St Kilda Blues (Charlie Berlin #3)(102)

They’d broken through the rusted steel door of the torture chamber and the wooden outer doors of the old confectionery factory to get the bodies out. There were nine in total, more than expected, too decomposed for identification so dental records had been used. Three of the bodies were unable to be identified. A week into the investigation work lights being used by scientific police had overloaded a fuse board in the studio upstairs, starting a fire. The building burned for two hours before the walls caved in. After collecting a large insurance payout on his equipment, the Visual Beast packed up and returned to the US.

The publication of Egan’s photograph and the newspaper coverage of his crimes produced reports from as far north as Darwin and as far west as Broome. These reports were added to information already gathered on missing teenage girls, producing a mass of paperwork that would take months to collate and organise before any investigation could start. But with Egan dead and an election coming, Berlin wondered if the government would be willing to provide enough manpower. Two policewomen were eventually assigned because, as the police commissioner noted in an interview with The Herald, ‘The girls are really a lot better at these kinds of clerical tasks.’

Did any of it really matter anyway? Berlin wondered. Egan and the missing girls and Sarah and his crew were all still dead and always would be. But Gudrun Scheiner was alive, and that was something.

The unmade roads and mountain tracks were hard on his shoes and one afternoon he found a cobbler in the town who would repair them for him. He also found a pair of used combat boots in a pile of unclaimed shoes that both fitted him and were already well broken-in for hiking. He bought the boots and wore them out of the shop. Across the street was a small camera store with an Agfa sign and a display window cluttered with sepia-tinted portraits and local scenic views. Berlin looked at the landscape photographs on display for several minutes before going inside.

If the shop window was cluttered the shop itself was worse. More framed photographs covered the walls and dusty tripods and light stands made moving around difficult. There was a wall painted with a mountain scene where Berlin guessed they did their portraits. Boxes and crates were stacked up and from somewhere his nose picked up the smell of photographic chemicals. He swallowed hard. It was a smell he now associated with death and pain and blood.

An elderly shopkeeper was waiting behind a glass-topped counter.

‘I think perhaps I need to buy a camera.’

Rebecca hadn’t brought a camera with her. She hadn’t taken a photograph since the night the telegram came.

The shopkeeper smiled. ‘If you think that then I think that perhaps I can help you.’

Berlin searched the comment for any hints of sarcasm but decided it was just the shopkeeper’s way of speaking.

The man took a Kodak Instamatic from a shelf under the glass-topped counter and passed it across. The camera had just one button to press, he explained, and a lever to advance the film that came already loaded in a plastic cartridge. ‘This is a simple camera, even an idiot can use it.’

Berlin shook his head and put the camera down on the counter. ‘It would probably suit me then, but I’m looking for something for my wife.’

The next camera was a second-hand Kodak Retinette and again Berlin shook his head. ‘My wife is a photographer, do you have something more … professional? She didn’t bring a camera with her.’

The shopkeeper tilted his head to one side. ‘A photographer without a camera, this doesn’t sound very professional.’

The statement came with a shrug and a gesture of open hands and Berlin felt a flash of irritation. ‘I’m afraid she had other things on her mind when we left Melbourne.’

The shopkeeper studied Berlin’s face before he spoke again. ‘You are the father of the girl, the girl Sarah? The girl from Australia?’

‘I am.’ Berlin still would not let himself say ‘was’.

The shopkeeper put a hand on his chest. ‘Please excuse what I have just said, about your wife.’ He put the Retinette back under the counter and reached down lower. Berlin heard a drawer scrape open.

‘Perhaps this might be more suitable.’ The shopkeeper carefully opened a cloth-wrapped bundle. Inside was a camera case in rich, unblemished brown leather and inside the case a camera that looked almost brand new. The silver, brushed metal body of the camera was unmarked, as was the black leather inset front and back. The knobs and dials showed little sign of wear and the lens appeared to be in pristine condition.

‘A Nikon SP. A most professional camera,’ the shopkeeper said. ‘Ten years old, yes, but as you can see, well cared for.’

He handed the camera to Berlin. It was surprisingly heavy.

‘A camera very similar to the Leica,’ the shopkeeper continued. ‘The Japanese are good at making copies. There is a small light meter that goes with it, and also some filters.’

Berlin sensed the camera was something that would appeal to Rebecca but it looked expensive and the shopkeeper saw his hesitation. He took a folded piece of paper from the camera case, a receipt. ‘I bought it from the widow of a tank commander. I will give it to you for what I paid her, which was a fair price. This is not an item on which I care to make money.’

Berlin looked at the receipt. ‘I’ll need to go to the bank and cash some traveller’s cheques. Will you hold the camera for me for a few days?’