St Kilda Blues (Charlie Berlin #3)(13)
‘I assume you’re the new detective they said was coming to help. My name is Vera Minchin. I’m Mr Scheiner’s housekeeper. I also look after ... I look after Gudrun.’
As Berlin put out his hand he looked for a ring on her left hand. He couldn’t see one. ‘My name is Detective Sergeant Berlin, Charlie if you like. Is that Miss or Mrs Minchin?’
The housekeeper’s handshake was firm. ‘It’s Vera, just Vera.’
Berlin decided Vera Minchin might not be the marrying kind.
‘Can I get you gentlemen a cup of coffee or tea?’
Berlin shook his head. ‘No thank you, Vera, I think we should get started right away. Why don’t you tell me what happened so we can get on with finding Gudrun.’
Vera looked over at Roberts. ‘Well, as I told your detective friend here last night, Mr Berlin ...’
Berlin stopped her. He spoke gently. ‘You’re telling me now, Vera, so why don’t we pretend I don’t know anything and start from the very beginning. Would you like to sit down while we talk?’
He glanced across at the two detectives on the couch and tilted his head in the direction of the front door. The detectives looked up at Roberts, who smiled.
‘You heard the man, boys, hop it.’
The younger of the pair started to get up and from the look on his face Berlin sensed there might be trouble.
‘Listen, mate .. .’
The older detective reached over and put his hand on the younger man’s arm. ‘Let it go, Reg, these bastards aren’t worth it.’ The older detective stood, bending down to put a couple of biscuits on the saucer of his coffee cup before straightening up again. He did it slowly enough to show he was making a point and Berlin saw that he kept his eyes fixed on Roberts’ face as he moved past him. For a brief moment Charlie Berlin almost wished he was back in the reliable boredom of the fraud squad. Toes were getting stepped on here, that was for sure, and for once he wasn’t the only one doing it.
FIVE
Vera sat on the vacated couch and Berlin sat down beside her. It was a very comfortable couch. There was an open fireplace at one end of the living room with logs crackling on a stainless steel grate, oval and very modern looking. Split logs were stacked in a neat pyramid next to the fire. From somewhere towards the rear of the house Berlin could hear the sound of an axe on timber.
The housekeeper saw that he had heard the sound. ‘It’s Mr Scheiner, cutting firewood. He likes to do it, for the exercise, he always says.’ She looked away, towards the rear of the house and then back at Berlin. ‘He’s been chopping away for hours this morning, ever since he got up. I don’t think he slept, really.’ Charlie Berlin had chopped a lot of firewood in his time. Sometimes it was because they’d needed wood for the fire, sometimes it was to help someone our or because he hated seeing an axe handled badly. And sometimes Berlin had chopped wood because the exertion and repetition of the act gave a man time to think or a reason not to think. Sometimes it was just you and the axe and a pile of logs and your mind cleared for a while, cleared of the bad memories that made you want to do bad things.
‘Now, right from the beginning, Vera, tell me everything. How long have you been with the family?’
‘I was engaged for the position of live-in housekeeper seven or eight years ago – no, it was eight. Mrs Scheiner employed me and she was a very lovely lady. Mr Scheiner adored her and so did Gudrun and so did I. Mr Scheiner gave her a Porsche for their tenth wedding anniversary – you know, the German sports car. He was very generous that way.’
Rebecca’s dream car was a Porsche. She had fallen in love with them after a bright red 356 convertible had once overtaken the old Studebaker like it was standing still.
Vera put her hands together and looked down. ‘A week after the anniversary a drunk driver hit them, Gudrun and her mother. They were just going into town, to do some shopping at Georges. Mrs Scheiner died instantly but Gudrun survived, thank God. I don’t think Mr Scheiner could have gone on if he’d lost both of them. He’s a good and decent man who doesn’t deserve any of this.’
Berlin wondered if Scheiner’s wife’s death in a German car was the reason his garage now held American and British vehicles.
‘Mr Scheiner was devastated, of course, but having Gudrun to take care of was what helped him hold his life together. Gudrun is fifteen now, almost sixteen, really. She’s been begging her father to let her go to the dances in town on Saturday night for months. She’s only fifteen as I said but ... and I didn’t think it was wise but Mr Scheiner finds it hard to deny her anything.’
The pause after the ‘but’ caught Berlin’s attention. There was something she hadn’t said, but they could come back to that.
‘This was the third Saturday night we had taken the girls into the city.’
Berlin stopped her. ‘The girls? Can you be a bit more precise please Vera? We’re pretending I don’t know anything, remember.’
‘Of course, Mr. Berlin, I’m sorry. Gudrun went with her school friend, Rosemary. Rosemary Clairmont. The Clairmonts live round on Beach Road. Rosemary is nine months older than Gudrun and Mr Scheiner felt the girl was quite ... responsible.’
He could tell from the slight hesitation and shift in tone that Vera might not have agreed with her employer on that particular point. Listening to what was left unsaid, picking up on the pauses, watching the eyes – this was half the skill in being a good cop and Berlin wondered if Roberts was paying attention.