St Kilda Blues (Charlie Berlin #3)(45)

‘Did Maud happen to say anything to your sister after it happened, after they found the body?’

‘I asked her about that but she said no.’

‘That was smart of you, to ask I mean. That’s thinking like a detective.’

O’Brian grinned and took a bite of his bun. Berlin’s mind flashed back twenty years to a café in Wodonga and an earnest young uniformed probationary constable named Robert Roberts.

‘We thought after this we might stop by the high school and have a chat with young Maud.’

‘Not there.’ O’Brian said the words with a mouth full of bun. He swallowed, coughed and sipped his coffee. ‘Sorry about that. I was on crossing-guard duty at the primary school this morning, making sure none of kids got skittled by a truck. The younger Marquet girls said Maud was home sick today, upset tummy.’

Berlin glanced across at Roberts. ‘Looks like we have to go out to the house.’

Berlin pushed his chair back and stood up. He took a ten-dollar bill from his wallet and handed it to Roberts. ‘Can you pay the bill, Bob?’

While Roberts went to the counter of the café Berlin walked out the front door with Constable O’Brian and around the corner of the laneway to where the Triumph was parked.

‘Thanks for the coffee and the bun, DS Berlin, much appreciated.’ He glanced over towards the phone box. ‘Did you want me to call Mrs Marquet and say who you are? I mean that you’re on your way. The house is fairly isolated and she’s probably pretty edgy given what’s happened. You’re both in plain clothes too. I went along with the detectives the last couple of times, want me to go out there with you today?’

‘No thanks, Constable O’Brian, we can find our way. But give her a call and say we’re coming if you like.’

O’Brian put his cap back on, straightening the brim as per regulations and Berlin smiled. The boy smoothed his uniform sleeves and pulled at the bottom of his jacket. He had something else to say and Berlin waited.

‘That sleep-out I mentioned, OS Berlin – where the older girls sleep. When you’re out there you should probably take a squiz at it.’

‘Any particular reason?’

‘Trust me. And once you’re inside the main house you might want to ask to use the dunny.’

‘I should trust you on that one too?’

O’Brian nodded.

Berlin decided there was something about the young policeman he liked. ‘Keep your eyes open, don’t you, Constable? And your ears.’

‘I try to.’

‘Like I said earlier, Shane, this was just an informal chat. But down the track, if you get promoted to the big smoke and need someone to talk to, need some advice about the job or just someone to vouch for you, give me a bell. If I’m still a copper, that is.’

O’Brian acknowledged the offer with a slight dip of his head.

Berlin climbed into the parked sports car and waited. He wondered if he had any right to offer career or life guidance to anyone, considering how both his son and Bob Roberts had turned out.

In the Triumph’s side mirror he saw Roberts walk up to the constable. As they shook hands he reached for O’Brian’s right elbow and leaned in towards him. A truck full of sheep was rumbling past out on the high street but the two men were still close enough to the rear of the sports car for Berlin to make out his words.

‘Thanks for all your help, mate, and like I said on the phone, there’s no need to mention this little visit to anyone. Let’s just keep it between the three of us, okay?’





June 1966


The steel wheels clattered over a set of points in the rails and the second-class carriage shuddered and lurched sideways. A girl walking towards the lavatory at the rear of the carriage lost her footing in the aisle, falling forward towards his seat, her hand finding his left shoulder to steady herself. He looked up from his book.

She smiled at him as she straightened up. ‘Oops.’

‘Oops,’ he said, smiling back at her.

He had a nice smile, warm, friendly and totally lacking in guile. Smiling was important. Girls, especially the young ones, liked a man with an open, genuine smile and his was a good one. He practised the smile in a mirror every morning after brushing his teeth. The smile and a friendly twinkle in his eye said he was a good bloke, a nice feller, someone who could be trusted with a man’s car or wallet or his wife. A man’s daughter was an entirely different proposition, of course, if she was around the right age.

The girl had a seat a dozen rows ahead of him in the second-class carriage. She stayed standing beside him, and he remembered her taking the stool next to him in the rocking buffet car several hours earlier. She’d commented on his pie and chips on the heavy china railways dinner plate. He’d smiled then as well. She’d added that his apple pie with vanilla ice-cream looked good too and he’d nodded in agreement, though to him it was all just food, just fuel to keep him going. He ate because he had to, the taste and smell and look of his meals meaning very little to him.

Her right hand was resting on the seatback now, close to his head. He could smell perfume. He knew his sense of smell was weak so she must have been doused in it, must have splashed it on. Had she done it for him?

‘Good book?’

He closed the pages to show her the title, How to Win Friends and Influence People.