Free Killer Couples by Tammy Cohen Page B

show up any carpet fibres, Paul and Karla set off for lunch at her parents’ house.
    ‘It’ll be a great alibi,’ she assured him.
    Besides, it would take her mind off the whole thing with Kristen. Over her years with Paul, Karla had become quite adeptat compartmentalising her life so that when she was out with friends or family, or at work she could switch off from difficult events at home. A family meal would give her a break from having to think about the horrible thing they’d just done. For a few hours, she’d be able to be just Karla Homolka again, the cocky blonde princess who nearly always got what she wanted. In the company of her family, she could once more revert to being a child, the way she was before life got so complicated.
    That night, Paul and Karla drove Kristen’s body to Burlington, where Leslie Mahaffy had lived, hoping police would immediately suspect a homegrown attacker. There, at an illegal rubbish dump, they dragged the body to the top of a ditch and let it roll down, covering it loosely with leaves. Kristen French, whose life had started out with such hope and promise, ended up at the bottom of a ditch on a rubbish tip – a final, ultimate indignity.
    Meanwhile, the net was starting to close in on Paul Bernardo. Despite a police error, which had the whole of Canada on alert looking for the wrong type of car they were convinced had been used in the French abduction, questions were finally starting to be asked about the fresh-faced former accountant.
    One of his childhood friends, troubled by some of the remarks Paul had started to make about raping women and still struck by his resemblance to the composite picture of the Scarborough Rapist and by the coincidence that women in St Catherine’s had started being raped and murdered right after Paul had moved there, had contacted the police. Within days, a couple of officers were outside his door.
    Though Bernardo was nervous, this was a call he’d been expecting. And by this stage, his arrogance had grown into a deep-rooted conviction that he was above the law, so he was relaxed around the two officers – a responsible citizen with nothing to hide, but nevertheless willing to do anything to help police with their investigations into this horrendous crime.
    ‘I already talked to the police back in Scarborough,’ he told the officers, when they asked whether he’d had any previous dealings with the law. ‘I guess I look a lot like the picture of the guy they put out there. I gave them some samples.’
    The investigating officers were impressed. They already knew about the Scarborough connection, but the fact that Bernardo had volunteered the information so readily worked in his favour. Also in his favour was the wedding photo in pride of place, showing him and his strikingly attractive wife. Would a handsome, friendly guy like this, with a gorgeous wife and a lovely home kept so beautifully neat and tidy, really go round kidnapping and torturing young girls? It just didn’t seem credible. Once again it seemed as though he was off the hook.
     
    Despite its outwardly well-cared-for appearance, life in the Bernardo house was rapidly disintegrating, however. Karla, who’d always put her own comfort above everyone else’s until she met Paul, was now locked in a battle for her very survival. Paul’s violence was getting out of hand and while there was a time when his abject sorrow and tenderness afterwards had almost made up for the pain, nowadays there were fewapologies. Instead, everything was her fault, everything had to be punished. Even the fact that her husband was finding it harder and harder to reach sexual climax, requiring more stimulation each time, more graphic images, more role play, more violence, was somehow her fault. She wasn’t good enough for him; she wasn’t sexy enough. No wonder he had to go out trawling for other women – it was all her fault!
    Karla was getting beaten, but she was still no victim. There was enough of