The Kristina Melina Omnibus: First Kill, Second Cut, Third Victim Page 25

‘Yes...No, now? She’s already at the mortuary. Now? Yeah, well, sure.’

  He punched the end button.

  I raised one brow, and he said, ‘Goosh. Wants us at the St Kilda Road Complex in half an hour.’

  I didn’t bother asking why.

  There was no need to.

  If the Deputy Commissioner of Police said to be there in half an hour, then it wasn’t a request, but an order.

  We gathered our equipment and took the box of packed evidence to Frank’s Ford Falcon.

  He opened the boot, and I emptied the contents of my arms into the back of the car.

  ‘I’m not going to play games here,’ I said matter-of-factly.

  He didn’t answer.

  I went on, ‘I’m going to tell him straight to his face that I don’t want this investigation, and if he wants to find someone else, to do it, then it’s up to him.’

  Frank chewed on my comment as we climbed into the car. Finally, he turned to me and said, ‘I think you’re making a mistake. This is not the right time to pick and choose your cases. You’ve been on the job for less than a year. You know this is the opportunity he’s been looking for. The perfect moment where he can humiliate you in front of everyone.’

  I passed one hand over my forehead, wiping off the excess perspiration. ‘Don’t think I haven’t thought about the whole deal. I know what’s at risk. I just want to sleep at night.’

  ‘Get a desk job.’

  He revved the engine and reversed the car.

  God, I hated him sometimes.

  The St Kilda Road Police Complex was a twenty-storey high building complex, a few hundred meters from The Domain, a large hotel in South Melbourne, which incorporated its own restaurant and cafe bar.

  I hated the idea of having to spend a good deal of my time in this concrete-and-glass fortress with its own rules, office gossip and back-stabbing. Not much different from any other office environment, where people were so bored to death, half their time was wasted making up stories or putting some dirt out on a colleague.

  After passing a security check-point in the small, wood-panelled foyer of the building, Frank and I took the elevator to the ninth floor, where Goosh and god-knows-who-else would be waiting for us.

  The air conditioning in the building was heaven-sent. My blouse was still stuck to my back from perspiration as I realised in despair I probably stunk like some cat’s leftovers. I was dying for a shower, something which I’d intended to do as soon as I finished collecting evidence at the crime scene, but now I knew it wouldn’t happen for at least another hour.

  I glanced at the numbers indicating floor levels above my head and said to Frank, ‘If he comes up with any comment close to harassment, I’m going to file an official complaint.’

  ‘That’s going to get you somewhere,’ Frank answered, wiping his forehead with the back of his sleeve. He too looked as if he could have done with a shower. There was a solemn expression on his face, but I wasn’t sure if it was because he was angry at me, or because that was the way we all looked when we returned from a crime scene.

  ‘You’re going to back me up on this, aren’t you?’ I asked.

  I turned around, waiting for an answer to my question, but all he did was shrug and look the other way.

  Fine, I thought, I’ll just have to handle it by myself.

  When we entered the conference room, Goosh was going through some files while sipping hot brew from a mug which read, ‘... because I said so.’

  Kind of summed up his attitude.

  The mahogany table with matching chairs seated up to twelve people. Through a large bay window, we had a view of South Melbourne and beyond. There was a water fountain close to the entrance, but no one ever bothered using it. A white board with several markers stood on the other side of the room, just in case someone had to explain procedures which were not easily conveyed by the spoken word. The room was often used when detectives and other crime-scene experts gathered for briefing.

  Goosh’s face was puffed and reddish, as if he’d climbed the emergency stairs to the ninth floor instead of taking the elevator. His suit must have been Italian-made because of the perfect cut. Still, no amount of tailoring could disguise the fact that he looked like a stuffed sausage in whatever suit he wore. I could have sworn he’d put on another two kilos since I’d last seen him, which was less than three weeks ago. The top button on his white shirt was undone, and his red-and-black striped tie was loosened like a schoolboy who couldn’t take the heat.

  He ignored us for the first ten seconds, and when he did look up, he seemed neither surprised, nor interested. His heavy eyes quickly dropped back to the contents of his manilla folder.

  ‘Any ideas, any clues, anything at all?’ he suddenly hissed, not bothering with greetings or anything which looked remotely like some form of courtesy.

  I looked at Frank, who indicated with a movement of his brows that I should be the one talking. Frankly, I didn’t know what business it was to Goosh so early in the investigation. So far we’d established next to nothing.

  ‘The girl was not raped as far as we could tell,’ I said.

  ‘Cause of death?’

  ‘Uncertain at this stage. We’ll have to wait for the autopsy report.’

  ‘Mmm... You do understand that I’d like you to attend the autopsy?’

  I shifted from my spot and swallowed. ‘Actually, I wanted to let you that I won’t be working on this case.’

  For the first time since we entered the room, he glared into my eyes. ‘Why would that be?’ He played nervously with a blue biro.

  ‘This is not the type of work I feel comfortable with.’ I could feel my stomach churning, waiting for him to jump out of his seat and elevate the tone of his voice to Jurassic levels.

  Instead, he smiled and said, ‘So what type of work are you comfortable with? You keep reminding me how you have a PhD in criminal justice. Why is this case suddenly outside your expertise?’

  ‘It’s a child murder. I don’t do child murders.’

  He sipped from his mug, puzzled over my statement for a few seconds and said, ‘Well, then, I guess we’ll have to find someone to replace you.’

  I straightened in my chair, still waiting for his normal verbal diarrhoea to come down on me like every other time I complained about something.

  But it never happened.

  Instead, Goosh returned his attention to his manilla folder as if I’d said nothing unusual. He took it extremely well, and as a result, I couldn’t help thinking that there had to be a hidden agenda.

  I shifted on my chair and said, ‘How long will it take to find another investigator?’

  Goosh chewed his lower lip while Frank rolled his eyes to the ceiling.

  Did I say something wrong?

  ‘Look,’ Goosh said, ‘you’re going to stay on the case for a few more days at the most. Let me make a couple of phone calls.’

  ‘Can’t we get this moving a little faster?’ I didn’t know why I was being so unreasonable when he remained polite. Maybe I wanted him to insult me because to date it’s been the only type of response I’d received from him.

  ‘Kristina...’ Frank began to protest.

  Goosh waved one hand in the air. ‘No, no, Dr Melina is right, if she can’t cope with the job she’s been given, she should butt out. I’ve always said this isn’t a job for a woman. Hell, I understand. Who wants to wake up every morning and have to deal with murderers, rapist, child pornographers and the whole lot of them? Given the choice, I’d get married and stay in the kitchen. That is if I was a woman.’’

  I felt a tightness in my throat. I knew there’d be more than met the eye when he agreed to find someone else to take over the investigation.

  Frank slapped his hand on his forehead, probably wondering what he was doing with two idiots like us.

  I shook my head and said, ‘This is not about a career change. I’m keeping this job for as long as I want. It’s only about this case. I don’t want to work with d
ead children. I don’t want to work these cases, and it’s not like I’ve never made myself clear in the past. Everyone understood the conditions of my appointment when I came on board. You’re trying to push this into some kind of incompetence bullshit when that has nothing to do with it. My initial agreement was clear, and everyone knew it.’

  ‘Oh, sure they did. I certainly did. I was looking for someone all-rounded. Someone who didn’t pick and choose. Someone who wasn’t afraid to get his hands dirty and get the work done.’ His tone was now infested with anger. ‘This is not a McDonald’s where you get to choose your own meal. This is the real world, and in the real world you have to take what you’re given. Murders are not committed with you in mind, Dr Melina, and the sooner you get that in your head, the easier your job will be.’

  I stood from my chair as if someone had lit a firecracker in my underpants.

  ‘I don’t have to take this bureaucratic crap! To begin with, I don’t even work for you. I’m not one of your employees, I’m contracted, and I don’t have to listen to you.’

  Goosh stood on his feet, his forefinger stabbing the air. ‘You listen to me Ms Melina. I’ve had just about enough of you. I’m telling you now that I’m going to do the best I can to get you out of this contract. There will come a time and a place when I’ll never have to see your face again, and when the police will be better off without you.’

  I opened my mouth, but no words came out. I turned to Frank, but he was looking down at the table. Who could blame him? If I’d been him, I’d just storm out of the room and let us deal with our own problems.

  ‘I’ve got work to do,’ I said tartly and raced for the door.

  ‘Come back and see us when you’ve calmed down,’ Goosh yelled as I slammed the door behind me.

  I spent the next ten minutes in a rest room allocated on the same floor as the conference room. My eyes were puffy, but I couldn’t cry. I was more angry than anything else. Life had a way of turning against me sometimes, to the point where I didn’t want to move on. But by the same token, I wasn’t going to let that sonofabitch walk all over me, tell me what I was capable or wasn’t capable of doing.

  All my life I fought the odds, tried so hard to stand for what I believed in. It felt unbelievable in this day and age that women were still being treated as second best. The newspapers loved to print stories on job equality, how far we’ve come in the nineties, and how everything was perfect out there. But everything was far from being perfect. Men still believed themselves superior, and even though they were more careful about what they said, their actions clearly indicated what was on their minds. Women still had a damn long way to go before they’d receive the respect they deserved. I hated to sound like a whinnying feminist, which I wasn’t, but so far life had dealt me men with little to offer.

  I rinsed my face with cold water and took a deep breath. The cold water cut through my pores, helping me to wake up to the reality of life. Nothing ever changed, and I’d better get used to it. I fixed my shoulder-length, auburn hair with a flick of a hand in front the mirror and forced a smile. The day was just beginning and already I wanted to go back to bed.

  I parked my blue Lancer in the car park of the VIFM in South Melbourne. All I had found out to date was that the murdered girl’s name was Tracy Noland, and her mother had been contacted.

  The VIFM is a body corporate with perpetual succession which was established by the Coroners Act 1985 in the State of Victoria. The Institute is based at the Coronial Services Centre in Melbourne, a purpose built facility in Kavanagh Street, Southbank. Its principle function is to provide timely, high quality and high value forensic medicine and related services, including teaching and research.

  The VIFM is also the statutory body in charge of Forensic Pathology, Clinical Forensic Medicine, Forensic Toxicology and other forensic scientific services in the state. Over three thousand post-mortem examinations take place each year at the mortuary, the Coronial Services Centre, located in the same blue-grey building complex. Other than autopsies, the centre incorporates histology, microbiology and molecular biology laboratories, all contributing to forensic investigations. The building complex also incorporates the Coronial Services Centre and the Coroner’s Court.

  As I walked towards the blue-grey building, a tightness gripping my throat, I wondered how the hell I was going to digest the autopsy of an eleven-year old girl when I had a son who had turned twelve that same year. This was too close to home, and I hated myself for ending up in situations I swore I would avoid throughout my life.

  As I crossed the car park and entered the VIFM through an automatic sliding glass door, memories of my last child investigation came back to mind. A few years back, while investigating the death of a young girl, I swore I would never work in child investigation. It was the hardest thing in the world to do, and although I wanted to help as many people as possible, I had my limits. I was no hero, and if the VFSC couldn’t understand that, then bad luck. It wasn’t a decision that I’d made lightly, but some people were better suited to one type of investigation than others, and child homicides were not something I handled with ease. Investigations of such kept me awake all night for weeks, sometimes months. It wasn’t uncommon for a flashback nightmare to hit me out of nowhere, sometimes years after the event.

  I presented my green photo-ID card with a metallic strip at the reception and stated my purpose.

  ‘Dr Main is waiting for you in his office. Viewing of the body starts in fifteen minutes.’ The receptionist picked up the phone and announced my arrival to Dr Main.

  Dr Charles W. Main had had the unfortunate occasion to meet me after a serious breach of security last year at the VIFM when I managed to break into his office, kick a security guard in the shin, and steal documents from his filing cabinet.

  Initially, Dr Main wanted me charged with trespassing and theft of confidential material, but the decision was reversed after it was explained to him that it was because of my unlawful action that an important murder investigation had been solved.

  To date, I hadn’t spoken to Dr Main, and as I climbed the staircase to his office, perspiration dripped down the small of my back. I had no idea how he was going to receive me since I had not organised my attendance at the autopsy and hadn’t spoken to him since my little incident. Only one thing was certain. I wasn’t going to investigate the death of Tracy Noland, and the sooner he found out, the better.

  Dr Main’s office was the same as I remembered: three-by-three metres, cramped with a green four-drawer filing cabinet at one end and an outdated 486DX computer taking up most of his desk. He was sitting there, his door halfway open.

  ‘Come in, Dr Melina.’

  As I took a seat behind his desk, his look was non-committal. He avoided eye contact for fear or embarrassment of who I was. Was he another man who was afraid of women who followed career paths so far dominated by males?

  ‘I’m glad you could make it.’ His tone contradicted his greeting.

  I glanced at his salt-and-pepper hair and straight nose. He was quite handsome, and had I met him somewhere other than at this work place, I might have been interested in him in a non-professional manner. He had creases under his blue eyes, which gave him an air of wisdom, the look of someone you could trust. But I knew looks were not everything.

  ‘To be honest with you, Dr. Main, I didn’t want to be here in the first place.’

  I must have gotten his attention because he locked his eyes into mine and snapped, ‘No need to be offensive.’

  I felt heat on my face and immediately retracted, ‘I’m sorry. It wasn’t a personal attack. What I wanted to say is that I don’t wish to pursue an investigation in which a child has been murdered. It’s just not something I’m very good at.’

  ‘Investigations?’

  ‘Dealing with dead children.’

  He rubbed his chin with his thumb and forefinger. ‘Does this mean you won’t be attending the autopsy?’

  ‘I’m currently in charge of t
he investigation. Until a replacement is found, which I hope will be in the next twenty-four hours, I have little choice.’

  He smiled, but I puzzled as to whether it was because I was forced to do something I hated, or because he was glad I had retracted from investigating Tracy Noland’s death. I still hadn’t figured out if Dr Main was a friend or a foe. He probably felt the same way about me.

  ‘Mrs Noland should be here any minute,’ he said, sucking the cap of a silver fountain pen. ‘She’s going to identify the body before the autopsy begins. The description and clothing of her missing daughter fit the body we found. We’re certain it’s Tracy Noland, but the body still has to be legally identified.’

  I wondered why he bothered explaining all this. I wasn’t a graduate student on work experience and knew forensic procedures like the back of my hand.

  ‘Do we know what killed her at this stage?’ I asked.

  ‘No idea.’

  I stood from my chair and said, ‘I guess I’d better make my way to the viewing room.’

  ‘You do that. I’ll join you in a minute.’

  I left his office, feeling slightly nauseous.

  CHAPTER TWO

  The viewing room was divided into separate sections in the form of two rooms. One had seating arrangements for witnesses, the other was blue-green from floor to ceiling, designed for the sole purpose of identifying the unfortunate beings who happened to end up at the mortuary. The rooms were separated by a glass partition, covered by a green curtain, which would remain shut until the body was ready to be identified.

  Currently, around one percent of Victorians died every year, with one-eighth of that one percent ending up at the mortuary for one reason or another. The previous year, just over one hundred autopsies were murder victims. The autopsies performed at the Coronial Services Centre is divided into two types: medical autopsy and medical-legal autopsy, the latter also know as homicide autopsy. Tracy Noland’s autopsy fell under the second category, where the procedure had been ordered by a proper legal authority, in this case the VIFM. Basically, a medical-legal autopsy is required in all homicide cases, and it was clear at this stage that the young girl’s death wasn’t a natural cause.