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

by Laurent Boulanger

  By the time I reached the front door of my home, my legs had turned to rubber, but my head was clear. The headache and grogginess I woke up with had vanished, and I felt as if I’d just been given a second chance at life.

  Michael got up at 7.10 a.m., and I made sure I stayed out of his way. I didn’t want the previous night scenario to start all over, and frankly I was confused as to how I was suppose to handle him.

  He ate his Coco-Pops-and-orange-juice breakfast, ignoring me as if I was part of the furniture. After that, he spent a good half hour in the bathroom doing god-knows-what, and then left for school without saying goodbye. My heart sank when he slammed the door, but somehow I was determined not to let his behaviour bring me down. Holding my tears back, I remembered David’s wise words about all teenagers going through the same phase. His theory was more reassuring that Frank telling me I was stuck in a mid-life crisis.

  Showered and dressed, I sat at my desk finalising some accounts for clients which I began working on before the Evelyn Carter investigation. I printed three invoices (two of them overdue), and finished typing a report for a customer who suspected her husband was having an affair. She’d almost been right because he was indeed seeing other women, but I’m not sure that you could call visiting brothels on regular basis having an affair. With the report, I included a set of photographs showing in vivid details her husband entering and leaving various establishments with names like Tender Touch and First Ladies. Every picture was labelled with the appropriate date and time. At the back of my mind, I had doubts that ratting to someone’s wife was a honest way to make a living. But marital problems were my main bread and butter, and I couldn’t afford to turn the jobs down.

  Peering through the window of my study, all I saw was blue sky and the sun draping itself on the green hills dotted with cows. At least there was something in my life which remained the same no matter what.

  I was licking the envelope of an invoice addressed to a motor insurance company when David pulled up in my driveway. He stepped out of his red MX-5, a bunch of carnations in his hands. My heart skipped a beat as I rushed out of my study to welcome him.

  When I opened the front door, he smiled and said, ‘I hope I didn’t turn up too early.’

  I took the flowers and he kissed my on the lips.

  I arranged the carnations in a vase half filled with water.

  After a cup of coffee, I told him that I had some work to do, and so I wouldn’t be able to spent the whole morning with him.

  ‘Still wrapped up in this investigation?’ he asked, his tone infested with disappointment. ‘I wished you would have told me that before I drove all the way here.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry. Am I being unreasonable?’

  ‘No, no, I don’t mean it that way. But what’s the rush?’

  ‘I have to go back to Evelyn Carter’s apartment and look for that little black address book which her neighbour mentioned. There could be some serious leads in there.’

  ‘I’ll come with you. It’s on my way.’

  My mind did a double flip as I thought this over. ‘Can’t do that, it would be illegal.’

  ‘I won’t tell if you won’t.’

  ‘David, don’t make it difficult for me. You know I can’t take you to a crime scene or anything that comes close to it. If someone found out, I’d be in more trouble than I can imagine.’

  ‘I’ll wait in the car,’ he said, giving me a cute grin, which I had found hard to resist.

  I took one deep breath and said, ‘Okay, but you definitely stay in the car. I don’t even want to see you in the driveway of her apartment. Understood?’

  ‘Loud and clear.’

  We agreed that he would come back to my place and spend the night there, so we took my car.

  The drive to Richmond took us forty-five minutes. In-bound traffic was running smoothly right up to Bell Street, after which congestion began to take place. Normally, I was quite aggressive on the road, but less than two months ago I coped a $165 fine for going at 110 km per hour in a 90 zone. I never noticed that the car which had been tagging me for the last ten minutes was an unmarked police car. Since the cops changed from Ford to Mitsubishi, I had problems spotting unmarked vehicles. Still, no matter at how angry I was for being booked, the speeding fine did tame my taste for speeding by a couple of notches.

  During the entire trip, I had the radio going, so David and I said little in terms of fascinating conversation. Our subject matter revolved around the traffic, news reports broadcast every half hour, and the name of the artists whose songs were being played.

  All in all, I felt good and relaxed and physically exhausted, thanks to this morning’s solo marathon. I made the mental commitment to put physical exercise back into my regime. I knew it would also help me sleep at night.

  I parked the Excell alongside the curb opposite Evelyn’s apartment.

  Before I stepped out of the car, I turned to David and said, ‘You realise I might be a while? Maybe you want to take a walk or something.’

  ‘I’ll be right,’ David answered, grabbing a James Patterson paperback from a soft travel bag he brought with him.

  ‘Okay, it’s your choice.’

  I stepped out of the car and retrieved the PERK from the boot. I had no intention of collecting evidence other than Evelyn’s little black book if I came across it, but still, I wanted to be prepared for the unexpected. When searching a place, I found it more efficient doing it by myself. Although having Frank around was company, too often he was more of a hindrance than a helping hand. At least if I disturbed anything at a crime scene, I knew I had done it.

  I crossed the road, looking out for on-coming vehicles on both sides. Before entering the apartment block, I did a half turn and waved to David, who waved back in return.

  From my jacket pocket, I retrieved the keys to the front gate of the apartment block and to Evelyn’s home. I got the keys from the set Frank found nor far from the SAAB before I arrived at the crime scene in Toorak on that dreadful morning which changed my life.

  I paced the driveway and aimed straight for apartment number 2.

  Anxiousness crept at the back of my skull.

  I knew something was wrong, and I hadn’t even entered the apartment yet.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  When I got to the front door, it had been left ajar. On close inspection, I noticed that the lock was damaged. Whoever entered the placed didn’t have the keys, nor a lock-picking kit like I did. The keyhole was badly damaged, as if someone had been inserting a tool, probably the size of a large screwdriver. I pushed the door fully open with my foot and peered inside.

  No one was there.

  I entered the apartment and left the front door wide open behind me in case I had to run out urgently. As soon as I made it to the entrance of the living room, my heart nearly jumped out of my chest. The couch had been slip open through its entire length; the drawers pulled out of the wall unit and their contents tossed on the salmon-coloured carpet; hard-cover books and paperbacks were scattered across the room; official-looking documents and magazines were torn to shred; the coffee table and plants were overturned; the curtains ripped from their rods; and, all in all, the living room looked as if a tornado had past through it.

  As I circled the room, careful not to trip over any of the clutter, I half expected to find a body hidden in a corner.

  Oscar, Evelyn’s cat, was nowhere in site. I feared finding him nailed to the bedroom or bathroom door. I should have taken him home with me. What was I thinking when I felt him behind the first time we searched the apartment? The poor thing had no one to look after him, and if he hadn’t been killed, in all likeness, he’d probably ran away in search of a feed and a new owner to spoil him with love and a warm shelter.

  Aware that the intruder might still be in the apartment, I retrieved my Mustang Plus .380 stainless frame, which I had tucked between my belt and the small of my back. Frank brought me the gun, featuring a blue slide and adjustable sight, two
years prior when I nearly got killed during an investigation. The Mustang had become my best friend, and I could no longer imagine life without it. As much as I didn’t believe in guns, I feared the possibility of coming face-to-face in my own home with a knife-crazed intruder and leave it to chance for my survival. The gun made me feel protected and in control. Although I am ashamed to admit it, I somehow felt sexy and sensual when handling the gun. Maybe I’d been watching to many cops shows or read too many books. Hollywood had eventually got to the core of my moral senses like the rest of the world. A gun was designed to kill, and yet I felt powerful and proud and sexy about owning one. Some say sex is power. Gun is power. Maybe there was a link.

  Getting a license to owe the piece had been a damn nightmare, especially when I wasn’t even a sworn officer, and some of Goosh’s friends had purposely misplaced my application to carry a concealed weapon. Recently I even joined a gun club to assure I would be capable of keeping the gun, even my job no longer gave me the authorisation to do so.

  I placed the PERK on the floor, next to an overturned magazine holder.

  My senses on red alert, I released the security catch on the Mustang, checked the loading, and grasped it with both hands.

  Plastered to the wall, I slid from the living room to the kitchen. I was scared and excited at the same time. My eyes flickered, feeding me flashes of my surroundings.

  The fridge was fully opened, water dripping from the icebox. Rotten vegetables and fruits had been thrown on the grey linoleum, which was permanently discoloured in places as a result. A spilled carton of milk sat under the kitchen table. The bread-and-salami still life painting, which had once been hanging above the kitchen table, was now tossed on the floor, its backing slit open. Whoever had done this were definitely looking for something of importance to them, and whatever that thing was, it had to be small enough to be concealed under the backing of painting.

  ‘Anyone here?’ I almost whispered, my throat tight.

  No answer.

  I tightened my grip around the Mustang.

  If someone was still the apartment, he wouldn’t have heard me either way.

  Chances were whoever broke in had already left.

  Maybe it was the killer.

  Or someone who was scared of being linked to the victim.

  Since Evelyn had been a high-class prostitute, it wasn’t hard to hypothesis on the type of clients she had. Her next door neighbour had already told me that - judges, CEOs, politicians, company directors, foreign diplomats, basically people in power who couldn’t take a chance of having their names tarnished and watch their careers being destroyed. People who were happily married, who had children, who represented themselves as pillars of society. The same people who often imposed their moralistic judgements on others and lived a secret life which contradicted everything they stood for.

  Then I heard a noise coming from the bedroom.

  A cracking noise.

  I froze for a few seconds.

  I held the Mustang tightly, but my hands were still shaking.

  Listening carefully, I could hear the sound of my own breathing.

  It sounded like drawers being opened.

  Without word, I approached the bedroom door. Should I go outside and call for backup? If the intruder was armed, I could get hurt, maybe even killed. Is it worth the risk?

  But adrenalin was pumping in my brain. I realised it might be Evelyn’s killer who had come to her apartment to destroy evidence that would lead us to him. If he was armed and threatened me, at least he would give me the golden opportunity to blow his brains and save taxpayers’ money on a trial. The idea of avenging myself never appealed to me. But at that moment, I felt such intense rage at what had been done to Evelyn that I purposely let my judgement be clouded with hatred.

  My right hand clinging to the Mustang, I was now resting against the bedroom door.

  Another drawer was being opened.

  There was definitely someone in there.

  Slowly I pushed the door with my left floor.

  A trickle of sweat dripped down my temple. I feared for my life. I thought about Michael. Why now, I wasn’t sure. Maybe I was scared of turning him into an orphan. Would Frank take care of him if I was to go? I doubted it, especially the way Michael had been acting lately. Somehow, I just couldn’t see Frank living with a teenage boy. These two had nothing in common, and the day they’d become friends, I’d probably get a heart attack.

  Suddenly, without warning, I kicked the rest of the door open and aimed the barrel of my Mustang at the person who was kneeling down in front of a chest of draws, hands sinking in Evelyn’s lingerie.

  We locked eyes, and she seemed as surprised to see me as I was to see her.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Judith Kingman was still flushed. She’d screamed her head off when she turned around and saw me with the gun. I saw the fear of death in her eyes.

  ‘God, you scared the shit out of me!’ she said after I had just apologised for aiming the Mustang at her face.

  I helped her back to her feet and said, ‘What the hell are you doing here, anyway? Did you make all this mess?’

  She pulled a face. ‘Me? Are you crazy? I was just looking for that little black book. I thought I might be able to get my hands on it and hand it over to you before anyone else got a hold of it.’

  Curious, I stepped back two steps. ‘So, what the hell happened here?’

  ‘You tell me. It’s your mob?’

  ‘My mob?’

  By the expression on my face, she must have known I was genuinely clueless.

  ‘You mean, you didn’t send them?’ she asked.

  ‘Send who?’

  ‘Oh, God, now it all makes sense.’

  I tucked the Mustang back between my belt and the small of my back. ‘Yo, you’re going to clarify yourself here. Do you know who broke into this apartment?’

  ‘Two men came and identified themselves as police officers. I asked for identification, which they produced. I’m not an expert, but the badges looked like Victoria Police genuine articles, and there was no reason for me not to let them in.’

  ‘Did you get their names?’

  ‘Are you serious? I’m going to stand there after they presented their Ids and take their names down? I asked them if you’d send them, and they said yes.’

  Now I was confused.

  ‘Believe me,’ I said, ‘I did not send anyone. This people were either crooks or cops with a bad agenda in mind.’

  ‘Yeah, well, I sort of figured that out when I heard all the locomotion going on in Evelyn’s apartment. I didn’t want to intrude, so I waited until they left. When I got to her, the door had been left open, so I walked in and found the place in a mess. That’s when I realised something was wrong. And then, I remembered the black book, and how you said you hadn’t found it yet. So, I though I’d look for it myself, just in case the two cops decided to come back and look some more.’

  ‘What if they’d already found it?’

  ‘Just in case they hadn’t.’

  I stared at her for a few seconds, trying to figure out if she’d been lying to me. But her eyes expressed sincerity, and there was no reason why I shouldn’t have believed her.

  ‘Okay, at least you’ve seen who was in the apartment,’ I said. ‘But you shouldn’t have touched anything. You should have called me.’

  ‘I was going to do that.’ She was now on her feet, inches from my face. I could smell her face moisturiser and some familiar perfume, which made me want to sneeze.

  ‘Would you be able to recognised the cops who broke into her apartment if you ever so them again?’ I asked.

  ‘I think so. I couldn’t draw you a picture, but if came across them again, yes I would. One was tall, moustache, short hair and an expensive looking two-piece suite. He looked around thirty-five. The other was much younger, probably mid-twenties, maybe less. The senior one did all the talking. If he wasn’t a cop, he certainly spoke like one.’
/>   ‘Why did they come to you?’

  ‘Rang my door bell. They couldn’t get passed the front gate. They identified themselves and that was it.’

  Possible scenario since Frank and I had done the same thing when we first wanted to get into Evelyn’s apartment.

  All of a sudden, a male voice interrupted us. In less than half a second, my right hand had already landed on the Mustang tucked between my belt and the small of my back.

  ‘Everything all right in here?’ David asked, a look of concern on his face.

  When David and I returned to the car, I was mad as hell. Back at Evelyn’s apartment, I told Judith to not bother looking for the little black book. This was police business, and the more she got herself involve in it, the more complicated things would become. She seemed a little upset at first, but when she returned to her apartment she told us she understood, that we were only doing her job.

  I crossed the road of the apartment block to where my car was parked. David was by my side, looking rather sheepish.

  ‘Jesus, David, I told you not to come inside the apartment. What are you trying to do? Make me lose my job?’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I heard somebody scream. I though it was you. I thought you were in trouble. What was I suppose to do? Stand there and pretend I heard nothing?’

  As much as I was angry at him, if I’d found myself face-to-face with the killer in Evelyn’s apartment, maybe I would have been glad to see David come to my rescue.

  ‘Okay, okay, just forget about it,’ I said. ‘It’s my fault. I shouldn’t brought you with me in the first place.’

  Just when we stepped in the car, Frank’s white Ford Falcon pulled in front of us.