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

by Laurent Boulanger

  ‘You be careful now,’ she said while holding on to my right hand and patting it with her left. ‘We just never know what type of lunatics are out there, do we?’

  ‘I guess we don’t.’

  I took my hand back and stepped backward into the rain, flicking my umbrella open at the same time.

  ‘Keep in touch,’ she said.

  ‘Will do.’

  I turned around and follow the path to the front gate.

  I didn’t look back, but I could feel her stare locked in on me all the way to the car.

  Forty minutes later, I eased the Hyundai in the parking lot of the VFSC. The rain had stopped, so I didn’t bother with the umbrella. I checked my reflection against the sliding doors at the entrance of the building. With my black jacket and faded denims, I looked more like one of the bad guys than a law enforcer. I finger-brushed my hair to give it more volume. The rain had flattened it a little and made me self-conscious. I straightened my jacket and kid myself I looked real neat.

  I walked passed the main foyer, where I nearly killed myself on the polished floor with my wet feet. I glanced at the awards and trophies, and headed straight from the Liaison Office, room C47, at the entrance of the creamy-brown coloured building. I hoped to God, my ID was still valid. The paperwork to have it cancelled wouldn’t have gone through yet.

  I entered room C47, where a dots matrix printer was chucking out continuity labels as if all the crimes in the world were going through the VFSC. After clearing myself with the Liaison Officer, much to my relief, I made my way to the Department of Biology where John Darcy was working.

  I entered the lab by pressing by ID card against the black plate next the entrance door. The door unlocked automatically. Security was second-to-none in these places. Once you entered the building, it didn’t necessarily mean you had access to all the rooms unless you carried the appropriate pass.

  John had his back on me, his right eye stuck into a compound microscope.

  ‘Surprise visit,’ he said without looking up. He must have had eyes behind his head, like one of those alien creatures in a b-grade science-fiction series from the 60s.

  John wore the obligatory white lab coat with its stripes - ink stains in a variety of blues, blacks and reds attached to his breast pocket. A good forensic scientist doesn’t have time to be fashion conscious - he’s too busy working around the clock, being obsessed with every tiny details of whatever case he is working on. And John was just that kind of person. His work was not just a job, but a vocation. He even had a laboratory at home which he assembled during his weekends from IKEA furniture and catalogue-imported equipment from the USA or from auctions he attended at least once a week. The guy was as obsessed with science as I was with criminology. And obsessive people lived on the edge of insanity—I was certain of that. One of these days, they were going to lock us both and throw away the keys.

  He turned around and slipped off his surgical gloves. His hair was unkempt, and he looked as if he was living on two hours sleep and five litres of coffee a day. He reminded me of what I must look like, other than the facial hair. His beard could have done with a little trimming, and it was obvious he had neglected shaving the neck area for a little while. I wondered if he still had problems with his wife. The previous year, things were not going too well at home, and I’ve never seen him so unhappy since then. When I met his wife, she gave me the look that woman do so well, and I couldn’t help wondering if she thought there was a little screwing going on on the side between John and me. She was dead wrong, of course, but it wasn’t a debate I intended to have with her. So now I avoided visiting him at home altogether, even if it was a weekend emergency. I didn’t want to become the other woman in someone’s marriage.

  ‘Can’t keep yourself out of trouble, can you?’ he said. Before I had time to reply, he added, ‘if you’re here for the result of that fingernail residue found on Evelyn Carter, you’ll have to be a little more patient. The sample I was given was in a dreadful state. Frankly, it’s lucky that I’ve managed to do anything at all with it.’

  ‘So, what’s the verdict?’

  ‘Good morning to you too, Dr Melina. I thought you were off the case? I thought everyone was off the case?’

  I stepped forward. ‘Well, you know what it’s like. If you can’t count on your friends, who the hell do you turn to?’

  He nodded. ‘You know I have faith in you, Kristina, and that’s why you keep coming back to me.’

  ‘Only the best will do.’ I paused and added, ‘What’s with the residue?’

  ‘It’s vegetable all right. The state of decomposition was a major problem. Okay, all the essential features are there, but all I can confirm is that this is some type of plant or flower. I’ve sent the sample to a friend in Sydney. He’s got a library of hundreds of thousands types of plants on computer which he’s collected over the last ten years. It’s probably the most comprehensive database in Australia, if not the world. I told him it was urgent, but the guy is kind of busy and short tempered, but he’ll do the best he can. And he added that if I called him and bother him for the results, he would send them back straight away. He hates being told what to do on short notice. I remained polite with him, so I’m hoping we get some result within the next twenty-four hours. Whether it’s going to help with the investigation or not, that’s another question altogether.’

  ‘Well, at least you’ve done what you could.’

  I fished inside the pocket of my leather jacket and retrieved the labelled bag containing David’s hair sample.

  ‘I need you to do me another favour,’ I said and dangled the bag in front of him. ‘I need a DNA test done on this ASAP, and a comparison of the polymorphic sequences autoradiographs from the results and the one obtained from the semen found inside Evelyn Carter.’

  He grabbed the bag from me. ‘Sure thing. When do you need it by?’

  ‘Is that a trick question?’

  He smiled and said, ‘You haven’t changed. How long as it been? Six months?’

  ‘Eight’.

  ‘That long already? You should drop it more often. I miss the company of an intelligent woman.’

  ‘Thank you, I’m flattered. Most people think I’m arrogant and pain in the butt.’

  ‘They’re just jealous, that’s all. It’s human nature. Have the strength to forgive them. They’re mere mortals.’

  ‘And who are we?’

  ‘Well, Kristina, do you really want me to get into it?’

  I smiled and said, ‘Okay, I trust your good judgement, but only because I’m bias. When can you get this done for me? It’s really important.’

  ‘Like everyone else, you want it yesterday. I’ll give you a call as soon as I’ve done the comparison. You’re on top of the list. And that’s only because I like you.’ I was just about to leave the lab when he added, ‘Who’s the owner of the hair?’

  ‘Just a friend. Someone I’m fucking and who’s fucking with me.’

  John wore the expression of a kangaroo caught in headlights.

  So much for telling Frank not to use the f-word.

  I left the room before he had time to reply.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  ‘They found him in room 23 at the Highway Hotel in Chadstone,’ Frank said. ‘He hung himself. You better get your arse here on the double.’

  Frank gave me the location of the motel and hung up.

  I pushed the NO button on my mobile and had to catch my breath. As much as I hated the bastard, I never wished he ended that way. I couldn’t believe I was on the edge of crying for someone who felt so obligated in making my life a living hell. Goosh was the last person on earth I expected to commit suicide. And me who thought he was living it up somewhere in the Bahamas. It just shows how little one knows the enemy.

  I stepped out of the car in the pouring rain. When Frank called me, I was in the middle of the South Eastern Arterial on my way back to Richmond. I had to pull to the emergency lane when he told me the news. It was
as if someone had just knocked me on the head with a cricket bat.

  For what felt like infinity, I stood under the downpour, watching the traffic race past me, my mind wandering everywhere but in the present time. There had been so much hatred between us, and now that it was all over, I couldn’t help feeling that it was my fault that he was dead. Had I pushed him over the edge? Had I been wrong about the accusations? Shouldn’t I have just accepted his peace offering the other day, swallowed my pride, take the promotion he had offered me, and get on with my life? Was I the straw who broke the camel’s back?

  Frank was waiting for me at the Highway Motel in Chadstone, but I couldn’t move on, not right away. We had to cover the crime scene, suicide or not. He requested it, and he knew I’d want to be there. And he was right, except that I hadn’t expect myself to be so shocked by the event. I stood under the rain for another ten minutes, not knowing what to do. Was this some kind of wake up call that nothing ever lasts forever? As much as I often dismissed it, Goosh was a human being like I was. But only now that he had taken his life into his own hands, I finally realised the importance of what this meant. He had had feelings like I did, and he must have hurt so much that he couldn’t see himself facing another day. I hadn’t come to that yet, not even close. Could I have been so wrong about everything? I continued to watch the traffic flow down the freeway, conscious that every single one of those people travelling were on their journey through life, not just another number in the crowd.

  My mobile phone went off, but I left it in my jacket. The ringing, however, did wake me up from my slumber. It was time to face the truth head-on, no matter how difficult it might have been.

  Finally I slid back behind the wheel, soaking from head to toe, my face and my fingers frozen from the cold. As strange as it seems, I could feel Goosh’s soul was no longer amongst us. He was somewhere up there, looking down on the world, laughing on how insignificant we were with our little problems and our dramatised lives. Sitting on his cloud, he was presumably glad he jumped out before the ship sank. Maybe Frank had been right about the Titanic theory. Jump off while you still can.

  On my way to the motel, I nearly killed myself at the Toorak Road and Glenferrie Road intersection. My mind was so worked up by the news I’d just received, that I run through a red light, forcing a white van to steer to the other side of the road, just avoiding a head-on collision with another car. I pulled to the side of the road for the second time, and I felt light-headed. I thought I was going to pass out. I opened the window fully and breathed in fresh air from outside. It was cold and humid, but it slapped me back into reality.

  Someone came to the side of the car.

  ‘Are you all right?’

  A male voice, but I couldn’t see the face. I was staring right in front of me.

  ‘I’m okay,’ I said.

  The mobile phone went off again.

  This time I picked it up without checking the caller ID on the LCD screen and said, ‘Dr Melina.’

  ‘What the fuck are you doing?’ It was Frank.

  ‘I’m coming.’

  ‘It’s gonna take you all day?’

  ‘It’s the weather. Isn’t it raining where you are?’

  ‘Well, hurry up. The whole media circus is already here. Jesus Christ, Kristina, this one’s gonna make headlines around the country. You better get yourself mentally prepared for the evening news.’

  ‘Give me five minutes, I’m nearly there.’

  I ended the call without waiting for his reply.

  The man who stood next to the car had vanished.

  I have to be strong, I have to be strong, I repeated to myself as if I was reciting a mantra.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  When I pulled alongside the motel twenty minutes later, I noticed at least three media vans. The others were probably hidden behind police cars and ambulances. Blue and red lights were flashing as it were a natural disaster zone. A crowd had gathered around the motel, and it was virtually impossible to get past it. Even the rain wouldn’t keep curious minds away. Crime was news, news was money. The television cameras were shooting footage galore, keeping it rolling just in case they managed to capture something worthwhile for the evening news.

  The motel was the American type, slabs of cement joined together to make as many rooms as possible in a minimum amount of space. Each guest room had a symmetrical layout, simple lines, white walls and minimal ornament, typical features of today’s architecture. Greenery was kept trimmed and tidy to uplift the banality of the construction. I never noticed the motel before, even though I’d driven up and down the highway a thousand times. Above the ‘Highway Motel’ badge, there was a red neon sign up high flashing the word ‘vacancy’. Not likely for the next few hours, I thought.

  For once my leather jacket and jeans came in handy. Journalists were used to seeing me arriving at a crime scene with my dress and matching jacket. I was a popular face among crime reporters, and they were usually were capable of sniffing me out before I even stepped onto the crime scene. Today I pushed through the crowd with my PERK in one hand and my Ray Bans on my nose.

  Not a single journalist tried to ask me questions. I could have been one of them for all they knew. I certainly didn’t look like a crime-scene examiner. And on top of that I was wet like a sewerage rat.

  Blue-and-white police tape sealed the area. A middle-aged, slightly overweight, uniformed officer looked at me suspiciously as I pulled the crime-scene tape and entered the enclosed area. He wore a thick, brushed moustache and cropped hair. His shoulders were reasonably broad, and if he hated being a cop, he could have always got a job as a bouncer. He made me think of these guys who wore black leather pants and matching caps, and paraded at the Chapel Street Festival every year in October. He looked familiar, but I couldn’t quite place him. Maybe I’d seen him in a club somewhere.

  ‘Lady, you can’t go in there,’ he ordered as he paced towards me, ‘get back on the other side of the tape.’

  All eyes turned on me.

  Someone said, ‘Who she’s with?’

  ‘Freelance, no doubt,’ someone else replied.

  I checked the cop’s blue name tag before he got to me: Constable Kevin Burnett.

  I pulled my photo ID out of my leather jacket and attached it to my breast pocket. I’d only been kicked out of the VFSC three days ago, but no one knew about it, and I still had my ID with me. It got my access to the Department of Biology when I went to see John Darcy a couple of hours ago, so there was no reason why I wouldn’t get away with it, especially when the expiry date on the card was still valid.

  ‘I’m with the police, sir,’ I said, pointing at my ID.

  He looked at it and said, ‘Jeez, I thought you were one of those reporters, Dr Melina. I didn’t recognise you with the jacket and glasses. It’s your day off or something?’

  ‘Yeah, yeah, okay. Can you fill me in on the details and show me where the body is?’

  ‘Sure, come this way.’

  We crossed the motel courtyard. I saw Goosh’s grey Lexus parked in front of room 23, where a crowd of police personal and other experts had gathered.

  ‘Maid found the body when she came in to clean up the room,’ Burnett commented. ‘He hanged himself with the sheets from his bed. Doesn’t look suspicious, but then no one’s really had a good look yet. Frank Moore ordered everyone to touch nothing until you got here.’

  I saw Frank talking to a short, fat man with thinning hair.

  ‘Who’s that guy,’ I said, pointing to the short man.

  ‘The manager. Says Goosh booked the room last night, then went out at around 9.30. Didn’t see him coming back, but he did, otherwise he wouldn’t be hanging from the ceiling.’

  We got to the door of room 23.

  ‘Okay, thanks for filling me in, Constable Burnett,’ I said.

  ‘You’re welcome. Anything else you need, just come and see me.’

  ‘Just make sure those vultures stay on the other side of the crime
-scene tape.’

  ‘Will do.’

  Burnett returned to his post just outside the motel courtyard.

  I moved in to where Frank and the motel manager were standing.

  ‘This is bad for business,’ the short man was saying. ‘Am I going to get compensated for that. Isn’t there some sort type of victim of crime payment I’m entitled to?’

  ‘I’ve already explained,’ Frank said, ‘this is a suicide, and even if it wasn’t, you’re not a victim. The only victim is the dead guy in room 23.’

  ‘Yeah, but I’m going to lose income because of him.’

  ‘Hey, I’m Dr Melina,’ I interrupted, extending my hand to the motel manager. ‘I’m in charge of this crime scene. And you’re name is?’

  ‘Richard Amardi,’ the manager said and shook the hand I presented him.

  ‘Richard, we’re going to do our best to clean up this place ASAP, and we’re out of here. If you think there’s any money your entitled to, just give me a call, and I’ll see what I can do.’

  I passed him on one of my business cards.

  ‘You’re a lawyer?’ Amardi asked.

  ‘No, I’m an independent consultant, so I won’t screw you around.’

  Amardi looked at Frank and then back at me. He nodded in satisfaction.

  ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘I’ll give you a call then.’

  ‘You do that,’ I said.

  And then he left us alone.

  ‘Why the hell did you tell him he might be entitled to a compensation?’ Frank asked.

  ‘Avoid confrontation at all cost,’ I said, ‘agree with the guy, deal with him later.’

  ‘Is that so?’ He paused and looked at me from head to toe. ‘What the hell happened to you? Don’t you carry an umbrella any more?’

  ‘Long story. Now, we’re going to get in there or what?’

  ‘Hey, don’t get pissy, missy, you’re the one who took your time. Plus you’re not even suppose to be here in the first place, so I’m doing you a favour at the very likely risk of getting my arse kicked.’