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

by Laurent Boulanger

  Before he could say another word, I hung up on him.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  I cooked myself a frozen fish fillet with brown rice, and added a generous serving of ratatouille I made the previous day. Ratatouille tasted better the day after it was made, and I preferred eating it cold - it retained its strong capsicum and black olive flavour.

  I ate by myself at the kitchen table. The Los Angeles Jazz Quartet played at half-volume through the hi-fi in the lounge room. But I wasn’t listening to the acoustic-based jazz group playing the classics of jazz greats, such as Wayne Shorter, Thelonius Monk, John Coltrane and Lennie Tristano. In spite of it being one of my favourite jazz group, my mind was preoccupied with Michael. How long would I have to wait before reporting him missing? I knew he was old enough at hang around with his friends if he wanted to, and that was why I tried hard to carry on as if nothing had happened. But I knew he didn’t have any friends, and that in itself was worrisome.

  Finally, not able to stand it any longer, I called Frank at home.

  We said hello, and then I asked him if he was okay after sensing tension in his voice. He was probably still worked up from the argument we had a few hours ago.

  ‘Is that why you’re calling me?’ he asked.

  ‘No, actually. I need your help.’

  His tone softened, ‘In what way?’

  I explained how Michael hadn’t turned up from school, and how I wasn’t sure how to handle the situation.

  ‘Why didn’t you call me sooner? Jesus Christ, Kristina, I’m your friend.’

  ‘I thought you hated me after this afternoon.’

  ‘Kristina, no matter what a bitch you turn out to be, you’ll always be my friend.’

  His words nearly brought tears to my eyes. Frank had always been so nice to me, and I had always been such a cow. Even if suddenly he turned into a handsome man with a head full of thick dark hair and a well-toned body, I didn’t deserve him.

  I stayed silent for a few seconds, drowning in self-hatred.

  ‘Why don’t I come over and help you look for him?’ he suggested.

  ‘Okay,’ I said.

  I hung up the phone, placed my dirty dishes in the sink, squirt some dish-washing liquid over them and began to sob.

  Frank arrived forty-five minutes later.

  Still no sign of Michael.

  When I opened the front door to let Frank in, it was obvious he knew I’d been crying. His eyes dug straight into mine, and without warning he moved forward and hugged me. I noticed that he wore jeans and a white cotton T-shirt. It felt strange because I was so used to seeing him dressed in his shirt-and-slack attire.

  ‘Oh, Kristina, I’m so sorry about the way things have turned out. You know you’ll always be my friend. You can always count on me. Don’t hesitate to call next time if you have a problem. It makes me feel so inadequate that you’ve been bottling up without calling me.’

  I snuggled up to him, placing my arms around his chest, taking in the familiar and comforting smell of cigarette smoking and cheap aftershave. Thank God for you, I thought, realising that there was really no other man in my life who had genuinely cared for me for so long.

  When the hugging lasted too long, and he began padding the back of my head, I stepped back and wiped my tears. As much as I needed him, I didn’t want our friendship to spin out of control and turn into one of these Beauty-And-The-Beast romantic scenario.

  ‘Thanks, Frank,’ I said. ‘You’ve been wonderful. After all that I’ve put you through time and time again.’

  ‘You look drained,’ he said, placing one hand my shoulder. ‘You want something to drink?’

  ‘No, I’m fine now.’ I wiped the tears from cheeks. ‘I just want to know where Michael is.’

  ‘Let’s go and find him.’

  I grabbed my leather jacket from the couch, and we walked to his car. As soon as he got in the car, he lit a cigarette. I wasn’t going to say anything since it was his car, and he’d been kind enough to turn up and comfort me in the first place.

  ‘Do you want me to drive straight to Craigieburn Police Station?’ he asked. ‘Maybe we can ask them to have a look around town.’

  ‘That would be good.’

  He pulled the car out of the driveway, turned left, went around a bend, past a round about, turned right, and got out on Craigieburn West Road towards the police station.

  ‘You’re not still angry at me?’ I asked.

  He didn’t answer immediately.

  ‘Are you?’

  ‘I’m okay,’ he finally said. ‘Nothing I can’t handle. Let’s not worry about me for the time being. You got me worried about Michael. I’m probably the closest thing he’s got to a father right now.’

  Even thought Frank had been around us for a look time, I had never thought of him being some type of father figure to Michael. Men came and went in my life, but Frank had always been around. So, in a way, maybe Frank was right.

  We were in a sixty-kilometre zone, but cars were flying past us as if it was the freeway. Frank could have pulled any of the drivers over, but he didn’t care and neither did I. If people were stupid enough to kill themselves on the road just to get home and watch an additional five minutes of mind-numbing television, it was their problem.

  In less than three minutes, we pulled into the car park of the Craigieburn Police Station. The blue-grey building was fairly new and had taken a lot of fighting and debating from the André Haermeyer, Shadow Minister for Police and Emergencies, who also happened to be the State Member for Yan Yean, a large area in the far north region of Melbourne, which encompassed Craigieburn and a multitude of small suburban and rural towns. I had had the opportunity to meet Haemeyer once at a community public meeting, and he stroked me as being one of the few politicians who genuinely believed in placing people before himself. Given that, politics was something I really had no interest in other than a mild awareness that people standing on the upper echelon of society decided everything on our behalf, from which roads would run through our town to whether we deserved a public hospital.

  We walked inside the building through an automatic glass sliding door.

  The reception area was that of a typical modern police station. A drink machine stood to the left. On my right was a community board with various information on drink driving, burglary, neighbourhood-watch programs, public meetings and other useless information which was suppose to entertain us while someone hidden behind a mirrored window decided whether we were worthy of attention.

  Shadows lurked behind the fake mirror, which divided the reception and the rest of the building. In less than thirty seconds, a young male constable appeared from his not-so-secret hiding place. His name tag read John McLuhan. He had a permanent set of bags under his eyes, even though he seemed to be only in his mid-twenties.

  Frank pulled his police ID out of his wallet and explained our situation.

  ‘And how long as the boy being missing?’ McLuhan asked.

  ‘Well, actually,’ I said, ‘we don’t know if he’s missing yet. He just hasn’t turned up from school.’

  Constable McLuhan seemed slightly annoyed, but because Frank was a senior officer, he must have felt obliged to remain diplomatic. ‘Well, why don’t you go around and check at his school. He might still be there. In the meantime, I can send someone in the area to check the local Hungry Jack’s, library and swimming pool.’

  I was going to protest, insisting that Michael never visited those places. But then he was never late from school either. The fact was that he had to be somewhere, and searching the area was what we had intended to do in the first place.

  Just when we were about to head back to the car, McLuhan asked, ‘Did you ever fight with your son?’

  His question took me by surprise.

  I did a half turn and locked my eyes with his. ‘What are you implying?’

  He threw his hands in front of his body. ‘Hey, I’m not implying anything, I’m just wondering. We’ve got a lot of tee
nagers in the area, and when they disappear it’s usually because they’ve had an argument with their parents. I’m just asking the obvious.’

  ‘No, I didn’t have fights with him,’ I said, matter-of-factly. I stood still for a few seconds before adding, ‘but he did have problems adapting to this area. He had problems at school and was withdrawn after an incident last year.’

  ‘What kind of incident?’

  I didn’t want to explain everything again. ‘Let’s just say that he could have been killed. He is still suffering from post-traumatic shock.’

  ‘If he was depressed, maybe he took his own life.’

  ‘I doubt it,’ I said. That was all I needed to hear. I turned to Frank. ‘Come on, let’s go and see if he’s still at school.’

  When we arrived at Craigieburn Secondary College, everyone had left for the day.

  We headed back to the town centre, a group of shops with a Shell petrol station and a Hungry Jack’s attached to it.

  A police car parked in the front of the Hungry Jack’s took me by surprise. When Constable McLuhan said he would send someone around Craigieburn straight away, he hadn’t been joking.

  A bunch of teenagers, girls and boys, were hanging around the hamburger shop, dressed in Addidas gear, which had miraculously come back into fashion. BMXs were scattered around, as if they’d been abandoned. Two of the boys were smoking, looking unconcerned at the fact that there was a police car just parked there. At least the Hungry Jack’s manager didn’t tell them to go somewhere else. Grown-ups didn’t understand that young people had to be somewhere. They just couldn’t stay home all day and watch television, although many of them did. But somehow, in spite of my empathy towards teenagers, what I was the most concerned about right at this minute was that Michael could be hanging around with a bunch of clowns like that.

  Through the window of the burger restaurant, I could see a uniformed police officer talking to Michael at one of the tables. Michael didn’t see me. There was half-eaten burger and a drink in front of him. The police officer seemed to be talking, while Michael was tight-lipped. My heart drilled out of my chest the moment I saw him. I didn’t know if I was relieved or angry.

  ‘There he is,’ I said to Frank, pointing inside the burger restaurant.

  ‘See,’ he said, ‘you worried about nothing. Just eating junk food with some friends.’

  I rushed inside the petrol station, and aimed right straight for the table where the uniformed officer was talking to Michael.

  ‘Michael,’ I yelled.

  Both the police officer and Michael turned to me, an expression of surprise on their faces.

  ‘There’s your mother,’ I heard the police officer say. No one had told him who I was, but it would have been easy to guess.

  I approached the table and said, ‘Michael, what are you doing here? I’ve been worried sick!’

  ‘Everything’s cool, mum. Jeez, you’re making a big deal out of nothing. What did you do? Call all the cops in the area?’

  ‘Are you all right?’ I asked. My motherly instinct had taken over, and no amount of logic was going to make me see things clearly. All I wanted to do was take him home and give him a good spanking. In my eyes he was still five years old, and I knew at that moment that even in twenty years time I would still see him as a child.

  The police officer got to his feet. ‘I better leave the two of you alone,’ he said and aimed for the door. Who could blame him. I probably reminded him of his own mother.

  I sat across from where Michael was sitting. The plastic seat was still warm from where the police officer’s butt had been resting.

  ‘Mum, I’m fine, Why can’t you just leave me alone? Why can’t you just let me be myself?’

  I looked at him as if he was speaking a foreign language. ‘Michael? Why are you doing this?’

  ‘Doing what? I’m just eating a burger. I’m ten minutes from home. What’s the big deal? There’s no serial killers in the area.’

  Just then, Frank walked in on us.

  ‘The big deal is,’ he interrupted, ‘that your mother has been worried about you.’

  I turned to Frank and snapped. ‘Bugger off, will you?’

  Frank looked as if I’d just extracted all his front teeth with a set of pliers. ‘Okay, fine, sort your own shit out. I’ll be waiting outside. But don’t make me wait forever.’

  He aimed for the exit.

  ‘What’s this all about?’ I asked Michael.

  ‘What are you?’ he said, ‘Retarded? I need some space, you’re all over me, Jesus. jeez. I can’t breath, just leave me alone.’

  A knot formed in my stomach. I was lost for words. I looked into his eyes, but all I got in return was an angry stare. I had never seen him like this before. People had warned me about teenagers becoming rebellious, but this was ridiculous. I just couldn’t see what I had done wrong.

  ‘Michael, I care about you. I just wanted to know you were, okay? Is that so wrong?’

  He didn’t answer. Instead, he jumped from his seat and aimed for the door.

  I was left sitting by myself, feeling very anal. Hungry Jack’s staff were looking at me from the other side of the counter and chitchatting amongst themselves.

  I was going to say something, like ‘all right, the show is over’, but instead I swallowed my pride and left the restaurant.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Thirty minutes later, I was back home with Frank, pacing the living room. Michael had come back on foot from the Hungry Jack’s and locked himself in his room. I didn’t dare confronting him a second time. It reminded me of when I was married nearly twenty years ago. Towards the end of our marriage, which only lasted six months, my husband and I couldn’t even face each other without exchanging insults. Even now, I wonder if we had maintained some sort of respect for one another, maybe Michael was still have a father coming to visit him now and then. And maybe I wouldn’t have to be the mother and the father all at once.

  ‘I don’t know what I’m going to do with him,’ I said to Frank, crossing my arms over my chest. ‘I try so hard to be a good mother. I try so hard to be here for him, to get his meals ready, to make sure he doesn’t miss out on anything. And this is what I get in return.’

  Frank crossed the room to the window and back to where I was sitting. ‘Maybe that’s what the problem is. You’re looking too much over his shoulder. Wasn’t that the point he was trying to make?’

  ‘He’s my son, for Christ’s sake.’

  ‘I know that, Kristina, but he’s not a baby any more. He’s growing up, and you don’t seem to notice. I bet he’s got his eye on some girl, and you’re too blind to see. Did you ask him?’

  ‘Ask him what? I’m going to ask him if he’s lusting after a young woman? What are you? Nuts?’

  Frank stopped pacing and came sitting next to me on the couch. ‘You’re his mother, and he doesn’t have a father. So unless you talk to him about all these things, then he’s got no one to talk to.’

  ‘What about his friends?’

  ‘You told me he didn’t have any.’

  ‘True.’

  I puzzled over Frank’s comment for a half a minute. Maybe he was right. But this single-mother business didn’t exactly come with an instruction manual. Apart from having to take worry about my own sanity, I also had to guess what was going on in my son’s mind. Did life ever slow down? Couldn’t I just flick my blinker to the left and pull over for a nap?

  ‘I don’t know, Frank,’ I said. ‘At times like these, I just want to give up everything. My best friend from school got killed, my son is turning his back on me, Goosh is barking up my tree again, and I feel so out of touch with the world, including myself.’

  He took my hand in his. ‘Hey, chill out, it’s perfectly normal. Mid-life crisis. We all go through it. Just take it one day at the time. Everything is going to be all right.’

  I liked to believe him, but somehow this mid-life crisis phase began to feel like Armageddon.

  The n
ext morning I was up at 6.00 a.m., but my head was heavy from insomnia. Until 4.00 a.m., I tossed and turned, worried about Michael and the case I was investigating. In the mist of my worries, I also thought about David, wondering if I had time to have him in my life. As much as I wanted his company, I was scared of using him for my own selfish purpose. Once the investigation would be over, I knew I would be more level-headed and capable of analysing the validity of our relationship. Over a cup of black coffee, I decided that Frank’s advice was the best course of action to follow - I could only take things one day at time.

  I went for an early morning jog, even though the cold wind was cutting through my flesh and bone. Since the move to Craigieburn, I’d stopped going to the gym or doing any form of physical activity. I missed Ken, my friend from Terry Bennet’s gym in Prahran. The fifty-two-year-old librarian could pump iron for hours and looked as good if he’d just begun his training session. I met him at the State Library where he was working without his top during hot summer days, and subsequently ended up being referred to as the ‘naked librarian’ in one of Germaine Greer’s book. Two years ago he saved my life at Terry Bennett’s after someone tried to crush my ribcage with four hundred pounds of cast iron loaded on to a barbell. Since that day, I hadn’t quite felt as enthusiastic about lifting weights. As a result, my thighs and buttocks softened as the months went by, so this morning, other than for the need to get away from worrying about Michael and life in general, I decided to do something about it.

  The half-hour run up to the shops and back set my lungs on fire. It was still dark outside, but early risers were already making their way to work to avoid congested traffic that would take over Melbourne and its adjoining suburbs during the next three hours. The sky was clear, and it looked as if it was going to be a nice day, weather-wise, anyway.

  My mind was too busy fighting the pain of exercising to think about anything else. My joints ached, and my muscles cried for mercy. I wanted to stop by the side of the road and throw up. But I imagined the fat melting away, and that gave me the willpower to go all the way. I sensed God watching me from somewhere above, and I could see myself, such a tiny person on a big planet, running towards my unknown destiny. And, there, for only a few seconds, the world seemed to make sense.