“A walk maybe?”
“Now? With guests coming? No way.” I thumped on the door again, harder this time, the echoes reverberating through the house. “CHIEF? MEL? ANYBODY HOME?” But after a few seconds of no reply started feeling that sinking feeling. Either he had forgotten, or something was wrong. I tried the door knob and wasn’t surprised when it turned, the door opening a little. It was, after all, 1954 and people hardly ever locked their doors, especially country folk. I peered in, sticking my head through the crack, still holding it closed somewhat. “Chief? Mel?” No sounds, just that same, eerie silence.
I could smell cooking though, some sort of meat, its aroma strong and pleasant. Steph held the back of my shirt as I opened the door fully and stepped inside. The only sound I could hear was my own breathing as we tiptoed towards the light that was coming from the living room. As we peered around the corner, it looked too big to be just a living room, a massive open space comprising the lounge-room with a huge dining table in one corner, a billiard table in the other corner and one entire wall of glass. The floor to ceiling windows looked out over the driveway and the land beyond, now unseen except for the night-lights that dotted the area.
“Chief Rademeyer?” Steph said. I listened again, hoping for a reply but deep down knew none would come. We walked slowly back out into the hallway and headed toward the only other light that was on. It was a room further down the hallway, its door almost shut except for a small wedge, where the light emanating through was settling on the opposite wall. I held the doorhandle for a moment and looked at Steph hesitatingly, seeing something in her eyes. I knew that look because it was telling me that she knew what I knew. It was the smell. She could smell it, too. That overwhelming coppery smell that most police officers were only too familiar with. It was the unmistakable smell of blood. Lots of blood.
8.
As I slowly swung the door open, the horror that the room contained exploded before us in all its evil. Melanie was hanging to the right of us, suspended from the rafter in front of her dressing table facing the bed, her arms tied above her head. She was completely naked and her throat had been torn out, the spray of blood hitting the facing wall. Her eyes weren’t gone completely, the gelatinous weeping from both sockets turning her cheeks into shiny mirrors. It looked like someone had pierced them, popping them with something sharp. Her mid-section had also been torn open and her insides hung askew in a twisted tangle of intestines and organs, the blood, vomit and faecal matter pooled together in a pile beneath her. The bedroom had floorboards so most of the body fluids had nowhere to go, instead congealing where it fell. There were bite wounds on her breasts, arms and shoulders, blood leaving long trails as it coursed down her body. My stomach heaved and for a brief moment, I thought my lunch was about to reappear before me. I swallowed hard and tried to limit my nasal breathing, trying to shut that part of me off and instead breathe through my open mouth. A thick aroma of blood and shit hung heavy in the air and as I sucked in deep breaths, I was horrified to think that I had the faintest taste of the stench in my mouth.
Sitting opposite to his beloved Melanie and tied to the headboard of their bed, was Frank Rademeyer. He was also naked, his throat slashed wide open, the windpipe jutting out at a precarious angle. The blood had been extensive, pooling beneath him, then seeping into the mattress. His penis and scrotum had been sliced off and the coroner would find them during the autopsy, lodged in his wife’s windpipe, forced to swallow them as she was fighting blindly for breath. His eyelids had been cut off, preventing him from shutting out the horrific scene playing out before him; forced to watch the horrific torture of his wife as his own demise now faced him.
I heard Steph hyperventilating beside me and pulled her from the room. She was a strong girl but not even her strength saved her from the horror she saw, a low scream escaping her before she doubled over and vomited into the hallway. I left her and ran back into the living room, finding the phone on a coffee table beside the couch. I called the police station, Pete answering after half a dozen rings. He didn’t understand me at first, repeating my words several times, then when I enunciated the chief’s name, he finally understood.
I went back to Steph and found her sitting in the hallway crying, shaking like a leaf. I knelt down and put my arm around her, trying to get her to her feet. When she didn’t, I bent down and picked her up then carried her back outside, sitting her carefully on the steps. She felt cold and I wish I had my jacket to give her. I remembered that I always kept one in the back seat of my car and went to retrieve it. By the time I returned, the lights and sirens were turning into the driveway.
9.
We had missed the killer or killers by sheer minutes, the coroner putting time of death for both parties at between 6 and 6.30. Several patrol cars turned into the driveway, as well as the local ambulance and one from Daylesford a short while later. Chief Edward Richards from Daylesford Police arrived just before 8 and took over command, directing half a dozen officers to immediately door knock the surrounding homes and the rest to walk the surrounding countryside by torchlight, looking for anything. The ambulance officers gave Steph the once over and advised her to
