‘Why should I?’
The answer came from behind Berlin, a voice over his shoulder. ‘Because a broken nose isn’t going to improve that ugly mug of yours but I reckon I can arrange one for you in the next sixty seconds.’
Bob Roberts was leaning against the front door with a cigarette in his left hand. It might have been his tone of voice, the languid pose or the scar on his face, but something made the landlord decide to take Roberts at his word. He dropped the bundle of clothes on the floor. Berlin heard the word ‘arseholes’ muttered as he fronted Roberts in the doorway.
Berlin called out after him. ‘There were three milk bottles in the bathroom. Did you move them?’
The landlord stopped. ‘Milk bottles?
‘Three of them. They were empty, clean.’
‘Jesus, what do you want with milk bottles? I chucked them in the sink in the kitchen.’
‘Thanks. Do you want to leave a number we can call when we finish?’
‘I’ll just wait outside if it’s all the same to you. Derek owed that rent so I own everything he left behind. I wanna make 100 per cent sure nothing gets bloody nicked.’
Roberts stopped the man with a hand on his chest. ‘I think your sixty seconds are up, sunshine, so why don’t you take a nice long walk. Maybe go down to the Esplanade and see if you can find yourself a short pier. We’ll close the door behind us when we get done, I promise. Scout’s honour.’
The landlord finally got the message. Berlin saw him keeping his chin up and his eyes fixed on Roberts as he moved past him, working hard on giving the impression he was leaving because he chose to, not because he had to.
‘This is a bit of a turn-up, Bob, considering last time we met you were in handcuffs.’
‘I told you she’d be apples, Charlie. Friends in high places, like I said.’
‘Rebecca telephoned you, right? Said where I was going.’
‘That’s right. Bit of a surprise hearing from her but we both know she’ll do whatever it takes to make sure you’re okay. She’s a good one, Charlie, you should keep her.’
Would Sunshine stick by Bob through whatever was coming? Berlin wondered. ‘Come and take a squiz in the bathroom, Bob. Let’s see if I’m right about what I’m thinking.’
The landlord had already cleaned all of Derek’s things out of the bathroom and the windows on either side of the mirrored medicine cabinet were wide open. There was a hard-bristled broom, a tin of Bon Ami scouring powder and a bottle of White King bleach sitting in the filthy bathtub. Roberts stood in the doorway and whistled.
‘Christ, what a pigsty. I reckon a bloke would be dirtier getting out of that tub than he was getting in. Bloody landlord is going to need something stronger than bleach.’
Berlin leaned over the tub, trying not to brush against anything. ‘I should have put two and two together a lot earlier with the stains in the bathtub and those empty milk bottles.’
‘Slow down a bit, I’m not following.’
‘When we first met Tim back at the studio he told us Derek was a thief, remember? That stain in the tub, by the plughole, that’s the sort of mark you get if you pour developing chemicals down a drain or wash prints in your bath. I reckon Derek was pinching developer and stop bath and fixer from the studio for a home darkroom.’
‘But we didn’t find a home darkroom anywhere here.’
‘Maybe that’s because we just didn’t look hard enough.’
FORTY-ONE
They walked back into the living room and Berlin looked in the direction of the steamer trunk under the window.
‘Tell me what you see, Bob.’
Roberts followed Berlin’s gaze in the direction of the trunk and the window. After a moment he smiled. ‘Brown stains on the matting round the trunk, similar to the ones in the bathtub.’
‘That’s right.’ Berlin walked across the room and ran his hand over the window frame. ‘Notice anything here?’
Roberts joined him and leaned in close to the window.
‘I can see a lot of little holes. Like from drawing pins.’
‘Exactly. Now, let’s have a look inside this trunk, shall we?’
The trunk was locked so Roberts got a knife from the kitchen. The blade bent but eventually the lock gave and they lifted the lid. Inside the trunk there was a layer of 12-inch records then some photography magazines. Next was a piece of neatly folded, heavy black fabric, which Berlin pulled out and shook open. A couple of brass drawing pins tumbled out and fell back into the trunk. He stood up and held the fabric over the living room window frame. It was a nice fit, covering the entire frame. He tossed the fabric over to the couch. Next he found a stainless steel 35 mm film developing tank, three plastic developing trays and an orange light globe. Underneath it all was a smallish, rectangular fibreboard suitcase covered in a brown plastic material embossed to make it look like crocodile skin.
Berlin set the case down on the floor and opened it. Inside was a short, chromed column, a white light bulb with a screw-in base, a number of grey-painted metal pieces and a length of electrical cord with a three-pin power plug on one end.
Roberts got down on his knees next to Berlin. ‘What the hell is that, Charlie?’
‘It’s a Russian portable photographic enlarger, a Zenit. Breaks down into a dozen pieces and fits inside the case all nice and neat, as you can see. Derek pins that black material over the window frame, waits till it’s dark outside and then he can develop film safely. And when he sticks that orange bulb into his ceiling light socket he can make prints to his heart’s content with no one being any the wiser.’
On the bottom of the trunk were two orange 8x10 inch Agfa photographic paper boxes. The first box contained unexposed photographic paper in heavy black lightproof paper and the second held the pictures. Berlin could hear Roberts’ shallow breathing over his shoulder as they looked through the photographs.
‘Jesus, Charlie, if the bastard wasn’t dead already I’d fucking kill him.’
‘Someone did it for you, Bob, but I don’t think it was someone who knew these pictures existed.’
Charlene was the oldest of the girls in the photographs and the only one with developed breasts and any sign of pubic hair. Berlin wondered if she had been used to lure the younger ones in, to make them feel it was okay. He recognised a couple of the others from the gaggle outside the recording studio but the rest were unknowns. Some were sitting, some standing, and a couple had attempted what he guessed were supposed to be sexy poses. In most of the shots, discarded clothing was piled up near the edge of the frame and Berlin thought that was the saddest part of the pictures. Stained seagrass matting and peeling wallpaper confirmed the location used for the photographs was Derek’s living room, right where they were standing.
‘Whoever killed Derek wanted to throw us off the scent but didn’t know about the nasty little hobby hidden away under his TV. If you were going to knock yourself off for being a kidnapper, torturer and murderer it doesn’t seem to make sense that you’d be shy about some snaps of a bunch of naked ten- and twelve-year-olds.’
‘You think Derek was just into taking pictures?’
Berlin didn’t know and he really didn’t want to know. He started packing the enlarger and the other items back into the trunk.
‘Suspended or not, I suppose we should impound this lot as evidence, just to stop the landlord from flogging it down the pub. I’ll hang on to the photographs, though.’
They hauled the trunk and its contents down to Roberts’ car but it was too big to fit in the boot. Berlin walked down to Fitzroy Street and found a phone. The constable who answered the phone at the St Kilda cop shop took down the address, repeated it and said they’d have a van round in five minutes.
Roberts was sitting on the Triumph’s front mudguard smoking when Berlin got back. He looked up at the sky then down at his wristwatch. ‘How long, you reckon? I can smell rain. You want a smoke? I know you’ve given up but I reckon a bloke could use one after seeing those pictures.
Or a stiff drink.’
Roberts was right on both points but Berlin shook his head. ‘They said five minutes. Did you lock the front door of the flat?’
Roberts smiled. ‘You know what, I completely forgot. Must be all the stuff I have on my mind right now. But then I remembered and asked a passing druggie to pop up and do it for me. Told him not to pinch anything, though.’ He grinned. ‘Bloke looked like the honest type.’
Berlin ran through a checklist in his head. Hopefully they’d taken all they needed from Derek’s flat because it would almost certainly be picked clean well before the landlord got back.
‘Speaking of honest types, Bob, did you happen to see This Day Tonight on the ABC on Tuesday last week? They covered the press conference about the progress of the inquiry, you know the one, into police corruption.’
‘Missed it, I’m afraid, and I’m devastated. How is it progressing – three months now, is it? No doubt it will find we have a police force that is squeaky clean and the envy of Scotland Yard and the Sûreté. That’s how these things usually go, right?’
‘Maybe, maybe not. But at the end of the report they had all the investigators and lawyers lined up for the cameras.’
‘That must have been a bit ugly for the press photographer boys, they’re not a handsome bunch down at the inquiry, I’ve heard. They reckon you can see better looking heads on ice down at the fishmongers.’
‘Piss about if you like, but I’m being serious here. One of the lawyer types was hard to miss. Tall bugger, six-footer, maybe more, bit gangly and bald on top. Had a nose on him a feller could trip over if he wasn’t paying attention. Kind of bloke who’s a bit hard to miss, even at a distance.’
‘I’m sure his mother loves him, though, Charlie, big beak and all, and despite him being a lawyer, or whatever.’
‘I saw him again just recently, twice as it happens.’
‘That so? It’s a small world, Charlie.’
‘Not that small. The first time was when we stopped at that pub you were so anxious to get to on the way back from Melton – to meet that informant, remember? The fizz with no useful information. The lawyer bloke wandered into the pub a couple of minutes after you arrived and left a couple of minutes before you came back out. Funny that. Or shouldn’t I be laughing, Bob?’
Roberts flicked his cigarette butt into the gutter. ‘Just a coincidence, nothing to fret about. I’d put it right out of my mind if I was you.’
‘Can’t do that, Bob, not when people are talking about you maybe doing a stretch in Pentridge for being bent, being someone’s bagman.’
Roberts winked at Berlin. ‘It’s early days yet, nothing to fret about, like I said. I’ve got people keeping an eye on me, looking out for me if push comes to shove.’
‘These people happen to hang out in a terrace in Parkville?’
‘I told you before, Charlie. I’m a good copper, I’m going to be fine.’
‘Because you think good conquers evil, right is might? You really have to stop hanging around with those hippy uni students, mate. They’re giving you a rose-coloured view of the world, and where we are right now is pretty much just black and white, winners and losers.’
‘I don’t have a rose-coloured view, Charlie, believe you me. I’m a good copper, like I said, and that’s because I was taught by a good copper way back when. You do the job and you do what’s right, for better or for worse.’
From somewhere behind them there was the low-pitched growl of a police siren quickly flicked on and off.
‘And here come the boys in blue, just in time too. I think I felt a spot of rain.’ Roberts stood up as the St Kilda divisional van rolled up to the kerb and parked behind the Triumph. ‘Finest police force money can buy – that’s how the saying goes, right?’
Two police officers climbed out of the van and again Berlin was struck by how young they looked. Roberts gave them a friendly wave and pointed to the trunk on the footpath.
‘The youngsters can take care of the trunk, Charlie. You want to give me a hand to get this soft top up?’
FORTY-TWO
It started raining heavily on the way back into the city. The Triumph slipped and slid a couple of times on the slick tram tracks, the wipers would only operate intermittently and the inside of the windscreen began to fog up. Roberts used a handkerchief to clean a patch on the glass so he could see the road.
‘It’s bloody funny, eh, Charlie? They make these cars in a country known for its wet weather and as soon as it gets a bit damp they go all temperamental.’
There were several open parking spaces behind Rebecca’s Mini. Roberts pulled in close to the kerb, splashing water from the overfull gutter up onto the pavement. He kept the motor running.
‘I won’t come up. It’s been a bloody long day and I’ve taken just about as much grief as I can handle.’
Berlin reached behind his seat for the photographs from Derek’s flat. They should stay dry enough, he decided; it was only a foot or so to the shelter of the awning stretching out over the footpath.
Roberts turned his scarred face to Berlin and smiled his jagged smile. He put out his hand. ‘You mind how you go there, Charlie.’
The wipers were off and harsh street lighting through a windscreen running with raindrops projected images of the trickling rivulets onto his face. It almost made him look like he was crying.
Berlin shook his hand. ‘Thanks, Bob. And you remember, a bloke who tries to play both ends against the middle can sometimes wind up getting crushed from both sides. Don’t trust anybody.’
Berlin tucked the Agfa box containing the photographs under his arm and made a run for the awning that sheltered the dress shop and the doorway to the stairs leading up to the studio. He watched the tail-lights of the Triumph through the rain until the vehicle turned left on Spring Street in the direction of Carlton.
There was a darkroom in a cupboard under the staircase and Rebecca was washing the films from Lauren’s shoot when he let himself in.
‘How’s Mabel?’
Rebecca had insisted that the darkroom was haunted after the first time she used it and had named the ghost Mabel. Berlin had kidded her about it until she suggested he spend ten minutes in there in the dark; after that he was convinced. Whoever Mabel was or had been they had decided she meant them no harm, and Rebecca liked the idea of having someone to chat to during the long developing process.
‘Mabel is fine and she suggested I leave the camera equipment in the car until a big strong man comes along to help me carry it upstairs. Despite my feminist leanings I could see her logic.’
Berlin gave her a kiss on the lips. ‘Mabel didn’t happen to say where we might find a big strong man this time of night, did she? And we should probably wait till it stops raining. The equipment is safe enough – we’re on Collins Street, after all.’
‘Fine with me. Do you want to put the kettle on, make us a cup of tea? And get that coat off, you’re a bit damp. We don’t want you getting a chill.’
Berlin tossed the box of photographs he’d found in Derek’s trunk on top of the file box containing the GEAR magazine proof sheets. He turned the electric jug on, spooned tea-leaves into the pot and hunted through a fridge full of packets of film for some milk.
A bell rang in the darkroom as he was pouring boiling water into the pot. Rebecca walked past with a dozen stainless steel developing spirals in a plastic tray. ‘Time to hang up these films. When they’re dry I’ll number and sleeve them and then I’m done for the day. At least we get to ride home together.’
They drank their tea while the film-drying cabinet did its work.
‘Something on your mind, Charlie?’
He realised he hadn’t spoken for five minutes. Rebecca always knew when he was silent because something was bothering him, as opposed to when he had nothing to say. He walked across the studio to get the Agfa box from on top of the file box.
‘I found these hidden at Derek’s place. The developer stains on your tea towel told me w
hat I was missing. He had one of those Zenit folding enlargers squirreled away with some tanks and trays, blackout curtains and a red safelight bulb.’
Rebecca looked through half a dozen of the images before sliding them all back into the box and handing it back to Berlin.
‘I guess that explains why Lauren thought his heart wasn’t in it. You have to wonder if he was trying to give himself some cover or really wanting to make a relationship work with a grown-up.’
Berlin tossed the box on the table. ‘I’ve been a copper too long to wonder about things like that. I already have enough things that keep me awake at night.’
Rebecca reached across the table and put her hand over his. ‘But you are wondering why he would confess to the kidnapping and torture and murder of a bunch of sixteen-year-olds with pictures to prove it but keep this secret.’
‘That part doesn’t make a lot of sense, no.’
‘Do you have any of the photographs of the missing girls?’
‘Just the one of Gudrun I hung onto.’
‘Can I see it?’
Berlin sat silently for a minute. ‘You sure you want to do that? It’s not . . . pleasant.’
Rebecca took the print and studied the image of the bound and brutalised teenager. Apart from some obvious tension in her jaw and a narrowing of the eyes she didn’t react. She took a picture of one of the ten-year-olds from the Agfa box and compared the two prints. After a minute she handed him both photographs.
‘These pictures and prints were made by two different people, Charlie.’
Berlin held the two pictures side by side and studied them. ‘Are you sure? How can you tell?’
‘The picture of the ten-year-old was shot on 35 mm film and printed through a cheap enlarging lens, very soft at the corners. Like the lens you’d find on a Zenit. Also, the paper is the wrong contrast grade and that overall greyish look comes from stale chemicals and a not very safe safelight, like a red-coloured light bulb.’
St Kilda Blues Page 27