The Scene of the Crime

at least laconic at all times? Open displays of grief are permissible at a tangi. Not at a funeral in sensible and provincial Palmerston North, not collapsing, losing it. ‘The funeral, for me, was something of a disaster,’ Lundy wrote in a letter to Levick from Manawatu Prison in 2005. ‘I had co-ordinated & organised everything, the extra seating, the extra sound system for outside, the order of proceedings, pallbearers, eulogies, songs, hymns, the whole works. At 12.45 I arrived at the back of the church, [his sister] Caryl driving me, and I couldn’t get out of the car. I totally lost it. I have vague recollections of seeing people but that’s all. My next memory of consequence was . . . around the corner at the Rose & Crown. In the bar were at least 200 family and friends from all over the country. I was told later that I was grabbing everybody and hugging them, not shaking hands. I was babbling out something like, “I’m missing out of Christine and Amber hugs, so I need to get them from somewhere.” I am told that I was hugging strangers, who were there just as sticky beaks, and refusing all handshakes. I have no recollection of all this. When I saw the 6pm news I was both shocked & embarrassed at what I saw.’

There were other reports of Lundy’s behaviour — said in court, and in the media — that received a lot less attention. After the murders, he told police he was having thoughts of suicide, and wanting to drive his car at speed into a wall. That’s an acceptable exhibition of grief, isn’t it? This hardly counts as forensic credibility, but a psychiatric assessment of Lundy was made by James S. Howard III, an American forensic psychiatrist based in Southland, ‘as determined from New Zealand newspapers’. Howard wrote, ‘He stated he would curl up in a ball for hours. He became sullen and withdrawn. He kept away from the house, neighbourhood, and papers. That does not fit a profile of a killer of this type . . . There is nothing which leads me to believe anything other than that Mark Lundy did not kill them.’ Howard’s ‘assessment’ was made during the six-month police search for the killer. He concluded: ‘Let us hope Mark Lundy will not be the scapegoat in this unresolved police matter.’ Police arrested Lundy in February 2001. Howard’s report was never referred to again.

Howard had the psychiatric expertise, but had never laid eyes on Lundy. In contrast, there was memorable evidence given by someone who knew Lundy, and who offered his version of that hopeless but popular science known as body language. Detective Allan Wells appeared as a witness for the prosecution. He had known Lundy for 20 years, and described himself as a ‘friend’.

Crown prosecutor Ben Vanderkolk: ‘You have come along to this Court about what Mark Lundy was like at the funeral, as if that has got something to do with his guilt or innocence?’

Wells: ‘Yes.’

He was asked to describe Lundy’s behaviour at the funeral. He said, ‘He had both his arms over the support people as if they were carrying his weight for him, and he farewelled Christine and Amber in the hearses. They drive off, and he walked around the corner of the church. I noticed he seemed to come to grips with himself pretty quickly . . . It was a totally different mannerism.’

Meaning, Lundy dropped the act when he thought no one was looking. The evidence was considered revealing, and played to the widespread feeling that Lundy was acting a role. Wells further described that Lundy lifted his shoulders and stood upright. Geoff Levick asked Lundy about the episode in a letter. He replied, ‘I have no idea what he [Wells] was on about. If I did in fact change my posture though, I would not be too surprised. I am an extremely emotional person and my family and friends were soothing me somewhat. I was constantly putting on a brave face and disappearing so as to totally lose it when I had to. It is quite possible that I did in fact lift my shoulders so as to bluff the many in the house so they would leave me alone to grieve in my own way. (Shit, I’m actually losing it even now recalling those times. Told you I am an emotional idiot.)’

His worst character reference came from another ‘friend’, who went with Lundy and a few others on a fishing trip about six weeks after the murders. They had beers at the Ohingaiti Tavern. They had beers at the Oasis in Waiouru. They stayed at the Sportsmans Lodge in Turangi, and Lundy switched to spirits. ‘He said we had beer, and good company, and the only thing missing were whores.’

Prosecutor: ‘Did he make any other remark about the whores?’

‘Just the fact that he rated himself and what his abilities were.’

Lundy and the whores. It wasn’t a good look. His brother was horrified when he was told; he later came to believe that Lundy was guilty, and even changed his name to avoid association with the surname his brother had made so hated. Police questioned Lundy at length and with disgust about his use of escorts in Petone and on other trips; the interviews were played in court. He chose to give evidence at the first trial. It could not be said that he presented himself as a faithful husband, or a widower incapacitated by mourning.

Prosecutor: ‘Do you have any guilt over hiring the escort on the night Christine and Amber died?’

Lundy: ‘It sickens me to a certain degree.’

‘And yet on a subsequent business trip you could go back to the same motel with another prostitute?’

‘I did.’

‘The same circumstances, the same sort of celebrations, alcohol, as you did on the night your wife and child died?’

‘I just said I did.’

‘You can do that, can you?’

‘I did do it.’

All of which proves . . . what, exactly? None