The Kristina Melina Omnibus: First Kill, Second Cut, Third Victim Page 8

  My eyes were open wide in front of the screen. I was astounded at how fast Michael got there. He was better than me on the damn thing. I knew how to trace people, break into government and company databases, but I wasn’t an Internet freak.

  ‘What did you do?’ I asked.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘How did you find this?’

  ‘I was doing some stuff at school on terrorism, and I found it by accident.’

  I wanted to throw up. We were busting our guts trying to catch criminals, and some lunatic in the USA provided the world with recipes on how to kill people.

  ‘Jesus Christ!’ I muttered, jumping from one foot to the other.

  ‘Okay here we go,’ he said, shifting from the chair. ‘I found it.’

  I looked over his shoulder and saw that he was right. ‘Can you print this stuff?’ I asked. In front of my eyes were clear instructions on how to steal money from telephone booths.

  ‘Sure, hold on a sec.’

  He did a COPY and PASTE command from the web side to Microsoft Word 6.0, followed by a simple lay-out, and printed the article.

  In less than a minute I was holding the information in my hands.

  How to Get Money out of Pay Phones

  by Jolly Roger

  I will now share with you my experiences with pay telephones. You will discover that it is possible to get money from a pay phone with a minimum of effort. Theory: Most pay phones use four wires for the transmission of data and codes to the central office. Two of them are used for voice (usually red and green), one is a ground, and the last is used with the others for the transmission of codes.

  It is with this last wire that you will be working with. On the pay phone that I usually did this to, it was colored purple, but most likely will be another color.

  What you will do is simply find a pay phone which has exposed wires, such that one of them can be disconnected and connected at ease without fear of discovery. You will discover that it is usually a good idea to have some electrical tape along with you and some tool for cutting this tape.

  Through trial and error, you will disconnect one wire at a time starting with the wires different than green and red. You do want a dial tone during this operation.

  What you want to disconnect is the wire supplying the codes to the telephone company so that the pay phone will not get the 'busy' or 'hang-up' command. Leave this wire disconnected when you discover it.

  What will happen: Anytime that someone puts any amount of money into the pay phone, the deposit will not register with the phone company and it will be held in the 'temporary' chamber of the pay phone.

  Then, (a day later or so) you just go back to the phone, reconnect the wire, and click the hook a few times and the phone will dump it all out the shute. (What is happening is that the 'hangup' code that the phone was not receiving due to the wire being disconnected suddenly gets the code and dumps its 'temporary' storage spot.)

  You can make a nice amount of money this way, but remember that a repairman will stop by every few times it is reported broken and repair it, so check it at least once a day.

  I had seen things which were of poor taste. But this kind of information really irritated me. Sure, I believed in freedom of speech, like most people, but I objected to instructions on how to break the law.

  ‘You didn’t go around and try this?’ I asked Michael.

  He gave me a sour look.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘It’s just that, I mean you found this information. So, I thought maybe you wanted to try it out.’

  ‘And because I found it, it means I’m going to use it?’

  ‘No, but you’re a bit young.’

  He sighed angrily and said, ‘What would you know, anyway? You’re never home to find out if I grow up or not.’ Bitterness infested his tone.

  I knew he was right, but I had to defend myself. Part of my nature was to argue. ‘That’s not fair, Michael. I’m trying to make the world a better place.’

  ‘Well, how about starting here?’

  Damn! I couldn’t get used to how kids talked to their parents these days. Okay, I promised to myself I would never be mean to my children, but now I realised everything had a price.

  ‘Michael, don’t talk to me that way.’

  ‘Forget it,’ he said and left the study.

  I flicked the computer off and threw the printed page in my in-tray.

  Half an hour later, we were having dinner over the dining table. We seldom ate together, not since Michael was around eight years old. It felt kind of weird for the both of us.

  Michael ate his oven fries, fish fingers and three vegies, avoiding eye contact. It hurt me like hell to think I was becoming the parent I swore I would never become. But there was never enough time in the day to do everything and to take care of someone else as well. God only knew how the other mothers managed.

  And then, suddenly he announced that he would be away for the weekend. He’d be staying at a friend’s place on Friday night and wouldn’t be back until Sunday evening. I knew better than to ask him why. I just smiled and said, ‘sure’.

  After dinner, Michael left for his room, and I did the dishes.

  Right on 7.00 p.m., I decided to go to Terry Bennetts’ Gymnasium.

  I was kind of surprised to see Ken there because he usually turned up at around ten o’clock. Now that the Wilson investigation was over, I felt at liberty to discuss the details with him.

  Ken seemed particularly alert that day, as if those daily four hours of body building were finally paying off. I told him once that if he’d put as much effort on studying as he did on body building, he’d be a genius by now. But he replied he abhorred anything which involved mental activity. His reply surprised me because I found him so in touch with himself and the world around. For a man who never tried to go beyond his high school certificate, he possessed an amazing sense of self-awareness and understanding of the world around him. Working at the State Library obviously gave him a chance to dip into hundreds of books a year. And although he never saw it as intellectual stimulus, his general knowledge far surpassed many people I knew.

  ‘I don’t see anything wrong in visiting Teresa Wilson,’ he said between two one-hundred-and-twenty-pound deadlifts. He wasn’t wearing a top, and I felt a bit uncomfortable standing too close to him. Not that I expected to lose control and suddenly jump on him, but near-naked men made me feel at awe. I hadn’t slept with anyone for a long time and began wondering if I’d end up like an old maid. Funny enough, I didn’t feel a strong need for a sexual relationship, but some warm body contact, cuddles and love would have been welcomed. I guess I could have always used Frank for that purpose, but I wasn’t that type of woman.

  I watched Ken lift those weights the way I lift two shopping bags. ‘I know there’s nothing wrong in visiting her,’ I said, ‘but her husband just got his head cut off, and I don’t know how I could handle a normal conversation without mentioning his name.’

  Ken dropped the weights. I thought they were going to go straight through the first floor and down to the garage below. ‘You don’t need coaching to hold a conversation,’ he said while walking to a cable-rowing machine. ‘You’re the only person I can talk to for hours without being bored to death.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I said, feeling myself blushing as I took a sip of water from my Coca-Cola drink bottle. I liked Ken because he got straight to the point. You knew where you were standing with him. I wished more people were like him.

  I worked my chest, biceps, shoulders and abs.

  By the time I finished, I was certain of two things. I was incapable of doing another sit-up, and I would go and visit Teresa Wilson the following day.

  I had to give a lecture in Introduction to Crime Scene Investigation at Swinburne University of Technology on Wednesday afternoon, so I decided to visit Teresa Wilson at St Patrick’s Hospital in the morning.

  On my way to the hospital, I worried about my afternoon lecture. I was poorly prepare
d and would have to improvise.

  The Quality Management Branch at the VFSC designed the Diploma of Applied Science in Forensic Science in conjunction with Swinburne University of Technology and the Australian Federal Police (AFP) in Canberra. The only course previously available of its kind was an Associate Diploma in Applied Science in Forensic Investigation, which was only opened to Australian Federal Police crime scene examiners throughout Australia. Other crime-scene examiners had to be satisfied with on-the-job training only, and usually complemented their skills by doing training courses in areas considered to be associated with the duties of crime scene examiners, such as photography, fingerprinting and laboratory technician courses.

  The university ran the Diploma of Applied Science in Forensic Science for the first time in June 1996. The first course of its kind offered to the general public anywhere in Australia. As a result, most of us weren’t really sure what we were doing, or how effective and useful the course was going to be.

  To be there at 2:30 p.m. every Wednesday, when I had a non-scheduled week, was extremely difficult. I could be called up any time to help solve a homicide and as a result would have to miss a class. This was cruel to my devoted students, but when caught in limbo, I could only play the cards I was dealt.

  What was fascinating was the variety of people who were interested in forensic science. Some of our students included lawyers, medical doctors, a writer, and some people straight out of secondary college, half of them X-Files fanatics.

  A few travelled hundreds of kilometers a week to attend the course. One of my students, a young woman by the name of Stacey, even moved all the way from New Zealand because no similar courses were available back home.

  Most students would never work in forensics on completion of the course. Forensic investigation was a competitive field, and unless they were employed in a related field by the end of the first year of study, they would be excluded from the second year.

  The information presented at these lectures, especially in the second year, where students could specialise in crime scene investigation or fingerprint techniques, contained extremely confidential material.

  The AFP didn’t want the course material to be distributed freely to the general public. Everyone who would be accepted in the second year of the course would have to undergo a police check.

  A big bureaucratic problem tangled up the system. Too many egos floated around the AFP headquarters in Canberra. Once again, some big fat cats were protecting their positions by restricting information to the general public. After all, if everyone knew what they knew, there’d be no need to pay them exorbitant salaries, an office the size of Buckhingham Palace, and titles to match their egos.

  I was half-hearted about the way the program was being conducted. I hadn’t made up my mind if it was indeed a good idea to exclude people from the second year. As far as I was concerned, you could never tell who had the potential to make an outstanding forensic investigator. But I had the entire AFP going against my beliefs, and since I was only a consultant and not an employee, there was little I could say on the matter.

  Still, I had discussed a vague idea of protest against the selection criteria with my students. I thought of using discrimination as the basis of that protest. Most students were keen to do the second year as means to gain valuable employment. I knew the whole thing would probably fall back on my head, and at the worst scenario, the AFP would terminate access to the first year of the course to everyone who wasn’t a sworn member. I had to do some careful research before I made things worse than they were. Those people in Canberra had more power than the average citizens could ever imagine.

  When I arrived at St Patrick’s Hospital at 10.02 a.m., the sky was overcast, and I could have sworn it was the coldest day we had had this February. For a moment, I regretted not having taken a jacket with me. The white cotton dress and navy cardigan I was wearing seemed clearly out-of-season. But in Melbourne, everything was out-of-season within twenty-four hours.

  I parked in a space reserved for doctors and emergency staff only.

  I went straight to Teresa Wilson’s ward on the third floor.

  The hospital smell didn’t sit too well in my stomach in the morning. A faint nausea jolted my insides. And all those faces looking so miserable. And not just the patients. Nurses and doctors looked as if they required medical attention as well.

  I couldn’t figure out why in the world people would willingly spend all their lives in a hospital. I knew I could have never been a doctor or a nurse. My work might have been morbid, but with dead people, you knew it was over. When someone was injured and required medical attention, they proportionally caused themselves and everyone around them a great deal of stress. Not that I wished every patient in the hospital would die suddenly so that the rest of the world would be relieved from the burden of worrying.

  I couldn’t recall exactly where Teresa’s room was, so I asked a nurse. She told me I was still on the second floor. I had to go up one floor and turn left into the West Wing.

  You can imagine my surprise when I walked in Teresa’s room and saw Frank sitting on the edge of her bed, holding Teresa’s hand. My attention immediately shifted to twelve red roses elegantly arranged in a crystal-like vase on her side table. My body tensed up as I recalled roses were for lovers.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ I asked Frank when we made eye contact. He looked haggled and defeated. My tone of voice must have been accusing because he stared for a few seconds, as if I had just said a foul word.

  ‘I just wanted to see how she was doing,’ he whispered. Teresa was fully awake, and no one else was in the room, so I didn’t know why he didn’t speak out loud.

  I wasn’t sure if I was being paranoid, because it was normal for us to visit victims even after their ordeal was over. It helped them, but also helped us to cope with our post-traumatic stage.

  And yet, we were both there at the same time, wondering what the hell the other was doing here.

  I didn’t notice straight away, but when I shifted my gaze in Teresa’s direction, I was astounded to see how attractive she was. The bruising on her face had eased considerably, and her natural features were slowly coming back.

  Teresa’s blond hair had been washed, and I noticed for the first time that her eyes were emerald green. A child-like innocence painted an expression of tenderness on her face. Her cheekbones were high and her nose straight and narrow. She was one of the most beautiful women I had ever come across, in spite of her scratches and bruises.

  The three of us made small talk, Frank and I obviously avoiding the subject of Jeremy by fear of not knowing if Teresa was ready to face reality.

  I can’t remember how the conversation turned that way, but suddenly Teresa was telling us why she thought Walter Dunn attacked them.

  ‘He made a pass at me a while ago,’ she muttered as she recalled the incident. ‘But he didn’t give up straight away. When Jeremy was away on business, Walter came and visited me.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell him not to come?’ I asked.

  ‘I did, but there’s only so much you can do when it’s your husband’s best friend.’

  ‘Did you tell Jeremy?’

  ‘No way. He wouldn’t have believed me, anyway. Whenever he went away for a few days, he always told me to call Walter if I needed anything. Like it was his best friend. And even if he did believe me, God, I couldn’t put him through this. Imagine, finding out that you’re best friend’s got his hands all over your wife. He wouldn’t have believed me.’

  I wondered what was the point of having a husband if he didn’t believe you. If I ever married again, my husband would have to be my best friend and confident, or else I’d begin a serious relationship with a Teddy bear. I made the mistake once to marry someone for the sake of marrying, and regretted it ever since.

  I moved closer to the bed.

  Teresa went on, ‘He tried to fondle me a few times, and I had to fight him off.’

  ‘Did he hit y
ou?’ Frank asked, shifting uncomfortably on his corner of the bed.

  ‘No, no. When I told him to stop, he stopped.’

  ‘How did it end?’ I asked.

  ‘Surprisingly well. He stopped coming, and I thought, God, he finally faced the fact that I wasn’t interested.’

  ‘Did he continue to see Jeremy?’

  ‘Oh, yes. He still came to dinner now and then. But we never talked about his advances, not even when the two of us were left together for a few minutes. He just gave me those long, lustful stares filled with hate and bitterness. He couldn’t handle rejection. And I knew it would mean trouble one day, but I’d never expected that.’

  ‘And why do you think he attacked you?’

  ‘I guess he wanted me so badly, and he knew it wouldn’t happen, so he went for it anyway.’

  ‘Yeah, but why all the beating?’

  ‘Some kind of punishment. You know, it’s not like I was submissive. He had to knock me around quite a bit before he raped me. And the squash ball, well, I guess that was his way of saying, “up yours bitch.”’

  I nodded, thinking her theory was as good as any, but surprised by her choice of words.

  ‘And why do you think he killed Jeremy?’

  ‘Jealousy, of course. Not only he couldn’t have me, but Jeremy was starting to make some serious money with his work, while Walter just didn’t have it in him.’

  We chatted for a while longer, but she was beginning to repeat herself, and I had to make my way to Swinburne University for my lecture.

  I ended up leaving Frank and Teresa by themselves.

  For some reason I felt like the odd one out. Neither of them said anything about not wanting me there, but there was an uneasiness lurking in the air. My mind was filled with confusion and stress from the events of the past week.

  But as I left the hospital, a small detail nagged me. I pictured in my mind’s eye Teresa alone in that hospital room and her husband dead.