t try to hang on to it. It’s a mistake. Maybe we’re just good work colleagues, you could be right. Maybe we were not designed to be good friends. I don’t know. Let’s not talk about this any more. It’s driving me insane, and it really doesn’t matter. Why can’t you just take things as they come?’

  He sulked in his seat during the rest of the trip.

  At 2.34 p.m., Frank and I were in a laboratory, which was part of the biology department at the VFSC. John Darcy had finished conducting DNA testing on a vaginal swab from Evelyn Carter. John confirmed that the swab contained traces of semen.

  John Darcy was a qualified forensic biologist and held the position of branch manager at the VFSC Forensic Biology Unit. Although he was fifty-four years old, blessed with blond locks, blue eyes and neatly trimmed beard, he could have easily pass for someone ten years younger. His lab coat was decorated with chemical and ink stains. A blue, a black, a green and a red pen were sticking out from his breast pocket, all having left a corresponding stain on his white lab coat.

  John was comparing the polymeric sequences from the DNA autoradiograph from Evelyn’s vaginal swab with those of another DNA test done from Peter Perezzia’s blood sample. The cab driver had been reluctant to provide us a blood sample. I assured him that if he didn’t commit the murder, he had nothing to fear. Then I threatened that if he refused to have a blood sample taken, he would be forced to give one. Initially, Perezzia was probably unaware that since he had previously been jailed for a minor offence, the police had the power to apply to the courts for a forensic sample, in most cases blood, to be used for testing and comparisons. The new legislation, which had kicked in only recently, had also prompted John Darcy to increase the number of samples taken from probable suspects from 2500 to 15,000 a year. After having discussed his case with his solicitor, Perezzia agreed to submit a blood sample.

  Frank was standing by my side, lost in his own world. His hands inserted deeply in the pockets of his beige chinos, while now and then scratching somewhere awfully close to his private part. I bet all he wanted to do was to go home and forget about me for a while. Frankly, it was his fault. If he couldn’t accept that I wasn’t interested in him, then he must have been blind. I’d made it clear in the past, and I was getting tired of having to repeat myself. For starters, he turned me on as much as a door knob. And then, even know he probably meant well, his obsession towards me was bordering on compulsive obsessive behaviour. Had I not known him better, I probably would have filed for sexual harassment.

  ‘Any match?’ I asked John, who was still pre-occupied with the analysis of the DNA testing.

  ‘The HLA-DQA1, the D1S80 and the HUMTHO1 are all different; 2.3 to 2.5, 18/24 to 24/29 and 6/9 to 6/7. This is not the same guy.’

  John was referring to the numerical values of a variety of DNA tests. He had conducted a variety of DNA tests to minimise the chances of error or misleading results. Every additional tests which resulted in a mismatch indicating an increased level of reliability on the findings.

  ‘Shit,’ I said openly.

  This was as bad as it gets since DNA typing is so specific that it can help identify one individual from a million others. Perezzia had been our only suspect to date. And now that the DNA tests from his blood and Evelyn’s swab came unmatched, we were left with no concrete leads. At the back of my mind, I had hoped the killer would have been the Perezzia - I wanted this investigation to be over and done with. It had only begun a week or so ago, but the pressure was affecting everyone involved.

  I turned to Frank and said, ‘Well, that’s it, just as well we didn’t keep Perezzia locked up.’

  Frank didn’t respond. He stared at a yellow biological container resting on a galvanised bench on the other side of the room. His eyes were glazed, and his face was drained from colour. I could smell his all-too-familiar body odour, a mixture of sweat and cheap after-shave. He seemed miserable, lost in his own twisted emotions.

  ‘Hey,’ I said, ‘you’re awake?’

  He turned around as if I’d pulled him by the little hair he had left. ‘Uh? What? What is it?’ He looked at me and then at John. ‘So, is it a match?’

  John shook his head vigorously.

  Frank went on, ‘Oh, well, doesn’t matter, we’ll find the prick one way or another.’

  When we returned to the car, Frank didn’t comment on the results. Normally he had an opinion on every forensic tests conducted. He enlightened me with his viewpoint, whether I wanted to hear it or not.

  ‘You okay?’ I asked, feeling somehow responsible for his down-spiralled moodiness.

  ‘Yeah, yeah. You don’t want to know anyway.’

  ‘Frank—’

  ‘Butt off, will you?’ Anger infested his tone.

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘I made a mistake, okay? I should have left things the way they were.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘I should have never asked you to join the investigation.’

  I remained silent for a few seconds. Puzzled, I inserted the keys into the passenger door of my car. ‘You don’t have to get so personal about everything,’ I finally said, sensing he was waiting for some form of reply.

  ‘You’re right, I’ll keep that in mind in the future.’

  We stepped in the car, not saying a word to one another. What now? I hated to be made to feel guilty and responsible for something I hadn’t initiated. I hated it even more when I had so many worries on my mind, and Frank found nothing better to do than pick on the details of our friendship. Had this investigation been about anyone else than Evelyn Carter, I would have stepped aside.

  As it was, my commitment to finding the killer was deeper than a professional endeavour. I would track the bastard down, and I would make sure justice would be served.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  I left Frank at the St Kilda Road Police building complex and headed back home. The traffic was heavy out-bound on my way to Craigieburn. One hand on the steering wheel, I punched my home number on the mobile phone. The phone rang five times before the answering machine kicked in. I frowned as I pressed the end button. It was just on 4.30 p.m., and Michael should have been back from school by now. I was more than a little concerned, especially when taking into consideration the way he had been acting recently.

  A bus on Mickleham Road slowed the caravan of cars down to fifty kilometres per hour, enough to annoy me and the driver of a 70’s model Holden, who seemed to want to mount my car with its bumper. I had to keep one eye in front and one on the rear mirror. Had I been a cop, I would have pulled the bastard over and issue him a canary. Things being as they were, all I could do was grinned my teeth and hope for the best.

  Half an hour later, I parked in the driveway of my home, no Holden attached to my back fender. Through the fence, I could see the overgrown grass in the backyard. The last time it had seen a lawn mower was six months ago, and I hated to be the one who was going to get the task of cutting it next. The damn job would probably take three hours, not to mention endless trips to the tips.

  Rubbing the back of my neck, I inserted the keys into the front door lock, turned it clockwise, and pushed the door open.

  ‘Michael?’

  No reply.

  ‘Michael? Are you home?’

  I moved in the hallway and closed the door behind me.

  Not a sound.

  Maybe he had his head phones tightly strapped to his head and Pussy Galore busting his ear drums.

  I paced to the kitchen, tossed my briefcase on the Formica bench and aimed for his room.

  No one was there.

  A chill rippled down my spine as I wondered why he hadn’t made it back from school yet. I checked the time on my wrist watch: 5.23
p.m. He should have been back an hour and a half ago. I knew he didn’t have any friends, so it wasn’t like he stayed over at someone’s place. And even if he did, he would have left a message on the answering machine or called me on the mobile.

  I returned to the kitchen, panic settling in. My hands were shaking as I picked up the phone attached to the wall above the kitchen bench.

  I had to call someone and share my despair. At the back of my mind, I knew I was probably over-dramatising the whole situation, but my nerves were raw from the emotional intensity of the working day.

  I placed the receiver down and paced the kitchen up and down a few times. I really needed to talk to someone.

  Without thinking, I sat on the floral couch in the living room, pulled David’s business card from my hand bag and dialled his work number.

  ‘David’s Bookshop.’ His voice was formal and friendly at the same time. It reminded me of a commercial jingle.

  I was about to hang up, fearing I made a mistake calling him, but changed my mind.

  ‘David, it’s me, Kristina.’

  ‘Oh, hi, Kristina. What’s up?’

  ‘I’m sorry to call you.’ I explained how Michael had not come home and how I was worried.

  ‘He’s probably at a friend’s place,’ David said.

  ‘He doesn’t have friends. Not in this town. We’ve only moved in recently, and he has had a hard time adjusting.’

  ‘Maybe he’s got some homework and stayed behind at school to do them.’

  ‘Michael hasn’t touched his homework for at least two months. I don’t think so.’

  ‘Maybe he’s got a detention.’

  I shrugged. ‘Well, that makes me feel better.’

  ‘He’s a boy you know. Boys do get into trouble.’ He paused for a few seconds and added, ‘Why don’t you run up to the school and see if he’s still there?’

  I puzzled over his suggestion. ‘Look, you’re probably right, David. I’m sorry I’ve called you. I just needed to let the fear out of my system, and I didn’t know who else to call. It’s been a really long day—I’m probably a little stressed, you know with the investigation and everything.’

  ‘You did the right thing calling me. It’s not a problem at all.’

  We talked shop for a while, and then he said, ‘How are you going with the investigation?’

  ‘No good. The cab driver is in the clear. We compared his DNA with that of seminal fluid found inside Evelyn Carter. No match.’

  ‘Oh, well, at least you’re one step ahead - you know he’s innocent.’

  ‘Yeah, I guess he his.’

  There was an awkward silence, then he added, ‘Why don’t I come over for a while? You sound like you could do with the company.’

  I hesitated and said, ‘I want to find out where Michael is.’

  ‘I can help you find him.’

  Ten seconds of silence followed.

  I twisted the telephone cord and said, ‘I think it’s better if I try to find him on my own.’ I bit my lower lip as I hoped to God he wasn’t going to take it the wrong way. I was attracted to him, and at this stage it was probably nothing more than lust, but still I hated the thought of hurting his feelings.

  ‘Sure, that’s fine.’

  He took it well, and I was almost annoyed that he didn’t try to argue with me. I could almost taste his kiss. I needed to fell him near me, hold me in his arms, tell me everything was going to be all right.

  ‘Why don’t you come around for breakfast tomorrow morning,’ I suggested, not wanting to give in fully to my churning desires.

  ‘I’ve got the bookshop to run during the day’ There was a slight edge of annoyance in his tone.

  ‘Surely, you can keep it close for one morning.’

  He hesitated for a few second. ‘Okay, sure, as you wish.’

  We chatted a little more about a sale he was organising for the weekend, and I told him how I wanted this investigation to end so I could get on with my life.

  ‘Quit now if it’s taking too much out of you,’ he said. ‘You only took on this case because you’re personally attached to it. You told me yourself that you stopped investigating homicides because it was affecting your personal life.’

  ‘I can’t quit, David. I owe it to Evelyn to find out who the murderer is.’

  ‘Sure, I understand, but Evelyn is dead. And I’m not. You know as well as I do that we shouldn’t even be talking to each other at this stage. The fact that we’ve started having a relationship is going to affect the outcomes of this investigation. You’re seem to be forgetting that I’m a witness to this case. If the killer is ever found and the whole thing goes to court, the defence is going to have a field day between the two of us. I’ll be probably be dismissed as a witness, and the credibility of the investigation would be scrutinised every step of the way.’

  Obviously, David had read a lot of crime books, and he knew what he was talking about. The last thing I needed right now was to make some mental juggling about the right thing to do and my need for emotional cocooning.

  ‘David,’ I said, ‘don’t thing I haven’t thought about all that. Don’t think I haven’t turned this whole thing over in my head hundred times over. For all I know you could have been the killer. In my line of work, everyone is a suspect. Do you remember Frank Moore, the detective I was with at the crime scene?’

  ‘The one with the ugly mug and the bald head?’

  ‘David!’

  ‘What do you want me to say? I’m sorry, yes, I remember him.’

  ‘A couple of years ago he got into a relationship with a witness in the course of an investigation, and he nearly got the both of us killed.’

  ‘What are you implying?’

  ‘I’m not implying anything. I’m just saying that I’m aware of the difficulty of the situation. I know where I’m standing, I know where you’re standing, and that the investigation could fall apart because we’re seeing each other.’

  There was an awkward silence at the end of the line, and then he said, ‘You don’t want to end this, do you?’

  ‘No, David, I don’t want to end this,’ I said, without the slightest hesitation. ‘We are the genesis of a relationship, and right now I feel like I could do with someone like you. Your life seems so uncomplicated and settled. Believe me, I need that right now.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear you say that. For a minute I thought you were going to suggest we should stop seeing one another.’

  I took a deep breath and said, ‘There’s only one thing I can rely on it times of moral struggle; that’s my instinct. In spite of your involvement in this case, I know I have to go on with what we’ve got so far. Maybe I’m running too fast, I don’t know. I also believe in honesty in a relationship, so if I’m scaring you off, I’m sorry. But it’s better that you know how I feel straight from the beginning.’

  ‘You’re doing the right thing. Honesty is so rare these days. Everybody is looking after themselves and forgetting there are other people out there.’

  After I hung up, I stayed on the couch for a little while, thinking about the investigation. We still had no clue as to why Evelyn had been killed. All we found was blood in a cab and unidentified semen in her vagina. And we knew about a black book with names and addresses I couldn’t get my hands on. I thought carefully about what my next move would be. I had to go back to Evelyn’s apartment and search the place again. Maybe she hidden the address book somewhere when no one could find it. It could have been lying under a floor board, hidden inside a coffee tin, buried in a packet of cereal, stuck under the top of the toilet cistern, buried in the backyard, planted inside the wall heater, or hidden in one of hundreds of places where people usually hid their secret possessions. At the worse, the killer might have taken the book with him.

  I stood from the couch and walked to the kitchen, hoping Michael would make an appearance soon. From the fridge, I poured myself a glass of water and drank it in one go. I thought about Evelyn’s friend in the US and won
dered if there’s was a way I could get in touch with her. According to Judith Kingman, the two kept in touch on regular basis. I made a mental note about getting Evelyn’s telephone record checked. If she rang overseas, the telephone company would still have details. In fact, if she rang any mobile phone, I still had the chance to be provided with fresh leads.

  Suddenly the telephone rang, nearly giving me a heart attack. As I reached for the receiver, I expected to hear Michael at the end of the line. But my excitation was short-lived when I heard Goosh at the end of the line instead. He told me that he’d received my report, and that he found it rather incomplete.

  ‘I’ve done the best I can,’ I said, clearly upset by his bad-mannered approach.

  ‘What you done is an absolute waste of time. You’re costing us an arm and a leg, and the type of reports you are producing stink of amateurism.’

  That really hurt, even if it came from an arsehole like him. I had worked hard on that report, knowing he was going to try his best to shred me into pieces.

  ‘You know,’ I said, ‘I don’t know why you couldn’t make this call during business hours instead of calling me at home. It’s late, and if you don’t mind, we can take this up tomorrow morning.’

  There was a three-second pause, and then he said, ‘I want you out of the case. Your past involvement with Evelyn Carter makes you unsuitable to investigate this crime. I’m going to ask you to step down now.’

  ‘And if I don’t?’

  ‘Then it’s only a matter of time. You count my words. In twenty-four hours, you’ll have all the time in the world to teach yourself how to write professional investigative reports.’

  Sonofabitch was really beginning to irritate me.

  ‘I don’t mean to be rude, Mr Goosh, but you’re opinion really doesn’t interest me. I’ve got better things to do that listening to your childish monologues. So, if you don’t mind, we’ll leave it at that.’