St Kilda Blues (Charlie Berlin #3)(61)
Berlin decided it was time for him to wade back in. ‘I’m happy you’re getting your leg over on a regular basis, Derek, but we need you to think really hard about that photograph. The girl on the right has just gone missing. You took that shot at Opus three weeks back. Do you remember anything about that night, anything unusual? Any odd-looking people hanging about, maybe?’
Roberts handed over the clipping again and Derek squinted at the picture. ‘Could be Opus, I suppose, hard to say for sure.’
Bob Roberts shook his head. ‘Jesus, sunshine, is that the best you can do?’
Derek handed him the photograph. ‘Look, mate, all I see is what is in front of my camera and that’s it. You smile at them, and if they smile back and if they’re pretty enough and in the right kind of gear for the magazine you just take a picture. Frame, focus, bang, and Bob’s your uncle, then you move on. Sometimes you give them a bit of chat but that depends on how good-looking they are; you know, blonde and big tits and a nice arse is pretty much the minimum.’
‘I guess a cool bloke like you has pretty high standards.’
Derek smiled and nodded.
‘And bucket loads of charm too, I see.’
Derek smiled again and shrugged, missing the tone in Berlin’s voice. ‘Look, I can’t really tell you any more than that. You’re welcome to look at my negatives and proof sheets if you want, could be some weirdo hanging around in the background of some of the snaps for all I know.’
‘I suppose we could take a look, might be useful. You see many weirdos?’
‘Sometimes. The odd old bloke trying to crack on to a young sheila, that kind of thing happens a bit. Sort of disgusting, really.’ Derek paused and looked at Bob Roberts. ‘No offence meant when I said old blokes, you understand.’
The smirk on his face said that offence was indeed meant. Berlin wondered if Derek had possibly run into Bob Roberts and young Sunshine at a discotheque late one Saturday night. Was there a photograph of that somewhere?
‘You know what, Derek? I think we will take you up on that offer of your negatives and proof sheets, if you don’t mind. And did you shoot any pictures at the Buddha’s Belly on Saturday night by any chance?’
‘Might have done, I think it was on my list, but I don’t recall anything special.’ He grinned a grin which Berlin assumed was meant to look conspiratorial and lowered his voice. ‘Sometimes all the smoke in some of those places can make things a bit hazy, if you catch my drift.’
Berlin smiled back. ‘Any chance we can move things along with getting those negatives and proof sheets?’
Derek nodded. ‘Sure thing, no problem. He crossed to a wall opposite the light box bench and hammered on a closed sliding door. When there was no immediate response he yelled out, ’Hey Cockroach, hands off cock and get your lazy arse out here.’
TWENTY – EIGHT
After a pause the door slid open in response to Derek’s shouting. The smell of photographic chemicals was suddenly much stronger. A black curtain was pulled aside and a bloke about the same age as Derek stepped out of the darkness, squinting and blinking as his eyes adjusted to the light. Before the curtain fell back Berlin saw that the room behind him was in darkness apart from a couple of red lights hanging from the ceiling. The man, wearing a stained white dustcoat, was a touch taller than Derek with a similar build and hair cut a bit shorter. The hair was cleaner as well as being shorter.
Derek made the introductions. ‘This is Timmy, little Timmy Egan, he runs the darkroom. Dim Tim, we call him. Or Dim Sum at lunchtimes because he likes his Chink food. I’m Tim’s hero, aren’t I, Timmy boy? Tim wants to be a great big photographer like me when he grows up.’
Berlin had a lot more of the Derek Jones picture now. A smartarse and a bully but definitely someone who would turn to jelly if his victim fought back. But he knew there was still something else he was hiding.
‘These blokes are coppers, Timmy. Give them my negs and proof sheets of the stuff I do for GEAR.’ He turned round and looked towards Berlin. ‘How far back do you wanna go?’
‘Let’s say six months, that should do it.’
Derek turned to Tim. ‘You heard the man, chop chop. And see if you can arrange it before Christmas, okay?’
He turned back to Berlin and winked. ‘Not too bright, our Cockroach here. Must be breathing in all those chemicals or maybe too much wanking in the dark. He’s gonna go totally blind one day soon, I reckon.’
Egan blushed and under the red skin Berlin could see that his jaw was clenched tight.
Music started up again in the studio and the Beast yelled out Derek’s name. Derek took a packet of film from one of the shelves. ‘Time to get back to work if there isn’t anything else.’
Berlin took him by the arm as he tried to pass. ‘Just one thing, Derek, does the name Melinda Marquet mean anything to you, by any chance?
Berlin watched Derek’s face but there was no reaction to Melinda’s name.
‘Never heard of her. She somebody special?’
Berlin nodded. ‘She’s dead, so that makes her special to us.’
Again there was no reaction from Derek. ‘Can’t help you. And I like my sheilas alive and lively. Really lively, if you know what I mean. But I need to get back to work now.’ As he walked towards the studio Derek yelled back over his shoulder. ‘And you should get a courier to take that colour film to the lab for processing, Cockroach, and make it snappy, eh?’