Black Wattle Creek (Charlie Berlin #2)(22)

Jessop was staring. ‘Oh, which one are you?’

‘Which one of who?’

Berlin could almost hear the doctor’s brain shifting gear. Jessop smiled but he was wary. His eyes flicked briefly from Berlin’s face to his clothes and back again. Trying to suss me out, are you? Berlin said to himself. Good luck with that.

‘I’m sorry,’ Jessop said, ‘but I was expecting a visitor. I can see now you are not at all the person I thought you were.’

He was definitely English and Berlin thought he detected a hint of a regional accent. He also detected a slight change in tone. The doctor had obviously decided he was dealing with someone of only minor importance. Without doubt it was time to get rid of the overcoat.

‘Can we make this brief? What is your business here, Mr … ?’ Now the tone was annoyed, dismissive. Berlin smiled. He had almost forgotten how bloody good the poms were at talking down to their social inferiors.

‘My name is Berlin, Charlie Berlin.’ He added the Charlie because he knew the casualness would rankle. ‘And I’m from the police.’ Ball’s back in my court now, you smart-alec prick, he said to himself.

Dr Jessop closed the folder on his desk and slid it into a desk drawer. There was a different kind of wariness about him now. ‘No one notified us you were coming.’ The tone in his voice suggested that the man was not used to surprises.

‘I didn’t know myself until I got here. I’m actually making some general inquiries about one of your vehicles – the asylum’s, I mean. You’d be a Yorkshire man, or am I wrong?’

Jessop sat down. ‘You have a good ear. Born there, but that was a very long time ago.’

And you don’t like being reminded of it, do you? Berlin said to himself.

‘Now what’s all this about our vehicles?’ the doctor continued.

‘Has there been an accident? Who sent you?’

Berlin was standing beside a leather-upholstered chair that faced Jessop’s desk. ‘Can I sit down?’ he asked.

Jessop nodded. ‘You may.’

Berlin sat. He leaned forward and put his hat on Jessop’s desk, next to a pile of what he guessed were medical books. The doctor pursed his lips. Berlin watched his eyes flick quickly from the hat to the coat stand by the door. He ignored the doctor’s unspoken suggestion.

‘I’m looking into an incident at a funeral parlour in Moonee Ponds around four or five in the morning earlier this week. A motor vehicle matching the description of one of those parked behind this building was involved. There is some discrepancy about the licence plate number. This is what I have.’ He passed over the plate number.

‘Now see here, Mr … ?’

‘Berlin.’

‘This is a very busy place, Mr Berlin –’

‘Detective Sergeant Berlin.’

Jessop stopped. Berlin had made his point.

The doctor smiled. ‘Quite. This is a very busy place, as I was saying, Detective Sergeant Berlin, and I don’t keep track of our cars and vans. I’m sure I can find out who’s in charge of that area and get him to contact you. But there is no reason for any of our vehicles to have been off the premises after six unless it was an emergency.’

‘Any emergencies lately?’

Jessop shook his head. ‘None that I know of.’ He stood up. ‘Will there be anything else?’

Berlin didn’t move. ‘If I could speak to someone about the van right now it would save me having to make a trip back out here.’ He nodded towards a silver box on the desk. ‘May I have a cigarette?’

Jessop gave an exasperated sigh. He sat down and pushed the cigarette box across the desk before running his finger down a list of phone numbers. He lifted the black Bakelite handset and dialled two digits, drumming the fingers of his other hand on the desktop while he waited for someone to answer. When the phone was picked up he got right to the point without any pleasantries. The doctor was a man used to getting things done his way, Berlin decided.

‘It’s the director. I have a policeman in my office making inquires about one of our vans. Says it was seen outside some place in Moonee Ponds on Thursday morning, very early. I’m sure there’s nothing to it but he’s given me this licence plate number.’ He read it out. ‘No, you cannot call me back, I don’t have time to waste on this sort of thing. I’ll wait and you find out what is going on. Be quick about it.’

Jessop sat with the phone against his ear, still drumming his fingers on the desk. Berlin leaned forward to the silver cigarette box on the desk and opened the lid. The cigarettes inside were rolled in black paper. Something about the black paper made Berlin uncomfortable and he hesitated.

‘Balkan Sobranies, from London, Mr Berlin – Virginia and Latakia blend. A little shop in St James’s sends them out to me. One does so miss the small comforts of home.’

Berlin closed the lid of the cigarette box and took the packet of Lucky Strike from his pocket. ‘Out here in the colonies, you mean?’ He lit up using his own box of matches, rather than the silver lighter on the desk. As he sucked the smoke in deep and held it, feeling the warmth in his lungs, he wondered how Jessop knew he was inquiring about a Thursday-morning visit to the undertaker’s when he hadn’t actually specified the day.